Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1) (28 page)

Tuesday, 13
th
September,

Sheikh Jarrah, Jerusalem,

Israel Police Headquarters;

The Israeli police headquarters department of Investigation & Intelligence’s office is directly answerable to Tat Nitzav – Brigadier General. The serving Tat Nizatv was Shamir Ben Shalom and as the SOP demands every morning he must be briefed by all units and departments before reporting to Shin Bet (‘Shabak’); the organization responsible for internal security in the Ministry of State for Internal Security.

Shamir received the morning brief, jotted down some notes and made the usual morning call to his superiors. After taking almost a quarter an hour on the phone he replaced it on the cradle and opened his desk drawer. He never smoked but he felt like he needed a cigar right now.

He took a thick file written SECRET on the cover. What was before him was the confirmation of the fears he’d had since the first day he saw the intruder at their home. He never felt comfortable near him. There was something about the guy that made Shamir nervous and edgy. Shamir had talked about his reservations to his brother who had dismissed him as being paranoiac, but over the years in the police he had learnt to trust his instincts. It had saved him many times, and his hunches never failed him.

Now, Shamir was armed enough to launch his offensive. He was sure that he had superiority in weaponry than his gregarious brother. He would bombard his brother first, pre-empt him, and wait until Hanan had fired his last salvo to bring him down with his first shot. Shamir glanced at his wrist watch. It was ten in the morning. He had to take some tea before Hanan came.

As Shamir walked out of his office, the girl at the reception desk smiled at him. She had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen and for a fraction of a second he thought of some forbidden moments with her – it’d be so fluffing interesting and adventurous, but not when his wife was aware of his infidelity. He loved his wife so much that he had never imagined such travesty, and as the thought had come he dispelled it out of his mind.

Hanan was on time, as always and when they were seated in his office Shamir went straight to the point. He did not mince his words with his brother. He had a nation to protect.

“You trusted this guy. You chided me of being paranoid for nothing. Now tell me, does this look like paranoia to you?” he handed him the SECRET-emblazoned red file with the name of one man he distrusted with all his body, mighty, and mind – KENNEDY MAINA.

“It’s from the Mossad.”

*

Hanan felt as though he had been run over by a truck. Of course people change, but he never thought Ken could be what he read from the Mossad’s file. It beat him that Ken was some kind of a watchdog yet a hard incorrigible criminal in the most wanted lists of the police. Whoever had done the job for Shamir was so idle to compile such a comprehensive report on one person if it was not devotion to duty.

As he drove home, Hanan thought of trust. He had trusted Ken as though he were his brother and even though he had no proof to warrant distrust he had learned from experience not to trust everything he heard or saw.

Over the years he had trusted Ken and he was now torn between trusting his brother or his friend. If what Shamir had told him about Ken was true, then he had to do something. Something incredible – hand Ken over to the police. If he decided otherwise, Shamir would not see his political career ruined just because of somebody who had popped up at their home on the run.

Shamir was a guru in the intelligence world and he knew how a clever enemy could infiltrate into the defences of his enemy and fight with him to death yet betray him. If Shamir’s theory of Ken being a terrorist on a mission to foil an attack of strategic-political consequences which included evaluating the stability of Israeli government, and offer industrial-scientific-technological and nuclear-related information to some terrorist cells was substantiated beyond any reasonable doubt, Hanan could be incarcerated or even killed for treason, aiding the enemy.

He wanted some time alone to think it over. After that, he’d be able to make the right decision.

Believe nothing.

Question everything.

Assume nothing.

*

After battling with himself, Hanan decided to talk to somebody; somebody close to him – Shifra. After work he offered to take her out. He enjoyed being with his beloved sister, the loquacious Shifra.

They drove to the Mediterranean beaches to the north of Tel Aviv where the sun went to sleep and left them still talking and dithered. Shifra offered him no advice. She could not believe what she was hearing. Not Ken,
her
Ken.

When words were not there and nothing could be said they drove home in silence, each locked in a gaol of thoughts – Hanan torn between loyalty to a friend, believing his brother and patriotism; Shifra wondering what gonna become of her and the baby she was carrying.

She was torn between telling her brother about her amour with Ken and betraying Ken to cement Hanan’s doubts and give him a reason to hand Ken over to the police. But she decided to keep it to herself, because she loved him.

It was her baby’s father and she could not do that to him.

Jasmine Meira Shalom left the Ichilov Hospital at the Tel Aviv Medical Centre early. She had a date. She had good news to tell him. At least it was good news according to her.

She drove her Hyundai Getz car and parked it outside the Tel Aviv David Intercontinental Hotel. She checked herself in the rear view mirror, applied a little more makeup and made her way to the hotel. She had made the necessary arrangements with the management to be reserved a nice place, cosy and airy, and quietly romantic just for two.

He was there, as beautiful as ever, dressed in his trademark black turtle neck that he wore when out of the office setting, black corduroy jeans and matching black leather shoes.
He looks like a movie star. I like him;
it’s all what she was thinking as she headed straight to him. He rose when he saw her, pulled the chair for her and offered his lips for a light kiss; precisely a brush of lips.

She inquired about his day, told him how she had missed him and all the banter that she had memorized the whole day. They were served promptly and left to enjoy their meal. She was exceptionally happy, something that her date noted and commented about it. She was not always like this.

“Guess what, babe,” she said over dessert. “I’ve something to make your day. Give me that smile of yours.”

“What now, Meira?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Were it a ten-thousand pound bomb he wouldn’t have reacted such pronto. “You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant for us. We’re going to have a baby.”

Instantly his face became deathly pallid taking Meira by surprise. Ominous clouds of silence hang over them. He fiddled with his still full wineglass without saying a word. At last he said, “What are you going to do?”

“What do you expect me to do? The obvious, of course.”

“You can’t have that baby,” his voice was edgy.

She stared at him, more surprised than astound. “You mean I abort my baby,
our
baby?”

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

“How can you say that? I’ve never had anyone in my life until you walked into our home.”

He explained to her his fears, trepidations and apprehensions. She said a big NO to abortion.

“I am not ready for this, Meira. I just can’t do this. You know why. How do you think your parents would take it?”

“My parents have got nothing to do with my life – I call the shots.”

He stared at her as if to consider what he’s about to say next. “I can’t give you what you want, Meira. I am sorry.”

“So am I,” Meira told Ken.

After the usual round with Hanan around the estate I headed to the house to change for the cocktail party which was to begin in two hours. I was ready in thirty minutes and as I went downstairs I found Shifra in the parlour. It reminded me of the first time I saw her. Something in her eyes told me something was wrong. She seemed nervous and out of order; not her normal self, but she was an actor. She tried to put on smiles and expressions whenever I tried to go way past her walls.

At last she said it. She had something to tell me.
All right, tell me cutie
. Then she did.

The weight of what she told me took ages to sink in, and as if it was tied with a millstone it settled at the bed of my heart with a force that almost made it explode. She was pregnant, for me. Good Heavens!

She was watching me. I tried to conceal the shock, but I knew I couldn’t fool her.

I did not attend the cocktail. I couldn’t. She left after her efforts to have me go with her turned futile and completely unwelcome. Hanan came over to see what was wrong with me. There was nothing wrong with me. I just didn’t feel like partying.

It was long after midnight, after the cocktail I presumed, when a loud shrill of the doorbell awoke me. It was
My Song,
Shirli. She wanted to know what was wrong with me that I did not attend the cocktail party. She was with Shifra. Obviously I offered no explanation. A lot was going on in my mind.

After seeing that they could get no further than that they decided to leave me alone.

The following day was Saturday.  I spent it in my house doing nothing but thinking. Shifra and Meira were pregnant for me. They could not take abortion as an option. They had no idea why I was suggesting that. It was selfish of me, it’s a crime, but I believed that some crimes are justifiable, sanctioned by fate and circumstances. I had cheated on Shirli; I had done the worst mistake I’d have ever done. Impregnating two triplets. They had confessed it was mine. They were in their first trimesters though, not yet showing. I couldn’t marry the two of them. Their family will never forgive me, especially Hanan, but above all, Shirli. How could I? I had eaten the yolk of the egg and hit my host with the empty of the shell. What an amorous achievement.

In the evening Shirli came to the house and told me that she’s not happy with my sudden withdrawal and if there was anything the matter with me I should share with her. “For God’s sake, who else would you share your worries with if not me?”

She was always there for me, sensing my desires and feelings long before I knew of them myself. She wanted to lighten me up, and she had a surprise for me.

“We’re going for a weekend out, babe. We’re going to be
officially
alone.”

“What? What do you mean by officially?”

“I’ve told Mom. She knows about us. She’s the only one I’ve told and who knows. She likes you. Don’t be afraid. It’s OK now. There’s no point of clandestine corner-corner affaires anymore.”

I felt as though she had stabbed me on the very wound that Meira had poured pepper on. It was not her mother only who knew. Meira knew too, but she was not sure. But all in all, it was dangerous. That meant that Meira and Shifra were going to know. Lucky that Meira was working her ass off on the night shift the whole weekend and Shifra and Hanan were on a business trip to Tel Aviv-Yaffo.

Though reluctant, I let Shirli have it her way. She had arranged for a cab to pick us and take us to the David Intercontinental Hotel. Why not her mother’s chauffeur driven car? She had no answer to that.

For the first time in my life I was not interested in sex. I had other things to think about. Even after I tried all my best to do it as hard as I could I accomplished nothing. I prayed to the gods of love – Rati, Yue-Lao, Pothos, Teicu and Mami Wata – but my silent rote incantations were not heard. Her efforts to stimulate me were futile and at last, for the first time in our relationship, she slept facing the other way, the wall. I did not sleep. I was thinking.

It was almost dawn when I grabbed an ounce of sleep before her waking me. She wanted us to talk. She was afraid I was seeing someone else. “And I’m suspecting you’re cheating on me with Meira. How could you? I gave you all my heart, body and soul. How could you do that to me?”

I had to say something. Something convincing that there’s nothing between me and her sister
s,
some kind of defence, but I stood accused, guilty as charged, in her court.

“But why aren’t you interested in me anymore. You’re hurting me.”

I knew that already.

It took too many sweet words and caresses to win her back and convince her that she was the only and only love of my life. She kissed me the way the French do it, and then after that she asked me something I was not expecting so soon, or had not thought about. “What are you planning about us?”

“To love each other like hell,” I lied.

“I’m serious, Ken.”

The mention of my name told me that it was not the time for forced jokes.

“What do you mean?”

“We should do something about us. Something like starting the planning of our marriage. I’ve told Mommy about us and she’s okay with it. I know she’d tell Dad. We should make it official, babe.”

My head started spinning, again. I was about to say that we needed some more time when she said, “We should make it fast since I don’t want people to know I gave birth out of wedlock.”

That stopped the whirling in my head. “Are you pregnant?”

She did not hesitate. She said it curtly and bluntly as though she had been waiting for that moment to say it. Marrying her was not the problem with me. In fact, she was the best wife material I could think to have, now that I had come to the conclusion that Susan had left me. The problem was Meira and Shirli.

Catch 22. The hilarious part of this was that none of the sisters knew that I had spent some forbidden time with her sister. Meira thought that I was trying to get Shirli ride in my vibe while Shifra was sure that I was taking her sisters as mine too. As the oldest one she thought that she was the only one who had been so close to me since the first day and that alone was an entitlement for us to be intimately involved. Shirli on the other hand had never met a man like me – loving, caring and understanding, dedicated to the liaison that daily was growing more complex and complex. She was damn sure that I’d not sleep with another woman even if that woman stripped naked before me.

The fact that all the triplets were pregnant for me depressed me. I had to do something.

Something had to be done.

Something, but what?

It was like Russian roulette.