Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

“I came to pick up the equipment,” I said, and walked directly to her balcony. I disconnected the camcorder from the wall outlet and folded the tripod.

“Our experts will analyze the material and then a decision will be made if we need to use your balcony for additional days,” I said. “May I call you again tomorrow morning if we need more footage?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, apparently liking the idea of making another easy five hundred. I gave her a paper and asked her to confirm that she received $500.00 from Peter Wooten. I still had to satisfy the penny-pinchers back at the office.

Back in my hotel room I slid the videocassette into the VCR on the TV set and waited for the action to start.

Each time someone used the pay phone I froze the frame. I watched tensely. A woman in her seventies who walked her dog made a short call; two giggling teenage girls were on the phone for approximately thirty minutes. A man dressed in painters’ overalls stopped his van near the curb, jumped out, and made a two- to three-minute call and drove away. Then two men in their late twenties walked up. I held my breath. The clock on the camcorder showed 6:58 P.M.

I tried to look closely at their faces, but the damn dome over the pay phone blocked my view. They were on the phone for six or seven minutes. I saw one of them take a coin and give it to the other. A few minutes later they left.

I didn't lock myself on the two guys, at least not until I'd listened to the audiotape.

I pressed the “play” button on the tape recorder and listened. Each call started with a set of touch-tone signals created by the dialer. The sound quality was good and identifying the numbers would probably not be too difficult. The first four calls were in German and did not seem relevant. One guy was letting his friend know he was running late. My calculation showed that it was the man in the painters’ overalls. Then there was a ring for an incoming call.

“That's it,” I said to myself. After one ring the receiver was lifted and I heard the conversation.

“Hello,” said a woman's voice in English. “You left me a message?”

Strange, I thought, it didn't sound like Mina Bernstein. This woman had a deeper voice than Mina's and her tone was far more aggressive. It was definitely not Mrs. Bernstein. But who would be impersonating her, and why?

“Yes,” said a man with an accent I could not immediately identify. “Who are you?”

“I'm Mina Bernstein. Where is my daughter? I want to talk to her.”

“She's OK,” said the man, “but you must give me what I want first.”

I still couldn't place his accent.

“What do you want?” asked the woman.

“DeLouise gave Ariel an envelope. I want it,” he said firmly.

“But if he gave it to Ariel, how can I give it to you?” asked the woman. “Tell me what it is, or if you know where it is, I'll look for it.”

“Ariel says you have access to it.”

“I don't understand. Let me talk to Ariel. Maybe she could explain it to me. I haven't received anything from Ariel; I haven't even seen her in Germany. This must be a big mistake. Let me talk to her. If I have what you want, I'll give it to you. I promise.” With the same breath she added, “Where can I meet you?”

“You can't meet me. Call this number again tomorrow at the same time. And if you call the police, Ariel will die,” he said abruptly and hung up.

I waited a few seconds then heard his voice again as he spoke to the person next to him, and I finally placed his accent. It was Spanish.

“La putana! Ariel was lying to us. I'll kill her!”

“What did the woman say?” asked another voice.

“She said that she doesn't have any papers from Ariel. We'll have to go back and squeeze the little bitch.”

“Wait,” said the other voice. “Let me call the boss first. We can't call from the apartment.”

Then I heard another series of touch-tone beeps. A man's voice answered the phone, “Ja?”

“It's me,” said the voice in English. “The woman called. She says she has no papers but she wants to meet.”

A pause. “Are you sure she didn't contact the police?”

His voice sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. He also had an accent – German, if anything, surely – it certainly wasn't Spanish.

“She never mentioned it and she was very anxious to see Ariel. She isn't stupid enough to do that.”

“OK, get back to the apartment and I'll call you there.”

“Yes, boss.”

The boss's accent came through again. It was clearly German. Was I just imagining that the speaker sounded familiar?

The tape ended. I turned off the recorder, marked the date and time on the cassette label, and put it in my pocket.

I sat at my desk thinking through next steps. The first move was easy; speaking of bosses, I had to report to Stone.

I went out to the street, found a pay phone, and used my prepaid phone card to call Washington.

“David,” I said, “things are getting hotter here.”

“I guess you don't mean the weather.”

“No,” I smiled, “the German weather is cooling but our climate is warming. I have a safe-deposit box I suspect contains papers my target gave his daughter in Munich before he was killed. It's possible that he had already felt the heat. Next, the daughter called her mother in Israel. The mother came to Munich looking for her daughter, who shortly was kidnapped. It didn't make the papers.”

David listened attentively, as always. “Are the German police on the kidnap matter as well?”

“Certainly,” I said. “I'm also trying to help them. They don't seem to appreciate it, but you know me. I hang on anyway.”

“Don't create a turf war.”

“Well, some kind of war is already on,” I countered.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Something is brewing but I'm not sure exactly what it is. Just to identify one player, I suspect the Israelis are in on this matter as well. I mean the Israeli government.”

Stone let this one hang for a moment, then came at me. “What do you make of it? These are your people, after all.”

“Well, our friend was in their service more than thirty years ago, but I don't understand their current interest. Assistance could come now for old times’ sake, or maybe he had something they wanted as well.”

“So where is the war?” puzzled David.

“I'm guessing they're not the only ones following my target's trail; there seem to be others.”

“What others? Do you know who they are? You should always know who you're up against.”

“Take it easy, I'm working on it. The problem is that I'm not sure each player has the same goal. The people holding the daughter have a distinct agenda. They want to get some papers her father gave her.”

“Do you know who they could be?”

“Could be Latinos. I suspect that in addition to the Latinos and the Israelis, there are others. I'm walking in a fog, and every now and then I bump into something.”

“Don't let me lose you,” said Stone with genuine concern. “Is the legat helping you?”

“As much as he can, I guess. Don't worry; I always land on my feet. I'm more concerned with what's going on around my dead target.”

“With all the international interest in this guy, I'm surprised he managed to live sixty-three years.”

“The whole thing is a mystery,” I agreed. “There are too many players, and all of them seem somewhat in the dark.”

“I'll have to report this to the State Department,” said Stone, somewhat reluctantly.

“I guess so,” I said. Scandals in foreign lands are their territory. Since I was working out of the consulate, Ron Lovejoy was kept in the loop. It was his job to keep the ambassador informed. Then it was the ambassador's job to do the same with the State Department. But I knew David – he covered all the bases.