“I can tell, in fact, that my story does interest you,” Katrina said with a bitter smile. And to sweeten it, perhaps, she scooped up some jam with her teaspoon and stirred it into her tea without bringing the fruit preserve to her lips. “I don’t know the identity of the agent we were handling in Israel. Compartmentalization was very tightly observed, so if I didn’t have to know something, I wasn’t told. The agent was referred to as Cobra, that I knew. After all, we had to use some code name in the operational orders, on the expense report forms, on all the endless paperwork that accompanied our operations. Sometimes I felt more like a desk clerk than a field operative. I also knew that he was very important, and that we were investing a great deal of time, effort, and money in him. Even his handler himself was a rare and valuable resource. He was a long-serving KGB operative, who worked very deep under cover, as deep as possible, in the United States. We must have handled Cobra under the guise of being Americans; it’s the only way to explain why such a valuable asset was assigned to the operation. Just imagine, an officer living in the United States as an American, for all intents and purposes. Believe me, he really did look and sound like an authentic American. His cover was perfect, as if we had tailored it ourselves, aside from once. I knew he was actually Russian by birth. There’s a look in the eyes that only a Russian can have. He went by the name of Brian Cox, but I didn’t know his real identity. I’d meet with him during his trips to Europe, in Switzerland or Italy usually. We traveled to Israel together as colleagues. He operated under a Canadian passport, and his cover was that of a professor of the ancient Near East. He truly was an expert in the art of the ancient world, he knew a lot and told me quite a bit during the long hours we spent together, waiting for a flight or a meeting or a final briefing before a round of meetings with an agent. Sometimes we’d visit a local museum together, or even exhibitions of small collections at universities. He was an avid admirer of the art of the Middle Ages, and whenever possible we’d visit cathedrals and churches, where he’d lecture me enthusiastically about the murals and sculptures and ancient sacred artifacts. It was a hobby of sorts for him, he said, and he certainly knew a great deal. Of course, I’m pretty sure it was a lot more than just a hobby. It wasn’t simply a cover. He lived the subject, understood it, was a true expert.” Katrina’s gaze turned distant and Ya’ara could tell that she had never had anyone to talk to about the things she had experienced over the years. Katrina pulled herself together and continued: “Like him, I received my documentation for the specific assignment only once we were in Europe, to carry with me to the operational arena. I operated under a different identity each time we met. French, Swiss, or Belgian. My French is near perfect, which made things a lot easier. Confronted by a Belgian, I’d say I was Swiss; if the person talking to me was Swiss, I was from France—and so on. Look,” Katrina smiled again, “can you believe it? You’re getting a crash course in espionage. Anyway, when we met, Cobra’s handler and I, I’d accompany him as his research assistant, and if the cover so required, I was his mistress, too. All men, including police officers and interrogators, are respectful of affairs on the side, and if they’re led to believe they’re touching on delicate territory, they’ll remain discreet. It’s always easier to operate as a couple, a man and a woman. You’re spared a lot of questions. My assignments in Israel, or anywhere else we met with him, also included providing security for Cobra, to ensure he got to the meetings unaccompanied, without anyone on his tail. And to make sure that Brian wasn’t being followed either. I was also there to act as the liaison with the Russian embassy, but only if left with no alternative. We didn’t want to go anywhere near the embassy, because we assumed the Shin Bet kept it under surveillance. I went into the embassy only once during all my visits to Israel. Brian had some kind of a problem with his secret communications system, and I had to get him a new diskette from our representatives at the embassy, from the Rezidentura. Just once. And I noticed thereafter that I was being followed and it took me a few hours to put them to sleep, to bore them, and then to give them the slip so I could meet up again with Brian and give him what he needed.”
“So you don’t know Cobra’s name then?”
“I don’t know anything about him. I saw him, of course, but never from up close. Slim, average height, smooth, dark hair. He may have been thirty or perhaps even forty. Brian once pointed him out from afar. ‘There, you see, that’s him, that’s him,’ he said. That was enough for me. And I also know he has a birthday in late January or early February.”
“How do you know that?”
“On one of the occasions when we met with him in Israel, Brian said something about it being his, Cobra’s, birthday. He made a point of celebrating it with him. He brought him a gift, a token of his love and attention, pulled it out of his pocket like a magician, and the next thing I saw was an ivory statuette from the Middle Ages balancing in the palm of his hand. It was winter. Cold even in your part of the world. I’m almost certain it was in late January. And I remember Brian telling me they hadn’t had such a snowy and cold Christmas in ages. It didn’t really mean much to me, we didn’t celebrate Christmas, as you know. He was talking about the United States, of course.
“And then, my lovely girl, during one of my visits to Israel with Brian, who was there to meet with Cobra, I met your father. He was so different from all the people I used to work with, so different from any man I had ever known. His entire world was different. Clean and bright. And our eyes met. And I knew, I knew, of course, that developing close ties with strangers was strictly forbidden. A violation of all our rules and regulations. But I said to myself: I deserve something, too. I deserve something unsoiled, something that is mine alone. I hadn’t loved anyone in years. Constant vigilance and a sense of self-preservation always overpowered any desire for romance or even a flirtation. I was a mother, I couldn’t run around like a fool, and when I had free time, I devoted myself to Natalya. I didn’t want her to be only her grandmother’s child. And all of a sudden I was forty, and my beauty was starting to fade, and I had no one other than Natalya in my life, and all the rules and regulations and procedures were so hard to live with sometimes. So didn’t I deserve a chance at love? How often in life do you run into someone you’ve been searching and searching for without even knowing, and suddenly your eyes meet?”
“I think I know what you mean,” Ya’ara said. “Even though I don’t work in an organization with so many regulations and restrictions. In high-tech anything goes, but there’s so little time for anything… Yet I still managed to meet Eran, my husband.” She smiled warmly, and their eyes met. “But what you said about the rarity of love, about everyone deserving true love, about the right to act on an opportunity if one happens to come your way… that, I think I get.”
“In any event,” Katrina continued, “that marked the beginning of those sweet and wonderful years during which your father and I were in contact. And although we saw each other only once a year, for just a few days, we exchanged letters in the interim, and the bond we formed, through the written word, was magical. We sustained and nurtured our love affair at the pace of the eighteenth century. And then we’d meet again. I always told myself that things would work out well in the end. That the impossible situation in which we found ourselves would resolve itself somehow. That one day we’d be able to be a real couple, that we’d be able to live a real life, together.”