Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Thirty-Seven

There was a rectangle on the table of organization of the American embassy staff which bore the name of Michael Donahue, but it was not clear just what his duties and responsibilities were. He had no immediate supervisor but was connected with the upper echelons by a dotted line which indicated some sort of staff function. Mike Donahue was not so high on the chart as to be automatically invited to embassy parties, nor was he so low as to cause notice and comment if he occasionally attended. He was certainly not one of the pretty boys, the urbane youngish men. good-looking, well dressed, with a special talent for being agreeable to the wives and daughters of members of the diplomatic corps in Tel Aviv. On the contrary, he was a thickset middle-aged man. balding, with a round face and a nose that looked as though it might have been flattened in the boxing ring. He usually dressed in wrinkled seersucker suits and a shapeless panama. He was thought by most of the staff to have something to do with publicity since he had a wide acquaintance among journalists, and yet he did not come directly under the Public Relations Unit. The more knowing suspected that he was either CIA or its liaison with the ambassador.

It was to his old friend Mike Donahue that Dan Stedman made application when he went to Tel Aviv. "So they took Roy's passport and gave him some cock-and-bull story about its having been misplaced and they'd send it to him by mail."

"And he fell for it?"

"He's just a kid. Mike. This man at the police, the inspector who interrogated him. had been pleasant all through it— no tough stuff— why wouldn't he believe him?"

"But all this time—"

"Well, you know how it is. You don't get it the next day, so you figure the mail service is not so good. Then the next day you get a little anxious, but you figure you'll wait one more day. Then the next day he did go down to inquire, and no one there seemed to know what he was talking about, and this inspector he had dealt with was not around. If this business of the little trip I'd planned hadn't come up, chances are he might have waited another few days or a week before telling me about it."

"The police don't lose passports," said Donahue flatly.

"That's what I thought. The whole business didn't seem kosher."

"Obviously not. And I don't think it's the sort of thing the police would do. not to an American citizen, especially a student at the university, and especially one whose father was in the media. No. it's definitely Shin Bet. The police are acting for them."

"So what do I do?" asked Stedman. "Do I play it straight and go down there and raise hell or go to the American consulate in Jerusalem and have them make a formal demand, or maybe ask them to issue a replacement?"

Donahue shook his head. "I wouldn't do that. Because if it is the Shin Bet and they don't want your boy to leave the country for a while, they'll see to it that he doesn't leave even if they have to put him in a hospital to keep him here."

Dan was indignant. "C'mon, Mike, this is a democracy with a code of laws—"

"You c'mon. You’ve been around long enough to know better. What country democratic or otherwise can control the individual actions of its Intelligence? If the Shin Bet wanted your boy around for a few days, even if word came down from Golda herself, do you suppose that would stop a convenient automobile accident? They'd reason that it was for the security of the state and that she didn't know what was involved. The agent wouldn't change direction until he got word from his chief."

"So what do you do about a thing like this?"

"Well, that depends on what the thing is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll spell it out for you. Dan. There was a terrorist bombing in Jerusalem and your kid was there— in a quiet, deserted street where no one would normally go for a stroll in the evening, mind you. Or put it another way: He's in a place where he would normally have had no business to be unless he had business. And he was not just taking a walk there because it was raining. All right, that's one item. The second item is that his close friends at school are Arabs—"

"I didn't say they were his close friends."

"No, but you said he was friendly with them because he hadn't been able to make friends with the Israeli or American students. So I could amend that and suggest that whether they were close or not, they were his only friends. Does that make it any better? All right. So it's perfectly possible that one of his good friends, or one of his only friends, asks him to do a little favor for him. 'Leave this box on the windowsill of my friend in One Mazel Tov Street, will you. Roy?'— That's his name? Roy? Or maybe: 'I’ve got to drop off something at the home of a friend of mine. Roy. How about walking down with me?' And then when they get there, 'Would you mind waiting on the street for a minute. Roy, and cough or whistle or something if someone comes along?'"

"My son wouldn't—"

"Yeah. I know, your son wouldn't do that kind of thing. Let me tell you. anybody's son could, especially these days. I'm just suggesting possibilities, you understand. Well, if it were something like that. I'm not sure that much could be done. That is, if he's guilty or has any connection with this, I don't know if anything could be done except wait while they built a case and it came up in court. Then about all you could do would be to hire the best lawyer you could get. But if he is completely innocent, and they really have nothing on him except the coincidence of his having been there, maybe we can do something."

"Like what?"

"Well, we could pass the word along until it reaches the right party. Favors have been asked and favors have been done and you slip this one in as a favor in exchange."

"I see." said Stedman. "And what do I do in the meantime?"

"Not a damn thing. You just wait. Were you going back to Jerusalem tonight?"

"Why, yes. I was planning to take the sherut and—"

"Why not stick around for a day or two? Maybe I'll have some news for you."

Stedman nodded.

"Oh, and. Dan. a suggestion: If and when we get this cleared up. it might not be a bad idea if your son went back to the States as soon as he gets his passport."

Stedman looked over in surprise. "But why?"

"You can't always tell about these things." Donahue said. "Sometimes there's more than one person involved, and not everybody gets the message at the same time. Besides, your son's evidently got off on the wrong foot. He came here to find something and so far obviously hasn't succeeded. There's no reason to believe that if he stays on for the rest of the year. he'll do any better."

"I hate to take him out of school, right in the middle of the year," Dan said. He thought a moment. "Maybe you're right."

"And, Dan—"

"Yes?"

"Look out for yourself. Be careful."

"What do you mean?"

Donahue hesitated. "Well, all Intelligence services are suspicious, not to say downright paranoid. They might get to thinking that a youngster like your kid might be acting on instructions from his dad."