a common enemy: the Arab world was supporting the Algerian rebels in the same manner it had always supported the Palestinian fight against Israel. In late 1957, France agreed to supply Israel with essential material for a second nuclear reactor, which Israel then secretly built in the Negev desert near the town of Dimona.
“It's a textile factory,” Israel had claimed, when the skeptical American government had raised questions. But aerial photographs made by highflying U-2 planes told a different story. The U.S. military attache at the U.S. Embassy in Tel Aviv had collected additional information, enough to confirm the American government's suspicions. Israel was building a nuclear reactor with a capacity to manufacture weapons-grade plutonium.
“What did you do then?” I finally prompted her.
“I had some money saved up and Dov had given me his share of our apartment. I was pregnant. What could I do? I stayed at home feeling sorry for myself until Ariel was born.”
“Did you ever hear from him?”
“He used to send me cards on my birthdays, sometimes with a few words about himself. I guess he wanted me to know how successful he had become. For years I suspected that his move to the U.S. was a part of a Mossad plan to plant him there. But I guess I was wrong. He really left the Office. Only when Ariel was three or four months old did I write him a letter telling him he was a father. I didn't hear from him for a month. Then he called me and said he had just returned from Japan, where he had a real estate business, and read my letter. I expected a shouting match for not telling him earlier. But he was nice. He asked for Ariel's picture. He started sending me money to help raise Ariel and about three months later he came to visit. Since then he has been a good father and kept in touch with his little girl. When Ariel was eleven years old she went to the United States to visit him and his new wife, and she returned thrilled. Not with the new wife, but with Disneyland. For her that was more important. Through Ariel I heard he had made it big in America. He sent newspaper clippings from time to time describing his growing empire, the bank he bought, and his successes. The clippings were sent to Ariel, but I knew he wanted me to see them.”
“Why did Dov leave the Office, do you know?”
“I only know what he told me, that the French government was satisfied with his work and wanted to promote him by sending him to their purchasing office in the United States. He'd always wanted to go to America but his controller at the Office said no. I don't know why. Maybe they wanted to keep him in France, close to the source of information. I know he had a big fight with his Israeli boss and then told them he was resigning.”
“When did Dov change his name to DeLouise?”
“He told me that in the United States he felt some anti-Semitism coming from his coworkers and decided he needed a new identity. So he chose a name that wouldn't sound Jewish but that would be foreign sounding, explaining his accent. He told people that he came from France. He spoke excellent French, so DeLouise sounded right, I guess.”
“And now your name is Bernstein? Did you remarry?”
Mina lowered her eyes and blushed. I almost smiled; it was such a girlish gesture for a grown woman.
“Yes,” she replied, “Two years after my divorce I met a wonderful man who worked in the Israeli Navy as a radio operator. His name was Rafi Bernstein.”
“Was?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said sadly, “he died two years after we married. I wanted Ariel to have a father in her life, but he died when Ariel was only four years old, before she could really remember him.”
Mina then looked up at me. “Now you know it all. I still don't know how all this could be connected to Ariel's disappearance. Can you help me find her? I was afraid to go to the police because she insisted that I not talk to anyone about this. ‘It's a matter of life and death,’ she said. Now I understand how right she was.”
I had a long laundry list of questions, but I held back.
“I'll help you find Ariel,” I said.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “I need your help. There's just no one else.”
“So let's get started,” I said. “Do you know if Ariel had a bank account in Europe?”
“No, she didn't. She made me a signatory in all her bank accounts. I would have known that. She only banks in Israel. Why are you asking?”
“Because sometimes people just take off. If she had a bank account here, we could see if she withdrew money lately and see any unusual movements in her account. You said that her father sent her money?”
“Yes, from time to time. He also bought her an apartment in Haifa and a car. He wanted Ariel to have a comfortable lifestyle. Anyway, Ariel never really cared too much about money.”
I wanted to ask Mina to let me have access to Ariel's bank account in Israel. If DeLouise had wired her money also from his foreign bank accounts, it would be a beautiful lead. But I couldn't ask for it now. Not just yet.
“Let's talk to the receptionist here. Maybe he knows something,” I said.
“Did I miss any messages during my stay here?” Mina asked the man behind the desk.
“No,” he said, “but someone asked about you.”
“Who?” asked Mina.
“I don't know,” he answered. “It was a man with a foreign accent and he did not leave any message.”
Mina looked troubled.
“He'll probably call again,” he added in a comforting voice, when he saw Mina's obvious confusion. “It's the same person who called for you twice just a few days ago.”
Mina looked at him and snapped: “No one told me that people were looking for me. Why wasn't I told?”
“There was no message to deliver,” he said apologetically, with a half-embarrassed smile. “I asked him if he wanted to leave a name or number, but he said that you'd soon know.”
“Soon know what?” asked Mina confusedly, as we went back to the sitting room.
“Did you get any mail here?” I asked.
“No.”
I knew I had to intervene. I asked Mina to wait for me in the lounge and returned to the reception desk. I didn't want her to know that I had checked out the phone calls DeLouise made and that, in view of Mina's account of her conversation with Ariel, it was obvious he had called the pension to speak with Ariel.
“Mrs. Bernstein and I are trying to find Ariel Peled. Has she actually checked out?”
“Excuse me,” said the man firmly, “could you tell me who you are?”
“I'm a friend of the family,” I responded. “Ariel Peled is Mina Bernstein's daughter.”
“I see,” said the man relenting. “That explains why my wife let Mrs. Bernstein move Ms. Peled's luggage to her room.”
“Are you Mr. Bart?”
He nodded.
“So Ariel Peled never checked out?”
“No, she just left. Sometimes people do that. Her room was paid for, so I guess we weren't concerned about the bill. Why are you asking? Is there a problem?”
“Her mother is worried because she hasn't heard from her yet. Tell me, who made the reservations for Ariel's room?”
“We don't keep formal records of these things, but let me look.”
He leafed through his book and said, “Yes, just as I thought, the room was paid for in cash. I remember now; a man called and made the reservation. When I asked for a credit card to guarantee the room, he said that he'd send a messenger with cash. Sometime later somebody came with an envelope with cash. It was odd, because most people send in personal checks or charge the room to a credit card.”
I was convinced DeLouise had made these arrangements to distance himself from Ariel. But why? He must have felt the heat. In the end, he'd been justified.
“Do you keep a record of messages or phone calls? Mrs. Bernstein is very upset about missing these calls.”
“No,” he said, and added in a defensive tone, “we are a small pension, only twelve rooms. We give our guests their messages and we don't record them.”
Mina had left the sitting room and was coming to join me. When Mr. Bart saw her he said, “Mrs. Bernstein, this has just come in for you,” and handed her an envelope.
Deftly, I grabbed the envelope out of his hand. There was a typewritten line in the center: “Mrs. Mina
