Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

I weighed my options. One was a short conversation with Benny that could answer my questions or clarify my doubts, or expose me to the Soviets as someone who was more than just a lawyer. Another was to go to the American Embassy; it was plausible for me as a tourist to do that and certainly less risky than venturing into the Israeli Embassy. I chose the former and went to the American Embassy on 19-23 Tchaikovsky Street. Surprisingly, it was easier to enter the Moscow compound than the one in Munich; perhaps American security officers thought that the Soviet perimeter security was better. I considered contacting Eric's counterpart in Moscow. But if he was anything like Eric, I didn't want to spoil this sunny day with its brisk wind and beautiful Moscow sky. So instead I showed the Marine on duty my government ID and asked to use the phone. “Secure?” he asked.

“Yes, if possible.”

“You'll need to clear it first with the RSO, the regional security officer.”

He directed me to the first floor. Minutes later I was talking to my children. Tommy asked me to come home. Karen was more understanding of my work requirements, which made me feel even guiltier. Then I called Eric. No, he had no idea whether Ariel worked for the Mossad; Benny hadn't said anything. And she didn't work for Eric either. Why was I wasting my time on her? It took a strong will not to slam the phone down. Waste time over the beautiful, rosy Ariel? To me it was beginning to sound like a better idea than chasing the secrets of the Iranians.

I called Benny in Tel Aviv.

“Having fun in Moscow?” Benny asked jovially.

“I haven't had time yet. Isn't there something else you forgot to tell me?”

“Such as what?”

“About Ariel, for example.”

“What about her?”

“Is she on your payroll?”

“No. Whatever gave you that idea? Is she there?”

“Yes.”

“Dan, I have no idea what she's doing there. I told you right from the beginning that even my interest in her father was limited and only preventive. With him gone, I have no interest in the daughter.”

“Don't rush. Wait until you see her.”

“Aha, does she have an admirer now? Forgot the rules?”

“No. I keep the rules, but I can still enjoy what I see, can't I?”

“Did she tell you what she was there for?”

“No. I wanted to make sure she was on our side first.”

“I can double-check, but I'm certain that she is not under contract to us.”

“OK. I won't ask you about developments in the other matter. I'm sure I'll hear more from Eric.”

“Thanks for not asking.”

I waved to the Marine in the lobby by way of thanks and went out to the street. Although the country had been disturbed by Gorbachev's consent to the reunification of the two Germanys just a few weeks previously, Moscow was surprisingly quiet.

I went back to my hotel and found a note written in Hebrew from Ariel: “I looked for you. Still want to spend some Moscow time? Call me. Ariel.”

What a few words can do to improve your mood! I lifted the receiver and called her room.

“Hi, Dan,” she said. Her voice was light, cheerful, and open.

“Did you have a good meeting?”

“Yes. Even though I was locked in a room full of smokers. I hated that, but the meeting was good.”

“Whom did you meet, if I may ask?”

“Three Soviet scientists, something to do with my work.”

“Good.” I said. So big blue eyes could lie, too.

“What would you like to do?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “Have you been to Red Square yet?”

“No. But sounds like a good idea.”

“I'll be ready in ten minutes; meet me in the lobby.”

Ariel's sudden eagerness alerted the sleeping sentinels in my brain. She'd lied once; she could lie again. Was she using me now? For what purpose? If she didn't work for Benny or Eric, what was she doing here that was important enough to keep her away from her teaching job and have her tell me phony stories? Had she exposed my cover and true intentions while hiding her father's assets? Was it the investigative attorney in me asking these questions, or my libido?

When I got to the lobby Ariel was already waiting. Dressed in a dark blue skirt and a gray cashmere sweater, she looked as engaging as ever. We took a cab to Red Square. Ariel was holding a tour book and when we got there she assumed the role of tour guide.

“You see that tower? It must be the Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed.” She looked at the book and pointed her finger to the next building. “That must be the monument to Minin and Pozharsky, the leaders of the people's volunteers of the war of 1612.”

“Here, look at that,” she said in appreciation. “This is Lobnoye Mesto,” she pointed at a round stone pedestal facing the Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed. “It was built as a symbol of Calvary. There are rumors that Lobnoye Mesto was used for executions, but in fact it was used to proclaim the tsar's edicts and to hold religious ceremonies.” I said nothing.

We walked toward Senatskaya, the Senate tower that rises high over the Kremlin wall. On the opposite side of the wall the Lenin Mausoleum stood right in front of Spasskaya. With the excitement of a third grader, Ariel grabbed my hand and pulled me. “Come on, look at this tower. It's called Nikolskaya, which means, of course, St. Nicholas. The tower got its name from the icon of St. Nicholas, which was previously displayed on the tower wall.”

I listened and looked politely at the monuments left, right, and center, but my mind was elsewhere. What was Ariel doing in Moscow? Must it have something to do with her father? If yes, then was it possible that she worked for the Iranians? I found that impossible to believe. But if her visit is innocent, why the clandestine manner of her meeting this morning, and why her lies about it? Was DeLouise hiding his assets, or a road map to them, in Communist Russia? I was also troubled by my repeated attempt to lock myself into a theory that her visit to Moscow was related to her father. There certainly could be other reasons. I decided to continue investigating all the options. I gave Ariel a few more minutes as a tour guide, then said, “I've seen enough here; let's get some hot tea.” In my dictionary that meant “Let's have a candid conversation.”

Ariel looked surprised. I debated whether to confront her or to keep quiet and see what might happen.

“How long do you intend to stay in Moscow?” she asked.

“One or two more days, or until I'm told to return,” I tried telling the truth. “Why do you ask?”

“I simply want to know.”

“And how long will you be here?” I retorted.

“We need to talk,” said Ariel, and touched me on the arm, sending shivers down my spine. “Let's find a cafe nearby.”

We looked around. Not a cafe in sight. “Let's go back to the hotel. I'm sure it'll be more comfortable there.” I said.

As we entered the lobby of the Cosmos, the same sense of danger that I'd felt in the Munich hotel came over me. I thought I saw a familiar face. A dark-skinned man passed me but vanished before I could get a good look at him. Were my instincts correct, or had they betrayed me? Neither the Iranians nor the Colombians could have known I was in Moscow. Did I have new rivals? Was I the one attracting the attention, or Ariel? Why was that a familiar face?

I didn't say anything to Ariel.

“Do you want to sit in the lobby?” I asked.

“No. Let's go up to my room, it'll be quieter there.”

Somehow I didn't expect that our conversation would be quiet. When we entered the elevator, I saw the man again as the doors closed. When we got to the eleventh floor, I suggested, “Why don't you go ahead to your room. I'll be along shortly.” Wanting to sound serious but not to unduly alarm her, I added, “Don't open the door to strangers.”