“That’s not really important, the exact date. I’m still pretty impressed. Go on, go on.”
“Anyway, it’s a beautiful statue. So when I returned to the dining area to rejoin Frances at the window overlooking the garden—you remember?—I said to her, Your new statue is amazing. Such a heart-wrenching expression on its face. And Frances says to me, Yes, it arrived this morning, just before you called. To be honest, it scares me a little. That expression. Julian bought it in Zurich and sent it home. He didn’t write anything, there wasn’t a note or a letter for me, but it’s his way of telling me he’s okay, that I’ve got nothing to worry about. Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent it with DHL. He would have sent it by regular mail, like he’s always done when buying something he wasn’t able to carry with him. After so many years of marriage, he knows me and knows his odd departure must have worried me. So he sent me a greeting in the quickest way possible other than by phone or e-mail.
“And Frances Hart explained to me that her husband almost never calls or corresponds via the computer when traveling. Cyber abstinence he calls it, according to her, good for his soul, he tells her. How do you know it’s from Zurich? I asked. Here, here’s the address, she says to me, and shows me the receipt sent with the piece. An antiquities store in Zurich. A relic itself. Founded in 1847. Bernhard & Sons.”
“Ya’ara, you’re a star,” Michael said.
“Yes, yes, good job,” Aharon muttered. Michael could clearly tell his head was already elsewhere, in Zurich. “Come home now, okay? We’re going to need you here. I’ll ask Bill to get his people to check if Hart is listed as having a reservation on a return flight to the United States. I’m not sure if he’ll return directly from Zurich. He’s probably broken up his route. My money would be on Frankfurt or Vienna. And we’ll make sure they have a look around his house, too. Good work, Ya’ara. Have a safe trip back.” He motioned for Michael to hang up, and then said: “I wonder if his handlers will allow him to return. They sense we’re onto Cobra, or that we’re at least on a hunt that could expose him. I don’t know if they’re assuming that Brian’s cover has also been blown. That Frances,” he said with genuine sadness, “such a beautiful woman. An alcoholic, poor thing. I wonder if she knows anything about what her husband really does. Who he actually is. Or if he’s deceived her as well.”
“What do we do now? Wait for Regev and Leshem to get back?”
“Ask Amir to get his friend at the Interior Ministry to do some more work for us. I definitely want to know when they’re getting back to Israel. But I want us to do something else, too. I want us to leave tonight for Zurich. The former chief of the Swiss Federal Police is an acquaintance of mine, and there are things that can only be done in a face-to-face meeting.” He fixed his gaze on both of them. “They don’t have a security service like ours. There’s an entity within the Federal Office of Police that’s responsible for counterterrorism and counterespionage activities. A little like the FBI. We worked together many years ago. We were on the trail at the time of a faction of the Baader-Meinhof Group that wanted to wipe out the Swiss capitalist pigs—the bank directors, in other words. We provided them, the Swiss, with names, codes, and the location of a hidden cache of Kalashnikovs and pistols and, you won’t believe it, two shoulder-launched antiaircraft missiles. Apparently, as the investigation revealed, they thought it would be a good idea on this festive occasion of their war on the capitalists to bring down an El Al plane at the same time. We spent several very intensive days together, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. I want him to take us to Bernhard & Sons, or show us the establishment’s security footage. There’s no substitute for legwork,” he sighed, feeling sorry for himself, and Michael stole a glance at Aharon’s shoes and saw that they were indeed well-worn, and that the laces on his left shoe were undone.
“Adi,” Aharon asked, “are you able to join me? Would that work with your son?”
“Not a son. A daughter. Two daughters, Tamar and Michal. And yes, it’ll be okay. I’ll speak to my husband and my mother and the nanny and we’ll work it out. Provided we get back quickly.”
Aharon, of course, had no idea how you work things out with a husband and a mother and a nanny, let alone two young children, so he simply offered a perfunctory mumble of satisfaction, and then asked Adi to purchase tickets for them on the Internet, or “however it is that you do it,” he said. “I’m going to call Thomas,” he announced. “Thomas Mueller, the Federal Police chief. Former chief. Former for sure. Like some of us here—on the junk heap,” he added somewhat bitterly, resigned to his fate. He disappeared into the other room and then returned to rummage in his bag and retrieve one of the three cell phones he carried with him everywhere. Needing quiet, Aharon closed the door behind him again. “Hello, hello,” they could hear him saying, his voice muffled but oozing vitality, turning on the charm for Thomas in Switzerland, a charm still warm and captivating even though its wielder was well into retirement.
Ya’ara packed methodically but swiftly. She was traveling light, so all she had with her was a small trolley and an elegant black and brown Louis Vuitton bag. It had cost her an unbelievable sum, but she loved it. It made her feel special. She checked every drawer, every closet, made sure she hadn’t left anything in the bathroom. Nothing would happen even if she left something behind, but years of training and fieldwork took charge. This was how you did your stuff. This was being professional. And right now she was in the most important operation of her career, even if it was unofficial, even if she was loose, on her own. Totally deniable. A cab would pick her up from Heralds Inn in fifteen minutes. She would take it directly to Logan Airport in Boston. Expensive, but she wanted to make good time. She had to be back in Tel Aviv as soon as possible. She had a strong feeling things would start happening very quickly from now on. And she had to be there to make sure that they responded accordingly. She knew Aharon Levin was vastly experienced and extremely intelligent. She admired Michael’s sensibility and clear mind. Yet, for too many years they had been off the streets. And she suspected that sometimes the high command positions that they held drove them to oversophistication, where decisiveness and ruthlessness were required instead. She told herself she was being vain, that she probably didn’t know everything better than the others, but then something inside her revolted: Why? Why? Why couldn’t she be smarter than the others? Why couldn’t she know better than them? Because they were older? Because they were men? Fuck them.
In the cab she calmed down. The scenery was dull and gray. The highway was open, and the driver was focused and confident. She liked his driving. He was around fifty, he had both of his hands on the wheel, and he shut up. She did not lose her sense of urgency, but now she was moving, she was doing something, she felt in control. Finding the details of the antique shop in Zurich validated her stay in Providence. She knew she had to hang around and wait, and she was right. The patience of the hunter now gave way to the energy from a burst of action. She was now on her way back home. They were getting close. An old Bob Dylan song was playing in her mind, and she let it continue, as they grew swiftly closer to Boston, to the huge planes taking off, disappearing in the low clouds, burning fuel and gaining altitude, flying to distant places.
56
ZURICH, MARCH 2013
Brian and Cobra had drunk a couple of beers and eaten quite a few sausages, and Brian leaned back, sighed, and asked: “So, Alon, you’re sticking with me then?”