Tsunami Connection (13 page)

Kefira got up and started searching for other clues to
unmask her control's ex-Egyptian double. After a few minutes, the program
pinged and Kefira turned her head towards the noise, but was distracted by
something shiny protruding from under a bowl beside the computer. Her penlight
guided her eyes. It was a cell phone, sitting on pile of phone bills. As she
removed a copy of all of Shafiq's encrypted email, as well as a duplicate of
everything on his computer now transferred to the 64GB key, she took pictures
of Shafiq's most recent phone bills and checked his messages on the Nokia
phone.

There was one call to Boston. The number was the same as the
number that Zak had found in Scotland. "Bingo!" she said under her
breath. Kefira let herself out, making sure to use a piece of sticky tape that
she found also on Shafiq's desk, over the top right side of the door. She made
her way back to the rented taxi and left it at the pre-arranged drop off.
Leaving two hundred dollars under the floor mat would reinforce the driver's
promise of silence. After all, she had pledged to use his cab for cash on
several more occasions in the coming weeks.

Kefira hopped onto her 'Duc' and made her way back to
Ayres
de Recoleta
on Guido at 1980. She had just enough time to shower and dress
before leaving for her dinner date. Following Fripo's advice, she used her GPS
when talking to the taxista, so the driver would be less inclined to scam her.
She arrived in front of
La Baita
, an upscale, yet family-style Italian
restaurant, on Thames at 1603, in the Palermo district. She was only
twenty-five minutes late when she arrived, and Fripo was just arriving as well.

Tasteful metalwork and glass overhead protected a solid oak
door leading into a wide room filled with alternating red or white table cloths
covering wood and stone inlaid tables. The atmosphere of rising and falling
conversations amongst people on at least their third glass of wine pleased the
ear. They entered together to find people sitting on the right and a large,
floor-to-ceiling wine bar on the left. The man at the door spoke warmly to both
of them, but addressed Fripo as an old friend, guiding the couple to a table
upstairs near a window overlooking a small street filled either with
Mediterranean white architecture, multi-colored storefront boutiques or grey
stone structures, all topped off with lush green vines and trees. Most of the
streets around Thames boasted tree-lined, overhanging green canopies that were
a pleasure to see. Kefira nibbled a shrimp cocktail that had arrived with the
waiter while Fripo was catching up with the owner. When Fripo's friend left,
unable to resist a glance at her cleavage, Kefira started the conversation.

"This is what they call
Viejo Palermo
, isn't
it?"

"Yes. This area is full of artists and has been
'gentrified', but I moved here before the dictatorship, when it was beautiful
but rundown. It has the same feeling now as Soho in New York, don't you
think?"

The waiter approached the table with a half bottle of white
wine and two risottos decorated with leafy lettuce, accompanied by a basket of
crusty white rolls sitting beside a bowl of olive oil.

"I hope you are hungry," said Fripo.

"Ravenous," said Kefira, as she tipped her wine
glass in his direction and ran her tongue over her upper lip to recover any
leftovers.

The pasta came next. It was decorated with chopped garlic
and smothered with caramelized onions. Crushed walnuts and a hint of béchamel
coated the wide noodles, topped with fresh parsley, served on a bed of lettuce.
Ever attentive, the waiter appeared to top up their wine glasses. The second
glass of wine started as they sampled the pasta. Kefira knew enough not to eat
the whole plate of noodles. Fripo paused in the telling of a joke about a
Jewish restaurant owner in New York as the waiter brought a full bottle of
Argentinian red wine from
Bodega y Vinedo Mauricio Lorca,
called
Inspirado
Blend 2008.

"This wine is an excellent choice, selected for you by
the owner. You will see that it goes down like liquid velvet. Enjoy your
meal," he said with a flourishing twist of the wrist, preventing spillage
as he finished pouring Kefira's glass. As a visitor to the country, the waiter
asked her to do the honors with the wine. Kefira smiled widely and let the
bouquet pass over her nose. Then she sipped a small amount of wine, sloshed it
around in her mouth and swallowed, with a very appreciative nod to the waiter,
never taking her eyes from Fripo. Her date blushed at all this attention, and the
waiter, disappointed that he was unable to distract this strikingly attractive
woman from her much older partner, busied himself with serving the thin sliced
beef seared slightly and coated with pepper. When the waiter left, Fripo
continued his joke.

"Anyway, this is indirectly a story about people
learning the Tango Nuevo, which moves radically away from the
Milonguero
tradition. For me, this new change is not tango; these people are not learning
tango, but perhaps I am too old to understand," said Fripo.

"Get back to the joke, the suspense is killing
me," said Kefira, finishing her fourth glass of wine.

"Of course, of course. You see, the friend of the
restaurant owner sits down and is served by a Chinese immigrant who remarkably
speaks almost flawless Hebrew. The customer thanks the waiter and calls his
friend over from the cash and asks him where he found an Asian who speaks such
amazing Hebrew. The owner puts his fingers to his lips and looks around while
saying: 'Not so loud, he thinks he's learning English.' "

The two of them laughed deeply at the joke. Kefira removed
her foot from her shoe and ran her toe up Fripo's calf. They decided to have
coffee at Fripo's house, about two blocks from the restaurant. As Fripo stood
beside the cash register near the entrance, his friend said that the meal was
on the house. Fripo protested, but his friend said, "Any man so lucky as
to meet the same woman in two of her reincarnations during his one life is
charmed. I haven't seen you laugh and smile like this for an age. What's that
expression people say when something unforeseen occurs?" said the owner
with a wink at Kefira.

Kefira reached over to hug the man and the two of them
shouted, "Mazel tov!" Fripo shed one tear before throwing his arms
around the two of them. They did a kind of Irish jig in circles, and everyone
in the restaurant raised a glass and shouted encouragement. Kefira and Fripo
strolled back to Fripo's condo.

"This evening was magic. I haven't felt this well for
more than a year," said Fripo. Kefira slipped into his embrace and tasted
his lips with her tongue. He pressed his tongue into her mouth and his hand
reached down to her bottom. He tickled the material of her garment and breathed
in her scent. Then he pulled himself away.

"As much as you tantalize me, I am not ready to open up
the wounds that sleeping with the twin of my dead wife would precipitate.
Please try to understand. You are ready to tango now. The complex figures you
can learn from the Internet."

"It's been wonderful meeting you, Fripo."

A passing taxi stopped beside them, having been flagged down
by Fripo with his free hand behind Kefira's back.

"
Hasta luego
," said the two of them in
unison.

March , 2012

Kefira returned home again to shower
and get dressed for an evening of tango. Later, she would take a taxi to
Confitería
Ideal
, on Suipacha 384, just off Avenida Corrientes in the city center. The
tango had been easier to pick up than she imagined it would be. She knew she
was ready. She also knew she would not call Fripo to try to see him. Her
mission took precedence over a dalliance; besides, he seemed too reticent late
last evening.

The tango salon opened at about nine thirty in the evening.
Kefira arrived around midnight. The marble staircases and hardwood wainscoting
conveyed 19th century luxury, and like Buenos Aires' sidewalks, was a little
chipped. People sat in rows around a decorative mosaic floor. The sound of
tango filled the room.

Most clients sat alone so that they would be free to dance
with anyone they chose. In fact, some couples actually sat on opposite sides of
the hall by themselves in order to appear ready to dance with any partner.
Women, pheasant-like, flounced and paraded in elaborate costumes completed by
obligatory stiletto heels, while men languished indifferently, casting somewhat
pompous glances towards potential partners, never venturing to ask a woman
unless she had nodded her approval, thus protecting their easily bruised egos.
Despite all this posturing, there was an air of elegance and pleasure in either
watching or dancing in the umpteen-shaped, many-aged kaleidoscope of people in
movement on the floor.

When Kefira entered, the music seemed to pause as all the
men in the salon took a simultaneous deep breath. The women's eyes noted
another competitor for the attentions of the men; some packed up and left,
somehow knowing that the evening would now pass without anyone asking them to
dance. Shafiq looked up, too. He was sitting on the far left edge of the hall
so he could see everyone who entered without being noticed himself. His gaze
mimicked a Bertolucci camera scan, slowly taking in her Chanel red on black
sequined gown slit to the hip on the right. Then her cleavage startled him into
a pause, the subtle smoothness of her rising and falling breasts connected to
the regal, set back shape of her exposed shoulders and jet-black hair completed
the lustful scrutiny. She sat close to him. As she bent down to remove her
dancing shoes from a string tie-bag marked Narco Tango, Buenos Aires, her dress
slipped down from her thigh, revealing the top of an old-fashioned garter
snapped in lace frill to a shiny silver-toned nylon.

All the men at adjacent tables craned their necks, much to the
chagrin of the partners of those that sat coupled. Her shoes were red with
three black straps arching over the ankle, suggestive of legs tied together to
the kinkier element in the crowd. She breathed in and glanced around as if
oblivious to all the attention she was generating. Within minutes, a man with a
military-looking posture received the first nod. It was a
tandas
of
tango salon music reminiscent of the grand ballrooms of the 1940s. A
tandas
is a grouping of four similar songs in a row, punctuated at the end by a short
pause, permitting partners to either continue or escape each other after every
four songs; the composer was Carlos di Sarli. Kefira swept through the
following hour of music, leaving most partners breathless both emotionally and
physically. She seemed effortlessly able to match the ability of each leader
and decorate even the most amateur dancer with diplomacy.

She had danced one hesitant
tandas
of fast milongas
with Shafiq, but had not wanted to favor him despite his obvious ability and
magnetism. As she took a break over espresso and
agua minerale
, she
noticed some competition entering the room. A tall, redheaded woman with
pearlescent skin and startlingly large, round, green eyes entered and sat with
Shafiq. She was stunning in a black beaded gown that swirled around her slender
legs and was split to the hip on her left side. Her heels were delicate
filigreed green, exactly matching her eyes. She wore 1930s style beads trussed
into her shoulder length hair and dangling over her forehead. The beads were
deep green. She and Shafiq took center stage with their practiced looking yet
spontaneous movements, but they did not sit together after the second
tandas
.
Instead, the woman in the black gown approached Kefira and introduced herself.

"I saw you dancing before, from behind a pillar on the
staircase. You are remarkably talented, and I might add, beautiful in that
dress. May I sit?"

"You're too kind. Really, I am rather new to tango, but
I am a professional dancer. Be my guest, I am Kefira," said Kefira,
motioning grandly with an outward sloping twist of her sensuous arm and a twirl
of her long fingers.

"My name is Michael."

"Excuse my directness, but isn't that a man's
name?"

"I suppose it is, but it is not uncommon to name a
strong looking female child Michael where I come from."

"And where is that?"

"Really, you can't guess looking at my eyes and
hair!"

"The Emerald Isle?"

"You got it. And you?"

"California, via the Greek Islands."

"You sure don't move out there like what we call a
Yank. It's a delightful name. Where does it come from? It doesn't sound
Greek."

Kefira sensed a test, but didn't skip a beat. "It's a
mixture of my father's favorite Russian yogurt and a nice sounding
ending," said the Mossad agent.

"What is your dance?"

"I am a Middle Eastern specialist, but now I have moved
to Latin dance because of demand in California. I rarely perform now. I spend
my time teaching in LA."

This news somehow relieved Michael and she took a deep
breath, sighing on the exhale. The waiter delivered two more coffees and two
small bottles of bubbly water. He would not take money and gestured toward
Shafiq in explanation. Shafiq nodded to them, and both Michael and Kefira
shared an intimate bow in his direction.

"Do you dance with him often?" asked Kefira.

"Yes, I do. He is a very thoughtful leader and he
listens to the music."

"How'd you meet him?"

"Actually, I first met him years ago through my
brother. We ran into each other by chance here in Buenos Aires. He bought a
business here, escorting foreign women on the dance floor, about a year ago. He
also drives them to and from the dance halls, all for a hundred dollar fee per
evening. He really is quite successful and, as you know, he can be very
charming in an old-school way."

At that moment, a tall gentleman in a dark suit and
sunglasses stepped up beside them. He nodded to Kefira, but extended his hand
to Michael.

"Miss MacAuley, won't you do me the pleasure of this
dance?"

As Michael got to her feet, she turned to face Kefira and
asked, "Will you let me lead you on the floor later? We'll shock all of
these stogy old machos."

Kefira gulped her affirmative answer and over-gestured a
touch to the bare skin over her sequined gown.

"Me, darling," she said in a clear imitation of
Marlene Dietrich.

"I like you more every minute," responded Michael
breezily as she left for the floor.

Kefira danced a few more
tandas
and left without
talking to Michael again, but found a card with her number on it in her purse
when she searched for some money for the taxi. Her pulse quickened.
Finally
some luck
, she thought as she climbed in and adjusted her dress to the
chagrin and disappointed chuckle of the driver glancing at her thigh. Kefira
went straight to a new hotel and registered with a different passport. As soon
as she arrived, she sent a secure text to Zak.

"Team necessary. Join me at prearranged site.
ASAP."

Kefira leaned into the turn while shifting her weight, her
knees staying tightly glued against the gas tank. The effect on a normal side
street defied even an expert rider's expectations. Duc, the name she
affectionately called her bike, responded to her efforts in a practiced
diagonal slant as Kefira's knee was inches from the asphalt on the left side
and the motorcycle spun 180 degrees on its steel upper peg foot rests before
she executed a lift and break onto her front wheel in a wheelie. The stunt left
her directly in front of her new found friend, Michael MacAuley, Kefira's
target's sister. Shafiq sat on his balcony, watching the display on the street.
Michael got on the back of the bike after Kefira handed her a spare helmet. The
two of them turned to look at the balcony before they waved and jerked into the
street between passing cars.

Near
Niceto Vega
on Calle Armenia, Shafiq's apartment
overlooked some brightly painted boutiques and a coffee shop. His
disappointment was visceral, noticeable even from the ground up. He could not
have imagined Kefira could read his lips as she looked at him. Two faced, he
smiled widely and uttered under his breath, "
Bint gaarbua
," an
insult meaning a small, jumping rodent. The Ducati, with two stunning women
perched on it, launched into the sparse traffic on Armenia, leaving some of the
men open mouthed and looking at each other in the coffee shop.

Over the sound of traffic and while weaving in and out,
Michael and Kefira waxed more and more enthusiastic. They were discovering each
other, Michael hugging her driver closer and closer as she became surer of
herself.

"A friend of mine has a houseboat near Tigre. You want
to visit for the day?" asked Michael.

"Sure. How'd we get there?"

"Stay by the water on your GPS. Keep right at the end
of La Plata. It's on 195. You see it here," she said, touching the GPS
screen open in front of Kefira, as they moved through the traffic and Kefira
altered their course.

"What's the green space over there by the water?"
asked Kefira.

"
Parque de los Niños
.
We
can go there another day. Let's get off the highway here. We can go all the way
to Tigre near the water. It'll take longer, but it's really beautiful."

"Sounds great to me."

The sun was pleasant and a cool breeze coming from the Rio
Plata both refreshed them and fanned the embers glowing between Kefira and
Michael. Michael let her head drop sideways, inside her small helmet, on to
Kefira's shoulder blade. Sun glinting on her teardrop glasses, she hugged
Kefira. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. Even the haunting memories
of her childhood in Ireland faded.

"You smell great. What's that fragrance?"

"It's a long story. I make it myself. I'll show you
sometime. What're we looking for?"

"Calle Francisco B. Baratta
.
It's near the
Club
Navale San Fernando sul Río Tigre
. She has a little slip there. We can stay
as long as we like. I know where she keeps the keys to her houseboat. We should
stop for groceries first. When I get you alone there I don't want to
leave," said Michael with a squeeze around Kefira's waist.

They pulled into a grocery store. Four children surrounded
the Asian couple behind the counter; all of them were of school age. Michael
and Kefira bought some cheese, starchy white bread, eggs, milk, mangoes,
papaya, limes, peppers, and two large bottles of beer.

"All the basics are in the houseboat. My friend comes
here often. We might even get to meet her in the next few days."

"Does she have a name?"

"I'll let her tell you, if she comes."

"You sure we don't need to bring coffee."

"We can drink
mate
."

"I still need coffee to get going in the morning.
What's
mate
?"

"It's a kind of herbal tea. It took me a while to get
used to it, but now I love it. I used to be an Irish Breakfast drinker. Now I
hardly ever use it."

"I'm game for anything."

"I like the sound of that. Now go left here. I can see
the sailing club so we are near. Look for Francisco Baratta. It's right near
here."

"I don't like the look of those clouds. I thought this
was the tropics," commented Kefira.

"It's the time of year. We could have some lousy weather
now. Don't worry though, there's a great heater in the boat."

After winding around the area of the sailing club, they
finally found the boat dock with the houseboat around dinnertime. It had not
seen a paintbrush for some time. The structure was weathered teak and the
covered part contained slanted, heavy-duty Plexiglas with wooden trim. It was
large enough that getting on board did not disturb it.

"There's a gangway over there, on the other side of the
wheelhouse. You really should roll your bike onto the deck and cover it with a
tarp. Otherwise, I don't think it'd last the night around here."

"You're probably right. Do you wanna help me?"

"There's a hinge in the middle. We can run the bike up
one side and I can wait on the other side and roll it down. There. Done. Now
get that old grey tarp over there. Don't forget to lock it up before you cover
it. There, drape the tarp over it and secure it with those bungee cords."

The couple made their way along the outside of the
houseboat, using the slant of the deck as an excuse to tentatively hold hands.
Michael reached over the top of the roof near the door and found a key. She had
to use a penknife to remove it, but it fit the door. There was a musty smell
inside, but it was cozy. The cushions in the kitchenette were damp, but the
propane heater filled the living space with warmth almost immediately. Michael
started cooking an omelet and found some coffee for Kefira. It was instant
coffee, but it warmed their hearts as they sat over a steamy cup each.

"I'm going to make some
mate
. You'll see it's
great. There's a shower in the back, behind the bedroom. Go ahead. You're the
guest here," insisted Michael.