Triple Identity (33 page)

I listened and looked politely at the monuments left, right, and center, but my mind was elsewhere. What was Ariel doing in Moscow? Must it have something to do with her father? If yes, then was it possible that she worked for the Iranians? I found that impossible to believe. But if her visit is innocent, why the clandestine manner of her meeting this morning, and why her lies about it? Was DeLouise hiding his assets, or a road map to them, in Communist Russia? I was also troubled by my repeated attempt to lock myself into a theory that her visit to Moscow was related to her father. There certainly could be other reasons. I decided to continue investigating all the options. I gave Ariel a few more minutes as a tour guide, then said, “I've seen enough here; let's get some hot tea.” In my dictionary that meant “Let's have a candid conversation.”

Ariel looked surprised. I debated whether to confront her or to keep quiet and see what might happen.

“How long do you intend to stay in Moscow?” she asked.

“One or two more days, or until I'm told to return,” I tried telling the truth. “Why do you ask?”

“I simply want to know.”

“And how long will you be here?” I retorted.

“We need to talk,” said Ariel, and touched me on the arm, sending shivers down my spine. “Let's find a café nearby.”

We looked around. Not a café in sight. “Let's go back to the hotel. I'm sure it'll be more comfortable there.” I said.

As we entered the lobby of the Cosmos, the same sense of danger that I'd felt in the Munich hotel came over me. I thought I saw a familiar face. A dark-skinned man passed me but vanished before I could get a good look at him. Were my instincts correct, or had they betrayed me? Neither the Iranians nor the Colombians could have known I was in Moscow. Did I have new rivals? Was I the one attracting the attention, or Ariel? Why was that a familiar face?

I didn't say anything to Ariel.

“Do you want to sit in the lobby?” I asked.

“No. Let's go up to my room, it'll be quieter there.”

Somehow I didn't expect that our conversation would be quiet. When we entered the elevator, I saw the man again as the doors closed. When we got to the eleventh floor, I suggested, “Why don't you go ahead to your room. I'll be along shortly.” Wanting to sound serious but not to unduly alarm her, I added, “Don't open the door to strangers.”

I took the next elevator to the restaurant level and used the phone to call the American Embassy. With mounting security concerns, I had to forego some precautions.

“Charles Hart, please,” I said when the receptionist answered.

“Mr. Hart's office,” said a voice with a southern drawl.

“This is Dan Gordon. Is Mr. Hart available?”

“Hold on.”

“Charles Hart,” said a man in an impatient tone. Not another Eric, I hoped.

“I'm calling you from a pay phone at the Cosmos Hotel. You may have been advised of my arrival.”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “Of course.”

“I located one of the matter's subjects here. But I believe I've grown a tail.”

“Do you see trouble on the way?”

“I don't know, but one guy passed me twice today. Not a coincidence. He made an effort not to be noticed.”

“Better go to your room and sit tight. I'll send my men. What's the room number?”

“I'm in 1901 but I'll be in room 1123 for the next hour or so.”

I hung up. I was certain that the KGB was eavesdropping on the embassy's telephone line as well as all public phones in hotels. I didn't care if they'd listened. President Bush and the Soviets were in delicate negotiations over the Kuwait invasion; Bush was calling on the Soviets not to oppose U.S. leadership of a coalition to liberate Kuwait. The Soviets wouldn't like hostilities on their home ground over irrelevant matters.

I went upstairs to Ariel's room thinking that I had to give her some straight talk. From the corridor, I heard the sound of a scuffle. I ran toward her open door. The man I'd seen flash by me earlier had a gun in his right hand and a grip on a struggling Ariel with his left. He was clearly too busy to hear me coming. I slugged him on the side of his neck as hard as I could with the edge of my hand, fingers together, just the way they'd taught me years ago. The blow worked — the man sagged, dropped his gun, and Ariel slipped free.

“Call for help! Quick!”

Ariel ran to the telephone. “Room 1123, I need help! I'm being attacked!” she shouted in English.

Still in action, I held the guy up with an arm, got to his carotid with the other hand, and pressed until he went all the way to the floor. He'd be in a quieter world for the next hour or so. I stepped back, breathing heavily. I hadn't had so much exercise since I'd left the Mossad. Ariel moved to me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I'm not hurt. Just breathing a little hard.”

Ariel looked at me and said, “Oh my God, you're bleeding.”

I touched my shirt. It was soaked with blood, but I didn't feel any pain. “No, I think it's his blood. I'm OK. I'm not hurt.”

She came closer to me. “I'm really frightened.” I hadn't heard those words in Hebrew from a woman for such a long time. They softened and invigorated me at the same time.

I held her close. She leaned her head against me, almost as if she was listening to my heartbeat. We held each other for a moment, then parted, embarrassed at our sudden intimacy.

Two men burst into the suite, clubs at the ready. Both were big, over six
feet tall, with blond hair. Physically they looked like American college football linebackers, but their facial features betrayed their Slavic origins: high cheekbones and high foreheads. They got a quick grip on the situation and asked me a question in Russian. I tried to respond in English but apparently they spoke none, so I couldn't have explained anyway. They quickly searched the man on the floor, taking from his pockets his wallet and a couple of sheets of paper. One linebacker handcuffed him while the other barked into the phone.

“We'll be safer in my room,” I said, holding Ariel's hand. I approached one of the Soviet security guards and said, “We'll be in room 1901.” To make sure he understood, I wrote my room number on a piece of paper and gave it to him, gesturing that I was leaving but would return.

I took Ariel to my room. She was still visibly shaken. I made sure there was no surprise waiting for us, then headed straight for the minibar and gave her a shot of vodka.

“Here, drink this. You're safe now. I'll be right back. Just don't open the door to anyone.”

I had to move fast. Charles Hart, the resident CIA station chief, was about to send his men to Ariel's room. But if the hotel security men had already left, her room would be empty and they'd likely come to my room. How could I explain their presence to Ariel? I also wasn't too comfortable leaving her in my room. If we'd been seen together, they — whoever
they
were — might look for her in my room. I had to take her elsewhere, and as quickly as I could.

I quickly ran to Ariel's room and saw the two security officers standing next to the man on the floor. With a mix of broken Russian, some English, and mostly sign language, I explained to them that we are both hotel guests and needed a new room for Ariel to protect her until the police arrived.

“It's too dangerous for her to remain in this room. We don't know why this person tried to kill her and whether he was acting alone.”

They got the message, and one of them escorted me to a vacant room on a different floor. He also signaled that he'd have housekeeping move Ariel's luggage to the new room.

“No.” I shook my head, “don't do that. I'll take care of it.”

I didn't want anyone else at the hotel to know where Ariel's new room was. I quickly returned to my room and saw Ariel standing next to the window looking at the beautiful botanical gardens.

“Come,” I said, “I have a new room for you; I want to move your luggage.”

Ariel gave me her hand. I held it tightly; my heart accelerated its pace. I didn't stop to think if it was only because I had just fought to save her.

I opened the door of her new room and said, “Please stay here until I return. I must make sure that they took away the guy who attacked you. Do you know who he is or why he attacked you?”

“I have no idea,” said Ariel. “When I entered my room he was there. He tried to grab me and put a piece of cloth to my mouth. I smelled chloroform. I'd recognize that smell anywhere, we used to handle it at the university lab; it would put you to sleep in seconds. I struggled and grabbed an unopened bottle of soda from my night table. I tried to hit him with it, but it slipped from my hand and dropped to the tile floor. The bottle exploded. I managed to pick up the narrow end of the bottle and stick it to him at least once. That's when you came in.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him. The room was semidark and I was so startled. He didn't say anything, he just grabbed me.”

“Do you know of any reason why anyone would try to attack you like that?”

“This is the second time,” she said in despair. “Since the first attack on me in Munich was connected to my father, I guess this one could also be somehow connected to him. And to my visit to the Soviet Union,” she added after a short pause.

“We'll talk about it later,” I said, caressing her cheek. “I'm going over to your old room now. Please stay here. You knew how to protect yourself well; I just hope it won't be necessary again.”

“Dan, I served in the Israeli Army; self-defense is something they teach us during basic training,” she said, bridling.

I went back to the scene of the assault. A third security officer was
there. Thank God he spoke English. I asked to see the papers the attacker had in his pockets. They handed me two sheets. On one of them there were a few typewritten lines in English.

The paper had no date, letterhead, or a signature. On the second piece of paper there was only one handwritten line: “Cosmos Hotel, room 1123.”

The security man told me that the police were about to arrive. I didn't think I should waste my time waiting; I'd learned all I could at this point. I gathered up Ariel's things and went back to my room.

I knocked on the door carefully. She opened it with the chain on, then all the way when she saw me.

“Are you OK now?”

“Yes, I think so.” She seemed more calm.

“The police should be here any minute. They'll want to interview you. I think we should talk first.” I had to be more businesslike than I felt.

She sat down on the bed and waited for my questions.

“Ariel, I think you should tell me the real reason you came to Moscow,” I said. “Don't hold back. We should be past that.”

She paused for a moment, looked at me trying to decide whether or not she agreed with me. Finally she said, “I think I can trust you now, Dan. The truth is that I had two letters from my father, not one.”

I waited for her to continue. But when she paused again, I asked, “You mean Pension Bart kept two letters for you?”

Ariel nodded.

“But there was only one letter in the safe at the bank. What happened to the other?”

“I knew my mother could have access to the safe and if anything were to happen to me, the sentence about the envelope Guttmacher was holding for me would lead her to him. Remember, I was clueless in a foreign city. My father was missing, strangers were following me, and the police treated me like a daydreamer.”

“How would your mother know to go to the Mielke Bank and open the safe-deposit box?”

“That's simple. I told her that during our telephone conversation when my captors made me call her.”

I was puzzled. Mina Bernstein had looked surprised when I'd told her I'd found Ariel's safe-deposit box. So she had kept this information from me. I felt disappointed. I thought Mina had told me everything. But why would I be angry with her for withholding information from me while I was deceiving her concerning my motives and my employer?

“What was in the other letter? Do you still have it?”

“No. I couldn't put it in the safe-deposit box; I was kidnapped that same day.”

“So they took the letter with them?”

“Oh, no! Earlier that day I burned parts of it but kept the important stuff.”

“Why did you have to burn it?” I asked. I had a suspicion, but I wanted Ariel to tell me first.

“At the end of his letter my father told me to burn it, but I was afraid that if I burned it completely I'd forget the things he wanted me to do.”

“What was in the letter?”

“The letter described my father's contacts with Guttmacher and the Iranians. There were lists of materials and equipment that the Iranians wanted to buy with names of suppliers and other technical information.”

I hoped that the blood rushing to my face didn't show. “Do you still have that list?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I copied part of it.”

“Where is it? Can I see it?”

“I have it in my luggage. It's just a list of compounds and such details. I did not copy the supplier names and all other details. I left what's left of the original with all the details in Munich.”

I needed to reassure her that she had done the right thing before I ventured further in asking her to get the lists.

“You took a great risk by moving around with the list.”

“Not really,” she smiled. “Don't forget that I have the perfect explanations for that if I'm ever asked. I'm a nuclear scientist, a doctoral candidate, and my scientific articles were published in several professional magazines. I'm on my way to meet scientists in Moscow.”

This information was so important I wanted Ariel to continue without interruption, but she was waiting for my questions.

“Did your father describe his relationship with the Iranians? It's a pretty surprising alliance, I must admit.”