Tsunami Connection (2 page)

February 5,
2012

At midnight, an ocean breeze
straggled across the rooftops to the crown of a luxury duplex on Melchette
Street, Tel Aviv. Kefira's kea parrot, Bo, his wings regularly clipped, perched
on the bamboo chair back of Kefira's chaise lounge. The three of them, Yochana,
Kefira and Bo, sat on the roof, overlooking all of Tel Aviv towards the
Mediterranean. Bo affectionately nibbled her ear while running his beak through
her hair. Two soft packs of Noblesse, one of them empty, crumpled and crunched
into a ball, lay beside a blood red Swarovski crystal ashtray of a size and
type not seen in North America for a quarter of a century. Everyone in Israel
still smoked. The dry, musty sharpness of tar and nicotine burning provoked
early childhood reassurance and memories, the acrid odor producing calm.

"Haven't you heard that those things'll kill you,
Immaleh
,"
said Kefira in reaction to a waft of smoke annoying her nostrils, using a
modern Israeli diminutive for Mama.

The younger woman turned her head and brushed her hair with
her fingers, unbalancing the kea, which fluttered its wings and crackled jungle
sounds into the soft night air.

"Come … sit beside me, close to me. I need to feel your
warmth," said Yochana, not quite butting a half smoked cigarette in the
mound of ashes in the ashtray.

"Let me empty that monstrosity," said Kefira, not
yet willing to give in to her mourning.

"Don't flush them. The toilet blocks so easily,"
replied the older woman, knowing that she had almost broken through her adopted
child's defensive barriers. "That's it! There is a steel canister near the
back of the balcony. Don't forget to seal the lid. Now come,
Yakiri
,"
pleaded Yochana, using the affectionate name she always used for Kefira.

The younger woman reluctantly gave in to the need to be a
child again, and rushed to the chaise lounge to embrace her stepmother. A deep
sob escaped from her lungs and tears flowed from her large, dark eyes while
charcoal from her natural, Bedouin eye makeup streaked her cheeks.

"They are all gone,
Imma
. I couldn't save them.
It was so fast," said the younger woman, her blackened tears staining the
rough silk of Yochana's pantsuit.

"The Lord sometimes giveth wisdom by his
gestures," replied Yochana, halting on the words.

Kefira cleared her eyes and looked up, puzzled.

"Unlike you to wax biblical. I'm not particularly
religious, but that quotation sounds unusual to me."

"Look! It worked! You
’ve
stopped sobbing and you're already back on your feet. That's my sweet, strong
Yakiri
.
We have to talk. Enough self-pity - you have no time for seven days of
mourning. The spear survived."

"That name, it's like child's play. You and your bloody
codes. This is real. I can still smell death on my skin. I need a hot shower.
Then I want some espresso, and a cognac," said Kefira, somehow overcoming
some of the pain from her loss.

The stepdaughter broke away from Yochana's cuddle, stood up
and walked towards the ten-foot high, tinted patio doors. As she crossed the
air-conditioned threshold into the sunroom, she heard the pulse of Yochana's
phone. It had a distinctive whale-sound ring tone.

Kefira walked through her childhood home and found her way
to the shower room. Her silk tank top and shorts slipped to the floor. The cold
marble caressed the bottoms of her feet. Hot water sprang from all three sides
of the cabinet and sluiced from above in the form of a waterfall, cascading
from the Italian marble walls. She scrubbed repeatedly with a sea sponge and
her favorite oatmeal soap. Tears welled up once more in her eyes.

Get a grip
, she demanded of herself as she switched
the water to cold in the shower. The chilly water startled her and helped her
overcome the feelings of accumulating angst. Her training helped, but did not
erase the events of the last few days.

Kefira came back out onto the rooftop garden and Yochana was
no longer alone. A roly-poly, red-faced, fifty-ish year old man in a crisp
yellow dress shirt and mufti pants was laughing at his own joke. Both Yochana
and he turned towards the sunroom door as Kefira came out. Sam jumped to his
feet, betraying a day when he was in better shape, and thrust a soft hand into
Kefira's already extended right hand.

"Finally, we meet. Though you seem almost like a
daughter to me," he said as he used their handshake to propel her into his
bear hug.

His obvious warmth and meeting him with Yochana left Kefira
at a loss. Unlike her usual self, she acquiesced, playing the type of charade
that was her life, pretending she had never met him. He nodded his head near
her shoulder and exhaled deeply, sighing painfully.

"Words cannot cover your loss, our loss," he said
as he stepped back, changing to an all-business personality. "I commend
your timely report and agree one hundred percent with your conclusions. Only
have one small enquiry, if I may?"

"I report to my control. How exactly did you get my
report so fast?"

Yochana intervened. "Sam and I have always worked
closely. After all these years, you are in front of the partner I always said
was not in your 'need to know'. He has always seen all of your reports
promptly."

"What can I help you with?" said Kefira.

"How did you manage to get back into Israel? There was
a hole in your timeline."

"Trade secret–"

"Kefira," said Yochana, raising her tone, implying
that the younger woman should answer the question.

"Feminine mystique at the casino in Taba – I crossed on
a Canadian passport that I always carry with me. If I give it to you, it's
blown."

"Was it Anna Chapman?"

"There goes a great cover. You do your homework,"
she said, but she did not give up the passport that she always carried with her
in case of emergency.

"Did you know that the guy you drove over with has ties
to the Russian mafia? Did you arrange to meet him there in advance?"

"As I said earlier, I report to my control. Perhaps you
should address your questions to her."

"Where exactly are you going with this, Sam? I can't
say I like the tone or the tack you're taking," said Yochana.

"I'll drop it. I think I see what happened. Thinking on
your feet'll keep you alive. But that doesn't help me much. I got no end of
shit about that helicopter in the desert. It's not easy to explain away a dead
pilot and co-pilot, not to mention fourteen highly trained insert commandos who
have no known existence. Our clean-up people managed to sanitize the site before
any Bedouin got to it. It was tight, though. Once again, your communication
gave us a much needed heads up. By the way, you showed uncanny foresight using
untagged clothing and storing the uniforms in your 'copter," said Sam, a
little skepticism leaking into his voice.

"That was–"

"That's enough, both of you," interrupted Yochana.
"You're a bad boy today, Sam."

"You can't imagine the grief I am getting from the old
man himself. Anyway, you're covered. The bodies of the Captain and co-pilot
will be laid out in state today. The story is that they died in a training
accident."

"That's what I thought you'd arrange," said
Yochana.

"As both of you know, the rest of the team does not
exist on paper. Their families are all deceased," added Sam.

Kefira glared at the two of them as they did their
bureaucratic dance. She thought that there was more than meets the eye
transpiring here, and she catalogued it away for future reference.

"Might I be so foolish as to enquire as to why you were
training in Egypt? If I remember correctly, we gave that land back after the
Camp David Accords in 1979," said Sam.

"You're not treading very softly here, Sam," said
Yochana, her tone insistent.

"Yochana, the Prime Minister's foot is on my neck right
now, in case you haven't noticed."

"Kefira dear, there is 'need to know' here. Could you
give us a minute?"

"I'll get myself another cognac. Want one Sam,
Yochana?"

Sam's face reddened. A vein on his temple was twitching
visibly and he was rubbing it absentmindedly. Yochana had known him a long
time. She knew that he was highly distracted.

"I think an espresso is what I need," said Sam.

"You know my favorite, a double, I think," said
Yochana.

Kefira walked purposefully towards the patio doors, and then
stopped half way. "I'd better get that ashtray again. You've managed to
fill it up for a second time." Her radar was up, hoping to catch a stray
word of this uncharacteristic display of anger by Yochana. There was no such
luck as Sam fumed and Yochana adjusted the pleats in her silk garment. Once
inside the sunroom, Kefira went to the liquor cabinet, put the ashtray down and
poured two doubles of Camus Cognac into fresh snifters. The odor of liquor
filled the air near her. She bent over and breathed in the bouquet. The drinks
remained on the cabinet.

Then Kefira picked up the ashtray and walked towards the ash
tin. She crinkled her nose at the reek of tobacco rot as she opened the top.
After emptying the ashtray in the metal can positioned explicitly for that
purpose in the sunroom, she sat down in one of the plush, cotton covered sun
chairs of Scandinavian design. Sitting, she focused on Yochana's lips, and
found that Yochana was more expressive than usual. She was gesticulating with
her hands in front of her face more than she customarily did, perhaps with a
view to blocking Kefira's lip-reading skills.

Kefira's special training did pay off somewhat. She caught
the names, Shafiq and then Mukhabarat, on the lips of her 'control' before
Yochana motioned for her to come. She rose from the chair and cataloged the
information.
An Egyptian man's name and the Egyptian secret police.

Kefira picked up the alcohol and walked back out onto the
roof garden. Bo called out, "Kefira, Kefira," as she strolled by his
enclosure. As Yochana and Sam talked, Sam had made himself busy preparing his
espresso on an outdoor coffee maker situated on the same table as a small
stainless steel Weber barbecue grill. Kefira handed a snifter to Yochana and
raised her own to her nose, savoring the aroma. When Sam turned and came back
to them, the ritual of making coffee had put him much more in control of
himself.

"Let's get back to today's planned agenda, shall
we?" suggested Yochana.

"I rest my case," said Sam, half-heartedly
accepting Yochana's stonewalling tactics.

"I'm all ears. Such high-level squabbling. Rarified air
here. I always wondered how controllers solved their differences."

"Don't you start now, too," said Yochana.

Sam accidently dropped his empty espresso cup and it
shattered on the marble floor.

"
Masel Tov
," blurted all three of them.

They looked at one another, shrugged and burst into
laughter, breaking the tension.

"For a
goy
, you got that pretty quick,"
jousted Sam.

"In the Mossad, at that.
L'chaim
," added
Kefira.

Sam reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small stack
of pictures that looked as though they had come out of someone's family album.
He turned them over in his hands before reaching over the green marble coffee
table.

"These are photos of someone you can trust with your
life. He'll meet you either in Paris or in Great Britain, whichever you
choose."

"Sam and I have both agreed that this problem needs
concerted action. It needs a team to solve it," said Yochana.

"You know I normally work alone."

"We have to insist. There may be more here than meets
the eye. That RPG was from our own stock of Russian weapons. This has deep
national security issues attached to it," added Sam.

"Who is he?" asked Kefira, feigning real interest.

Yochana stood up and came to sit beside Kefira. A mother's
care and sensitivity was once again melting her demeanor. She held Kefira's
hands. Sam seemed to be wilting as well.

"You two are 'creeping me out'," she said,
returning unconsciously to adolescent usage. "Who's he, my prodigal
brother or something?"

"Almost
Yakiri
, my sweet – do you remember when
you came to me?"

"What kind of a question is that?" asked Kefira.

"You know you gave my life meaning. In many ways you
completed me," said Yochana.

"Boy, get to the point."

The three of them were dancing around something, so Sam
intervened. He cleared his throat and turned over another picture in his hands.

"Look at this," said Sam as he handed Kefira the
picture in his hand.

"That's me, and who is the young boy?"

"He lost his parents, just like you. He is a bit
younger than you, but he came to me at almost the same time as you came to
Yochana. Yochana and I acted as your parents, despite the fact that neither of
you knew explicitly about the other parent."

"In a way, he's my half-brother. What's his name?"

"Zak. There's no blood connection, but without knowing
it, you two had the same adoptive parents," said Yochana.

"You two even talk like an old couple, finishing each
other's ideas."

The three of them took the time to look over the pictures in
front of them. Kefira appeared to warm to Sam too easily for Yochana.
But
then,
thought Yochana,
her personality always opens up when it is
necessary in real life.
Kefira moved around the coffee table and motioned
for Sam to stand. Her hug warmed him to the core.

"Somehow I always knew," she said, wiping a tear
from her eye.

Kefira uttered a Hebrew expression meaning great or amazing,
"
Sababa
." She continued, ″This week, life took something
away, but arranged to give something back, too."