A Gentleman's Game

19

Israel-Tel Aviv, Mossad Headquarters, Commissary 8 September 1919 Local (GMT+3.00) "She went shopping?" Borovsky demanded. "The British agent went shopping? Doesn't she know Yemeni silver has been shit since Operation: Magic Carpet?"

"Yosef doesn't think she was after silver." Landau switched the gas on beneath the burner, waited to hear the flame ignite. It took three clicks of the ignition before the gas caught. He moved away from the kettle, began searching the kitchen for Nescafe. "He thinks she was making a walk-through of the suq."

"The suq is fucking huge, Noah, you don't just walk through the suq in a day. Hell, you can't cover the suq in ten days, and even if you could, the stalls change."

Landau found the instant coffee in the cupboard above the sink, along with powdered nondairy creamer and sugar. There was also dishwasher soap, a stack of paper plates, and a can of condensed milk.

"Doesn't anyone ever clean this room?" he asked.

"Write a fucking memo."

Landau sighed, found a clean spoon in the sink, began loading coffee, sugar, and creamer into his mug. "I don't see why you're getting so worked up."

"I'm getting worked up because she doesn't have the time to waste." Borovsky began pacing the cramped break room. "El-Sayd will only allow a small window, it'll be a fucking cunt hair wide, that's what it'll be, it'll be nothing. And if this British bitch is out trying to get a deal on silks, she'll miss it."

"But that's not what she was doing." Landau frowned at the kettle, readjusted its position on the burner. His wife had hated it when he'd done that, always telling him it would take twice as long the more he fiddled, but he couldn't help himself. There was an optimum place to sit on the flame, and until the kettle was there, he wouldn't be happy.

"You keep saying that. So you tell me, what was she doing?"

"She's going to hit them in the Great Mosque," Landau said, and readjusted the kettle's position.

Borovsky stared at him, then tapped his temple. "No fucking way, we wouldn't even do that, and we're fucking desperate."

"She's going to hit them in the Great Mosque," Landau repeated. "Or at least she'll try to. It's the only place where she knows Faud will be without armed protection."

"They still have bare hands, Noah. They'll tear her to pieces."

Landau shrugged and said nothing. The kettle was finally beginning to creak, the heat accelerating through the metal.

"Crocker, you think he would have her do that?"

Landau shrugged again.

"Stop being a fucking cipher! I work with you, you can share a little insight."

"You're Intelligence." Landau grinned. "Be intelligent."

"Fuck off."

"Has el-Sayd left Cairo?"

"As of thirteen-ten today, yes."

"Then he'll be in San'a' by morning at the latest, presuming he goes direct. He'll want the meeting with Faud as soon as possible thereafter."

"At the mosque."

"That's what I'm thinking, and I'm certain that is what she is thinking as well."

The kettle began to whistle. Landau flicked off the heat, filled his cup with water, watched the freeze-dried grains blossom into something approximating coffee. He stirred the water with his finger, ignoring the pain.

"Either she's a genius or she's fucking insane, Noah. If you're right, she's one or the other."

"Perhaps we should ask Yosef to find out?" Landau said, and tasted his drink, and wasn't surprised to find that, despite all the sugar, it was still bitter.