Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

I took the next elevator to the restaurant level and used the phone to call the American Embassy. With mounting security concerns, I had to forego some precautions.

“Charles Hart, please,” I said when the receptionist answered.

“Mr. Hart's office,” said a voice with a southern drawl.

“This is Dan Gordon. Is Mr. Hart available?”

“Hold on.”

“Charles Hart,” said a man in an impatient tone. Not another Eric, I hoped.

“I'm calling you from a pay phone at the Cosmos Hotel. You may have been advised of my arrival.”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “Of course.”

“I located one of the matter's subjects here. But I believe I've grown a tail.”

“Do you see trouble on the way?”

“I don't know, but one guy passed me twice today. Not a coincidence. He made an effort not to be noticed.”

“Better go to your room and sit tight. I'll send my men. What's the room number?”

“I'm in 1901 but I'll be in room 1123 for the next hour or so.”

I hung up. I was certain that the KGB was eavesdropping on the embassy's telephone line as well as all public phones in hotels. I didn't care if they'd listened. President Bush and the Soviets were in delicate negotiations over the Kuwait invasion; Bush was calling on the Soviets not to oppose U.S. leadership of a coalition to liberate Kuwait. The Soviets wouldn't like hostilities on their home ground over irrelevant matters.

I went upstairs to Ariel's room thinking that I had to give her some straight talk. From the corridor, I heard the sound of a scuffle. I ran toward her open door. The man I'd seen flash by me earlier had a gun in his right hand and a grip on a struggling Ariel with his left. He was clearly too busy to hear me coming. I slugged him on the side of his neck as hard as I could with the edge of my hand, fingers together, just the way they'd taught me years ago. The blow worked – the man sagged, dropped his gun, and Ariel slipped free.

“Call for help! Quick!”

Ariel ran to the telephone. “Room 1123, I need help! I'm being attacked!” she shouted in English.

Still in action, I held the guy up with an arm, got to his carotid with the other hand, and pressed until he went all the way to the floor. He'd be in a quieter world for the next hour or so. I stepped back, breathing heavily. I hadn't had so much exercise since I'd left the Mossad. Ariel moved to me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I'm not hurt. Just breathing a little hard.”

Ariel looked at me and said, “Oh my God, you're bleeding.”

I touched my shirt. It was soaked with blood, but I didn't feel any pain. “No, I think it's his blood. I'm OK. I'm not hurt.”

She came closer to me. “I'm really frightened.” I hadn't heard those words in Hebrew from a woman for such a long time. They softened and invigorated me at the same time.

I held her close. She leaned her head against me, almost as if she was listening to my heartbeat. We held each other for a moment, then parted, embarrassed at our sudden intimacy.

Two men burst into the suite, clubs at the ready. Both were big, over six feet tall, with blond hair. Physically they looked like American college football linebackers, but their facial features betrayed their Slavic origins: high cheekbones and high foreheads. They got a quick grip on the situation and asked me a question in Russian. I tried to respond in English but apparently they spoke none, so I couldn't have explained anyway. They quickly searched the man on the floor, taking from his pockets his wallet and a couple of sheets of paper. One linebacker handcuffed him while the other barked into the phone.

“We'll be safer in my room,” I said, holding Ariel's hand. I approached one of the Soviet security guards and said, “We'll be in room 1901.” To make sure he understood, I wrote my room number on a piece of paper and gave it to him, gesturing that I was leaving but would return.

I took Ariel to my room. She was still visibly shaken. I made sure there was no surprise waiting for us, then headed straight for the minibar and gave her a shot of vodka.

“Here, drink this. You're safe now. I'll be right back. Just don't open the door to anyone.”

I had to move fast. Charles Hart, the resident CIA station chief, was about to send his men to Ariel's room. But if the hotel security men had already left, her room would be empty and they'd likely come to my room. How could I explain their presence to Ariel? I also wasn't too comfortable leaving her in my room. If we'd been seen together, they – whoever they were – might look for her in my room. I had to take her elsewhere, and as quickly as I could.

I quickly ran to Ariel's room and saw the two security officers standing next to the man on the floor. With a mix of broken Russian, some English, and mostly sign language, I explained to them that we are both hotel guests and needed a new room for Ariel to protect her until the police arrived.

“It's too dangerous for her to remain in this room. We don't know why this person tried to kill her and whether he was acting alone.”

They got the message, and one of them escorted me to a vacant room on a different floor. He also signaled that he'd have housekeeping move Ariel's luggage to the new room.

“No.” I shook my head, “don't do that. I'll take care of it.”

I didn't want anyone else at the hotel to know where Ariel's new room was. I quickly returned to my room and saw Ariel standing next to the window looking at the beautiful botanical gardens.

“Come,” I said, “I have a new room for you; I want to move your luggage.”

Ariel gave me her hand. I held it tightly; my heart accelerated its pace. I didn't stop to think if it was only because I had just fought to save her.

I opened the door of her new room and said, “Please stay here until I return. I must make sure that they took away the guy who attacked you. Do you know who he is or why he attacked you?”

“I have no idea,” said Ariel. “When I entered my room he was there. He tried to grab me and put a piece of cloth to my mouth. I smelled chloroform. I'd recognize that smell anywhere, we used to handle it at the university lab; it would put you to sleep in seconds. I struggled and grabbed an unopened bottle of soda from my night table. I tried to hit him with it, but it slipped from my hand and dropped to the tile floor. The bottle exploded. I managed to pick up the narrow end of the bottle and stick it to him at least once. That's when you came in.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him. The room was semidark and I was so startled. He didn't say anything, he just grabbed me.”

“Do you know of any reason why anyone would try to attack you like that?”

“This is the second time,” she said in despair. “Since the first attack on me in Munich was connected to my father, I guess this one could also be somehow connected to him. And to my visit to the Soviet Union,” she added after a short pause.

“We'll talk about it later,” I said, caressing her cheek. “I'm going over to your old room now. Please stay here. You knew how to protect yourself well; I just hope it won't be necessary again.”

“Dan, I served in the Israeli Army; self-defense is something they teach us during basic training,” she said, bridling.

I went back to the scene of the assault. A third security officer was there. Thank God he spoke English. I asked to see the papers the attacker had in his pockets. They handed me two sheets. On one of them there were a few typewritten lines in English. Ariel Peled, age 33, female, Israeli citizen. Height: 1.68 m. Weight: approximately 58 kg. Blue eyes, copper-brown hair. Speaks Hebrew, English, and a little French. Very intelligent. Expected to stay at the Cosmos Hotel for about a week, hoping to be contacted by scientists working for the Soviet government concerning sale of nuclear materials. Does not know what the contact looks like. Caution is recommended because she may be protected from a distance.