Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

“Some,” I admitted. “Does your research have any practical applications?”

“Definitely,” she said. “Since plutonium changes its condition rapidly and each new version has different qualities, it is very difficult to control. You must control it if you want to use plutonium in a nuclear device.”

“Such as the big A?”

“Yes. American scientists at Los Alamos discovered that plutonium is stable when alloyed with aluminum and gallium. After the smelting and the cooling off, plutonium enters its most stable condition, known as ‘delta phase.’ This phase proved to be very convenient, because it made plutonium behave like a normal metal. It was unbreakable, did not corrode over time, and was simple to mold.”

“So what's the problem?” I asked.

“It's a problem of catastrophic magnitude,” said Ariel seriously, her blue eyes intent. “For years everybody believed that plutonium with aluminum and gallium alloy was the ultimate solution to handling plutonium. But Soviet scientists repeatedly claimed that with increased temperature, plutonium might change from delta phase to alpha phase. That is alarming, because alpha phase is far less stable and might induce a spontaneous chain reaction.”

“A chain reaction leading to a nuclear explosion?”

“Yes. That's why I said it could be a catastrophic problem. The world scientific community is only beginning to realize that the life span of a nuclear warhead is much shorter than previously anticipated.”

“And what is that?”

“It went down from seventy years to twenty years. Can you imagine what it would do to the superpowers’ nuclear stockpiles? They'll have to renew it faster than they thought and dump the old stockpiles when they still haven't figured out what to do with the existing nuclear waste.”

“And you are a part of that research?”

“Yes, in a small way. I'm trying to determine the mechanism that leads to the dangerous change from the safe delta phase to the volatile alpha phase.”

“Are you making progress?”

“I am, but my problem is that some nuclear scientists still do not believe they have a serious problem. I can't say I'm too popular in these circles. I'm just a doctoral candidate, and they're all accomplished scientists,” she said wryly. “Soviet scientists are the only ones so far to take this problem seriously, particularly when they are concerned that, with the dissolution of Soviet Union, the question of what happens to those stockpiles looms.”

“It's so interesting,” I said. “You are one of the few people I know who can simplify complex issues into sentences that even a lay person like me can understand.”

If Ariel noticed I was following my training, she did a good job hiding it. In the Mossad Academy, Alex had taught me the art of conversation. “You have two ears but only one mouth, so nature intended us to listen twice as much as we speak. Everyone loves talking about their work or hobby; therefore, let them talk, because they reveal themselves and it directly inspires them to trust you.”

“Thanks,” she said, “I appreciate the compliment.” I looked at her face, her tanned skin, her copper hair and her feminine body, and let my thoughts wander.

Ariel gave me an interested look and said, “We shouldn't talk about me all the time. Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know? Just ask.”

“Are you married?”

It was my turn to smile. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” she said in a teenager's teasing tone, without elaborating. “Well?” she urged.

“I was.”

“Not anymore?”

“No,” I said with a sigh. “It's over.”

“Was it because of another woman?”

I shook my head. Ariel was digesting the information.

“You never remarried?”

“Hell, no. That would be like upgrading to a better room on the Titanic.”

“Is that what you think of marriage?” Ariel sounded hurt, as if we were married to each other.

“No, of course not. It was just a figure of speech. I divorced because it was over, not because there was another woman. I wish there had been.”

“So you haven't been in a serious relationship since?”

Ariel was giving me the third degree. But I liked her interest in me.

“No. There wasn't anyone in particular that I wanted to spend more than a week with. So I took small bites of different apples.”

“Any children?”

“Yes, two teenagers, a boy and a girl.”

“Do you see them often?”

“As much as I can between trips.”

We were now headed into quicksand. Soon she'd ask where they lived in Israel. What would I say? That they lived in New York? Then would come the next question, and soon enough my cover story would be blown. I started regretting allowing myself to get personal.

“Where did you go to school?”

“The routine route. Tel Aviv public schools; then Tel Aviv University, international relations; and finally Tel Aviv University law school.”

“So you're a lawyer,” she said. I couldn't identify her tone of voice, whether she was being appreciative or mocking. “Have you ever practiced law, I mean the usual way?”

“Yes, at the beginning, but I preferred the more exciting government work.”

I was praying she would change the subject quickly, hence my laconic answers. I couldn't lie to those huge blue eyes. But at the same time, I didn't want her to stop the personal direction she was taking with me.

“I'm tired,” I said, sounding like a yawning husband getting off the couch. “I've had a long day, flying from Munich and all that. Can I see you tomorrow? I want to do some sightseeing.” I needed to continue our conversation. It would take more time to gain her trust and make her talk about her father's business. After all, that was the reason I had come after her, not to admire her eyes.

“You never told me why you came to Moscow. Was it only looking for me?” She was putting me on the spot again.

“Hey, isn't that the question I asked you earlier?” I teased, trying the flirtation route. “I never got an answer and now you pitch it back?”

“I don't know if I should tell you,” said Ariel teasing back, inviting me to keep on asking. But I decided to take it seriously and continue to build confidence between us.

“I respect your reluctance to discuss with a stranger the details of your Moscow visit,” I said. “But the same rule applies for me. I told you earlier that I'm here to help you. I've already shown you that in fact we could be working on the same project. How do you think I knew about your kidnapping? How is it I have the letter your father wrote you? Do you think I broke into the Mielke Bank in the wee hours of the night with a mask on my face and broke the lock of your safe-deposit box just to retrieve the letter? Why the suspicion?”

“I'm sorry,” said Ariel, a little shyly. “So many things have happened during the past two weeks that have turned me from a naive scholar into a suspicious person.”

“Do you feel you can trust me?”

“I don't know. Many of the things I believed in went up in smoke, including the speed with which I used to trust others.”

“I can understand that,” I said.

Ariel looked at my face and added, “I guess when I see the letter I'll feel more able to trust you.”

Liking the change of wind, I called, “Waiter!” No response. More calls for help, but to no avail.

“Watch this,” I said. “I'll show you the fastest way to attract the attention of a waiter deliberately ignoring you.” I took my copper plate, knife, and fork and dropped them on the floor. The sound of clanking metal had the desired effect: the waiter came right over. I paid the bill and we went up to my room. I opened my briefcase and gave Ariel her father's letter.