Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

The Italian call was made to a company in Rome called Broncotrade SPA. I wrote a note to check that one out. The calls to Luxembourg were to Bank Hapoalim, a branch of Israel's largest bank. Then came the local calls. First on the list was a Herbert Oplatka. I dialed the number.

“Oplatka Travel,” said a young woman, “How may I help you?”

“I was left a message to call you.”

“And you are?”

“My name is Peter Wooten and I'm a partner of Mr. Raymond DeLouise. I don't know whether your message was meant for me or for him, because it was left on our voice mail.”

“Let me check,” she said, and put me on hold.

“Nobody here left any message for you or Mr. DeLouise, but it could be someone from the morning shift who called you,” she informed me a moment later.

“Would you please check your computer and see if Mr. DeLouise's reservations are confirmed?”

It was the longest shot in the dark I'd fired in a long time.

“Yes,” she replied after a few seconds.

Bingo! A hit.

She continued. “I see now. His flight tomorrow on Lufthansa from Munich through Frankfurt to Moscow is confirmed. I also see that he hasn't picked up his tickets yet, so that could be the reason for the message. Please ask him to pick them up, or maybe you want us to deliver them to his hotel?”

“I'll ask him to get back to you. Thanks.”

This was my lucky day. I went back to the list and picked up the next number, a Sonja and Ernest Bart. I called the number; an elderly man answered.

“Pension Bart.”

“I'm sorry, please say that again,” I asked.

“Pension Bart,” he repeated.

“Ah yes, thanks,” I said, recognizing the word finally. “May I have your address?”

He gave it to me and I went down to my car and got underway.

I was getting excited now that I was at long last warm, if not hot, on the trail. The pension was in a residential area, surrounded by evergreen trees and apartment buildings with small balconies. Flowers grew in pots on many of the balconies. Everything looked neat and clean.

I walked inside and approached the desk in the hall just beyond the door. Behind it stood an elderly man with white hair and a small mustache. A fireplace crackled across the hall, filling the air with the pleasant smell of burning hardwood. From the kitchen behind the counter floated the smell of home cooking. The ambience was cozy.

I tried to think of the best opening line, but what did I want to know? DeLouise wasn't staying here, he only called. But whom did he call? This guy wasn't about to show me his guest list.

Without thinking it through I took a flyer and asked directly, “Is Mina Bernstein here? My friend from Israel.”

“Israel? Oh, yes, we have Mrs. Mina Bernstein here, and she is from Israel.”

“Exactly,” I said in huge relief, this time genuine. My gamble had paid off. “Is she in?”

“I think so, let me call her room,” and he went to the telephone. He returned a moment later and said, “She'll be right down.”

I moved to the small lobby, enjoyed the fireplace, and waited. A woman of medium height came in – blue eyes and gray streaks in her hair, dressed in a wide flowery skirt and a white blouse.

I got up. “Shalom, I'm Dan Gordon,” I greeted her in Hebrew.

“And I am Mina Bernstein,” said the woman in a subdued voice. “You are looking for me?” she continued in our shared native language.

“Yes, I need to talk to you about a family matter.”

“A family matter? Do you have news about my Ariel?” she asked with a mix of apprehension and hope.

A small sitting room adjoined the lobby. I motioned her along, delaying my answer to her question.

As we sat down Mina looked at me with soft, deep blue eyes. I could tell she'd once been a beautiful woman.

“The reason I am looking for you is that I believe you, and possibly Ariel, could be in danger.”

“Who are you?” she asked in a frightened voice.

“All I can say now is that we share a common background, and I want to help you.”

“Are you from the – Office?”

I nodded. Misleading her was enough; I didn't want to tell her lies more than was absolutely necessary. Yes, I was with the Office, but not the one she assumed. “Office” was the code word used among Mossad employees to describe their workplace. You'd never hear the name Mossad from a true Mossad person. I was dragged into a typical false-flagging scenario now – hiding my true employer – without the ordinary preplanning, without the time to develop a good cover story. The fact was that many successful Mossad recruitment operations of Arab informers were made possible only because the informer, “a source,” was convinced the recruiter was working for NATO or for some European country and not for Israel.

“Tell me, why did you come to Munich?” I asked.

“Ariel called,” she answered.

“What did she tell you?”

“I must say it was a bizarre conversation. She said I must come to Munich immediately, and that I should not tell anyone.”

“Did she give you any reason?”

“She hinted that it had something to do with her father's past, so I must keep it a secret. Ariel said I should stay at this pension. She didn't answer my questions and only asked that I come as quickly as possible. But when I arrived, she wasn't here, although her luggage was in her room.”

So we had a missing persons case in addition to the homicide. If the events thus far could have been described as questionable, they had now been upgraded to strange.

I asked Mina if she was aware of any previous irregular behavior of Ariel's that could explain her disappearance.

“No,” she replied, “she has never given me any cause for concern. Ariel always used good judgment. She's not the kind of person to disappear all of a sudden for no reason.”

“Has Ariel been in contact with her father lately?”

“I don't know for sure. She used to call him now and then, and he also called her at least once every month or so and sent her money. I don't know about recent calls. She's a grown woman and leads her own life. But then, there were hints in our last telephone conversation that she's here in connection with her father. So I don't know what to think.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I intended to do that today, unless I hear from Ariel. I was also thinking about calling Dov, but I have no idea where to find him. He moves between California, Europe, and Japan. Does he know that Ariel is missing? We should notify him.”

So Mina didn't know that her former husband had been murdered. I suspected that the sad chore would fall to me.

“Mina,” I said, “it's a very complex matter and I don't want to burden you with the details, not just now anyway, but we must find Ariel. You'll also have to tell me about Dov's work in the past; I think Ariel's disappearance has something to do with that.”

“I thought you know about his past work,” she said.

“Yes, I do, of course. But I need you to tell me exactly what he told you about his work, the kind of things that are not reflected in his file, particularly if you know whether he attempted contacts with the Office recently.”

I had almost slipped. I needed to know if there was a continued connection with the Mossad, as Dov's two phone calls to their Tel Aviv headquarters indicated. For a split second I even considered the theory that DeLouise had kept his Mossad contacts. Then was the disappearance of the ninety million dollars also connected to the Mossad? Was it their way of financing a slush fund? If my suspicions could be verified then it might have a surprising effect on my asset chase, not to mention Israeli-American relationships. I quickly brushed it off as complete insanity. But still.