Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel (23 page)

*     *      *

Jennifer sat next to a small table in the coffee shop, her head resting on her hand. She had sat here only days ago and listened to Dan Greenberg’s story. Could it be only three days? Such a short time had passed since this man had invaded her life and swept her up into a whirlwind blowing her who-knows-where.

She wasn’t at all surprised when Dan materialized out of her thoughts and was coming towards her. He had pushed open the heavy glass door and was now between the outer and inner doors of the entrance, trying to peer inside; but the reflection made this difficult. The inner door opened and he was greeted by the robust aroma of freshly ground coffee, mixed with the plastic small smell of new furniture.

There were only four customers there now, and Dan saw her immediately. She was sitting at the same table they had shared three days before, but this time she sat facing the entrance. With great concentration she was writing something in a thick notebook. Her head was inclined toward the notebook, and he wasn’t sure she had seen him enter.

He hurried to her table. “Hi,” he said warmly, standing above her, then pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Hi,” she returned, smiling with her eyes. “Can’t seem to get rid of you, huh?”

“You could try,” he replied lightly.

Jennifer looked him straight in the eye and said in all sincerity, “I’m not sure I want to.”

They held their glance for a moment in silence, which Jennifer then broke by recounting the recent events. Greenberg listened attentively, nodding from time to time in understanding. Finally he sighed and told her what had been happening with him over the past hour, and how he had come to the conclusion that she was waiting in the coffee shop.

“I knew I could count on you,” Robbins smiled.

“Jennifer,” Greenberg began in a practical tone, “I don’t know how big the mess is that I’ve gotten you into, but I am worried that you’re in danger – perhaps much more seriously than we imagine. I can’t tell you what to do, I have no right to dictate your actions; but I’d feel a lot better if you went someplace else, at least for a few days.”

“I want to be with you,” said Jennifer without a second thought. “Maybe I can help; I want to help.”

“Absolutely not! Under other circumstances I’d be happy for you to come with me,” smiled Greenberg, “but right now…”

“Dan –“

“No way! I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. And besides, you’ve got a job to do.”

“A job? What job?”

“You have to sit down and put this entire affair in writing. That’s
your
insurance policy, Jennifer. Now that you’re involved in this up to your neck, they’re not just going to leave you alone. Only if you’ve got a good bargaining card will you perhaps be safe. To be precise:
relatively
safe. I don’t have to remind you about the two murdered actors. In any case, it will also be my insurance policy.”

“What do you want me to write?”

“Everything I’ve told you, everything that’s happened from the moment you met me – everything. All that you know and all that you imagine.”

“And what do you plan on doing while I sit and write?”

“I don’t know yet. I only know that I have to get myself a really good insurance policy. Right now I see only one possibility, but I don’t like it at all.”

The experienced journalist considered the man sitting before her, watching his facial expressions as he talked. He was open and substantive, without a trace of self-pity.

“I must find a way back to the living; a normal life, with no more living underground; a life that I can live out without having to look over my shoulder.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “And what about you? Did you eat already?”

“Not yet.”

He waved to the waitress.

“I’m not hungry,” said Jennifer. 

“We have to eat something,” he said practically. “As long as we’re here, we can eat, warm up, and gather strength. The moment we leave here we’ll be exposed and on our own, and when we’re on the run it’s impossible to know where or when the next meal will be.”

“You sound like you’re not at all sure you’ll have a next meal,” Jennifer said smiling at him, in an effort to relieve the tension.

The waitress arrived to take their orders. When she had gone, Greenberg asked, “Have you decided where you’ll go from here?”

“Not exactly. I’ve got a cousin in New Jersey, and I thought –“

“Forget it.”

“Why? Why not?” Jennifer asked, surprised.

“No relatives, no friends, and no acquaintances; no place you’ve ever been before – not even an inn or a hotel, not even if it was 30 years ago on a vacation with your parents.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jennifer, the people who are likely to be after you aren’t amateurs. They know their work and know exactly how to carry it out. They’re very smooth and they have the necessary means; but mainly they’re smart. You must not provide these people with even the slightest thread. Hotels, homes, offices, acquaintances, relatives, and friends you’ve had any contact with, even in the distant past – all of them are bound to be checked. This means that from now on you cannot make any calls using your cell phone. They can use it to track your exact location at any given second. Buy a new cell phone that cannot be traced to you – and don’t register it in your name. The best thing would be for you to leave here not knowing where you were headed. Don’t rent a car, don’t hail a cab, and don’t’ use the airports. Just public transportation. Nobody can cover all the bus stops of all the companies, and nobody will remember you later from among thousands of other travelers. And something else –“

“Yes?” Jennifer cut off his flow of words, a slight smile on her face as she recalled the many times Greenberg himself had taken cabs.

“If you take a room in a hotel, don’t use your real name.”

“Dan,” Jennifer asked quietly, “don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit?”

“Believe me, Jennifer, I know who I’m dealing with. If you remember the Vanunu affair – the Israeli nuclear technician who went to Australia and then gave
The Sunday Times
some of Israel’s most guarded atomic secrets – then you’ll recall that the man disappeared from his London hotel as if he was swallowed up by the earth; and practically before anyone noticed he was gone, a typist in the Justice Ministry in Jerusalem was preparing the indictment against him. Do you think the man came back to Israel voluntarily, or turned himself in to the Israeli security forces?”

The journalist’s face clouded over as she remembered the details of the affair. Dan was right, she thought. “How will you find me?” she asked with a certain amount of apprehension.

“When you get settled in a hotel or somewhere else, use the name Helen Carter. Then put an ad in
The New York Times
, in the animals section, offering a three-and-a-half month old pointer for sale. Give your hotel number, but backwards: you don’t want half of New York phoning you for a puppy, right?” Dan joked, and Jennifer smiled back.

“By the way,” he continued, “if I want you to call me, I’ll do the same thing, but I’ll offer a German shepherd, six weeks old.”

“And what will your name be?”

“James Ives. And another thing, the newspaper ad reminded me: any payment for anything from now on must be made only in cash. Don’t use your own credit cards or checks. I’ll give you a safe credit card number you can use; I got it on a visit to Niagara Falls. If you’re asked for your address, it’s better to give a real one; preferably in a huge apartment building with at least 200 flats. That will make it hard for them to find you, of course. In any case, you’ll need money, lots of it. Do you have money?”

The question was so direct and matter-of-fact that Jennifer did not attribute and special importance to it.

“Here? On me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“A little; but I can go to the bank and –“

“No bank, Jennifer,” Dan sighed. “From now on you’ll have to get used to the fact that you are cut off from any official body.” As he spoke, Dan drew a thick envelope from his pocket and held it out across the table.

“Here’s $5,000 and the credit card number you can use to place the ad. If you need more money, contact me.”

The veteran journalist was surprised. She quietly considered the situation. Her first impulse was to throw the envelope back in his face, but she immediately understood how illogical that would be, and how emotional. “More than $5,000? I don’t think I’ll need more than $5,000,” she thought aloud, in a tone of amazement. “But Dan, how long do you think we’ll have to remain underground?”

“I don’t know. I hope I’ll know in a few days. In any case, you must inform your editor you’ll be away. It would be best if you could invent something that would enable you to be gone for a while. You’ll have to come up with something that won’t arouse the suspicions of your colleagues or the people following you. Can you think of anything?”

“I don’t know. A few days’ leave, just like that? I can’t think of a good reason –“

“Maybe there’s an article you began sometime in the past; something you had to drop for lack of information? Something you could revive, let’s say, because you just discovered some new information?”

“What do you think about police involvement in the drug trade in this country? I once started to research it, but had to stop when my main source changed his mind about helping me. Maybe I just got a new angle; a new lead that requires me to be away from home and work for a few days.”

“Very good,” said Dan, his eyes gleaming with approval.

“Okay,” said Jennifer, “but before we say goodbye –“ And she brought her lips to his.

*     *      *

Anyone observing the entrance to the luxurious Park Avenue apartment of Alfred Hess would probably have done a double-take at the sight of the well known figure of Israel’s prime minister, standing at the carved oak door of the eight storey flat, flanked by two bodyguards. One of the big men impatiently pressed the doorbell button.

The door opened, and the gray-haired prime minister stepped between the two guards and into the entrance hall. The premier, known for his down-to-earth ways, removed his long coat with the high collar and hung it on a coat rack.

As he stepped into the living room, his bodyguards swept after him, swiftly checking the apartment. After determining that no danger threatened they withdrew into the entrance hall, shutting the connecting door behind them.

“Where do we stand, Nahum?” the prime minister asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“It’s not good; not at all good, “ the head of the Mossad replied, shaking his head and then biting his lower lip.

The premier studied his subordinate for a long moment, then asked, “What exactly isn’t good?”

“Batman.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Directing him has turned out to be much harder than we expected. It is difficult for us to control his actions and channel the course of events.”

“But despite this you managed to get him here, to the United States,” the prime minister retorted. “By the way, you did this the way you told me?” he asked with genuine curiosity, mixed with suspicion.

“Yes; I set myself up as bait. We let our Batman think that I am directly and solely responsible for his situation; we’ve succeeded in making him feel he has no way out other than by assassinating me. This objective is what has made him come after me. Actually, if you were to analyze the gambit of ours logically, even you would have to conclude that it was brilliant.”

“Brilliant, eh? I understand he came to the United States because of that photograph in which you appear to be a member of my entourage?”

“Yes. The man is smart, and I knew that sooner or later he’d figure out that a cockeyed organization like The Rising couldn’t possibly do to him what we did, and that the Mossad was really behind everything –“

“Are you out of your mind? Do you realize what could happen to us if this operation fails, God forbid, and your man is caught?”

“Nothing at all; in fact just the opposite. If he’s caught, what can he say? Some crazy story about an attempt to enlist him in an underground organization which he
believes
is actually the Mossad? Who’ll believe him? What proof could he provide of the connection between us? No; whoever makes such accusations will be thought of as unstable, disturbed, or – in the best case for us – simply a liar.”

The prime minister considered his words, then finally spoke. “So far you’ve told me nothing new. Why, then, did you call this urgent meeting?”

“I have a different worry: I’m afraid we erred in the choice of our Batman.”

The prime minister looked into his interlocutor’s eyes. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“We’re not sure, but this man is dangerous. He is liable to cause us a disaster. For the moment I don’t believe he’s got any idea what is really going on, but he’s contacted a certain journalist by the name of Jennifer Robbins. You may have heard of her, she –“

“Jennifer Robbins? Have I heard of her? What the hell is he doing with her? How in the world did he reach her? Do you have any idea –“