around his waist and a few more streaks of gray on his mustache and on the hair that was still left on his head. With his medium build, the weight gain made him look more like a bank manager than a highly ranked executive in a world famous spy agency. The greatest part about Benny, though, was that although he was one of the shrewdest men I'd ever met, he was just an ordinary guy – down-to-earth and never condescending.
We found a quiet corner and schmoozed a bit like the old friends we were, drinking tea and coffee. Then things turned serious. Benny handed me an envelope.
“This is for you, and you only. Nothing in it is secret or classified, particularly after so many years, but it could be sensitive so let's lay down some ground rules. After you're finished, return the documents to me. No copies. I want to make sure that Israel is kept out of it if this thing ever blows up.”
I was getting curious. What was he talking about? DeLouise was a common thief. Only the amount of his haul wasn't common.
“Look,” said Benny seriously, as if he'd read my mind. “Let me tell you a few things, then you can go back to your room with that envelope. This person – DeLouise, Popescu, Peled, or whatever he called himself – was not an ordinary person. He was an only child born in Romania to Jewish parents who were Romanian citizens. His father was an electrical engineer and his mother a French teacher – all very normal. But Bruno was a brilliant student in high school and graduated at sixteen. He excelled in math and sciences and was accepted to the Bucharest Polytechnic to study physics and chemistry; he got his degree before his twentieth birthday.
“When immigration to Israel was allowed, he and his parents emigrated to Israel aboard a ship from Constanta, Romania. Soon after arriving in Israel he joined the Israeli Army and fought in the 1948 War of Independence. He was an excellent soldier and was cited for bravery under fire.”
I could see this account would be a real test of my memory. “Go on,” I said.
“He'd taken an Israeli name by then – Dov Peled – and he was sent to the officers’ training academy and became a second lieutenant. The Army assigned him to military intelligence. His first job was in field security; then he was sent to advanced training. A year later Peled was promoted to first lieutenant and placed in a secret unit assigned to collect data on the Arab countries’ technical and scientific capabilities.”
“So far, it sounds routine,” I said. “There's nothing special about him.”
“Well, it was unusual. He was assigned to a secret military intelligence unit although he was a new immigrant from a Communist country. It was unusual then, and it's almost impossible today.”
“I know the routine,” I said. “So why did they take him after all?”
“I don't have all the facts but it seems that field security found no negative information on him. Anyway, his initial exposure to confidential information was limited because he was assigned to analyze raw data and had no knowledge where it came from or by what means. At the time Israel needed the data for two purposes: first, to be prepared if the Arabs started developing weapons rather than buying existing ones from more developed nations, and second, to steal any scientific discovery or achievement for its own use. Israel had the need, Bruno had the credentials, and the combination worked beautifully. Remember, Israel was in a state of war with the surrounding Arab countries at the time, so the information was crucial. And they weren't just looking at the military industries. For example, the Arab oil industry brought with it substantial technical know-how, from explosives to the behavior of metals under extreme heat and pressure, which could easily be applied to the manufacture of cannon barrels.”
I was becoming impatient. I knew Benny; there must have been a better reason for him to make me come all the way to Israel. Had I traveled for eleven hours to listen to the history of a guy who was no different from thousands of others? I looked at him closely, trying to figure out what bombshell he was going to drop. There had to be one; I just wondered how big it was going to be.
Benny sipped his coffee, took a breath, and continued.
“I don't have a lot of information about what Peled did in that AMAN intelligence unit; I didn't ask for his military file. Although I do know well enough how successful that unit was.”
Benny then paused – an actor preparing to take center stage. I waited a full thirty seconds for him to continue. I finally spoke.
“And then?”
“And then, he joined the Mossad,” Benny said. It sounded as if he'd put a period at the end of his sentence. You could almost hear it.
My jaw dropped. Not exactly a bombshell, but still a shocker. The Mossad?
“Our Mossad?” I asked, slowly pronouncing each syllable.
“Yep,” he said decisively. “Ours.”
I leaned back to digest the news. A Mossad-trained guy stealing millions? I didn't say anything, thinking that was the end of it.
“Wait,” said Benny, as if he were reading my mind again. He cautioned me. “None of what I'm telling you about the Mossad is mentioned in the documents in that envelope. It's information that I want you to hear but never repeat.”
“Is there something else?” I asked in anticipation.
“Patience,” he counseled. “Please understand that I trust you not to disclose this information to anyone. I don't want this to haunt us. You can draw your own conclusions and use the information to make progress, but don't put it in writing, discuss it with anyone, or reveal your source.”
This must be some heavy stuff, I thought, if Benny went out of his way to tell me that. We were trained together; we knew the rules. I nodded and waited for Benny to continue.
“After his honorable discharge from the army, Peled was looking for a job. He took up teaching physics in a high school but left after one year. I guess he was bored. Then the Mossad approached him and offered him a place in the ranks, specifically the ultrasecret unit assigned to worldwide gathering of scientific and industrial information from public and, more importantly, private sources. He was assigned to the nuclear physics section. He was to collect data on the military applications of the most recent developments in the atomic energy field.”
I didn't want to say anything, fearing I'd break Benny's train of thought or that he'd change his mind about telling me all this.
“He resigned suddenly in 1957 and emigrated to the United States. That's where our story ends.”
“Serious stuff,” I breathed. “So this son of a bitch could lead triple lives. Tack on his Mossad training, and he could disappear anytime he wanted.
“At least I've got a place to start now,” I said. “But triple legal identities? I don't think I've seen that one before.”
“There could certainly be some side benefits to that,” said Benny.
“Like what?” I asked absentmindedly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”
Then I saw the sparkle in his eyes.
“You could have three wives,” Benny chuckled.
“But then you're punished,” I quipped.
“You mean for polygamy?”
“No,” I said, “You'd have three mothers-in-law.”
He smiled. Benny knew marriage was a sensitive topic. Benny and his wife, Batya, had been good friends to Dahlia and me. The news that we were divorcing had stunned them. There'd been no side to take because the decision came so suddenly and the marriage ended so quickly. Even an intelligence expert like Benny hadn't seen the storm approaching. I had simply packed and left. No battles, just good but fading memories tarnished by two people growing apart. I needed a change and the United States looked like a good new leaf for me.
“Thanks for the information,” I said, when I realized he had finished the story.
“Hey, what are friends for?”
I wanted to find out if DeLouise had maintained any contact with the Mossad after he'd left, but I didn't want to push Benny with further questions. I'd try to find another opportunity to ask him that. The information could be relevant to my case.
“I'll read this stuff and call you to return it or if I have any questions.”
“I'll be here,” he said, and with that he left.
I was tempted to open the envelope and go through the documents then and there, but I resisted. I looked around at the other diners. I could easily pick out the Mossad types. Once you'd spent time there you learned the identifying marks – like that guy over at the other table who wore his name tag tucked inside a pocket shirt, but
