hardworking, persistent to the pointof stubbornness, and conniving. “Marked for promotion,” said one comment, “but not in positions that require teamwork.” For a moment I suspected that Benny had pulled a fast one on me and given me a copy of my own evaluation form. The most recent comments on the form were written in 1955, although Benny had told me earlier that Peled left in 1957. Was something being kept from me?
The only other document in the envelope was a letter of appreciation Peled received from Professor Ernest David Bergman, the legendary founder and first head of Israel's Nuclear Energy Commission. The letter, only three lines long, commended him for a job well done. There was no mention of the type of work he did to deserve this letter. Why did Benny bother to include this letter among the documents he gave me? It didn't seem to have any relevance. Or maybe it was Benny's not-so-subtle way of saying it did.
Ralph came to see me two hours later. We went out to the park surrounding the hotel to sit on a bench and enjoy the sea breeze. I didn't need to keep our meeting a secret, and I wanted fresh air. Then again, with two people with backgrounds such as ours, even an innocent meeting might suggest we suspected the KGB was watching.
“Ralph, I need you to find a woman for me. Her name is Mina Lerer.” I gave him her ID number. “She was married to a Bruno Popescu, who later changed his name to Dov Peled; he probably divorced her.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“I don't, but I know of an American-born current wife. So I don't know what last name Mina Lerer would be using now. Call me at the hotel when you make progress. I think I'll be here for another week.”
“Sure,” he said, “I'll get right to work on it.”
I returned to my room and stood at the glass door looking at the sea. I was trying to conjure up Dov Peled in my mind. He must have been pretty sharp if he was in the nuclear science section of the Mossad. Israel's nuclear weapons policy and efforts, and the Arab countries’ capabilities, were off-limits, even within the organization, except for those actually assigned to that section. We were warned that it was the mostclosely guarded secret of Israel. In the mid- and late 1960s, Israel kept its nuclear capability under a dissembling cloud while vowing not to be the first nation to introduce nuclear weapons into the Middle East. “Non-introduction” meant doing it anyway, but quietly. Peled, I recalled, had joined the Mossad in 1952 and left in 1957.I wondered what Israel's “nuclear policy” had been in those years.
A call from Ralph woke me up the next morning. I'd closed my curtains so I didn't realize how late I'd slept. It was already past 10:00 A.M. — a case of jet lag at its worst. Ralph continued our conversation as if it had stopped only moments before.
“Your Mina Lerer is now Mina Bernstein. She lives in Haifa on Allenby Street.”
Half asleep, I jotted down the address, then made it a short conversation for both of us. “Thanks, send me your bill.”
I washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs. I fueled my system with a little of the famous Israeli breakfast — freshly cut salad, soft cheese and olives, and fresh-squeezed orange juice — and headed for the garage and my car. Haifa was just sixty miles north of Tel Aviv on the coast, and I figured I could be there within an hour or so. As it turned out, other drivers had similar plans, and they were ahead of me. The trip stretched to almost two hours. But the great views of the sea were some compensation. The color of the water changed from emerald green to azure blue as the waves broke on the beach. Seagulls shrieked; a few fishermen were trying their luck in the shallow waters. The breeze carried a strong smell of salt water and seaweed. It all looked so serene. But it was deceptive; I knew that the undertow just offshore was strong and dangerous.
I finally entered Haifa and drove through the
The only other document in the envelope was a letter of appreciation Peled received from Professor Ernest David Bergman, the legendary founder and first head of Israel's Nuclear Energy Commission. The letter, only three lines long, commended him for a job well done. There was no mention of the type of work he did to deserve this letter. Why did Benny bother to include this letter among the documents he gave me? It didn't seem to have any relevance. Or maybe it was Benny's not-so-subtle way of saying it did.
Ralph came to see me two hours later. We went out to the park surrounding the hotel to sit on a bench and enjoy the sea breeze. I didn't need to keep our meeting a secret, and I wanted fresh air. Then again, with two people with backgrounds such as ours, even an innocent meeting might suggest we suspected the KGB was watching.
“Ralph, I need you to find a woman for me. Her name is Mina Lerer.” I gave him her ID number. “She was married to a Bruno Popescu, who later changed his name to Dov Peled; he probably divorced her.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“I don't, but I know of an American-born current wife. So I don't know what last name Mina Lerer would be using now. Call me at the hotel when you make progress. I think I'll be here for another week.”
“Sure,” he said, “I'll get right to work on it.”
I returned to my room and stood at the glass door looking at the sea. I was trying to conjure up Dov Peled in my mind. He must have been pretty sharp if he was in the nuclear science section of the Mossad. Israel's nuclear weapons policy and efforts, and the Arab countries’ capabilities, were off-limits, even within the organization, except for those actually assigned to that section. We were warned that it was the mostclosely guarded secret of Israel. In the mid- and late 1960s, Israel kept its nuclear capability under a dissembling cloud while vowing not to be the first nation to introduce nuclear weapons into the Middle East. “Non-introduction” meant doing it anyway, but quietly. Peled, I recalled, had joined the Mossad in 1952 and left in 1957.I wondered what Israel's “nuclear policy” had been in those years.
A call from Ralph woke me up the next morning. I'd closed my curtains so I didn't realize how late I'd slept. It was already past 10:00 A.M. — a case of jet lag at its worst. Ralph continued our conversation as if it had stopped only moments before.
“Your Mina Lerer is now Mina Bernstein. She lives in Haifa on Allenby Street.”
Half asleep, I jotted down the address, then made it a short conversation for both of us. “Thanks, send me your bill.”
I washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs. I fueled my system with a little of the famous Israeli breakfast — freshly cut salad, soft cheese and olives, and fresh-squeezed orange juice — and headed for the garage and my car. Haifa was just sixty miles north of Tel Aviv on the coast, and I figured I could be there within an hour or so. As it turned out, other drivers had similar plans, and they were ahead of me. The trip stretched to almost two hours. But the great views of the sea were some compensation. The color of the water changed from emerald green to azure blue as the waves broke on the beach. Seagulls shrieked; a few fishermen were trying their luck in the shallow waters. The breeze carried a strong smell of salt water and seaweed. It all looked so serene. But it was deceptive; I knew that the undertow just offshore was strong and dangerous.
I finally entered Haifa and drove through the
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