Destiny

FORTY-TWO

It was after 11:00 p.m. when Paul Marcus reached his hotel. His mind was on the coding and the revelations beginning to appear. Locals and tourists — mostly people in their twenties, strolled the streets, coming in and out of nightclubs, music and the smell of alcohol, tobacco and burnt marijuana following them. Marcus stepped up to his hotel where a woman was getting out of a taxi, struggling to carry two suitcases, a large purse and two canvas bags. She paid the driver, a razor-thin man with a gold-hooped earring in his right ear. He got back in the taxi.

“Let me help you,” Marcus said, reaching for the suitcases.

She turned and smiled, blowing a strand of black hair from eyes that had the power of blue diamonds. Her smile was wide, eyes appreciative, accentuating high cheekbones and flawless skin. She wore a business suit, collar open, and a single strand of white pearls against her olive skin. “Thank you. It looks like the bell captain has the night off.”

“Maybe he’s on break,” Marcus said, opening the door for the woman. He waited for her to walk inside. Even with carrying the other suitcase, bags and purse, she walked like a model, shoulders squared and back straight. Marcus could tell she had the body of a woman who spent time exercising, shapely legs and thin waist.

The bellman came from the elevator, a luggage dolly in hand. He smiled awkwardly. “Madame, please allow me to help.” He took the bags while she waited for the desk clerk to finish with a customer.

The woman turned to Marcus and extended her hand. “I’m Layla Koury.”

“Paul Marcus.”

She smiled. “That’s a fine name. Please, let me buy you a glass of wine for your help.”

“It was nothing, really. I’m just glad I could—”

“Please, I insist.” She looked up, her eyes searching the lobby, and then she smiled. “I’ll check in and join you for a nightcap. It’s been a long flight. There’s a bar off the lobby. Give me ten minutes.”

Marcus nodded. “Okay. A nightcap it is.” He smiled and turned toward the bar, amazed at how quickly she had persuaded him to have a drink.

They sat at a candlelit corner table, the expansive window overlooking the Old City and the Tower of David. Marcus felt uneasy. The woman was a striking beauty. She wore a trace of perfume, her full lips now with a touch of color, a suggestion she had spent a few minutes freshening up before joining him. He had not sat with a woman at a table like this since Jennifer was killed. A waiter approached. Layla looked at Marcus and asked, “Do you like a full bodied red?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Let’s not order by the glass. It’s what the restaurants and bars want. If I may, I would like to order for us.” She looked up at the waiter and said, “Please, bring us a bottle of Cabernet, the Harlan, 2003. Maybe an order of goat cheese, Chabichou du Poitou, if you have it.”

The waiter nodded and left. Marcus said, “Your French is excellent. How did you know they had that wine on the menu?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You haven’t stayed here before tonight?”

“Oh, no. The hotel was recommended to me by a friend.”

“What brings you to Jerusalem?”

“My work. I’m finishing my post-doctorate work at Columbia and doing freelance documentary work at the same time. I was in Egypt, Alexandria to be exact, for three months. The turmoil in that country cut my time somewhat shorter than expected. I was there because archeologists found more remains of the ancient city of Rhakotis. I’m wrapping my thesis on the spread of ancient Greek culture to the East, and the impact the Hellenistic period had on Egypt and harbor towns like Rhakotis. Dear ol’ Alexander the Great was a fascinating man. He was never defeated in battle.”

She smiled, the waiter returning with the wine and cheese. He opened the bottle, poured some into a crystal glass and handed it to Layla. She sniffed, swirled it in the glass and tasted. Her eyes closed for a moment, her mouth wet and sensuous with the trace of red wine on her lips. “Very good.”

The waiter smiled and filled two glasses before leaving them alone.

Marcus nodded. “Maybe Alexander was never defeated because he was tutored by Aristotle, although a philosopher, I imagine he would have been a good coach.”

Layla raised her glass and smiled. “To the ancient Greeks.” They touched glasses and sipped wine. She spread cheese on a cracker.

“You sound American, Mr. Marcus, or may I call you Paul?”

“Paul works well.” He half smiled. “Yes, I live in the states. And you?”

“Now I do. New York. I was born in Beirut to a Lebanese sailor and the woman who always waited for his return. But one day, he never came back. I was only thirteen, right at the time a girl really needs her father.” She sipped the wine, her eyes suddenly remote, burying concealed thoughts.

“You mentioned documentary work, what kind?”

Her eyes drifted back to his. “I’m freelancing for the Discovery Channel as a producton consultant for a documentary they’re doing on the catacombs of the Mount of Olives. What brings you from the states to Israel? Are you here with your family?”

“No, my wife and daughter died. I’m here by myself.”

“I’m so sorry.” She paused and deeply inhaled. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m sort of a jack of all trades. You mentioned Discovery Channel…in a way I guess you could say, I discover things.”

“What kind of things? It sounds fascinating.”

“It can be exhaustively boring, but rewarding, too. I’m more of a mathematician, I suppose, than anything else. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem asked me to examine some old papers donated to the library.”

“What kind of papers, if I may ask?”

“Some from the scientist, Isaac Newton.”

“Really? What are you looking for or perhaps what have you found?”

Marcus smiled. He watched the candlelight flickering in her sapphire eyes. “I have no idea what I’m looking for, and I have no idea what I’ve found.”

She tossed her head, glanced at the Tower of David and touched his hand for a brief second before finishing the wine in her glass. “You sound like a humble person. I like that in a man. Too many people want to tell you how great their work is and often it’s not so much about the work as it is about them. I have a feeling you have done some splendid things in your life. You look like the strong, silent type.” She laughed and reached for the bottle on the table. “Please, have some cheese. It’s so good.”

“I just finished eating. Look, thanks for the wine. I’d better be hitting the sack.”

She set the bottle back on the table without pouring the wine. “You know, Paul, what I’ve learned in life, especially after uncovering so many long-dead civilizations?”

“What have you learned?”

“Life’s too damn short. What do you say if we, you and me, finish the wine in my room on the balcony overlooking the Tower of David? We can discuss the Hellenistic Period in Jerusalem. Maybe watch the stars above the Citadel, and look toward the east in case a wise traveler forgot his GPS and is lost. What if some exhausted traveler is at the breaking point and seeing mirages in his journey across the Hinnom Valley and the Burma Road?” She smiled and sipped her wine.

Marcus studied her for a moment. “You make it sound like walking through the Valley of Death.”

“What’s life without pushing one’s comfort zone? Let me rephrase, replacing breaking point with a more adventurous tone, like maybe stopping to explore a cave along the journey.” She lifted her glass in a toast. “To adventure, Paul!”

They touched glasses, sipped more wine. Layla smiled and turned her head slightly, her eyes sumptuous in the soft light. There was a subtle change in her face, her eyes and even her body, lifting a slender finger to her lips. She was controlled but still exuding a commanding sensuality that he could feel. He looked down at his wine glass, swirled the wine and met her eyes. “I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t know much about the Hellenistic Period in this city. I’d be pretty boring.”

“Something tells me you would be the opposite. Maybe it’s the anthropologist in me, spending so much time studying dead civilizations…the Alexander the Greats of the world are so far and few between.” She smiled and poured more wine into her glass, amiably waving off the approaching waiter.

Marcus finished his wine and stood. “Goodnight, Layla. Thanks for the drink.”

She watched him walk out of the bar, reached in her purse for a phone and made a call. “He may be more difficult than first believed.”

“He turned you down?” asked a man with a deep, yet whispered voice.

“If I can get this man to succumb, I want half-a-million dollars deposited into my off-shore account.”

“Agreed.”

“Give me two days.”

“Do not fail. Understood?”

“Failure has never been an option.”