The Reykjavik Assignment (Yael Azoulay #3)(110)

“Was that you in New York? The photographs in Joe-Don’s mailbox?”

“Of course. A father needs to keep an eye on his daughter. Even if she won’t talk to him.”

Part of her was pleased by the news, but she would never admit it. “Michael Ortega?”

“Ortega was originally recruited by Clairborne. Then I turned him, to keep an eye on Clairborne. And then to watch you. Thanks for getting him the job as a doorman. That made my life easier.”

“How long has this been going on? Your paternal surveillance operation?” Yael asked as she stared at Stein. This was the first time she had seen or spoken to her father in eight years. His hair was grayer, the crows’-feet around his eyes deeper, his features more worn, sharper. He looked calm, but Yael sensed the emotions spinning underneath, his hunger to reconnect, flowing like a charge through the water. Not yet, Aba, you are going to have to work much harder.

“Long enough.”

Yael asked, “Who else is working for you?”

Stein looked at his daughter, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Guess.”

An idea flashed into Yael’s mind, one so outlandish it seemed too ridiculous to even vocalize the name. She did so, anyway. “Roxana?”

“From day one. We told her what she needed to know to advance her career. She told us what we were interested in.”

“Which was?”

“You, mainly.”

Yael stretched her arms and legs out, let them float on the water. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Roxana gave a dinner for some of the UN press corps. All she wanted to talk about was me, or so I heard.”

“How else am I supposed to find out how my daughter is?”

Yael looked down, determined not to smile. “And Fareed?”

Stein laughed. “Fareed works for Fareed. But he is always ready to trade.”

“Did you kill Schneidermann, so Roxana could be promoted and get you more inside information?

Stein stopped smiling. “Of course not. That was the Iranians. Who do you think I am?”

“I know who you are. I don’t know what you are.”

Yael lay back and stared at the sky. Stars glittered, thin points of light on a black velvet backdrop. The warm water was soothing. The exhaustion was rolling over her in waves. Part of her, a large part, just wanted to close her eyes and drift off to sleep. But she had so many more questions. “Eli said Mossad placed me in the UN. That they had dirt on Fareed and blackmailed him to give me a job and promote me. That’s why they wanted me to come home. So they could debrief me. I’ve been working for them for years without even knowing it. Is that true?”

“It’s part of the truth. One version.”

“Tell me yours.”

Stein turned towards Yael as he spoke. “We had copies of the Rwanda and Srebrenica documents. We let Fareed know and also that we would be happy if your UN career progressed. He agreed with us. But what you did, what you achieved, you did on your own. Tel Aviv would not be happier if you landed at Ben Gurion and told them everything you knew. But they weren’t about to kidnap you. Nobody is going to kidnap you while I am around. Eli set up a rogue operation to bring you back. Nice work, by the way. Ortega was supposed to catch up with you much earlier. But you did very well on your own.”

Yael turned to him, then looked away, damping down the emotions bubbling inside her. First she needed to understand, then she could shout, scream, cry, or do whatever it was she felt like doing.

“Who is this ‘we’ and ‘us’?” she asked.

“We have a lot to talk about. I’ll get to that.”

Stein moved closer. Yael pushed him away, feeling him flinch. “No. We don’t. I read the classified files about you. Everywhere where there is violence, conflict, every squalid little war, you are there, providing advice, arms, intelligence, and other ‘services.’” Her voice rose with her emotions. “Profiting from all the death and destruction. Kosovo. Darfur. Congo. Syria.”

Stein remained calm. “Is that why you wouldn’t talk to me for so long?”

“Is that why Mom left you?”

“In part. But when she eventually agreed to hear what I have to say, she started thinking about coming back. At least she and I are talking now.”

Yael felt her father’s eyes on her, brought her feelings under control. She needed answers. Getting emotional would not bring them. “Who. Is. We?”

Stein dipped his head under the water for a moment, floated on his back before he answered. “We is a small group of current and former politicians, industrialists, business people, diplomats, and others who know that sometimes you need to take shortcuts.”

“What kind of shortcuts?”

“Necessary ones. To sidestep the system. To get the job done.” He turned to Yael. “You know about that, I think.”

“Tell me some names. Who?”

Stein slowly shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

Suddenly Yael was back in her childhood bedroom in their New York apartment, listening to a babel of languages. “The ones who visited Aleph. You and Mom told me they were clients. But they were your backers.”

Stein nodded. “They were both. Aleph started as a research outfit, then we realized that we could act with the information that we had. But we needed a new operation. We couldn’t just launch ourselves like white knights, ready to save the world.”