Enemy of My Enemy (10 page)

Worried he hadn't been firm enough with Joyner, Kendall turned to her again. "And don't call your pal, what's his name, who runs the Mossad."

"Moshe."

"Yeah. No calls to Moshe."

The president rose, signifying that the meeting was over. As he walked back to the oval office, Grange fell in alongside. "Terry wanted a few minutes of time with you."

"What the hell for? I'm busy running the country. Holding his hand is your job."

Notwithstanding their friendship, Grange knew that Kendall had a strong independent streak, and that he turned on Grange from time to time. Grange trod softly. "Perhaps you can invite Terry and Sarah over here and explain to them your approach and how much a priority their son's release is for you."

Kendall was hesitating. Worn out from the pressure and lack of sleep, he didn't want one more meeting this evening. He didn't even want to talk to his wife. He wanted to go upstairs, have a sandwich with some straight scotch, and go to sleep.

"If we start bombing," Grange said, trying not to push too hard, "they might hack his son to pieces."

"Yeah, well, I haven't agreed to do any bombing, and we're giving them ten days to avoid any consequences at all. If you want to explain it to Terry, you can go over to his hotel and do that."

Grange was tired of being beaten up by Terry. That was one option he didn't like. He persisted. "The Hundred-thousand-dollar Club Terry chaired during the campaign raised a hell of a lot of money for you." Grange could tell by Kendall's face that he was wavering. "You'll need him again in two years when you go for another term."

Kendall sighed in resignation. "Call and invite them over. Bring them upstairs. That always makes people more malleable."

* * *

President Kendall's prediction turned out to be half-right. Being in the president's living quarters did a great deal for Terry. It did nothing for Sarah.

Two hours later, the long black limousine pulled out of the White House grounds and turned toward the west, returning Terry and Sarah McCallister to the Four Seasons. With the thick glass partition that separated them from the driver, Terry was confident he could talk and that his words wouldn't get back to Kendall or Grange. In fact, the White House limos had hidden recording systems, but no one saw the need for activating this one to overhear the conversation between Terry and Sarah.

"Tonight I felt good about the fund-raising I did for Kendall in the campaign," Terry said, sounding charged. "The president certainly gave me a lot of respect."

Sarah groaned. "Oh, for God's sake. It's not about you. It's about getting Bobby out of there and back home."

He shot her an irritated look. "I know that, but Kendall's doing the right thing, giving them a ten-day ultimatum." Terry had been impressed by the president's living quarters and was willing to accept Kendall's representation: "The Turks will knuckle under and put pressure on the renegade group to release Robert rather than risk a cutoff in American aid and an attack on one of their air force bases."

Enthusiastically, Terry added, "And look at what Robert is gaining. Being a prisoner like this will be an advantage for him. It'll enhance his political career." Sarah didn't respond. "You're not sold?" he said.

She couldn't imagine how anyone could be such a fool, particularly the man she had married. "The only useful thing I heard was about the letters Bobby traced in the dirt. He's still alive. That's something. The rest of it is wishful thinking on their part and yours. By inviting you upstairs in the White House, Kendall bought your support. Can't you see that?"

Sarah had no sense of how the real world operated, Terry thought. Derisively he shot back, "Oh, horseshit. Stop playing the antiestablishment seventies radical. The rest of us grew up. Isn't it time for you?"

It was a frequent lecture he gave her. Usually she screamed and called him "a fucking hypocrite," but this evening she was too drained emotionally from worrying about Bobby to argue. "We have no idea what their agenda is in Turkey. They don't think the way we do."

The car stopped for a red light. Terry tried to absorb her words. "Then what do you think we should do, since you're such an expert on world affairs?" He made no effort to conceal the sarcasm in his voice.

"Recognize that it's out of our hands, and it's hopeless. We'll never see Bobby again. At least not alive. You should go back to Chicago and run your business."

"And you?" he asked flabbergasted. "If I go, you're not going with me?"

"You're right. I'm taking an early flight tomorrow morning to London."

"To be with Ann," he said choking on the name.

"As I remember, she's your daughter as well as mine."

"The way she acts toward me, you can have her all to yourself."

Sarah looked away from him, facing the window, not wanting him to see the tears running down her cheeks. The family she had tried so hard to build was a sham. Terry and Ann detested each other. And she was convinced after talking to President Kendall that she'd never see Bobby again. At least not alive.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

Jack turned off the highway and up the narrow road that ran into Moshav Avahail. The first thing he saw were two steel watchtowers with armed soldiers on top looking east. Nearby was an Arab village, quite close enough to reach the Moshav with a rocket. An armed guard stopped Jack at the gate that marked the entrance to the Moshav and asked to see his ID, while inquiring about the reason for the visit.

Satisfied, he gave Jack directions to Avi's house, in the center of the Moshav. Driving along tree-lined streets, passing well-kept houses with grassy lawns, Jack felt as if he were in a suburban subdivision, rather than an agricultural collective community. Prosperity was visible, with many late-model cars. Avi's house, on a corner lot, the largest on the block, had an older gray-stone core and two recent additions, judging from the different colors of the weathered rock.

Alerted by a phone call from the guard, Avi was waiting for Jack in the front, dressed in khaki shorts and a print shirt unbuttoned on top. His chest was covered with salt-and-pepper hair. On his head it was thinning. His nose had been broken and poorly set, leaving a bump in the center of the bridge. He was smiling amiably, showing nicotine-stained teeth. With heavily creased leathery skin, his face had a light olive color that placed him as being from the Mediterranean. His eyes sparkled with a devil-may-care look.

Avi came forward to greet Jack in the driveway. "At long last I get to meet the infamous Jack Cole, who saved my ass in the Osirak operation."

Jack laughed. "That's hardly an accurate version, but I won't argue."

"Oh, but it is. I couldn't get the information we needed in Baghdad. You supplied it from Paris. After it was over I wanted to come up and thank you."

"But Moshe insisted on keeping our parts of the operation separate and compartmentalized."

"Yeah. And in those days I didn't have the guts to defy the old man."

There was an edge to Avi's voice when he referred to Moshe. Remembering what Gila in the finance department had said, Jack guessed that it had to do with the Aqaba fiasco. He decided not to pursue it.

"Everybody's in back," Avi said, "waiting for you."

As he led the way, with Jack walking alongside, Avi said, "Actually, I saw you about five years ago at the Israel Tennis Center. You were playing for the men's forty-and-over championship."

"And getting killed by Amos in straight sets, six-two, six-one. Were you in the tournament?"

"Just a spectator. I once played, but that's a sad story for another time. You still play?"

"I wish. That was the zenith of my amateur tennis career, such as it was." Jack smiled and patted his right knee. "This one decided to quit on me a few months later. Haven't picked up a racket since the surgery. You should have come over to me after the match."

"Are you kidding? You definitely did not want company."

Jack cracked a smile. "Was I that bad?"

"Worse."

"I play to win."

"Is there any other way?"

Jack liked the comment. Avi was his kind of guy.

In the grass-covered backyard, a large wooden table was set with grilled chicken, colorful salads, bottles of soda and fruit. Avi introduced Jack to his wife, Dora, and his three teenage children, two girls and a boy.

"My friend here is in the wine business," Avi announced to the group.

Nurit, his fifteen-year-old daughter with freckles and braces, thought that was neat. "Did he bring any samples?"

Avi chuckled. "I don't think so. He's not dealing in wine today. He wants to sell me something else."

"Will you buy it?" Nurit asked.

Dora was shooting Avi a look full of daggers. Last year when he left the Mossad, she had finally begun sleeping soundly at night for the first time in their eighteen years of marriage. She knew him so well that she had no trouble reading the meaning of his response to Nurit. This Jack Cole had come to recruit Avi for a dangerous intelligence project. She hoped that Avi stuck with his promise to her and turned it down.

Avi knew exactly what Dora was thinking. "I'm not sure," he replied to Nurit, while looking at his wife.

During lunch they kept the conversation to small talk about the Moshav, what the children were doing, and how good the food was. Once the meal was over, Avi said to Jack, "Let's take a ride."

Before they left the backyard, Jack looked longingly at the table. Avi had the kind of family Jack had hoped to Have one day when he had moved to Israel. So what happened? He couldn't blame it on Sarah. He had gotten over her long ago. There was the army, then the Yom Kippur War, and after that his recruitment by Moshe and his life shuttling to and from Paris in the service of the Mossad. It was easy to say he had never met the right woman, but he had never given himself a chance. Life moved on.

They set off in an old battered pickup truck that coughed and wheezed when it started. Avi drove down a hill to a small orange grove, where he parked, and the two of them climbed out.

"We don't grow many oranges here these days," Avi said. "Most of the residents work in the cities in computers and other high-tech jobs. And it's just as well, because we've had to import workers from Thailand to take care of even the small crop. Certainly a far cry from the old days, when my father settled on this Moshav and built the house I live in now."

"When was that?"

"'Forty-nine. He came from Shanghai."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Funny—you don't look Chinese."

Avi rolled his eyes at the bad joke. "His great-grandfather, David, went there from Baghdad in the middle of the nineteenth century to buy silk. He liked Shanghai so much that he decided to bring his wife and stay. The family made an enormous amount of money for about a hundred years. My grandfather even did well during the Japanese occupation, because the Japanese left the Jews alone, contrary to Hitler's orders to kill them all."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah. But when Mao and the Communists took over in 1949, all the Jews left Shanghai. Many came here. Others went to the United States, Canada, or Australia. By then my father had become an ardent Zionist. He didn't have a question."

"Does he still live on the Moshav?"

Avi shook his head sadly.

"He died in the Sinai in the Six Day War in a tank that the Egyptians hit near the Mitla Pass. He was the commander of a reserve unit. A horrible way to die."

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "Was your mother from China too?"

"No. She was a Sabra. Traced her roots to Jerusalem for at least six generations. She died in a suicide bomb attack in a Tel Aviv restaurant during the intifada."

"I think I'll stop asking questions."

Avi's eyes burned with intensity. "It's the price we pay to live here." With a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his hand, Avi climbed onto the hood of the old truck and stretched out his legs while leaning against the windshield. He lit up a cigarette and blew out the smoke. "Okay, now tell me why you came."

Jack described Sam's visit and his plea for help. He followed that with a report on his meeting with Moshe.

Avi was mystified. "So what do you want with me?"

"I need someone who isn't in the Mossad but has contacts in Turkey. Someone who could find out the fate of Robert McCallister. I remember hearing that you spent some time there after Osirak, which finished you in Iraq."

"And then what? You thinking of rescuing him?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I might try to mount an effort, depending on what we find."

Avi gave a long, low whistle. "That's a tall order."

"But first I need information. Are you willing to help?"

Avi wasn't ready to move on. "You really care that much about what happens to your brother's future brother in-law?"

"Let's just say that the family situation with my brother is complicated."

Avi gave a wry smile. "Aren't they all? My father had two brothers in Australia he never communicated with."

"So will you help me?" Jack repeated anxiously.