Mishka Ben-David - Forbidden Love in St. Petersburg

I marked out a middle-class district on the crest of a road leading to a wealthy neighbourhood atop a large wooded hill in the very heart of the city. There, I came across a street of dilapidated colonial-era houses that managed to retain the charm of bygone days, and picked a particular two-storey building doomed for demolition. This, I decided, would be my parents’ house, the house in which I was born. I photographed the street and the building, and even went inside and noted the names that were still fixed to the doors and mailboxes. Neighbours looked at me inquisitively and I concluded that asking about a ‘Mr Thomas Calvin’ who had lived here about twenty years ago with Indira, a local woman, would help the credibility of my cover. I was directed to an elderly resident who assured me that no Canadian had lived there since 1947. I updated my story, deciding that my father would be the Indian who’d come from here and met my mother in Canada where I was born. I’d concoct the rest of the legend in Canada. I also decided that the time had come for me to get to know India as a normal tourist.

I quickly visited the sites of Bombay and then embarked on a long journey through Rajasthan. I was fascinated by the way the women’s colourful saris blended in with the desert landscape, and by the smooth fusion of fruit and vegetable markets and roadside eating places, where pigs foraging for food in the garbage mingled with the diners. At this stage of being a novice operative, my risks were limited. The two biggest dangers I faced were driving amid the charred remains of vehicles that had crashed during the night, and overtaking trucks with stickers in English at the back asking passers to ‘horn please’. Apart from having no lights they had no wing mirrors either.

Obeying the orders of my controllers I passed up on visiting the Taj Mahal and northern India–they preferred that there be ‘gaps’ in my knowledge of India and that I not sound like a run-of-the-mill tourist. But I didn’t let go of the chance of visiting Benares–or Varanasi–on the banks of the Ganges.

For hours that turned into days, I sat on the ghats, watching women washing saris and spreading them out to dry, a fascinating display of colour and sound; I gazed at the people coming to bathe in the sacred waters, at the monks praying and meditating, seemingly oblivious to the interminable buzz of life all around them, and at the street vendors pedalling their wares. I was astonished by the otherworldly calm that appeared to envelop the entire scene. This air of tranquillity also hung over the narrow side streets and alleyways covered in cow dung, where I had to move aside whenever a cow lumbered towards me. The alleyways were far too narrow for both of us to pass, and the animal certainly had no intention of making room for me. While in Benares I even took some lessons in yoga and meditation, surprised by how good they made me feel. I don’t know how many Mossad operatives practise these arts, but I decided I’d continue even when I started my real job. Like so many other plans I had at the beginning, this was another that never materialized.

My surprising inner response to yoga and meditation told me that the main elements of my cover story were in place, I’d succeeded in feeling Indian; after a delay of several years I’d got closer to my old and somewhat whimsical desire to become a Buddhist monk and, if not for real, then at least to feel that some bits of my soul were truly Indian. Before the deadline was up, I’d finished establishing the Indian part of my legend.

Back home I found that Orit had been missing me, wanting me, but was also angry and worried. So this is how it’s going to be? I’m going to be a grass widow for weeks at a time whenever you go away? Just so you know, I can’t take it. I don’t know what you do to satisfy yourself, but I’m climbing the walls.

I didn’t have an answer, and didn’t have the guts to say, ‘ride your bike’. Luckily the trip to Canada was shorter–my controllers were able to point me directly to places that would become part of my legend. The subsequent trips were also shorter–to Tokyo, Seoul, Hong Kong and Singapore–and were designed to establish my identity as a businessman specializing in East Asia. I called them business-card-collecting journeys.

Then came the operational trips. Representatives of a North Korean firm had arrived in Hong Kong to close a deal with a Syrian company, and HQ wanted samples of the documents they’d signed there. A shadowy Chinese businessman was putting together inexplicable deals with Persian Gulf Emirs, and HQ wanted to know who the Chinaman really was. A suspicious cargo was being loaded onto a ship in Shanghai and HQ also wanted to know what the cargo looked like and the name of the vessel carrying it.

Before every such trip there was a briefing, a presentation of intelligence, a preparatory drill, and a discussion of what might happen and the possible responses. There was also a pep-talk at which the head of the division would explain the importance of the information I’d be bringing back. I almost always delivered the goods, making use of everything I’d learned, of my personal and business cover, my creativity, and more than anything else, of my audacity.

In the hotel where the North Koreans were staying, I managed to have my room upgraded so that I was moved to their floor. With the help of a smile and a modest tip to the chambermaid I got copies of the documents HQ had asked for. I ensconced myself in the lobby where the shadowy Chinaman met the sheikhs and secretly photographed him. Afterwards, as I demonstrated my knowledge of Chinese ideograms to the receptionist, she helpfully translated the characters of the man’s name from the hotel register. In Shanghai, I toured the city’s port with a local exporter, claiming that I was about to purchase some very expensive equipment and needed to see exactly how the goods would be loaded. He also photographed me against the background of the ship and its unknown cargo, which experts at air force HQ later identified as medium-range missile launchers.

I didn’t always deliver a comprehensive report of what I had done to accomplish the mission–my controllers certainly wouldn’t have been happy to know about the mistakes I’d made as an enthusiastic novice, such as climbing the port fence to get a better shot of that vessel.

My routine was, in fact, entirely practicable. I was usually away for no more than a week every month. I acquired skills, a good knowledge of the field, experience, and confidence. Orit too learned to more or less put up with my short trips, and ‘Magic’ longed for my return, as I yearned for her.

This was the pattern of my work for almost two years. On only two or three occasions did anyone suspect me, forcing me to produce my papers or use my cover story which always sounded credible.

Once HQ was confident of my abilities, they began sending specialists with me–surveillance personnel, men with experience of breaking into properties, lookouts, photographers, recruiters. With their assistance I was assigned to deal with more complex missions. Within about another year I had a highly trained team around me, able to provide far better intelligence than I’d been able to on my own.

I no longer had to sit for hours on end in hotel lobbies waiting for meetings between Asian manufacturers and Middle Eastern buyers–the lookouts did that and alerted me when the target subjects turned up. I didn’t have to plant hidden cameras–the professional photographers took care of that, arriving whenever I needed them and then departing without leaving a trace. And I no longer had to entrust my fate into the hands of kindly chambermaids. Instead, I would call the break-in team who skillfully, swiftly, and quietly let themselves into any room, expertly opened any case, enabling the photographers to take their shots. Within minutes they were gone. The recruiters, past masters in interpersonal relations, made contact on my behalf with guards, drivers, anyone, in fact, who had to be distracted, so that my team and I could gain entry to virtually any place we needed to and do our job.