Storm Front

them, she’d considered them an opportunity. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Though she’d towed some pretty large suitcases through the green “nothing to declare” zone at Ben Gurion, these seemed excessive: maybe Zahavi, if she were truly with the Mossad, could have gotten away with it—perhaps she could have avoided customs altogether.
    Yael might not be able to do that, with the elephant-sized bag.
    Yael had just bought twenty iPad Minis at Sam’s Club, and if she could get them back in Israel, she could make a hundred dollars each on them—and two thousand was a lot to risk, simply to pile more stuff in an enormous suitcase.
    But the temptation was strong. She’d never been stopped at customs. . . .
    Her contemplation of the bags was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door, a quick chink-chink-chink of a maid using a key. She was not a cop or a spy, so she didn’t even think about her response: she went to the door and opened it.
    A thin, dark-haired woman said in Hebrew, “I am Mossad,” and pushed Yael back into her room.
    Yael said, “Tal Zahavi—I have seen you on TV.”
    “Yes. That putz Flowers, I can’t believe this,” Zahavi said.
    “But you kidnapped—”
    “Borrowed her, for a few hours,” Zahavi said. She saw the suitcases on the bed and said, “Those are my suitcases.”
    “Virgil said I should keep them, since . . . well, we’re both Israelis,” Yael said. “But I don’t want them. What would I do with them?”
    “I was planning to buy Fruit of the Loom underwear, which my uncle can sell in his store,” Zahavi said.
    Yael made a moue. “Not a bad idea,” she conceded. “My brother kills for Fruit of the Loom. If your uncle runs a clothing store—”
    Zahavi poked a finger at Yael: “So now, I require your aid. This is official business. Tomorrow night, the Hezbollah will purchase this stele, for as much as three million dollars in cash. We will stop this—but we can’t outbid them, because we have no money. So, we will intercept the stone.”
    “You maybe, but not me,” Yael said. “I do not work for the Mossad, and I will not. I am surprised that you still work for the Mossad, after this . . . borrowing of Ellen Case.”
    “You are not required to work with me, you are only required to tell me where this Flowers is. I have information that you will be with him tomorrow night as he attempts, also, to intercept the stone. I need to know where he is.”
    “And how do I do that?” Yael asked, her fists on her hips. “He will be there. I say, ‘Excuse me, I have to make a telephone call to betray you?’”
    “You say nothing. When he begins to chase the stone, when he knows where it is and who has it, you press my phone number on your telephone. You do not have to say anything: just call, and I will know he is chasing the stone.”
    “This is crazy,” Yael said. Then, “Are you still on assignment? I would think that your superiors would have put you on a plane back to Tel Aviv when they saw the TV reports.”
    “This is not your business,” Zahavi snapped. “The operation continues.”
    Yael said nothing, but the skeptical look on her face suggested that she didn’t believe what Zahavi said.
    Zahavi: “I was given unreliable support, who abandoned me the minute the trouble started. But I can still do this—”
    “I don’t
want
you to do it,” Yael said. “I want to take the stele back to the IAA myself, so it can be properly examined.”
    “And so you can publish it and so the Arabs can make propaganda from it forever.”
    “I think you have been in the sun too long,” Yael said. She added, “But, I am a good Israeli, and I will call you tomorrow night, if Virgil leaves me. But I will file a big complaint, a big stink, if you lose or destroy the stone, and I will not stop just because you are the Mossad and you say so. I will go to the newspapers, and we will have it out in public.”
    “I will not lose or destroy it—when the stone is back in Israel, this will all be arranged by our bosses. You will have to be content with that.”
    They talked for another couple of minutes, about the auction for the stone, and then exchanged phone numbers. As Zahavi was preparing to leave, checking the parking lot from the room’s only window, Yael asked, “Are you going to take the suitcases?”
    “No. I will not be leaving here in an airliner, and I will have no time to pull two big bags. My uncle will have to make his own profits.”
    A moment