He saw Cobra exit the elevator and turn toward the dining room. He looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his composure remained intact. Clean-shaven, his clothes pressed. An unstoppable glint of joy flashing through his narrow eyes on spotting Brian. That’s good, he still wants to see me, Brian thought. As long as he’s not falling apart, that’s the main thing, and if he does so, then let it at least happen when I have him under my control.
“Good morning, may I join you? I’ve eaten already, but I’ll have a cup of coffee.”
“Good morning. And go ahead. You’re paying in any case.”
They sat at a small table in the corner of the dining room. An elderly waitress poured them coffee and orange juice. Cobra went to the buffet and returned with a half-empty plate.
“I’d like to take a walk with you for a while,” Brian said. “There are two or three antiquities stores that I need to visit, and I think we should go see the Paul Klee exhibition. A wonderful show. We can talk there and on the way. And then in our basement. Beer, sausages, and rösti, just like civilized people should eat.”
“I’m going back tonight. The flight leaves at eleven. I’m all yours until then.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I don’t think you should go back. It’s too risky. The name of the game at this stage is speed. Who’s quicker. Who’s more decisive. We know they’re looking. We don’t know where they are in their search, or if they’re about to get to you. But believe me, if they have something to go on, their motivation is sky high. They won’t stop at anything. And we have to be one step ahead. To act fast. Not fast. Right now. Immediately.” He paused after realizing he had raised his voice. Brian continued, trying to radiate authority and restraint. “We have to ensure that when they do get to you, all they find is a ghost. You’ll be elsewhere by then, safe, out of their reach. Think about it. About their frustration. About outsmarting them once again. About outdoing them again.”
“Brian, how we ended up in a situation like this was all I thought about all night long. About the fact that you don’t know how to safeguard your secrets. About the fact that you’ve screwed up with respect to safeguarding me. That you’ve been deceiving me all these years.”
“I could tell you a different story,” Brian responded. “One about how we’ve been looking after you for thirty years. How now, too, we can make sure you aren’t caught, and can go on living a good and secure life. I could remind you of your enormous contribution to the fact that the volatile region in which you live is still in one piece. The Middle East could have sparked three world wars by now, but the balance we’ve managed to create, and the cooperation between ourselves and the United States, have prevented them. We’ve had the wisdom to draw the lines in the right places, to keep tensions in check, to ensure that no one gets too powerful. And you, we, our work together, have played a significant role in doing so. It’s not something I’d belittle, or erase, Alon. You’ve enjoyed tremendous achievements. Historic. Of near epic proportions. Not to mention the financial reward you stand to gain. Eight million dollars await you in an account in Lausanne, not to mention the other accounts. Where’s that money come from? I’m not saying you haven’t earned it or don’t deserve it, but I’m allowed to remind you, now and then, that it came from us. We’ve never failed to keep our promises to you. We’ve always kept our word. So now, in a time of crisis, I think you should listen to us. Listen to me. We want this story to end well. I’m looking out for you, Alon. I value you. I love you as if you were my brother. So listen to me, listen to me.”
50
TEL AVIV, MARCH 2013
Michael and Adi were standing in the kitchen next to the small espresso machine. Michael had brought the red machine to the office just a week ago and everyone was already hooked on it. The clear glass bowl standing on the granite countertop was filled with colorful, shiny capsules, like a collection of assorted candies, enveloped by the strong aroma of fresh coffee.
“Tell me,” Michael said, “does the database now include all the material we received from Amir’s friend at the Interior Ministry?”
“That’s exactly what I’m working on now,” Adi responded. “I’m almost done. I took a coffee break and I’m now adding the remaining data to the Excel spreadsheet. Essentially it’s just a big table, not some sophisticated system. But we may be able to learn something from it. When does Aharon get back?”
“He’s back already. Arrived yesterday, in the early evening. Still recovering from the flight. He should be here soon.”
“And Ya’ara?”
“She stayed on in Providence. I spoke to her early this morning. Before my run. She’s hanging around there for a while. She didn’t say exactly why, and it’s never really a good idea to say too much over the phone anyway. But there’s still something she wants to do there.”
He inserted a green capsule into the machine and continued: “Amir is working his ass off at school, waiting for us to rescue him and summon him to work. And Aslan is killing me, pestering and pestering, wanting to know when this whole thing is going to end, because he needs to arrange some rafting trip down the Amazon or something like that.”
“When is it going to end really? What do you think?” Adi touched the pendant on the chain around her neck.
“From the little I got from Aharon, I think we’re getting close. He didn’t want to elaborate on the phone. And that’s just the way he is, too, you know, a man of mystery. He has his ways. Anyway, based on what Bill Pemberton has told us, Julian Hart, who they believe to be a Russian intelligence officer living deep undercover in the United States, could be Brian, Cobra’s handler. And it appears that Hart was summoned suddenly by his handlers a few days ago and has now disappeared. A sign that we’ve stirred the pot, and things are starting to happen. And I’m telling you, if Brian did go abroad all of a sudden, there’s a very good chance that Cobra has done the same, presumably to meet with him. Perhaps they sense we’re onto something.”
“How could they know?”
“Via Katrina perhaps. They may have found out that we met with her, and that she said something to us about Cobra. It seems a bit of a stretch, but it’s possible. I don’t know how efficient they are, but don’t forget they have a tradition of investigations and surveillance operations dating back to 1917. They know the job. I asked Ya’ara to call Katrina, as a personal gesture of sorts, a follow-up to her visit as Galina, Igor’s daughter. But no one’s answering there. Ya’ara tried contacting her at various times of the day. Either Katrina’s gone on holiday, to her granddaughter, perhaps, or they’ve already got their hands on her and know we’re on the chase. Let’s complete the table and see if we learn anything we don’t yet know.”