Game of silence, p.30
Game of Silence, page 30
“What’s the idea?” Kolkin asked in an almost cracked voice.
Prime Minister Nativ did not reply, and instead went to pick up his secure phone line pressing the number 3 on speed dial. He looked at Kolkin, shook his head from side to side and hissed in silent anger: “How could you not tell me anything all these years?!”
Yosef Kokin was embarrassed. He said nothing. He only hoped that the Prime Minister will indeed throw him a lifeline and not a hanging noose.
After a few seconds Bezalel Nativ’s voice was heard telling the person on the other side of the line: “I need you back in my chambers urgently… yes, more urgently than anything. Even more urgent than what we talked about in our last meeting, and you will not believe what I have to tell you.”
24.
The secret threesome
Meir Harari drank the beer he ordered at the passenger terminal thirstily and pensively walked towards his car. Throughout their years together, Avi, his chauffer, learned to recognize his mood, and now when Meir sat down in the seat next to him, it was obvious he needed some peace and quiet.
But peace was the last thing he had.
His mobile rang. On the line was the Prime Minister. They exchanged a few short sentences after which Meir hung up ad told Avi in a confident tone: “Change of plans. We’re going to the Prime Minister’s home. On the way we’ll stop for fifteen minutes in Abu Gush, I have to eat something before the meeting.
They stopped at “Lebanese”, their usual restaurant.
The phone call from the Prime Minister quickly refocused him. The path he had taken in life had taught him to push that button in his brain in time, something which instantly disconnected him from any distraction. He could not afford to lose his concentration. However this time, pressing that switch was especially difficult. Knowing he was forced to send Ya’ara and Avner on such short notice bothered him to no end. As much as he tried, he could not break free from that burdensome concern.
After fifty minutes they reached the home of the Prime Minister. Meir went straight into the chambers, and was happy to see Yosef Kolkin there. He expected to hear about the developments from the meeting with the Russians, but he immediately sensed the unusual looks exchanged between Kolkin and Bezalel Nativ.
He sat down and tried to get their attention with a straight question: “So, what happened with the Russians?”
Bezalel Nativ fixed his tie and moved in his chair in clear discomfort. “There is no easy way to tell this,” he said and coughed slightly, “but… since you are the person I trust the most, Meir, I decided to include you in…”
“Talk!” Meir was impatient.
“I would like to share with you what Kolkin just told me, and to ask for your advice.”
“I’m all ears,” said Meir in anticipation. The Russians always managed to surprise him anew throughout his years in the Mossad.
“So here goes, Kolkin is in fact a Russian spy.”
Meir started laughing, but Nativ’s face remained serious as he added: “At least he used to be.”
“I must admit I don’t get the joke,” Meir’s voice still sounded amused but his face gradually turned serious. If indeed it is a joke, he thought to himself – then I have heard better and funnier ones than this one, and if this is true – then it is even less funny. “You can’t be serious, really?” He tried to make sure again.
“Dead serious,” Nativ replied with a sealed expression.
“Where did this come from?” Meir could not contain his surprise, “It isn’t as if I turned around right now, I would see some camera with the presenter of Candid Camera behind it, right?”
Kolkin signaled him with his hand to stop the flow of his surprised speech and opened with a summary of his story. How he immigrated to Israel as a spy, how he discovered his Jewish identity, how he found out he was stricken from the records of the Soviet Union which was dissolved and that he was convinced that this chapter was erased from his life.
Meir listened carefully to his words and said nothing. He sought to take in the new situation forced upon him, and more than anything forced upon the country, and tried to listen to his primal instinct that would instruct him how he should address the whole issue. He found it hard to solidify his position. On the one hand, something in him was raging mad for hiding this truth all these years. In his mind he had thoughts and questions that had not yet matured into a clear opinion.
Could it be that in the name of politics and its demands, it is allowed to hide such a problematic fact from the public, let alone from those setting sensitive policies in the country? And if such facts were kept concealed over the years, perhaps there is something to it? Could it be that Kolkin is in fact a double agent? And what does it say about us, in the Mossad, that up and till we knew nothing about it? For a moment a thought flashed through his mind that spies are sentenced to many years in prison. Next, he tried to reassure himself: his personal acquaintance with Kolkin and his rich professional experience could not be mistaken. Kolkin’s explanation sounded reasonable to him.
“In any case,” he heard the Prime Minister through his thoughts, reinforcing the calming siren, “since that chapter in his distant life – Kolkin has been a proud Israeli and Jewish patriot. It is clear and transparent and needs no explanations whatsoever. He never actively committed espionage and never delivered any inside information to anyone, and you know, Meir, I am a lawyer by training, and I learned that in criminal law there’s a provision protecting those who change their minds prior to committing the act, certainly in a situation where no one has committed any act of espionage and there’s no record about him. Therefore, legally speaking, there should be no problem.”
“Perhaps that’s true, but listen…”
“Right, right, Meir,” the Prime Minister interrupted the head of the Mossad and sought to continue to the practical questions, “It is clear to me too that despite the legal backup – it is still a very serious matter. I don’t need to tell you what will happen should this be discovered. So, what do you suggest, practically? What are we going to do now with this new information?”
Meir remained silent for a few more moments, directing the flow of his consciousness to the possible connection between what he had just heard and the mission he had just sent Ya’ara and Avner on. Will the new reality revealed to him here right now jeopardize his two agents out there? And who knows what information may leak!
Before anything, he had to make sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Yosef Koklin was telling the truth and that he is not a double agent. “I understand everything,” he turned to both Kolkin and Nativ, “and what I suggest first and foremost, before we even consider making any decisions, is to perform one single action: immediately after our meeting here, we should give Kolkin a polygraph test. If you are found to be telling the truth, my friend, we will move on to the ‘truth serum’ we use in extreme situations. I don’t know how well you are familiar with it, but this drug is the development of the Weizmann Institute, extracted from an engineered Ayahuasca plant, and it never fails. If you pass the truth serum test as well, Kolkin dear, then I can think of an idea that will be excellent for all of us.”
Kolkin had a look of surprise on his face, but in light of Meir’s last sentence, he smiled. “I am of course willing to take any test you require me to, Meir,” he said, “I have nothing to hide. I have also never committed any act of espionage, that’s the whole truth. My loyalty to Israel is as strong as death.”
After a short pause he added: “But there’s another problem. The Russians want the battery back within forty-eight hours.”
“This was probably anticipated by Meir regardless,” Prime Minister Nativ intervened. “As part of an action plan in case something goes wrong, teams have been organized to work around the clock to reverse engineer the battery, right Meir?”
“I received a report from the commander of the air force that within 24 hours they will finish copying everything,” said Meir, “but I don’t want to give it back to them so easily. In the meantime let’s do the polygraph and truth serum tests, and then we will think together about what’s next. I am convinced you will be found to be telling the truth, otherwise you would have already done irreparable damage.”
Kolkin laughed. “Maybe I am just a reserved guy, and it’s all just a show here. Go figure,” he said.
“Okay, the drug will tell,” Meir smiled, and in any case, we mustn’t give them the battery within forty-eight hours. They will realize that the return of the battery is a direct result of their demand and immediately blackmail us further with new demands. We need to stall for some time in order to give the issue credibility that our action has nothing to do with them or their demands.”
“Two weeks,” said Kolkin. “They need to work hard for it. This way we will also be able to test their patience limits, how quickly they will realize their threat.”
“First let’s do the tests for…” Meir said, and was instantly interrupted by Kolkin.
“Let it go, leave it to me,” said the Minister of Defense decisively. “After all, it’s my head on the chopping block. If the matter goes public in the media – we will deny it and claim it to be fake news. Even if the publicity and a possible media and public outcry go out of proportion, I will leave you out of it. Aside from us – no one will know about this; we will take it to our graves.”
“Still, it’s not good enough,” said Meir and looked at Prime Minister Nativ. We must also prepare for the scenario that the Russians will make the story public. That will be harder to deny.
“I agree with Meir,” said Nativ. We will have to defend ourselves.”
“Kolkin leaped from his chair. “You must understand that the Russians have no photos or documentation from my time in training,” he raised his voice. “This is only about their people, who were not there during that period. We can always claim that it’s merely misinformation they are trying to plant, and in any case, and I repeat once again, you certainly won’t be in the picture in any form whatsoever, and I will never mention this conversation again.”
Bezalel Nativ looked at Meir and said: “They are playing chess with us. However, the moment Kolkin told us – he took down their queen. So, apart from the Russians’ knowledge that he was their spy – they have no bargaining chips. No one will take this seriously, with both of us backing Kolkin up. We will start preparing documents of our own now, so that they can be published should the whole thing blow up in the media.”
Meir rose from his chair and paced the room from side to side, trying to process the weight of this new information. Eventually he spoke and said in a low and quiet voice: “If Kolkin passes the tests given by the Mossad examiners, we will be able to use him as a double agent. Through him we will be able to deliver the incriminating information about the Iranians, with the hopes to gain such information soon. It will be the most reliable source for them, and they will take the bait.
I am convinced they wouldn’t dare imagine he told us of his past as a spy. Once the Russians feel powerful, after the battery is returned to them, they will probably attempt to continue blackmailing Kolkin, and if by miracle they do not do so – we will need to tempt them and shower them with the information we will discover. With the right information that will reveal the Iranian betrayal from a reliable source as far as they are concerned, the long-awaited conflict will be created, and then we will have the opportunity to remove the Iranians from our northern border. The Russians will give us the green light to execute the revenge for the Iranian’s betrayal of them. We will make them ask us to do it as a favor.”
The Prime Minister and the Minister of Defense looked at each other surprised yet completely satisfied. The action plan that flashed in Meir’s mind gave them new hope. Encouraged by the exciting possibility that was now presented to them, they both approached Meir, placing their arms on his shoulders, creating a symbolic triangle of partners in fate.
25.
Welcome to Saudi Arabia
The two-hour wait at Heathrow Airport ended with the departure of the connection flight at 00:45 to the King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh.
Prior to entering the airspace of the “Saudi Arabian Kingdom”, the usual pre-landing bustle of the flight attendants had started, gained an external expression which stood out in its strangeness to foreign eyes. In compliance with a uniform instruction, the flight attendants covered their faces with the scarf around their necks which turned out to be a Hijab.
The carts which contained alcohol were locked, confirming that no use was made with the drinks, and even before they were place in their usual place in the kitchen, they were covered in black cloth. Behind the flight attendants there was a long line of incredibly shapely and beautiful young women, dressed in London’s best haute couture, each in turn entering the lavatory on the plane, and by miraculous metamorphosis instantly turned from a colorful butterfly to a moth cloaked by a black gown. All of them were covered by a piece of cloth, that swiftly took away the glamour they had just a few minutes ago. So were all the female passengers on the flight prepared for the landing on Saudi Arabian soil, even before the signs indicating to fasten the seatbelts were turned on.
Despite the inconvenience that came along with wearing the black shrouds, covering herself made Ya’ara happy and sparked excitement in her heart. The veil gave her the sensation of protection. Not bothered by the concern that her face will reveal something of her excitement, she put on the head cover and blended well with the shrouded world of seeing yet not being seen. From now on the right to speak will be given by her “father” – Ziad Salach.
In her new costume, she didn’t need to be pretty and silent. Beauty became negligible, and the assignment was to just keep quiet. When the wheels of the plane touched down, her heart skipped a beat. That’s it, there’s no way back now. On the soil of Saudi Arabia she was now an Israeli spy on a mission.
From the moment she entered the passenger terminal, she couldn’t ignore the fact that the airport exuded over-the-top wealth, which more than anything testified to the squandering oil culture of the Arab rulers of the desert. It also gleamed with exemplary cleanliness, which impressed her even more. She did not expect this.
When they arrived at the border control window, they both gave their passports to the chubby officer with a moustache, who seemed to sport a permanent serious look on his face. When he noticed their names, Ziad and Nur Salach, and saw that this was their first time in the Saudi Kingdom, he looked up with a warm smile, the kind of which they were not accustomed to at border checkpoints.
Aware of her new place in society, Nur Salach stood behind her father Mr. Ziad Salach, looked down behind the cloth covering her face, and kept silent. With her father next to her, she wasn’t even asked to lift her veil. It was a sign of respect on behalf of the officer, a kind of gesture to the Arab-American businessman standing before him, seeking to emphasize the respect of who he thought was his young wife. Ziad Salach embodied a dream come true for the Saudi border control officer.
“Welcome to the Saudi Kingdom,” said the officer handing them their passports with a look filled with self-satisfaction.
Avner smiled at him, bowed his head, and placed his hand on his heart as a sign of gratitude.
Everything at the airport was conducted in perfect order. Less than five minutes later, they approached the number 6 conveyor belt, which began sending out luggage. They snuck short glances between them and kept quiet. Withdrawn, they did not exchange a word with one another from the moment they left the plane. Without any delay, they also passed through the green lane of the customs checkpoint, and boarded the first taxi in a long line of cabs waiting at their designated pick-up points, not before the taxi driver came out to help them with their luggage.
“Good morning,” Avner turned to the taxi driver in perfect Arabic and an accent which emphasized the fact he was foreign, “to the Four Seasons Hotel in the center of town please.”
“Good morning, gladly,” replied the driver, “welcome to the Kingdom. We have a forty-five minute drive to the hotel. I will give you a little discount, is eighty dollars acceptable? Otherwise I will turn the meter on and it will probably be more expensive.”
Avner could not help but smile at that statement, and by shaking the hand of the driver in agreement he said: “now I am certain you are a professional taxi driver,” leaving the driver smiling, trying to figure out what he meant by that.
The capital of Riyadh which spreads over an area of 1,200 square kilometers, started as an ancient desert oasis surrounded by sands up to the horizon, in the heart of the Arabian Peninsula. It was known as the abode of the royal dynasty, whose power has been fed by the black liquid emanating from the depths of the soil in its terrain. Ya’ara toyed with the thought that the Saudis fulfilled Ben Gurion’s vision to make the desert’s wasteland flourish, only without the Zionist part of it. Revenues from oil enabled the kingdom to import a multitude of ill-fated people from a variety of nations, miserable people who were enslaved to build the kingdom under inhumane heat for meager wages.
Ya’ara pressed her face against the window of the taxi, and was hypnotized by the view reflected from it, changing as the car sped along. She was greeted by a blue and clear sunny day, and weather which didn’t have even an iota of desert haze. Her eyes focused on the conspicuous struggle between the strong natural desert and the concrete blocks planted by the kingdom.
