Chapter 38
Zinal
A lazy Saturday.
After a week of stubborn rain, the sun appeared. Early June, but it felt like August. Not a breath of wind, the air buzzing with the scents and sounds of the Alps. The tinkle of cowbells drifted down the hillside.
Mac had left after breakfast and taken Katya for a walk to the dairy a few kilometers up the mountain to visit Martin, Mac’s Eritrean friend, and his children. There would be a picnic, a swim in the lake, time to pick flowers and chase dragonflies. Ava was alone in the chalet, left to her own devices.
Her willpower crumbled like an earthen dam. Slowly, then very, very fast.
She found the burners in the bottom drawer of Mac’s desk. She counted a half dozen in their factory packaging. She pulled off the plastic wrap and plugged in one to charge. She apologized to Zvi in advance for calling. It was for his own good, she told him. She had a feeling something was wrong. Besides, she’d make sure no one would know it was her.
It had been the picture of TNT in Zug that did it. If Ben-Gold was suspicious of being found out by Zvi Gelber, he would surely have shared those concerns with TNT. He would have warned him not to be so public with his movements. He would have told him to stick toposting photographs of fancy cars, jewelry, and women with big boobs. “Do not post a picture in front of the factory that may or may not be manufacturing the transmitter for a nuclear device in your possession. People are watching. Zvi Gelber is watching.”
But no, TNT had posted it all the same. The picture indicated that TNT believed he no longer had to worry. No one was on their trail. The dogs had been called off.
But no one, she knew, called off Zvi Gelber. He was the OG attack dog.
Ava unplugged the phone and composed Gelber’s number. The call took a moment to go through. When it connected, it went directly to voicemail. No rings. Phone off.
Ava didn’t like that. Zvi never turned his phone off. Tzomet was in charge of running agents. It was his job to be available 24/7. Lives were at stake. The greeting began, and Ava’s heart sank further. “The party is not available at this time. Please leave—”
She ended the call. Where was Zvi’s personal greeting? Where was his trademark sandpaper growl ... the voice that had smoked ten thousand cigarettes and cursed out as many agents? “It’s Zvi. Say something and keep it short.”
She consulted her own phone for the general number of Tzomet at the Mossad headquarters. She asked the operator for Gelber.
“A moment please.”
So far, so good, thought Ava. At least they didn’t hang up on me.
“Hello.”
Ava answered in French-accented English. “Mr. Gelber please. Marie Klen.Le Monde.” Mossad wasn’t the CIA. Everyone knew what everyone did.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Gelber isn’t available.”
Ava remembered the phones in his office. Push-button landlines common in a corporate office thirty years ago. No readout of the incoming number. “When will he be in? He promised us an interview about the recent developments in Lebanon.”
“May I take a number?”
“Is Mr. Gelber ill? We haven’t heard from him.”
“Mr. Gelber can’t be reached at the moment. If you’ll give me your name and number, I’ll have someone contact you shortly.”
Ava hung up. She was in no mood to be put off. Not without a fight. Suddenly, there was nothing more important than talking to Zvi. She dialed the main number once more. “Colonel Ava Attal for Zvi Gelber.”
She was put through. The same anodyne voice said, “Yes?”
Ava gave her name and rank. “I need to speak with Zvi. It’s urgent.”
“One moment, Colonel Attal. I’ll connect you.”
Ava let go a gasp of relief. So, Zvi was still there, after all. Why was he playing hard to get? If he’d changed his number, why hadn’t he told her? Her worry about his welfare quickly turned into anger at his mistreatment of her. He had no right to keep her in the dark.
“Hello, Colonel Attal?”
“Zvi?” It was not his voice. Silk instead of sandpaper. Hebrew with a trace of a French accent.
