pressingly, she knew that she was in deep trouble with the department and needed to email Professor Almeini to clear things up. She would email him once she knew the result of the grant interview. She also had to try to find out what had happened to Hassan, but doing so would make her relive her ordeal at the hands of the three men in the flat.
Natasha was at Ben Gurion airport, waiting for Oberon Wheatley. She had spent the previous night checking and re-checking every aspect of security at the harbour. No-one could approach the yacht uninvited, nor leave it for that matter. Natasha could not help but admire how her boss gathered information on everyone. Mina Osman had arrived at her hotel just as he said she would. Wheatley suddenly appeared outside the main entrance, saw her, and walked straight to the car. She took his luggage, put it in the boot and together they drove off immediately to the harbour.
Oberon had bought his yacht from the famous Italian yacht designer Benetti, for an obscene amount of money. With its steel hull and aluminium superstructure, the 230ft Reverie moved at a maximum speed of 16 knots, weighed 1600 tons, had seven decks and an interior designed by John Munford. Oberon had had his eye on the boat for some time and once it became his, he had had his technicians transform it into much more than a dilettante’s pleasure vessel. One sensed that under the aristocratic veneer of absolute comfort and luxury, dark mahogany and top-quality marble, the yacht possessed every technological amenity that the modern world had to offer.
Oberon had not said a word to Natasha since his arrival making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable. He climbed to the upper deck, into the yacht’s saloon, sat down in his favourite Chesterfield armchair and nodded at the barman to make him his usual drink, a dirty martini. He waited silently until the man brought it to him then, taking a sip, he finally uttered his first word.
‘Natasha?’
‘Yes sir?’
‘Is everything set?’
‘Yes, sir. Miss Osman has checked into the hotel.’
‘Excellent. That’s my girl.’
He smiled at her.
The taxi dropped Mina at the entrance of the Eretz Israel Museum. From reading a leaflet she had picked up at the hotel she knew that it presented the history and culture of Israel through a number of varied exhibitions, including the ethnography, folklore, cultural history, traditional crafts and archaeology of the land. It was very much a model of avant-garde museography, Mina thought, and decided to take a quick tour before calling on Liat.
Although she thought the Planetarium was a tad gimmicky with its ‘Voyage through the Universe’ show, she really enjoyed the inner gardens. The entire museum was built like a beautiful shrine around an ancient mound, Tel Qasile. She soon realised that a proper visit of the museum would take hours, so she went to the main desk and asked to speak to Liat Hoffman. The lady at the front desk asked her to wait in the lobby, ‘Dr. Hoffman will be with you in a few minutes’. ‘Dr. Hoffman…!’ Mina thought, ‘well she didn’t waste any time’. Liat had only been studying for her Masters’ degree when they last spoke in New York. Mina felt slightly envious of her friend’s academic achievements, but the feeling quickly passed as Liat entered in the lobby. They rushed into each others arms and Liat gave her a long hug.
‘Mina, I’m so happy to see you! It’s been so long. When did you arrive?’
‘Last night. I thought I’d surprise you.’
‘You did,’ Liat laughed ‘OK. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Can you leave your office just like that?’ asked Mina.
‘It’s the first day of Chanukah today. Things are a little lax. You know, people leaving early to be with their family.’
‘Of course, Chanukah. I totally forgot. What about you?’
‘You know me… I enjoy lighting a candle from time to time, but I’m not really into religion.’
‘Oh. I thought Chanukah was all about fighting foreigners?’ replied Mina, with a glint in her eye.
‘Mina, Mina. Had you said, ‘Oh Liat, I thought it was a pagan festival of lights that you find everywhere from here to Timbuktu during the bleakest time of the winter season,’ I would have thought, ‘she hasn’t changed one bit.’ But political sarcasm?’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been through the mill recently.’
‘Don’t worry. You’re in my town and I know it’s your first time in Tel Aviv, so I’m going to take you on a tour! We’ll get drunk and talk about all the boys we never slept with in New York.’ Mina giggled, she felt like a feisty graduate student all over again.
‘Oh God, Liat, I’m so happy to see you.’
The two women squeezed into Liat’s car, a ludicrously bright yellow reconditioned Fiat Cinquecento, and drove towards Yafo, in the south of Tel Aviv. Liat knew her audience well, so she began her history of Tel Aviv with its biblical origins. Mina learned that Yafo was mentioned in the Old Testament as a border city of the Territory of Dan; that timber from the fragrant cedar trees of Lebanon was shipped to Yafo to build the temple of Salomon in Jerusalem. Some scholars even thought that the city, also known as Joppa or Jaffa or even Yafo, was named after Japheth, one of the sons of Noah.
Noah again! Mina wondered if she would ever escape the Flood saga.
Liat parked the car and as they started walking she reminded Mina that before getting swallowed by a giant whale, the prophet Jonah had left his hometown Nineveh for Yafo where he had hired a ship to flee ‘from the presence of the Lord’. ‘You know why I’ve brought you to Yafo?’ asked Liat.
‘Yes, of course. You want to show me the origins of Tel Aviv and its Arab quarter.’
‘Nope. As usual you’re wrong. We are
Mina remembered vividly how during their time in New York Liat talked relentlessly about hummus, and had been on a mission to find the finest hummus in the World.
‘So, your hummus quest ended here?’
Liat put on her most serious face and said ‘Yes. Why do you think I took the job at the museum, if not for the hummus?’
‘You’re mad.’
‘Of course I am, mad about hummus.’
They entered a tiny kebab joint, and the Arab owner’s face lit up when he recognised Liat. He smiled at her, flashing all his golden teeth and said in Hebrew:
‘Ah. My favourite customer. I’ve kept you the best of the best!’
‘Hi Ahmed. This is my good friend Mina, she’s only visiting Tel Aviv but what sort of visit would it be if she didn’t taste your falafel and hummus?’
‘Quite right. Take a seat and I’ll be with you in a minute.’ They sat down on mismatched plastic chairs.
‘Liat, this is the tackiest sandwich shop I’ve ever sat in.’
‘Yes. A true pearl in a sea of mud.’
‘Is that a political statement?’
‘No, a culinary one.’
‘Just checking.’
‘Thanks. I remember the last time we had a political discussion. I thought I was going to tear your eyes out.’
‘I was pretty close to slapping you.’
‘But we’re all grown up now, aren’t we?’
‘I don’t know. Are we?’ They laughed, then, without any warning, as was her habit, Liat launched into a monologue on the modern history of Tel Aviv. Mina smiled at her old friend, thinking that people don’t change much over time.
‘The name itself,
