Time passed interminably. Blair started to wonder if he was doing the right thing.
But changing his mind was out of the question.
He had spent hours weighing the pros and cons. When it came down to it, he felt it was far better to do something than nothing, even though there were not many options to choose from.
And he felt, with some certainty, that this was the best one.
Jeremy was not pleased when he picked up Blair at Ben Gurion Airport. He hadn’t been in favor of setting up this meeting with Lisa’s parents. And he had tried everything in his power to dissuade Blair.
They were no sooner on the road, when Blair wondered aloud why Lisa had been picked for the mission in the first place.
“She insisted,” Jeremy said.
“As her boss, couldn’t you have dissuaded her?”
“I tried. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she wanted to help you. To show how much she cared.”
“Christ!”
“You mad at me or at yourself?”
They rode the next few miles in silence.
“She lied to me,” Blair stated miserably.
“About what?” Jeremy asked.
“She said her parents were American.”
“Yeah. So?”
“They aren’t American. Never lived in the United States, as a matter of fact.”
“So?”
“So nothing, I guess.”
“Be prepared for a cold reception, by the way.”
“Why?”
“Her parents haven’t adjusted very well. Lisa’s their only child. They didn’t want to have this meeting. They are angry.”
“At me?”
“At you. At me. At everyone.”
“They don’t even know me.”
“They don’t know me, either. At least, not very well. But it’s human nature to want to blame someone. Her parents won’t listen to reason.”
“So, what are you saying?” Blair asked.
“It’s not too late to turn around.”
“Huh?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I’m not turning around.”
“Okay. Can’t say I didn’t try.”
It took another twenty-five minutes to reach the southern suburb of Ra’anana. Jeremy parked, then led the way to a small bungalow at the tip of a cul-de-sac. They were met at the door by a maid or housekeeper and ushered inside.
Blair felt the modern furniture was out of place, especially in a country as steeped in tradition as this one. Even the Judaic knickknacks, including an acrylic Mogen David positioned in the center of a bookcase lining the far wall in the living room, had a too-new look to them.
Lisa’s parents remained seated in individual chairs next to the bookcase. They wore grim expressions. Neither went out of his or her way to be polite, even after Jeremy made the introductions.
Mrs. Brandt was in her late fifties. Tall and statuesque, she had similar facial features as her daughter, with hair that was just as blond, but perhaps a little less full. Lisa’s father was slightly older than his wife. He had an impressive physique for someone his age, a bald pate, and eyes an unusual shade of greenish-blue.
Blair followed Jeremy’s lead and took a seat on the couch opposite them. Self-consciously he placed the small box he had brought with him by his feet. No sooner did Jeremy begin to speak in Hebrew, than he was filled with trepidation.
Jeremy paused, then translated his words into English, telling Blair that he had apologized for the intrusion. “I mentioned that the reason why you are here is to explain your involvement with their daughter.”
Blair knew this was his cue. But he hesitated. And he asked himself what his real reason was for coming here.
What do I want? he wondered.
Understanding?
Absolution?
“Blair?” he heard Jeremy say.
Finally, he began to speak, his voice low and as unemotional as he could manage. He explained when he and Lisa had met, omitting how and where this happened. And he went on to describe how they fell in love.
He told them about the horrible situation he had found himself in, how he was tricked into believing that he was dealing with a legitimate government agency, and how his own daughter had been used as a pawn to ensure his cooperation.
Every few sentences, he paused in order for Jeremy to handle the translation. The Hebrew seemed to take forever. And through it all, he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Brandt refrain from looking his way.
“When I learned of Lisa’s connection to Mossad,” he went on, “I felt as if she had deceived me. I knew I was in love with her, yet I believed she had lied about loving me.
“So you see, I am to blame. I should have given Lisa the benefit of the doubt. If I had, she would most likely be alive today…”
The house became deathly quiet.
Jeremy did not offer a translation.
Blair had been in situations before where he had felt intrusive and embarrassed. This felt worse. Without the translation his guilt could not be expunged. Yet, he asked himself if this was something he truly wanted.
He glanced at the box by his feet. And he hesitated. But he had no other way of expressing himself.
He bent down and lifted the box. Then he stood and approached Mr. Brandt.
He opened the box. “This is the Presidential Medal of Freedom,” he explained. “It is the highest civilian honor issued by the Government of the United States.”
He placed the medal in the man’s hands.
“I want you to have this,” Blair said. “I know it won’t bring your daughter back. But I hope it will act as a reminder to you and your wife of Lisa’s bravery.”
Mr. Brandt did not hesitate.
In one abrupt movement, he came to his feet—proving to be taller than Blair realized—and took him in his arms.
He began to rock him, gently, as if he were a child.
Behind him, Blair could hear Lisa’s mother crying.