“I know a good one on Reichenbach Street,” he said. Although it wasn't far, we took a cab. The place was bustling, many of the men wearing yarmulkes and beards. I saw Benny's eyes widen when he ogled the plates full of mouthwatering, cholesterol-laden delicacies. We placed our orders for takeout.
Benny caught me off guard. “I think you're angry at me for withholding recent information about DeLouise,” he said in a tone that indicated it was all right with him.
“No, I'm not angry, I'm surprised or disappointed. More of one than the other. I'm not sure which.”
Benny gave me his no-nonsense, sharp-eyed look.
“I couldn't tell you that Dov Peled, aka Raymond DeLouise, made a surprise contact with us after thirty-three years. You know the rules. Need-to-know basis. Even if you were still in the organization, I couldn't have told you unless you needed to know.”
I sat there silently. I knew he was right, but somehow I had hoped that our friendship and common past would be stronger than these rules. I had to realize that even a strong friendship was a matter of degree in this business.
“At least can you tell me if you have Mina Bernstein? I hope that isn't information classified on a need-to-know basis. Even if it is, I need to know.”
“No need to be sarcastic, Dan. Yes, we do. We sent her back to Israel. The lady wouldn't be safe here until Ariel was found.”
I was moderately relieved. Lack of any elaboration by Benny showed me that maybe Mina didn't tell them about the safe-deposit box. Otherwise he would have asked me for a copy of its contents.
“Why did DeLouise call you?” I asked.
“He didn't call me personally. The duty officer forwarded his call to the unit controlling agents operating on foreign lands.”
“What did he want?”
The waiter called our number and we went back to the counter to pick up the order. It smelled great: brathachen (fried chicken), klopse (meatballs), bratkartoffeln (the German roasted potatoes), apfelmus (thick applesauce), doboschtorte (a seven-layer cake with mocha cream), and bread rolls, which in southern Germany are called semmeln. At the last minute Benny ordered kalb schnitzels, breaded veal cutlets on rolls.
I had an instant recollection of my mother's kitchen. These were the same mouthwatering smells, only without her smiling at me and saying, “Come, I prepared your favorite dish, sit down and enjoy.”
“Let's go,” I said. I wanted to continue the conversation outside the restaurant. We stood at the street corner. I zipped up my coat. The sky was clear and the light wind chilled the air.
“What did DeLouise want?” I asked again.
“He needed help. He said that a Colombian drug cartel was after him for some documents implicating them in massive money laundering in the U.S. He said he couldn't call the police because he was wanted by the U.S. Justice Department over the failure of his bank and he was afraid of being extradited to America if he contacted any European police.”
“Couldn't he use his Israeli identity? The U.S. wouldn't have had INTERPOL broadcast an international lookout for someone named Dov Peled. INTERPOL was looking for Raymond DeLouise.”
“Apparently he wasn't sure whether the U.S. government knew about his additional identity. He couldn't risk it.”
“Why did he think the Mossad would help him?” I became curious.
Benny hesitated as a cab drew up. “Let's get in,” he said, in a transparent effort to cut the subject off.
“No, let's walk; it's only a mile or so. We need to clear this up before we get back to the others. Did it have anything to do with his service for the Mossad in the French nuclear installation?”
Benny turned. “Fine, let's walk if you insist. I need the exercise.”
We went on for a while, but Benny said nothing.
“So?” I urged.
“I see you know about his past. So why are you angry at me?”
“Because I thought we were friends. You could have tipped me off about his phone calls to the Mossad.”
“That's the whole point. I couldn't because it might have compromised other things. You know that. Don't forget I wasn't talking to my friend Dan Gordon, I was talking to Dan Gordon who works for the American government.”
“I don't have conflicting loyalties,” I said. “What I learned in the Mossad I keep a secret, and what I learn during my service for the Justice Department I give the same level of confidentiality and loyalty. In my line of work there's no conflict between Israel and the United States; on the contrary, there's a joint interest.”
“I respect your integrity,” said Benny, perhaps feeling that he'd hit a raw nerve. “I'd never doubt that. There's no need to be defensive.”
“So DeLouise was cooperating with the Mossad? Is that it?” I continued, satisfied with Benny's clarification.
“No,” he said decisively, “definitely not. He said that if he was caught by the Colombians they'd kill him, and if the Americans found him first he might be interrogated and the fact that he was planted in France by the Mossad could surface.”
“So he wanted the Mossad's help in return for his silence? Is that all?”
“Generally yes,” said Benny, relieved that I seemed to be satisfied by this. “He was subtly blackmailing the Mossad. We weren't going to be blackmailed, not by him or anyone else.” Benny sounded determined.
“My God. So you people terminated him,” I said in disbelief.
“No,” countered Benny, “of course we didn't. We don't do our own people, you know that.”
“So what did you do?”
“We told him that we couldn't protect him, but if he came to Israel he would be safer from the Colombians.”
“I must say I understand him. There's no absolute safety and I guess he didn't want to be living in Israel or anywhere else in constant fear of the Colombians.” Israel, like most European countries, does not extradite its own citizens, so at least he'd be safe from that. “But, come to think of it, he was born in Romania of Romanian parents, so he could have obtained a Romanian passport. Why couldn't he use it to go to Israel or anywhere else?” I pressed.
“He said that he risked himself once going abroad because he felt that it was unlikely that anyone would think he'd be using the name Popescu again. The potential benefit was substantial: getting enough on the Iranian plans to allow him to trade this information for the termination of any criminal charges against him in the United States. This was a decisive move, which he took in view of the potential benefit. But using the Romanian passport just to escape would have rendered him a fugitive. Only a question of time before he was discovered.”
“A calculated risk,” I concluded, when the information had sunk in.
“Anyway, his suspicion of Guttmacher was growing, and DeLouise felt that his problems should be resolved at their root so that he could return to the United States. He understood that his stay in Europe under Guttmacher's protection was short-lived. Trading on the Iranian secrets was a better choice, because it had the potential to totally extricate him from his problems.”
“What did DeLouise say to your offer to return to Israel?” I asked.
“He said he couldn't because he was afraid to use an airport. He was sure that INTERPOL had every patrol on every border looking for him. Airline records and passport control could have exposed him to the authorities and to an immediate arrest and extradition to the United States.”
“There are many ways of entering and leaving a country without letting the border control know about it,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Of course,” confirmed Benny, “but DeLouise was reluctant to come out of hiding and trust a smuggler who could blackmail him or simply sell him out. Although he never said so, I suspect he wanted us to do the job. Extricate him from Germany, bring him to Israel, and give him a new identity.”
“Did you do it?” I asked, wondering how many more identities DeLouise had.
“Certainly not. From our perspective there was no justification for that. Particularly when facing the risk of confronting the U.S. and Germany. We are not in the business of hiding people who run from the law, even if they were in our service thirty-three years ago.”
“Did you tell him that?”