Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

“Why?” asked Eric.

“According to DeLouise's letter to Ariel, Guttmacher is holding documents for her, supposedly a road map to her father's money. I don't trust this guy, and I think he has his own agenda. That's why I need to hear your thoughts about a meeting between these two before the break-in.”

“What do you recommend?”

“I tend to think that Ariel should not be allowed to meet him. Not now. She's not safe here, she's already been victimized three times, and until this matter clears up, I think she'd be better off at home in Israel.”

“That's her interest,” said Eric. “What's ours?”

“That should be obvious,” I said, trying to hide my anger at his callous attitude toward her safety. “A meeting with Ariel could alert him. She could talk, mention me or the new kidnap attempt – she might scare him off. Once she goes to meet him, she's out of our control. I don't think Guttmacher should be given a reason or opportunity to review the DeLouise situation now. He may remove the file; take it home, what have you. There's no urgency in having Ariel meet Guttmacher just now, so I suggest that she return to Israel and meet him another time.”

Eric said, “Benny?”

“I think Dan is right. We don't need any distractions here. She might talk. Send her home.”

Although Eric eventually agreed with Benny's and my conclusions, I still didn't like his attitude. He was the kind of person who'd throw a drowning man both ends of a rope.

“OK, guys,” I said as I got up, “I'm tired; I'm going back to the hotel. Call me when things get hotter.”

Eric managed to surprise me. “The operation is scheduled for Saturday night. The center of command will be located in a suburban safe house. Be ready at your hotel at 4:00 P.M.”

“OK,” I said, not showing my excitement. I turned to Benny and said in Hebrew. “Call me later,” and left.

I went back to my hotel room and fell asleep easily. I'd gotten a lot off my chest.

The following morning I saw a note inside my door. A single sentence written in Hebrew: “Where are you?”

I went to the dining room and saw Ariel waiting for me. She was a knockout in a close-fitting dark blue business suit with a white blouse.

“Good morning,” I said as I sat down next to her. “Sleep well?” I paused a moment. Her clothes told me where she thought she was heading, so I had to make a move.

“Where are you going so dressed up?”

“To meet Guttmacher,” she said.

“You haven't talked to him, have you?”

“No, you said no phone calls. Is there a problem? I need to see what my father left with that man.”

“Yes, there's a problem.” I turned serious. And I meant it. “I've spoken to some people and they don't think it would be a good idea for you to remain in Munich, even for one day and an important meeting. Remember, you were already kidnapped once, and we know it's connected to your father. There were two more attempts in Moscow, and we don't know who's responsible for that either.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, with mounting anxiety.

“I'm saying you must pack and leave Munich now. Go back home; you'll be safe there.”

“And what about you?”

“I'll stay here until we resolve all the questions. Please, go back. Believe me, it's the only way – for now.”

“Did you know this when we were in London? I guess you only wanted me here to get the file. And I was stupid enough to think that you had other reasons.”

“Please, Ariel,” I said. “You couldn't be more wrong. I led you here because I was too blind to see the risks you're exposed to. I admit I wanted the file. I wanted you near me as well. You know that, don't you? But now I've got to think only of your best interests. I'm sorry if you think I misled you; I meant well. Please bear with me. There are only a few remaining pieces to the puzzle and then we can put this whole thing behind us. I promise.”

There were tears in Ariel's eyes. She didn't offer any words and I didn't know what else to say. If she was upset at me for using her to get to the file, it was just a passing shower before the storm I'd be caught in when she found out the real truth about who I was and why I had looked for her.

“When do you want me to leave?” Her voice was tight.

“Right away. I think there's an afternoon flight to Tel Aviv – let's finish breakfast and call El Al.” I could do nothing to fill the sudden blankness between us.

Later we rode in tense silence in the cab on our way to the airport. I had a lot on my mind and a few words to say, but it wasn't the time for soul-searching, or for the truth for that matter. I hoped she'd understand. But judging from her reaction, I'd need more than just hope; I'd have to make it happen.

There was no dramatic good-bye scene at the airport. Only more silence. Before she disappeared through passport control and into the departure hall, though, Ariel turned to look at me and smiled a shy smile.

I went back to the city feeling empty. Why did I have to put my work first, above everything else? I knew the answer – my training. But they never taught me how to overcome human emotions like the ones I had now. I knew I'd just done the right thing, personally and professionally. I was protecting Ariel by sending her back to Israel. At any cost she had to be kept away from Guttmacher, the Iranians, and the Colombians. This didn't make it any easier to take, however.

All of a sudden I found myself with nothing to do. I had to sit and wait. It was maddening to go from frantic, busy days to a day of nothing, much less two or three. I called Lan. No, the responses to the subpoenas served upon American Express concerning the R. De Louise credit card had not arrived yet. I had to give in. I had two days to kill but no idea what to do with them.

I had been out of the loop during my Moscow trip. I hoped that the planners of this sensitive covert operation had a firm understanding of the bureaucratic process of conducting a joint operation with another intelligence operation. I had never participated in such a joint venture. But my experience had taught me that the very nature of bureaucracies’ hierarchical structures limited the degree of their operational success. Just as the speed of light is the ultimate speed, government bureaucracies cannot move effectively beyond a preset operational timetable. Rules must be followed; memoranda drafted and, at every level up the chain of command, signed by someone with the authority to sign; reporting and approvals must be obtained, and all that takes time. While each bureaucratic level in turn complies with all its requirements, the operational deadlines slip. The result is fatal holdup. If the operation is civilian, the damage is mostly financial. But if the operation is in either the military or intelligence categories, heads could roll. Therefore, if you want to run a successful covert operation, the person in charge on location must have full, decentralized authority to initiate actions as changing circumstances require.

Since this was a joint effort, these problems were now doubled. If Eric was going to need approvals from both his boss at the CIA and from the Mossad each time a departure from the original plan became necessary, the operation was doomed. As a rule, operational cooperation between two foreign intelligence services is complex. There's a built-in distrust embedded in organizations in which “suspicion” is the motto. The difficulty here was greater because the CIA, much larger and more rigid, had to cooperate with the smaller and more flexible Mossad.

B y Saturday noon I was anxious and tense, the same kind of feeling I had before I went on incursion across the Israeli-Syrian border or on subsequent Mossad assignments. Failure here was not an option. Tom came on time as usual to pick me up. Again, he was like a monk who'd taken a vow of silence. We drove to a safe house in Gernlinden, on the outskirts of the city. I'd lost count of the number of Munich safe apartments I'd been in by now, but I was sure that there'd been more than ten. This time the neighborhood looked similar to that of Bart's pension. The two-story villa was secluded and surrounded by shrubs and birch trees.