Nâzım Hikmet Café in the 8th district, Assaf raised his head from his laptop. A place that hosts cultural events, poetry readings…
Not just any poetry reading, Oz said. That evening, they held a Palestinian poetry reading. We got one of our people in, and guess who we see there?
Did she read a poem? Tamir asked, recalling the poem published in Al-Hadaf.
Yes, she did, our agent even recorded it. Something about… Assaf, what’s that bird’s name?
Maglan, Assaf said.
Ibis… Tamir mumbled.
What’s that?
That’s its Latin name.
I didn’t know you were an ornithology fan, Musa said.
I’m not. How was she introduced?
How do you say it, Assaf?
Alma Strandläufer.
Sounds very German, doesn’t it? Oz sneered.
Strandläufer, literally meaning someone who walks along the shore… Tamir pondered out loud.
Right, and we checked it, Assaf said, Zwergstrandläufer is the German word for stint.
I’ll be… Tamir muttered.
Alma just has a nice ring to it, Musa said.
In German, it just sounds like a common name, Tamir said. That was Mahler’s wife’s name…
Who? Oz asked.
Gustav Mahler, the composer.
Not something you should concern yourself with, Musa snickered.
But… Wait, Tamir said. A spark went off in his mind.
What? Musa asked.
Alma, Alma… Oh! Of course, Tamir smiled.
What?!
Think about it in Arabic. al-Ma’. The water.
Wow… Musa mumbled. See? You should always keep an intelligence analyst lying around.
Long story short, Oz continued, after the moving poetry reading, they went back together to an apartment in the 8th district. We put a watch on the house. Nice place, nice area, looks like she’s done well for herself. Every Thursday, she hosts Arab intellectuals at her house.
A literary saloon, Tamir quietly remarked.
I don’t think she works. She just sits around in cafés a lot. She meets Rajai, as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he set her up there and she’s just living off of him. The problem is, they always meet in loud bars. That makes things difficult for us, Musa said. He’s paranoid, so that makes it very hard to get close to him, and it’s too loud to bug the place, so we don’t know what they’re talking about.
He’s an Iranian diplomat, and he sits around in bars? Tamir wondered.
He doesn’t seem to give a shit about any of it.
I don’t think she’s connected to anything or has anything of value to tell him, Musa said, but it could be that he’s telling her interesting things.
They only meet in bars? So, she’s not sleeping with him anymore? Tamir asked.
Probably not, which makes it even more interesting. The whole thing is unclear. She wouldn’t be a source for him by this point…
Tamir sat in silent, trying to process the wealth of information he just received.
Do you have any more insights? Musa asked. He was smoking again, but didn’t bother opening the window. The windowpane is probably fixed anyway, Tamir thought.
Not at this point, Tamir said. I need to think about it.
Well, you’re going to have to think on the move. You’re flying out to Vienna.
Really?
Yes, tonight. Don’t get your hopes up, though— you’re flying coach.
That’s fine.
Oz snarled something under his breath, Assaf didn’t even raise his head from his laptop.
I might regret asking this, but— why do you need me there?
We don’t, Oz said.
You tracked that organization and knew it better than anyone else, Musa said.
That was a long time ago, Tamir replied.
True, but that was her time there, Musa insisted, and we know you took a special interest in her. Moreover, I have a sneaking suspicious that you know more about her than you’re telling us. Or, at the very least, that you have a hunch about her. An intuition. Don’t get me wrong— I hope you do. I don’t look down on those things.
I feel you know more about her than you’re telling me, too, Tamir remarked.
Our people will do the ground work, Musa disregarded his remark, but we could use another ear. We never managed to figure her out, right to the very end. Now, we need to know what’s going on with her, and we could use an outside consultant. Worst-case scenario— you have nothing to contribute. No big deal. You get a free trip to Vienna and then go back to your college…
To your glorious academic career, Oz scoffed.
Oz, Musa said.
What?
Enough.
Listen, Oz turned to Tamir, you have no operational training. Our people there will brief you, but I’m telling you right now— you don’t go out to the field, you don’t do anything on your own initiative. You just sit tight like a good boy in the apartment they set you up in, and you stay there. At most, you go down to a café by your apartment to grab a latte.
They call it a melange in Vienna, Tamir remarked.
Be a tourist. But mainly— don’t do anything you’re not instructed to do. If you blow this operation for us, I swear to God, I’ll…
Oz! Musa reprimanded him again.
Alright, alright.
Listen, Musa said to Tamir, he has a point. It might be more sensible to just have you here, like an IAO, feeding you reports from our surveillance, and if you have any insights, you tell us.
So, why are you flying me out, then?
Because our team leader insisted that he wanted you there with him. He said that based on his previous experience with you, he trusts your instincts. He’s one of the reasons we called you in in the first place.
You’ve got someone who has previous experience working with me?
Yes.
May I ask who that is?
Yaki. You knew him when he was an SRO at 504, but he’s been with us for a long time now.
You’re kidding… Tamir mumbled.
Now, let’s go over a few emphases, Musa said.
You never asked me if I agree, Tamir said.
You’re right, we didn’t, Musa said. Do you agree?
Yes, Tamir said.
Good, now let’s go over a few things, then you can go back to your apartment to pack.
Do I have a cover story?
You’re a tourist. If you need any more than that— you’re having a bit of a hard time at
