“Your dad was a clever man,” I put in. “He left a back door open.”
Ariel nodded. “So from the moment you gave that detail to Guttmacher, to gain his trust, I became dangerous for him. He realized that I knew that he'd kept the money. He was convinced that I was the final roadblock between him and more than many millions of dollars, so he had to have me put out of the way.”
I decided not to argue with her. There was no point in reminding Ariel of her own contribution to Guttmacher's decision to eliminate her.
“I'm surprised you even agree to speak to me, if that's really your opinion of me,” I said, trying to think how difficult it would be to erase all the dreams I had about Ariel. There seemed to be no chance for any of them to materialize.
“I was angry at you. I trusted you, and I was disappointed to realize that you betrayed my trust, until I saw the whole picture.”
“I don't think I've ever betrayed your trust,” I protested. “I may have kept some facts from you, but please understand, I was doing my job. You were the daughter of my target. You were the clue to the resolution of the mystery.”
“It was difficult to understand,” said Ariel, “because I thought you were working for the Mossad. But then when I found out that you weren't, at least not any longer, I started my own little investigation to find out who you were really working for.”
I was too surprised to say anything.
“When the Mossad agents took my mother from the pension, she asked them about you and discovered you weren't one of them.”
“So how did you find out who I was working for?”
“Rather easily, actually. Benny told me.”
“The collaborator,” I said, realizing that not only had Benny manipulated me throughout to achieve the Mossad's goals in the DeLouise-Iranian matter, he had also meddled in my private life.
“No,” she said, “not at all. He really loves you. He's the one who cooled me down. He helped me understand exactly what was happening.”
My tongue was dry. I'd blown it, at least with Ariel. The success we'd had with the Iranian files didn't mean much when I realized that Ariel was now out of reach.
“There is something else,” she said quietly, sensing my feelings.
I looked directly at her, suddenly at a loss for words. I felt bitter and defeated.
“What? You forgot to tell me the name of the plague I've just contaminated the world with?”
“There's no need to be sarcastic,” said Ariel. “I just want you to know that I wasn't completely truthful with you either. So now we're even, aren't we?”
“But did I step into a new trap?” I asked, “What else did I miss?”
“Moscow. I mean, when I went to Moscow, I had a mission.”
“I know that,” I said, “you've already told me. You wanted to expose the suppliers of nuclear materials to the Iranians.”
“That's the part I told you,” she confirmed, “but there was something else.” She hesitated.
She got my attention. She saw a question mark blinking in my eyes. “Go on, tell me.”
“The Moscow idea was not mine.”
I saw where she was heading. “It was Benny's ploy,” I said matter of factly.
Now it was Ariel's turn to be surprised. “How did you find out? I don't believe he told you.”
“No, he hasn't. I suspected you were working for someone in Moscow; your story just didn't make sense to me. So I called Benny from Moscow and asked him if you worked for him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He denied it,” I said. “I can't always tell when Benny is not telling the truth, but I know when he's outright lying.”
Ariel narrowed her eyes again. “You couldn't have figured it out by yourself? Or did you?”
I had to decide quickly whether to look smart or be truthful. I chose the latter.
“Remember when you were attacked and I ran to your room to pack your things?”
Ariel nodded.
“Well, I took a quick look and found your phone book.”
“And?”
“There was a small piece of paper in it with just a five-digit number. I recognized the number; it's the code you need to punch in after you've dialed a Belgian telephone number. Once the correct code is recognized, the call is automatically transferred to Benny's private line at his office in Tel Aviv.”
Ariel was stunned. “So you did figure it out after all!”
“Yes, it was really simple. He'd given me the code for the month. The only logical conclusion was that your contact with Benny had to have been very recent. But since you denied knowing who he was, you were lying to me on that, too.”
Ariel lowered her eyes.
“So you've been working for him all along?”
“No, just for the trip to Moscow. When I ran from the kidnappers in Munich to the Israeli Consulate and told them how angry I was about my father's murderers, Benny's guys suggested that I get even.”
“How?”
“They wanted me to go to Moscow to get some more samples of materials from my father's contacts.”
“Why? What was the purpose?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“I don't know, they just wanted me to meet with them, get another sample, give them some money, and tell them that we'd like to do more business in the future.”
“I guess you met them before I came to Moscow, because you were under my radar as soon I arrived. Besides, who's ‘we’?” I asked.
“Me and my dad,” she said,
“But he's dead,” I responded. “I saw him dead.”
“The Russians didn't know that.”
“Aha,” I said, “so Benny pulled off another brilliant one, keeping the flame burning for future reference.”
Ariel's eyes shone. “Flame?”
“Yes, by sending you to follow up on your father's initial contacts while they were still hot, the Mossad was letting the Russians think that the Iranians were genuinely interested in their merchandise. Now the Mossad could infiltrate their rogue operation, manipulate it, maybe get to the bottom and the top at the same time. So now are we even in the truth department?” I asked.
“Well, not exactly. My father had left his will with Mr. Bart to be delivered to me.” This got my attention yet again.
“You never mentioned it when we talked in Moscow. You mean there was a third envelope?”
“Yes,” she said. “I didn't know about it until I read my father's letter again, the one you retrieved from the safe-deposit box. Do you remember the last sentence in that letter?”
“Not exactly. What did it say?”
“I was to tell Mr. Bart the nickname my father called me when I was just five years old, and that Mr. Bart would laugh.”
“Yes,” I remembered now, “I didn't understand what it all meant.”
“I couldn't either,” said Ariel, “but when I reread it, I decided to see Mr. Bart again. I had the chance ten days ago when Blecher asked me to return from Israel as a potential witness. Otherwise, I'd have gone on my own.”
“Did he laugh?” I asked, realizing, of course, that there was a code in the instruction.
“No. He didn't laugh, but he gave me the third big envelope. The nickname was a code word my father gave him to release the envelope only to me. My father paid him nicely for the service.”
“What was your nickname?”
“Ponchick,” she said, smiling in embarrassment. “As you know, the word means ‘jelly donut.’”
I laughed too. “And what was in the third envelope?”
“The final truth, the resolution, and the rewards,” she said enigmatically. “My father wrote me in the accompanying letter that his second wife and her son, who is my half-brother, had been taken care of financially through a maze of family trusts he had established while they were still living in California. Therefore, he wrote, his entire estate should be mine. To guarantee that only I would get the money, he prepared notarized assignment instruments, surviving his death, which transferred title of all his assets to my name. He even wrote checks made out to me on all his cash accounts.”
“Good for you,” I said, fearing that now I'd find myself fighting Ariel over the money her father left her. What else could go wrong? “Are you a rich woman now?” I asked bitterly, seeing where the conversation was going.