Sanctuary

25

After twenty-six hours of flight, they were greeted by quite a welcoming committee. Unfortunately, none of the crowd was for them. Decker was amazed by the number of people stuffed into the miserly allotment of outdoor space, making it that much harder for him to move their luggage cart. He knew Lod was an international airport but it had more of the feel of an airstrip. Someone bumped hard into his cart, almost toppled it over. But Decker was quick and prevented the spill. In fairness to the woman, she did help him upright the cart, but then she left without a word of explanation.

“Excuse me!” Decker muttered under his breath.

Rina smiled, “Reminds me of the classic joke.”

“Which is?”

“It’s long. I’ll tell you another time when we’re not so tired. Suffice it to say we’re in a Levantine country. Remember that. It’ll take you a long way.”

Sleep-deprived with a monster-sized headache, Decker was cranky. And still wobbly on his legs, having been compressed for over a day in an airplane filled to capacity. Lots of families and lots of howling babies. Plus, there had been a troop of Jewish Argentinian teenagers with beat-up guitars, who had never heard that hootenannies had gone out of style along with Nehru jackets and beaded headbands. The music never stopped. When he finally did manage to fall into a restless, sweaty sleep, some unknown Chasid woke him up and asked him if he would please make a minyan-a quorum of ten men needed to recite public prayer. It took all his control not to deck the guy. Rina had said it was because he’d been wearing a kippah-a yarmulke.

Decker’s response to that? Why hadn’t she warned him. She had known the ropes. He was a stranger in a strange land. Not that he hadn’t been in exotic locales around the world, but it had always been with the army, with other men-rather boys-who had been as confused as he.

But at this moment-at five P.M. Israeli time, as he lugged a cart through foreign-tongued people, he felt truly the ger. Ger had come to mean convert, but it also meant stranger. Never had he felt more gerish in his life.

The rental-car signs were in English as well as Hebrew. It made him feel a little more comfortable. He pushed the recalcitrant cart toward the brightly lit cubicles. At least the weather was accommodating-slightly overcast skies, but mild. They had landed in daylight. Just a half hour later it was dusk approaching dark with a vengeance.

He said, “They don’t have much of a twilight, do they?”

Rina said, “We’re in a different part of the world. But rental cars are the same throughout.” She pulled out a paper contract from her oversized purse. “Wait here. I’ll get us our car.”

Decker followed her into the tiny office anyway. He needn’t have bothered. He couldn’t understand a word she was saying. The man behind the desk was short, squat, bald, and very dark. He nodded as Rina spoke. Then he screamed “Yossi” into an intercom.

Decker said, “Everything okay, Rina?”

“Hunky-dory. He’s calling Yossi. Yossi’s going to take us to the car lot.”

“Where’s Yossi?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Decker said, “By the way, do you know where I could get a gun?”

At the mention of the word gun, the rental-car man jerked his head up and stared at Decker with suspicious eyes. Rina quickly said some mollifying words. Decker caught one of them-mishtarah. Rina turned to him.

“Will you please be careful? Most people understand English-at least enough to know what a gun is.”

“I thought there was a peace process going on.”

“There’s a process going on. Peace is a relative term. What is the significance of arming yourself? Are you anticipating something you haven’t communicated to me?”

“Are you deliberately using obtuse words to obfuscate our receptionist?”

“Exactly.”

“Then we shall converse on the said subject later. What does mishtarah mean?”

“Police. Why?”

“Someone in LA has been going around impersonating a police officer,” Decker said. “He calls himself Detective Mishtarah.”

“An Israeli,” Rina said.

“Gold,” Decker answered.

And Rina remembered why they were there. Two boys were missing and Shaul Gold was looking for them. At the moment, Peter didn’t know if Gold was a redeemer or a murderer. She suddenly realized what it meant to Peter to be without his Beretta.

“I’ll find you some armament.”

“Something so I don’t feel so vulnerable.”

“Ah,” Rina said. “It looks like Yossi has arrived.”

“Mazel tov,” Decker said. “Let’s get out of here.”

The car was a Subaru and Decker was the sardine. He drove, knees to the wheel, while Rina navigated. The night was moonless, the expressway poorly lit, and Decker had to strain his eyes to make sure he was in the correct lane. At least the roads were in good shape-better infrastructure than LA. The airport was a hop from the city of Tel Aviv.

“Which exit do I take?”

“I’m not sure. Take any of them and I’ll ask directions. The hotel’s on the main drag near the ocean-HaYarkon. We’ll find it eventually.”

Decker complied, took the first exit into the city, and drove a few blocks only to find himself smack in the middle of a slum. Streetlights were few, garbage was plentiful, and the neighborhood obviously didn’t believe in street signs.

He looked around. Old tenement houses were zigzagged by thin fire-escape staircases. The construction was cheap, stucco buildings with tiny windows. No longer exhausted, he realized his system had turned into its fight-or-flight mode.

“I don’t like this.”

Rina said, “Why don’t you pull over and I’ll ask directions from those guys over there.”

“Are you nuts?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Do you know where we are?”

“No, Peter,” Rina said, testily. “If I knew where I was, I’d get us to the hotel.” She rolled down the window and yelled out a s’lichah-an “excuse me.” Punks began approaching the car. They wore tight jeans, open-necked shirts under leather jackets, and gold glimmered around their necks. Decker pressed metal to the floor of the car, flattening Rina against the back of the passenger seat as he peeled out.

“Are you crazy?” she screamed.

Decker drove a few blocks, then pulled the car over. “Why in God’s good green earth are you asking assholes for directions? You might as well put a sign around your neck, saying, ‘I’m a stupid tourist. Mug me.’”

“What are you talking about?”

Decker looked at his wife. She was confused, making him confused by her lack of understanding. Up to this point, Decker had never thought of his wife as that naive. Now he realized how trusting she was and it scared him. He took a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, we’re in the middle of a slum. And those boys whom you were about to ask for directions? They are what we call in the business scumbags-”

“Peter-”

“Honey, they’d sooner rape you than help you.”

“This isn’t a slum. It’s the heart of Tel Aviv.” Rina looked around. “Probably a working-class area. Those kids were just your average Israelis out for a good time-”

“I’ll bet-”

“We’re not in America, Peter. While I’d place money that the boys weren’t rocket scientists, I’d also place money that they weren’t rapists. Repeat after me: We’re in a Levantine countr-”

“Rina, I know scumbags when I see them.”

“All right. If no one was looking, maybe they’d break into the car and steal the radio. They’d figure it’s just a rental car anyway, right?”

“Rina!”

“I’m just trying to explain the mentality.”

“You don’t have to tell me about people, all right?” He started the car. “Doesn’t the country believe in street signs?”

“Everything’s done with landmarks. You go to the market, turn left until you reach the post office, turn right, go straight until you reach Dovid’s cleaners-”

“I don’t know what possessed me to think I could handle an investigation here,” Decker groused. “Can’t you tell me where I am?”

“Haven’t the foggiest notion,” Rina said.

He drove a few blocks in darkness. A haze began to settle over the streets. Just what he needed to further confuse whatever meager sanity he had left. He spied another group of kids walking, but at least this one had two girls among three scumbags.

“Can I try them?” Rina said. “They have girls.”

“Ever see the damage that female gang members have done?”

“We’re not in America, Peter!”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they try to rob us? I don’t have my gun.”

“I’m not wrong,” Rina said, forcefully. “Pull over, please.”

Decker pulled over. “At least you said please.”

As soon as the car stopped, Rina opened the door and jumped out of the car, speed-walking her way to the pack. Decker bolted from the rental and caught up with her. He took her arm, but they both kept walking.

He whispered, “We’re going to have to have a serious talk.”

“When we’re not sleep deprived,” Rina whispered back. She pulled away from Decker as she yelled out another s’lichah to the group. They stopped walking and Rina went over to them, showed them her map, and spoke. They answered back en masse, a few studying the map, one of them pointing the way, two pointing in another direction. Decker couldn’t understand how any of them heard a damn thing because they were all talking at once. Finally, the whole group headed toward Peter.

Rina said, “They said it would be easier if they just rode along with us.”

“There’re five of them,” Decker said.

A boy with dark curly hair and a wispy mustache answered in broken English. “The girls sit on us.”

Involuntarily, Decker smiled at his misuse of the language. Under his breath, he said, “In your dreams, kiddo.” Out loud he said to Rina, “What are they doing? Bumming a ride?”

“Yes, I believe that’s exactly what they’re doing.”

Decker rolled his eyes. Up close, the kids looked less fearsome-like kids. They must have been around fifteen, sixteen. He waved his hands forward. “Come on.”

Excitedly, the kids piled into the backseat of the rented Subaru-boys sprawling their spindly, adolescent legs, girls giggling on their laps. Decker started the car. Three spoke at once, using their hands as well as words.

“You go straight,” Rina announced.

“For how long?”

Rina asked, then answered back. “Just go straight.”

Decker threw up his hands and drove.

“Where you from?” asked a girl in English. She was pretty-black hair, hazel eyes, and dimples. She had a cherubic face.

“Los Angeles,” Decker answered back.

“Ah, Disneyland!” she said, with admiration. “I…was…in…Orlito…” She knitted her brow. “Orlatto…”

“Orlando,” Decker filled in.

“Cain! Orlando!” The girl beamed at being understood. “That is Disney…world.”

Decker said, “I grew up near there.”

The girl nodded. “You…livid in Orlando?”

Decker smiled. “Yes. I lived near Orlando.”

“You go to Disneyworld?”

This time, Decker laughed. “It wasn’t around when I grew up.” He turned to his wife. “Will you please translate this?”

“She likes speaking English to you.”

A boy shouted something out.

Rina said, “Slow. You turn right at that gray building.”

Decker complied.

And so it went. The girl with the dimples practicing her English, the rest of the crew talking and shouting out directions at various intervals. Decker drove until he found himself looking out at a black expanse melding into a black horizon of nothingness. The Mediterranean Sea.

The boardwalk was teeming with people. The kids asked to be let out near a hot dog vendor, pointing them toward the Malon Melech HaYam-the King of the Sea Hotel-a couple of blocks away. They left, the girl saying thank you in English.

The car was silent for a moment. Then Decker said, “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“I was wrong.” Decker shrugged. “They were nice kids just playing a little dress-up. I need some adjustment time, that’s all.”

“Couple of hours and you’ll be thinking like a native.”

He shook his head in wonderment. “I can’t believe we just picked up five teenagers and allowed them to ride with us in our car. If my daughter did that, I’d kill her. I also can’t believe that the kids willingly came into the car without a drop of fear.” He looked at Rina. “What happened to America?”

Rina smiled sadly. “The Jews in Israel, for all that’s written about the conflicts among them, are basically a homogeneous population. Just like everyone in Japan is basically Japanese. America is heterogeneous-many cultures, and lots of communication problems. But it also has the creativity and tolerance brought about by cultures residing side by side.”

“Israel has diverse cultures.”

“You mean the Arabs here? The Israelis and Arabs don’t mix. That’s why they’re carving out their own state.” Rina sighed. “Maybe they’ll come to some kind of cold peace. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Hope springs eternal.”

“I suppose,” Rina said. “South Africa just crowned its first Black Miss South Africa. Ten years ago that would have been unheard of. I guess things can change…at least superficially enough to satisfy political ambitions.”

Immediately, Decker thought about Kate Milligan. He wondered if he and Marge were right about her. If she had dared to love a black…saw his plight. Maybe it had touched a rebellious spirit in her.

Milligan’s face appeared to him with clarity. Young and beautiful, she was a brilliant attorney at the top of her career. She was a woman with a mission. Decker mused about the nature of her mission as he started the car and drove to the hotel.

In the daylight, the Tel Aviv apartments didn’t look any less slummy and the neighborhood didn’t look any less poor. The sun only highlighted the defects. Decker saw the years of wear on the buildings-the crumbling plaster, the two-tone patch-up jobs, the lines of drying laundry strung from window to window. Though the main roads of the city were smooth, many of the side lanes were dirt ruts. He clucked his tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Rina asked.

“The way the news reports Israel…it makes it seem like it’s this big fat cat of a country preying on its impoverished neighbors. I don’t know…it looks so poor itself.”

“It certainly isn’t a fat cat,” Rina said. “But it’s not poor. You’re just thinking like an American. I’ll bet almost every apartment here has a color TV and a VCR.”

“So do ghetto kids.”

She turned to him. “Even though the area where the Yaloms live is solidly middle class by Israeli standards, don’t expect too much.”

Decker said, “I’m just wondering, where are the homes and the yards and the playsets?”

“City living means apartment living-like Manhattan. There’s not enough room for anything else. There are parks…not Central Park, but little corner places. If you want real countryside, Israel has plenty of farms or moshavs-collective farms. You miss your horses, Peter. I’ll find some for you.”

“Are you being sarcastic at ten in the morning?”

Rina smiled. “I think of it as acculturating you.”

“You’re making fun of me. Like I’m this big, dumb goy who doesn’t know shit from shinola-”

“You’re not dumb and you’re not a goy-”

“I need you for this assignment, Rina. I’m the first one to say that. Can we have a cooperative, respectful, working relationship?”

Rina took his hand. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know you’re dealing with something very serious.”

The car grew quiet. Decker said, “I liked the breakfast buffet the hotel gave us this morning. You can eat enough to get by for the entire day.” He smiled. “Even if you don’t surreptitiously wrap rolls with tissues and hide them in your purse.”

Rina sighed. “Now who’s mocking?”

“Why do they do that?”

“They?”

“I mean the tourists-”

“You mean the Jewish tourists.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Decker exclaimed. “You know, Israel may not be fancy, but it isn’t shtetl Poland. The country’s not going to run out of food. Not to mention the fact that the nefarious roll stuffer could afford to lose a few pounds.”

“It just gets thrown out anyway.”

“It’s uncouth.”

Rina smiled. “It’s déclassé, I agree, but what the heck. They’re paying for the food, they might as well eat it.”

“Eating it is one thing. You can eat all you want on the premises. But filling your purses with fruit and rolls and pats of butter-”

Rina began to laugh. “We only saw one lady who did that.”

“Then she put a carton of yogurt…” Decker smiled. “That was just out of line.”

They both started laughing. Decker finally said, “Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure. I know you’re going to be working the whole time, but I do hope you get a little chance to at least…soak up some atmosphere.”

Atmosphere, he thought. Then he said, “It’s weird. I feel like I’m in a foreign country. But I don’t feel I’m in a religious foreign country. Nothing Jewish except the Hebrew.”

Rina said, “If you get a chance to see the Bursa, you’ll realize it’s a Jewish country. From what I hear, it’s replete with Chasidic Jews.”

“There were lots of Chasidic Jews in the LA diamond mart, too.” He bit his mustache. “Maybe I’m not explaining myself right. This just doesn’t feel that much different from a working-class area in LA.”

“Wait until you get to Jerusalem. Then tell me if you feel the same way.”

Decker drove a few more blocks, following Rina’s directions. The area seemed to have turned nicer. The apartment buildings weren’t necessarily newer, but they seemed more solidly built. They were fashioned from ocher-colored limestone, held bigger windows, and had patios landscaped with potted trees and flowers. The main road was wide and divided, and had visible street signs. Directions to various cities were posted at the main intersecions.

“Where are we now?”

“Ramat Aviv.”

“It’s a wealthier area.”

“You can tell.”

“I’m learning. Are we near the Yaloms’ address?”

“Not too far.”

They passed a complex of big buildings floating in seas of emerald green lawn. Across from the buildings was a series of parking lots.

“University?” Decker asked.

“Museums.”

“Ahhhh. Are the museums good?”

“The Museum of the Diaspora is outstanding.”

“Is that where the Dead Sea Scrolls are?”

“No, that’s in Jerusalem. At the Shrine of the Book. You have an interest in biblical archaeology?”

“Just a curiosity. Too bad I won’t see any of it.”

Rina looked at him. He wasn’t being flip, he was disappointed. She took his hand and kissed it. “Next time. Under better circumstances.”

Decker heard himself answer with an amen.

26

A house of sadness. Black cloth had been draped over the mirrors, the paintings, and the TV. The cushions from the sofa had been removed, exposing the couch’s gauzy underlining. Decker knew that with the cushions gone, the sofa was permitted to be used as seating for the Jewish mourners.

But Moshe Yalom still opted for the floor. He was a thin man, perhaps in his early seventies, clean-shaven with curly, gray hair atop a long saggy face. A man beaten by life, but not defeated by it. There was still obstinacy in his milky blue eyes. His wife, Tziril, seemed younger. Proportionately, she was heavier than her husband, more meat on the bones, but her doughy flesh was pale. She wore a loose smock and her hair was covered by a scarf.

Rina had made the appointment with Tziril. She had commented that Mrs. Yalom had sounded amazed by the request, as if it had never occurred to her that America-a foreign country ten thousand miles away-was actually pursuing an investigation of her son’s murder.

Decker studied the woman as she spoke to Rina. Rina reported that she and Peter should sit in the chairs, they weren’t in mourning. Tziril talked some more. Rina translated: They had started the process of shiva-the seven days of intense mourning-earlier than Jewish law required. Technically, shiva should take place only after burial. But both Tziril and her husband had felt it was ridiculous to hold off. Who knew when their son would be brought home?

Tziril spoke once more, then disappeared inside a cubby off the living room. Her husband stood up slowly and padded down a long hallway.

“Where’s everybody going?” Decker whispered.

“I don’t know where Mr. Yalom’s going,” Rina said. “Mrs. Yalom went to get us some tea. She asked and I didn’t want to refuse her hospitality. It seemed important to her.”

“Absolutely.” He looked around the living room. “If it helps her relax…”

The apartment was small, the living room paced off around ten by thirteen. But it seemed larger because it had double glass doors that led to a generous wraparound porch. It was screened and held all-weather furniture-a dining-room table and chairs, an outdoor sofa and coffee table, a rocker in the corner. There were two potted citrus trees that were starting to bloom, the flowers emitting a lemony smell. The porch doors were open and allowed a fair amount of circulation. Otherwise, a room this compact would get stuffy in no time.

Decker looked down. The floors were made out of some kind of crushed rock tile, like nothing he’d seen in America. Rina sat in one of the many folding chairs that had been crammed into the room. Decker had counted twenty of them. He sat beside his wife.

“Did they hold a meeting here or something?”

“The chairs are for the morning and evening minyans,” Rina explained. “The father isn’t allowed to leave the house. So the men come to him and say services here. So he can say kaddish…for his son.” She looked down, her eyes moist. “This isn’t the natural order of things.”

“No, it’s not.”

Slowly, Mr. Yalom padded back into the living room and lowered himself onto a pillow resting on the floor. The old man hadn’t paid them much attention. Decker felt that if it had been up to the father, they wouldn’t have been granted an interview.

Tziril came back, holding a tray filled with four tea glasses resting in sterling cup holders. She went through the ritual pouring, setting down a glass on the floor for her husband. A few minutes of sipping and it seemed to Decker they were as comfortable as they were going to get. He took out his notepad. Tziril’s eyes went to the pad, then to Decker’s face.

She said in accented English, “What do you want to know?”

“You speak English,” Decker said.

Tziril nodded. “In gymnasium, we learn English almost as soon as we learn German. When we came to Israel…it was then Palestine…I say to my uncle, the British are in control, why cannot they speak English over here? But I learned Hebrew.”

“You speak well,” Decker said.

“You are kind,” Tziril answered. “In Europe, you must learn other languages because countries are so close.” She sat back in her chair. “Your wife…speaked…spoke…to me in Hebrew, so I answer her in Hebrew. But I remember my English a little.”

“Tell me if you have problems understanding my questions.”

Tziril nodded.

“And tell your husband he can talk, too.”

Moshe looked up and spoke in Hebrew. Decker glanced at Rina and waited.

“He said he has nothing to offer, but you have a lot of explaining to do.”

The old man spoke again. Tziril shushed him, but Rina translated anyway.

“He wants to know what’s holding up the body?”

“Don’t pay him attention,” Tziril said.

“No!” the old man replied. “You pay me attention!”

Decker said, “Tell him I’m sorry. We’re moving as quickly as we can but America has a terrible bureaucracy.”

Rina translated. The old man responded.

“He said it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Israel’s and even Israel has the decency to release a body for burial.”

Decker said, “Tell him I hope it’s soon.”

Moshe Yalom snorted and spoke under his breath. Rina couldn’t make out his words. It didn’t matter. Decker caught the essence by the tone of the voice.

He said, “Mrs. Yalom, I wish I spoke Hebrew. Then I could tell you in your language-your lashon-how sorry I am.”

Tziril’s eyes met his. She didn’t speak, she didn’t cry. Then she said, “Thank you for…” She shook her head and muttered in Hebrew. “I don’t know the word in English.”

“Sympathies,” Rina translated.

“Thank you for sympathies,” Tziril completed her sentence.

“They are heartfelt.” Decker put his hand to his chest. “Lev.”

“I understand,” Tziril said.

“I am in charge of your son’s investigation, Mrs. Yalom,” Decker said. “I have reason to believe…” He stopped himself. Stop sounding like TV and get to the point. “Your grandsons are missing. Do you know where they are?”

Tziril didn’t answer.

“Do you understand my question?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I need to find them, Mrs. Yalom,” Decker said. “I think they could be in danger.”

Tziril looked up, then down. “I don’t know where they are. Emes, I don’t know.”

Decker studied her face. “But they were here, weren’t they?”

Again, the woman’s eyes scanned the room until they glided across her husband’s face. He moved his brows almost imperceptibly.

Decker said, “I came a long way, Mrs. Yalom, just to warn…to help the boys.”

“They are…”

Decker waited on the edge of his folding chair. But Tziril was silent. He said, “I really, really do think that something bad could happen to them. I need to find them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“They are…here…somewhere…in Israel. But I don’t know where.”

Moshe Yalom snorted again. As much as Decker wanted to explain that he was on their side, he didn’t have time. To Tziril he said, “Can you take a guess and tell me where they might be?”

Tziril looked confused. Rina translated.

“I don’t have guess,” Tziril said.

Decker bit back frustration. “But they were here. In this house.”

“They were never here,” Tziril insisted.

The old man said, “No, boys not here. Why you say boys dangerous here in Israel? Boys dangerous in America. Everytink dangerous in America.” He picked up his glass of tea and muttered. Decker made out the words Sodom and Gomorrah.

Tziril said, “I don’t know where are my grandsons.”

“Then how do you know they’re in Israel?” Decker pressed.

Tziril held her throat. Decker remembered Orit making the same gesture. She blurted out, “They called me. To tell me…” Tears began to pour down her cheeks. She started speaking Hebrew through choked sobs. Rina listened, nodding at intervals.

Decker waited, restrained himself from tapping his pencil against his pad. Finally, Rina spoke. “They called the house a couple of days after the…the murder.”

Decker started writing. “Go on.”

“They said they were very frightened. They said they had to go into hiding, that people were after them.”

“Which people?” Decker asked.

“They didn’t say,” Tziril responded. “I asked but they don’t tell me.”

Rina went on. “They told Mrs. Yalom that policemen might come and ask them-the grandparents-questions. Lots and lots of questions.”

Decker wrote, then looked up. “Ask her…as diplomatically as possible…whether…” He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. “I’m attempting to inquire as to why the boys were perturbed.”

“You want to know, did they do it or didn’t they?” Rina said.

“Exactly. It’s possible she’s going to mistake my professional intentions for something nefarious and accusatory.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Tziril said.

Decker paused. Honesty is the best policy…sometimes. He turned to Tziril. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you unpleasant questions.”

“Ani mayveenah-I understand. What?”

“Did they say why they were scared? Why the police might come and ask you two questions?”

Tziril said, “You be scared, too, if your parents were killed.”

“Yes, I’d be scared,” Decker said. “Especially if I killed them.”

Tziril’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask-”

“You are a terrible, terrible man!” the old woman stood up from the uncushioned couch and wagged her finger, drool escaping from the corner of her mouth. “You should be shamed. You…you…”

Rina spoke quickly in Hebrew. Whatever she said seemed to have a palliative effect. Tziril, though fuming, nodded briskly. After a minute of silence, she turned to Decker. “I am sorry.”

“It’s all right. I underst-”

“You’re not a terrible man. But your job makes you ask terrible questions.”

Decker agreed with her.

Tziril looked him in the eye. “They were scared because someone killed their parents. They were scared for theirselfs.”

“They said specifically that someone else killed their parents?”

Tziril spoke in Hebrew. Rina said, “She said they sounded too frightened to make much sense.”

Tziril spoke again.

“She-Mrs. Yalom-asked the boys where they were. They wouldn’t say.”

“Which one did she talk to?” Decker asked.

“Both,” Tziril answered. “They talk to me for five minutes maybe. They told me they are alive and in Israel. I tried to find out where are they. But they spoke too fast. They said they will call me later. But they don’t…didn’t.” The tears came back. “I’m very frightened. Maybe something happened to them.”

Decker said, “Has anyone else been here? Anyone else asked you questions about your grandsons?”

“No. Just you. I only said I would talk to you because Oritie said you were working hard. She said I need to answer your questions. If she didn’t tell me, I would not talk to you. My grandsons were very frightened. I don’t know who I trust.”

“You’re very smart,” Decker said. “So you haven’t talked to anyone?”

“Just you.”

“And the boys didn’t say where they were?”

Tziril shook her head. “I wish I just knew they were live. If I knew, I wouldn’t…” She bit her knuckle and wiped away tears.

Decker said, “We’re on the same side, Mrs. Yalom. We want the same things.”

Again, she held her hand to her throat.

Decker said, “So the boys spoke to you for only a few minutes. They told you that someone was after them. They told you they came to Israel to hide.”

Tziril nodded.

“But you don’t know where they would go to hide.”

Again, Tziril nodded. Mr. Yalom finally spoke up. He let go with rapid Hebrew to his wife in a rough tone of voice. She waved him off. The old man got disgusted and walked off. Decker waited for Rina to translate, but it was Tziril who spoke.

“He’s very mad that I talk to you. He thinks maybe you want to kill the boys.”

“Didn’t your daughter explain me to him?”

“He says, how do we know you are the man that Orit said is all right?”

“Would you like me to speak to your daughter right now? I’ll be happy to pay for the call.”

“It’s night in America. Anyway, I trust you. How much big, very tall policeman with red hair can they be?”

Decker smiled. He was about to speak directly to Tziril, then changed his mind and spoke to Rina. “Tell her as clearly and as emphatically as you can that I am legitimate. I will show her all my identification if she wants it and give her all the proper phone numbers. But frankly, Rina, I’m very concerned that other people may come and try to talk to her.”

“Gold specifically?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m sure she knows Gold. If he comes around here asking questions, she’s not going to view him as a threat. Are you going to bring him up?”

“I’m going to have to bring him up.”

Tziril said, “I’m sorry. You speak too fast.”

Rina translated Peter’s words, Tziril nodding very seriously. Rina said, “Do you want me to mention Gold to her?”

Decker said, “Mrs. Yalom, what do you know about your son’s business partner?”

“Shaul?” Tziril scratched her arm. “Shaul called me right after…to send sympathies. We speak…spoke…for a long time. He was very hysterical. He loved Arik-”

She stopped herself.

“That isn’t the truth. No, he didn’t love Arik. He loved Dalia. He was an old, old friend of Dalia.”

“They grew up in the same neighborhood,” Decker said.

“Yes. They were good friends even though Shaul is maybe fifteen years older than Dalia. It was Dalia that made Arik give a job to Shaul. When they go…went to America, Shaul went with them.”

“They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend before Arik met Dalia?”

“I think no. Dalia was young when she married Arik, maybe nineteen. Dalia’s father is very proper. I don’t think he’d allow Dalia to date a man so much older.”

Decker didn’t talk for a moment. Shaul Gold was certainly no stud but there was something manly about him. Maybe he’d been forbidden fruit to Dalia for years.

Then the little girl grew up.

That could certainly explain the Lexus parked outside the Yalom house. Were these murders brought about by a lovers’ triangle?

He pondered the situation:

Could be Arik shot his wife, Gold shot Arik. Then Gold dragged them both up to the mountains to bury them.

Could be Arik and Dalia decided to reconcile, Gold getting the shaft yet another time. Gold couldn’t take the rejection and shot them both.

Dalia finally got up the gumption to leave Arik. An argument ensued. Arik shot his wife. Gold burst in and shot Arik.

Or: Argument ensued. Arik shot his wife, then felt remorse and killed himself. Gold burst in, but too late.

Just what ifs.

But then why would the boys need to escape from America if the murders were the result of a messy real-life soap opera? Decker noticed he’d been silent for a long time. “So you know Shaul Gold very well?”

“Not well,” Tziril said. “But I know him.”

“If he comes here, don’t tell him anything!” Decker turned to Rina. “Can you translate that? I want to make sure she understands that completely.”

“I understand. Why you don’t want me talking to Shaul?”

To Rina, Decker said, “Will you explain to her about Gold impersonating a police officer, falsifying his identity to ask questions. Tell her he is interfering with my investigation and that could endanger her grandsons.”

Rina translated as best she could. Tziril looked surprised and worried. “That is…not the Shaul I know. He is not unhonest like that. He is always honest. Even Arik say he is honest.” She appeared thoughtful. “Arik and Shaul never liked each other. I think Shaul was…”

“Jealous?” Decker tried.

“Yes, he was jealous.”

“But you just told me you didn’t think they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“That doesn’t mean that Shaul didn’t have eyes. And Arik was jealous, too. Dalia married Arik. But she still made Arik take Shaul into the business.”

“Why did Arik do it?”

“He loved Dalia…and it was her father’s business. Whatever Dalia wants…” She shook her head. “Shaul knew nothing about diamonds.”

“And Arik?”

“Arik was born in the business. Our last name means diamonds. My husband’s family are in business for many, many years. Many dorot.”

“Generations,” Rina said.

“Yes, generations. We are in the diamond business for generations. Shaul?” She wiped her empty hands together in an exaggerated motion. “Nothing.”

“But Arik took Shaul into your family business?”

“Into her father’s business, yes. Until he made enough to make his own business. Moshe, my husband, was a good cutter. But Arik…he is the best. Dalia’s father was very…” She waved her hands, trying to think of the word.

“Impressed,” Decker guessed.

“Oy vay, was he impressed! He had never see a cutter as good as Arik. He make sure that Arik and Dalia meet.”

“Dalia’s father was a diamond cutter, too?”

“No, dealer. Joseph Menkovitz is still very big dealer here. He’s very rich. Arik did not like Dalia when he first met her. He said she was very spoiled. I say the girl is young. Give her time. And he did and he fell in love.”

Tziril grew thoughtful.

“Still, it was not easy for my son to please a rich girl. Dalia grew up in Rahavia…in a very big house. Two stories with a garden. Dalia likes big houses. You see their house in America?”

Decker nodded.

“Like a castle. It is only missing the water that goes around it.”

“The moat,” Decker said.

“Yes, the moat,” Tziril agreed. “They have a castle for two kids.” She waved a hand into the air. “But Dalia wanted a big house, so she gets it. It was her father’s doing. The only child, the father never learns to say no. Her father is quite old now…in his late eighties. But he is still strong. He’s at the Bursa every single day. He drove himself until he turned eighty. Now someone drives him. Every day he is in his office.”

“Even now when he’s sitting shiva?”

Tziril was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think he will sit shiva. Joseph isn’t a religious man. Anat is sitting shiva. Yesterday, I talked to Anat. Every day, we talk. Every day, we cry. Every day, we wait for our children.”

She burst into tears. Rina went over and put her arm around the old woman. Tziril leaned her head into Rina’s shoulder and wept for a long time.

“The old man has no heart,” Tziril stated angrily. “Only work, work, work.”

“Maybe that’s how he copes with the pain,” Rina suggested.

“Maybe,” Tziril said in a cracked voice. “Ah, that’s just men!”

It was an indictment, Decker felt, she had uttered many times in the past. “So he’s probably at the Bursa right now?”

“Yes, probably.”

“That’s close to here?”

“If you have a car.”

“I have a car. Can you have your husband call him up? I’d like to visit him there-”

“Only members are invited into Bursa.”

“There’s no way to get me temporary privileges?”

Tziril looked puzzled. Rina translated. Tziril said, “I don’t know much about Bursa. My husband would know more.”

“I’d really like to talk to Mr. Menkovitz, now.”

“Why? You think my grandsons are with him?”

Decker stared at her. “Are they?”

Tziril put her hand to her chest. “I don’t think so. Anat told me…”

She let her words hang in the air.

“Anat told you what? That the boys might stay with her?”

“No. But maybe she got a quick phone call, too. The boys are not with her. That I know. Because she is worried about them, too.”

Decker rubbed his eyes. The jet lag was doing funny things to his head. “Still, I’d like to meet Mr. Menkovitz. He might have some things to tell me about Shaul Gold. After all, you did say that Dalia and Shaul were old friends. Can you ask your husband to arrange something?”

“Maybe he could. But he won’t. He’s a mule.”

“Tell him his grandsons’ lives may depend on it.” He turned to Rina. “Can you please translate the gravity of that statement?”

“I understand you, Mr. Decker.” Wearily, Tziril stood. “Rega.” She padded down the hall.

“What did she say?”

“She said wait.”

Tziril returned a minute later. “Moshe said only relatives can come into the Bursa-”

“So say I’m a relative-”

“Rega, rega…” Tziril said. “Moshe will do anything that will help the boys. He will take you there.”

“Today?”

“Yes. He’s getting dressed. It will take a few minutes.”

Decker gave his hands a clap. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Decker, there are rules. You must say you are his son-in-law.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“And you must not talk to anyone on the floor. No one! Nothing until he gets you alone in Joseph’s office.”

“That’s not a problem, either.”

“You must bring your passport.”

“I have it with me.” He patted his jacket.

“And your wife must come, too.”

Decker paused. “That’s fine. He needs her to translate and so do I.”

“This is true but not the reason he wants her. My husband says he likes her much better than he likes you.”

27

Rina drove, Yalom sat in the front passenger’s seat, allowing Decker to take surreptitious notes in the back. Not that there was anything worth recording. No conversation to speak of. Finally, Yalom mumbled something to Rina.

She said, “He wants to know how his daughter, Orit, is doing.”

“Tell him she seems to be in good health.”

The old man nodded and spoke to Rina.

“Did you meet his grandchildren?”

“Just his granddaughter, Sharona,” Decker said. “She seemed very nice. Very bright. I liked her a lot.”

Mr. Yalom grunted out, “Pretty, no?”

“Beautiful,” Decker said. “Yef…yeffe meod.” He turned to Rina. “Did I get that right?”

“Perfect.”

The car returned to its silent state. A moment later, Yalom indicated something by a point of the finger. Rina got off the ayalon on the Rekevet exit. The old man directed her into a series of turns that put them on a gravel and dirt pay lot. No parking spaces had been marked but the cars, mostly subcompacts, that occupied the lot were spaced in an orderly fashion. The parking area bordered a busy tree-lined boulevard. Across the roadway stood three ultra-modern granite and glass skyscrapers jutting out from what looked like a strip mall. Decker look out the rear window. Behind the lot was a nest of square patched-up apartment houses, laundry hanging from the windows. No sense of a neighborhood. Nothing matched-Tijuana meets Century City.

Rina shut off the motor and they got out of the car. The boulevard was more of a highway with cars racing at high speeds in both directions. The nearest intersection with a traffic light was a blip in the distance. Yalom rooted along a wire fence that acted as a barrier between the lot and the boulevard until he found a hole. He squeezed through it, then stood in the street and watched cars speed by.

“We’re going to cut across?” Decker asked Rina.

Rina said, “I’m just following the leader.”

Traffic finally cleared on one side. The old man dashed across with surprising speed. Decker and Rina followed until the trio took temporary refuge on the boulevard’s divider-a concrete island in a sea of blurred metal and smoky exhaust.

Decker said, “You know, if this was America, we’d all get a ticket.”

Rina said, “I know. LA’s really big on jaywalking.”

“That’s because people get killed jaywalking.” A truck shot past, blowing wind through Decker’s hair and almost knocking Rina off her feet. He said, “This is crazy.”

The old man shouted a “go” in English. All three of them tore across.

“See?” Rina said. “We made it.”

Decker ran his fingers through his hair and didn’t answer. Yalom motioned them forward, his gait slowing to that of an old man. He led them up a series of museum-sized granite steps while speaking to Rina. She translated.

“There are three major buildings in the diamond center. The Maccabee is where the Bursa is. It’s also where Joseph Menkovitz keeps his private office.” She paused and listened to Yalom’s words. “Even though the bigger dealers have offices now, they still do lots of trading in the Bursa itself. It makes excitement.”

“Makes excitement?” Decker asked.

Rina shrugged. The old man spoke and Rina clarified. “The Bursa is for everyone. Those that have private offices, those that don’t. If you’re a member of the Bursa, even if you don’t have an office, you can rent a locker and trade on the floor with everyone else. When you trade in the Bursa, it makes excitement.” She paused. “I think he means that Bursa generates excitement because it’s out in the open. I guess we’ll understand when we see it.”

The lobby to the Maccabee building was compartmentalized-trisected and encased in thick glass. Yalom went into the right-hand section, through steel revolving doors into a small sally port filled with people. Decker’s first impression: He was in line to the betting cage at the track. The windows up front were marked BUYERS/TENANTS. Yalom stood in the back of an undisciplined squiggle of human flesh; Decker and Rina fell in behind him.

Decker looked around. To the right was another set of steel revolving doors that led to a main lobby of the building. Security was visible at every turn of the head-in the sally port, in the lobbies, behind the windows. He must have spotted dozens of men and women dressed in gray shirts, blue ties, and dark blue pants.

The line inched forward, people nudging Decker in the back. In his experience, crowds brought tension. Strangely, no one seemed irritated. Here was humanity in all shapes, sizes, and religious inclinations stuffed into a small area and no one was grousing.

They finally made it to the front. Four security guards manned the window behind bullet-proof glass. Three of the watchdogs were seated; one male was standing behind the others, either overseeing them or kibitzing. Yalom got up to the window and spoke his case, the guard nodding and looking Decker and Rina over as the old man explained what he wanted.

“Passports, please,” she said.

Decker took them out of his jacket, then reluctantly forfeited them to the guard. She opened them, but her eyes weren’t on the ID. Instead, she seemed to be listening to the goings-on at the line next to hers. Then she butted into the conversation, arguing with her colleague who was dealing with a woman and a small child.

“What’s going on?” Decker asked Rina. “What’s she doing?”

Rina smiled wearily. “She’s getting distracted is what she’s doing. There seems to be a sh’aylah about kids under twelve needing a passport.”

“A sh’aylah?”

“A question.”

“Oh. A shylah!” Decker said, pronouncing it as if he were in the yeshiva.

Rina smiled. “Yes, a shylah.”

Finally, the guard deigned to look at the passports placed in her hands. She studied them, then punched something into a computer. Mr. Yalom spoke to Rina.

She said, “They’re issuing us badges and ID cards.”

A minute later, Yalom handed them two plastic cards and they were allowed to enter the main lobby. A thick fog of people scurried across white and gray marble floors. To the left was a bank of lockers; straight ahead were the elevators. They squeezed into the first car and rode up one floor. To Decker’s surprise, everyone got out. Yalom took them into a second elevator and pushed the fifteenth-floor button.

Decker said to Rina, “What was that all about?”

Yalom seemed to understand the question. He talked to Rina in Hebrew.

Rina said, “The first elevator goes only to the Bursa. You take these elevators to get to the offices.”

“For peoples,” Yalom said. “Too much peoples.”

Decker didn’t understand but didn’t press it. Maybe it was some security thing. The car rode up to the fifteenth floor and they got out. It was quiet and looked similar to Yalom’s office in Los Angeles. But unlike the LA diamond center, every door had a mezuzah on it.

The mezuzah. The symbol of a Jewish establishment. On every single door. Yes, Decker finally realized they were in a Jewish country. It made him feel simultaneously strange and at home. Yalom pressed a button to the office and they were buzzed into an anteroom.

The secretary behind the glass partition reminded Decker of Yochie. She had jet-black hair and wore lots of makeup and jewelry. She spoke to Yalom; the old man turned around.

“Yossie’s downstairs in the Bursa,” Yalom reported in English. “He likes make old man go up and down, de mamzer.”

Decker told Rina she didn’t have to translate.

Taking up almost the entire floor, the Bursa was an open area framed by a northern wall of glass. It held strip after strip of black picnic-sized tables, the surfaces covered with hundreds of squares of calendar paper set into black leather blotters. The tables also were crowned with dozens of scales, loupes, and pincers. Chairs were set on both sides of the tables. The place was crowded, but there was plenty of elbow room to walk down the aisles. Opposite the glass wall was a series of teller booths, some marked OFFICIAL WEIGHING STATION. Above the booths seemed to be a viewing area-maybe an upstairs lounge-framed in smoked glass. A nice place to have a drink or watch TV and still be able to see the action below.

Hanging from the ceiling were television monitors that broadcast rows of numbers. Yalom saw Decker staring at the screens.

Rina translated his words. “Those are pager numbers. Someone needs you, your number goes up on the monitor.”

She took her eyes off the monitor and studied the vast open space. So many people-sitting, standing, milling around, going from table to table as if mingling at a cocktail party. There was a definite camaraderie. The smiles, the greetings, the pleasant conversation. And of course, the sense that there was business to be done. At any given time, there must have been a hundred jewelers holding loupes to stones.

And what stones they were! Diamonds! Thousands of them! Their worth just too staggering to contemplate. Piles spilling carelessly onto blotters, being freely passed from one hand to another. How easy it would be to palm a stone. And no one did. What a sense of trust!

Rina suddenly laughed inwardly at her naïveté.

It wasn’t trust that prevented theft, it was all the security. Lots and lots of security-unobtrusive, but a constant presence. She caught Peter’s eye. “It’s something else, isn’t it? Kind of like a stock exchange only without the suits and ties.”

Decker nodded. It was a good observation. There was little diversity in the population. Most were men and they were all dressed casually-dark pants, white shirt, no tie. Except for the occasional sleek-garbed woman, everyone looked the same. Even the religious seemed to blend in once they took off their long black coats.

His eyes went to the tables. Dozens of men sitting across from one another, opening briefcases and photographers’ bags filled with folded blue tissue paper. The valises were attached to metal chains, the chains were anchored around the vendors’ waists. The noise level was surprisingly civil. It was easy to hear conversation. Too bad Decker couldn’t understand any of it. But he was good at reading body language. He could tell at a glance who was making a deal, who was not.

Rina was wide-eyed. The old man looked at her face, smiled, then whispered something into her ear.

“What?” Decker said.

Rina moved in close. “He said there’s enough wealth in this room to buy all of Israel.”

Decker inched closer to the action, caught prisms of sunlight bouncing off the tabletops. Stones strewn over the blotters of white calender paper. A young man opened up a shoe-sized box stuffed with the blue tissue paper. He unwrapped one of the pieces of paper. A heart-shaped gem winked flirtatiously at Decker.

Yalom caught them staring and said, “You want see close? Come.” He walked over to a vendor and tapped him on the shoulder. The man looked up, then placed something in Yalom’s hand. The old man showed it to Decker. It was a raw stone and had an odd shape-two triangles fused at the base. It also looked like bottle glass.

The old man hefted the diamond and spoke in English. “Maybe three and half carat. They make two.” He made a slicing motion with his empty hand and spoke in Hebrew to Rina, showing her the stone as he talked.

Rina said, “The cutter will cleave the diamond at the base where the two triangles meet. That way he’ll have two nearly identical gems which will be set for earrings.”

“Tell him it looks like glass. That I’d pass it up without a second glance.”

Yalom nodded to Decker and smiled.

Rina said, “I think he understood you.”

The old man talked to Rina. “He says usually the buyers sit on one side of the table, the sellers opposite them. The buyers, even if they have offices, often come down here to see the action. If it’s real busy, the buyers will take their ‘want’ lists of what they need to the floor, sit down at a table, and place the list in front of them. The sellers walk down the aisles and look over the lists. If there’s a match, it’s a mazel und b’racha-a luck and a blessing. That means they cut a deal.”

The old man continued to talk.

Rina translated, “If it’s not that busy or if the buyers are occupied with other business, they’ll post their lists on the front doors of their offices. The sellers also go floor to floor and read the lists. Anything to strike a deal.”

Yalom cased the room, then spoke again.

Rina said, “He says Joseph Menkovitz usually sits on the other side of the room. Very far away. He likes people to come to him.”

“Let’s go,” Decker said.

Yalom led them through the crowd, Decker’s eyes scanning the area as he walked. People all around, the men blending together in a black-and-white tableau. It was the few women who stood out. They dressed sharply in gross contrast to the men. Bold jackets accented with colorful scarves, miniskirts showing lots of good-looking leg, jewelry dangling from ears and from around necks.

The old man pointed to the far corner. The spot had attracted a considerable crowd, lots of white shirts bending over the table. Yalom said, “Yosef’s there.”

A shock of color suddenly drifted away from the sea of white cotton.

It hit him as hard as a sock in the jaw.

Speak to my secretary and I’ll get back to you.

So much for the big case that was keeping Milligan in Los Angeles. Decker took a dozen steps backward, pulling Rina with him. Yalom was still walking toward the crowd when he realized he’d lost his companions. He turned around and looked over his shoulder. Decker motioned him back, then pressed them all against the wall.

“What is it?” Rina asked.

“Ask him who that woman is,” Decker said.

“Which woman?”

“The one in the bright blue dress with curly copper-colored hair and the big handbag.”

The old man understood. “Kate Milligan.” He spread his arms wide out. “Macher…shot big.”

“He means big shot,” Rina answered.

Milligan took a notebook out of her purse and briskly flipped through the pages. Decker said, “Ask him if he sees her at the Bursa a lot.”

Rina did, then translated Yalom’s answer. “He said it’s unusual. But everyone knows who she is because she’s a macher-a big shot-with VerHauten. You know about VerHauten?”

“Yes, I know about VerHauten. Ask him, why does he think she’d be here talking to Yosef Menkovitz.”

Rina asked the question, then translated Yalom’s answer as best she could. “She wants to see how many stones come from VerHauten…I don’t know exactly what he means.”

“I think I do,” Decker said. “Ask him if stones from sources other than VerHauten’s pipes have been showing up in the Bursa?”

Rina stared at him. “Repeat that again, slowly.”

Decker did and Rina translated. It took a few moments, Decker’s eyes fixed upon Milligan. She was still thumbing through her notebook. Then she checked her watch.

Yalom’s answer deepened Rina’s frown. “I don’t know if I’m getting this right. He said something like…the stones come from all over. Most come from VerHauten. But some dealers go to Russia and buy stones there.”

The old man continued to talk. Rina knitted her brow as she listened.

She said, “There are also some stones that…go around. I think he means float around. People don’t ask questions about them.”

Yalom continued talking.

Rina said, “People are afraid of Milligan. The dealers must buy a certain amount of stones from VerHauten. If it gets back that they are buying diamonds from other places, she can make trouble.”

Decker said, “Ask him if it’s rare to see her on the floor.”

Rina asked the question, then listened to Yalom’s answer. “Yes, it’s rare to see her on the floor. She mostly goes to offices or to the lounge upstairs where it’s quieter and more private. VerHauten likes privacy.”

“So why is she on the floor?”

The old man shrugged a response.

Milligan moved back into the sea of white shirts.

Yalom talked. Rina said, “Milligan has dealt with Menkovitz in the past. He’s big and VerHauten knows all the big dealers.”

“Does he know Milligan no longer works for VerHauten?”

Rina translated. The old man’s eyes grew wide. Decker said, “Guess he didn’t.”

Again, Milligan withdrew from the crowd. She snapped her book shut and walked crisply down the Bursa, all eyes watching the click of her heels.

Decker lurched forward, then pulled back.

Rina said, “You want to follow her, Peter?”

“I can’t. She’s met me before and I’m too conspicuous in this country to tail her without her noticing me.”

“Then I’ll do-”

“Forget it.”

Rina fished the car keys out of her purse. “I’ve got three kids at home, including a baby. I promise I won’t do anything dumb. I’ll call you later at Mr. Yalom’s house.”

With that, she jogged to catch up to Milligan. Decker started forward, then bit his lip and let her go.

There was no point in trying to change Rina’s mind. She wouldn’t listen and it would just create an argument. She’d seen him on stakeouts. Hopefully, she’d picked up a couple of salient tips. And she looked innocuous enough, clad in a simple blue dress and flats, her hair braided and tucked under a blue tam. She looked about as threatening as a bunny rabbit.

Stomach in a knot, Decker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why was he so interested in Kate Milligan? What evidence did he have that she was a player in this case? Then again, what was she doing here when she was supposed to be working on a case in Los Angeles? She had told him specifically that she’d be in town. Obviously, she had had a change of plans. It could happen.

Decker rubbed his eyes.

The boys were missing and so was Gold; then Milligan popped up from nowhere. And now Rina was on the loose. He would have never involved her if it weren’t for the Yalom kids. Goddamn boys. They’d sucked him into it. He cared about the kids just like Rina cared about Honey’s kids.

Why was he so concerned?

He knew Rina was at home in the country. In fact, she knew Israel better than either Milligan or he did. She knew what was dangerous and how to avoid it. And Decker did want to know what the woman was up to. Besides, how much possible harm could come from one woman following another?

Don’t answer that question, Deck.

Decker continued to rationalize. Rina had told him she wouldn’t do anything dumb. She had three kids at home. He knew what Hannah and the boys meant to his wife. He tossed negative thoughts out of his head and decided to believe her promise.

28

The woman had clout. Rina saw her being led by security to the front of the line. And while procedure wasn’t suspended, it did seem abbreviated. Milligan left the building in record time while Rina cooled her heels in a line of testy working stiffs. At that point, she had two choices-give up the chase or try her luck at the front with a sob story.

Lucky for her, the Israelis had hearts of gold. Who would dare restrain a mother rushing off to pick up her sick baby from the sitter? Whisked ahead to the front window, Rina turned in the necessary tags and papers, secured her passport, and bolted out the door. She reached the parking lot just in time to see Milligan unlocking the door to a Volvo Sedan parked three rows away from Rina’s rental.

Rina smiled. A Volvo 740 was a high ticket out here. The car would be a snap to follow, easily standing out in a country of subcompacts. Quickly, Rina slid into the driver’s seat of her diminutive Subaru. She turned on the ignition. The Volvo took off and so did Rina, following Milligan to the on ramp on the ayalon. They headed southeast toward Jerusalem.

Safe on the freeway, cruising at a comfortable speed, Rina felt a bit smug as she tailed Milligan. Jerusalem put her on solid ground, since she’d lived in that area for a number of years. True, the City of Gold had changed, grown, and modernized, but it was still tiny compared to LA.

Rina turned on the radio, tuning in to Hebrew chatter. A talk show-just as stupid here as it was in the States. She switched to one of the many Arabic stations, hearing the modal octaves of native music. Traditional Arabic songs were a form of storytelling: They could go on for hours. About two minutes was enough for her. She changed the dial. This time she found contemporary rock music. Pearl Jam had made it to Jordan.

After riding for twenty minutes through long stretches of cultivated fields, the mountains hovering in the distance, Rina felt a cooler nip in the air. Ten minutes later, the hills began to close in, the roadway becoming a narrow strand cut through stone. Oncoming traffic was obscured by the numerous bends in the ascending roadway. But that didn’t stop the Israelis from leaning on the horn, freely passing vehicles going too slowly for their liking. What’s a head-on between friends?

The Israeli drivers were frustrating Rina. One minute she would have the Volvo in plain view; the next moment some obnoxious would-be racer would honk, then pass her at record speed. Fortunately, Milligan didn’t appear to be in a hurry.

As the road climbed higher, the mountainside became thick with green and the smell of pine. The last curves upward finally brought a bright wall of golden stone into view. Rocks arranged in Hebrew letters placed in the mountainside. B’ruchim Habayim leYerushalim-Welcome to Jerusalem!

Rina felt her heart race, her body tingle, imbued with spirituality. And as magically as the aura enveloped her every time she entered the holy city-her own personal aliya-so did it drain whenever she left-her personal yerida.

Yerida-going down. Israelis who emigrated from the Holy Land were called Yordim, because they had declined a level spiritually.

At this moment, Rina couldn’t fathom ever leaving. With the shining sun, rays gilding the city, she felt giddy. Everywhere her eye fell on native Jerusalem bedrock. Everything had been fashioned from the amber and rose limestone-the buildings, the sidewalks, even some of the streets. Dispersed among the palette of bronzes, pinks, and reds were the parks, allowing a tinge of greenery to seep through. Beautiful to Rina’s eye, even though she knew that she had entered the city through the older, industrial area. So caught up in being there, Rina had forgotten why she had come. When she brought herself back to earth, the Volvo had disappeared.

Angrily, Rina checked around for the 740. Milligan must have moved quickly even though Weizmann Boulevard was heavily congested. Rina tried to speed up but the artery was just too clogged. Attempting to pass a bus to gain a little visibility, she jerked her head over her shoulder to check for lane clearance. She suddenly spotted the Volvo. It had fallen behind her.

She slowed, ignoring the blares of the horns, allowing the 740 to chug ahead. Rina allowed herself a moment to stare at the panoply of people on the sidewalks. Lots and lots of Black Hats. The city kept getting more and more religious because the Religious were the ones reproducing at record-breaking rates. The men in their long, black coats, the women in long skirts and shaytels piloting their broods down the walkway. There were modern Israelis in tight jeans and denim jackets, Arabs in kafias and chadors, Coptic priests in flowing gowns and pointed hats, nuns in full habit. The pushcarts, the open-air stands flanking an ultra-modern high-rise kanyoneet-the mall.

Rina returned her eyes to the Volvo and not a moment too soon. The 740 hooked a right down HaNasi Ben Zvi-a multilaned boulevard that provided a good view of the Knesset. As the seat of the Israeli government, the Knesset was architecturally modeled after the Acropolis, the ancient seat of Greek government. Why Jews would deliberately copy Greek architecture was beyond Rina’s comprehension. For the past eighteen hundred years, the religion had assiduously celebrated Channukah-a festival commemorating the Jewish overthrow of enforced Hellenic rule.

HaNasi Ben Zvi was a psychological dividing line. East of the boulevard was the heavily populated area of Jerusalem-a nest of apartment buildings and businesses. West of the highway evoked memories of a different time, a quieter time-a few major government structures bleeding into broad stretches of rolling hillsides.

Rina felt her thoughts elsewhere when, abruptly, Milligan turned right onto a side street. The maneuver had been so fast and sharp that Rina missed the turnoff. Retracing her steps, Rina took the car onto a dirt lane. Up ahead, she spied the Volvo bouncing precariously along the road. The potholes were much harder on the 740 than on the Subaru.

The Volvo slowed, pulled over, and parked.

Rina braked and made a U-turn in the middle of the lane, not wanting to pass the Volvo. She took her rental off the road, away from Milligan’s line of vision. The Subaru handled remarkably well on the grass. She parked next to a tree, straining to keep an eye on the Volvo from her distant vantage point.

The Volvo sat. Rina sat.

Twenty minutes passed before an old blue Fiat subcompact came by, crawling along the pitted lane until it came to the Volvo. Then it pulled over and parked.

Two men got out-thin young men with lots of curly dark hair. One had a mustache. He knocked on the driver’s window of the Volvo and the door opened. Milligan got out of the car, a Chanel purse slung over her shoulder.

The men started talking to her. She appeared uninterested, but she did give a perfunctory nod as she rummaged through her purse. She took out a tube of lipstick, applying a sultry red heavily to thick, cupid-shaped lips.

The men spoke with a great deal of animation. Rina wanted to know what they were talking about. As if it had a life of its own, Rina’s hand slowly reached for the car door handle. Next thing she knew, she was outside, creeping and sneaking her way into a private conversation.

Heart racing in her chest, grateful for her flat shoes, she tiptoed from tree to tree until she nested behind a thick tree trunk within hearing distance. Milligan had finished with her lipstick. She dropped it into her purse, zipped the handbag shut, and curtailed Mr. Mustache’s speech.

“Ibri, I don’t care about your problems. I care about my investment. If your idea of heroism is gunning down a bus full of schoolchildren, you’re with the wrong people. Either you’re working for me or you’re not. Which is it?”

Ibri, Rina heard. The men were Arabs, ergo, natives, and that made her nervous. It ruined her advantage over Milligan.

Ibri folded his arms across his chest and took up a defensive posture. “I work for Mr. Donald.”

“Well, Mr. Donald works for me,” Milligan snapped back. “He is my underling, do you understand that?”

Ibri rocked on his feet and said nothing. The other thin man piped in. “We take you to Mr. Donald. He tell you problems.”

Milligan took a peek at her Movado. “I have a very important business meeting at the American Colonial Inn in Jerusalem. Can you get me to Donald and back in an hour?”

Ibri said, “I take you to Donald.”

“Yes, I understand, Ibri,” Milligan said through clenched teeth. “But you must get me back to Jerusalem in an hour.”

“No problem,” Ibri said. “We take my car. Gamal take the Volvo. We go now.”

Milligan turned her back to the men and went over to the blue Fiat. Ibri opened the passenger door for her, then went around to the driver’s seat. Gamal slipped inside the Volvo.

First the Volvo took off, followed by the Fiat, passing Rina’s Subaru hidden behind the tree. Rina sprinted to her car and gunned the motor. She caught a glimpse of the distant Fiat, turning onto Keren Kayemet. Rina hit the accelerator, catching up with the Fiat as it merged onto Melech George.

City center.

The Fiat, as well as the Volvo, was headed in the direction of the Old City of Jerusalem-a walled fortress built at the time of the Crusades. The Old City had been the site of conquest after conquest. In the bright sunlight, it was a golden castle complete with crenelations and slits for bows and arrows. Rina hoped the Fiat wasn’t actually going into the Old City through one of its seven gates. Inside was a labyrinth, with roadways so narrow there was barely enough room for one car to squeeze by. And it was dangerous for her in certain sectors-the Moslem Quarters through the Damascus Gate.

The Volvo turned toward the Damascus Gate, but the Fiat bypassed the Old City and continued southeast, passing block-long Liberty Bell Park, heading toward the train station.

Then Rina knew where it was going and she bit her lip in fear. She had been so intent upon keeping her eyes on the Fiat’s rear window that she had forgotten a very basic rule. Get the car’s license number. And when she looked at the plates, her heart sank. It was rimmed in blue and white checks and held a small, blue Hebrew letter-chet.

Chet standing for the ancient city of Hebron.

Hebron.

A city rich in history, a city flowing in blood.

Once Hebron had had a famous yeshiva. But the Arabic city had resented the Jewish scholars. In 1929, when it had become clear that the Jews intended to stay, the Arabs had hit upon a way to rid themselves of the interlopers. They had brutally slaughtered them en masse.

Sixty-five years later, a deranged Jewish settler who had made Hebron his home had felt betrayed and neglected by his own Jewish government. Adding another deluge of blood to the village, he mowed down twenty-nine Arab men bowed in prayer.

Though Rina knew that Hebron was still a Jewish Holy City, would always be a Jewish Holy City, it was time to be realistic. Hebron was no longer Jewish and hadn’t been for fifty years. It was a typical overcrowded Arab village that bred rage and hatred against Jews. It had become such a hotbed of politics, Rina wasn’t sure who was securing its borders-the IDF, the Israeli Police, the Palestinian Police or UN troops.

And here was Rina, driving the Subaru down Derech Hebron-the road to Hebron. She knew she should turn back. A lone woman going to Hebron was sheer suicide. But then again, the area had been quiet for a while since the beefed-up security. And maybe the car wouldn’t go all the way to Hebron.

A few more miles.

She rolled up the windows and locked the doors, on her way to enemy territory.

The moment Rina left, Decker knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t speak Hebrew and Yalom could barely speak English. When the old man motioned him toward Dalia’s father, Decker cursed his stupidity.

A stranger in a strange land-a ger.

Yalom bent down to whisper something in Menkovitz’s ear. Menkovitz was much older than Yalom, in his late eighties. His arms were thin and bony, sticking out of short white sleeves. But when Menkovitz stood, Decker noticed not only was he taller than the average man, but he sported a sizable gut. Like many old men, Menkovitz was high-waisted, his black pants stretched over his belly and supported by suspenders. He had thin, white hair and a long face specked with liver spots.

After Yalom was done with the whispering act, Menkovitz looked Decker over, dark eyes not missing a trick. Then with much deliberation, he picked up a shoebox-sized leather case and chained it around his waist. Slowly, he put on his black jacket and walked away.

Yalom followed and so did Decker.

“Where are we going?” Decker asked Yalom.

“Savlanoot,” Yalom said. “Pacien.”

Decker assumed he meant patience and kept silent. Menkovitz kept his eyes straight on, not even bothering to grace Decker with the merest of courtesy nods. But Decker knew it wasn’t out of rudeness, it was out of numbness. Menkovitz had the look-old man going through the motions. They took the elevator back to the fifteenth floor, back to Menkovitz’s office. The old man walked into the sally port, the secretary buzzing them through without Menkovitz’s uttering a word.

The old man’s office was spacious, holding a panoramic view of what Decker assumed was industrial Tel Aviv. He saw factories, smokestacks, warehouses, train tracks, and lots of commercial buildings. The day was clear, the sun was bright, but the mood inside was dim. Menkovitz spoke to Decker in Hebrew. Feeling like a dunce, Decker asked him if he spoke English.

Angrily Menkovitz turned to Yalom and fired off some rapid gutteral speech. Yalom fired back a response. Menkovitz waved his hand in the air.

Decker said, “Excuse me, Mr. Menkovitz. If there is a problem, I can come back later with my wife. She speaks Hebrew.”

No one responded.

Decker said, “Uh, ani can come back.” He realized he was speaking with his hands. Something he had never done before. “Uh, ani ba-”

“I understand you,” Menkovitz broke in. “Don’t break your teeth. Sit.” The old man took the chair behind his desk and motioned Yalom and Decker to two office chairs.

Decker sat. “Thank you.”

Menkovitz said, “Moshe tells me you are mishtarah-police, nachon? So what news have you to make an embittered old man feel better.”

Decker said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Menkovitz’s eyes narrowed and homed in on Decker. “So tell me, Mr. Policeman, what the hell do you know about loss?”

“Not much.”

“That’s right, not much! You are just like all spoiled Americans led by a draft-dodging president. You know nothing of loss because you don’t know what is dear. Because America is the land of plenty and everything’s cheap. Even life.”

“Not to me,” Decker said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s why you here?” Menkovitz gave him a dubious look. “You here because someone pays for you. A free holiday.”

“I’m here on business,” Decker said, calmly. “Your daughter’s death.”

“That’s what you say,” Menkovitz said. “You lie through your teeth.”

Decker was silent.

Menkovitz rubbed his face. “When do you ship my Dalia back to me so I can give her decent burial?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Decker said.

“It’s not very good.”

“You’re right.” Decker leaned forward. “It’s not very good. The whole thing stinks and again, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean much, but it is the truth. I have four kids of my own and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t worry about them.”

Menkovitz was silent, then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I come to Palestine, I fight in ’48 and I fight in ’56. In ’67, I’m too old, they give me civil duty-haggah. I watch streets as Jordanian soldiers pour into the city like a mabul. You know what is mabul?”

“Flood,” Decker said.

“Right. Like flood, they come into the city,” Menkovitz said.

“Much soldiers,” Yalom agreed. “Like mabul.”

“You were scared, Moshe?” Menkovitz asked.

“Lo,” Yalom stated curtly. “After Treblinka…” He waved his hand in the air.

Menkovitz said, “I was not scared. I am a fighter. But this…” He lowered his head. “I have no more fighter, Mr. Policeman. I just want my daughter home so we can bury her on our land. That is all.”

Decker had no other answer except silence. Then he said. “We’re on the same side, Mr. Menkovitz. Help me.”

Menkovitz stared at Decker, then said, “You want some tea? I do. Moshe, rotzeh teh?”

“Betach,” Yalom answered back.

Menkovitz put in requests over the intercom. Then he turned to Decker and said, “What do you want to know? Dalia was always a good girl. A little spoiled. That’s why she liked America. There it is not a crime to be spoiled. Here people don’t like it. She married young. And she married a mean man.”

Yalom spoke up and pointed an accusing finger at Menkovitz. “She marry man like papa.”

Menkovitz allowed himself a brief smile. “Yes, Arik was like me…too much like me. He was short-tempered and a hondler. Even at times, a gonif.”

Decker knew gonif meant thief. He raised his eyes.

Menkovitz said, “You don’t think Arik is a thief? Let me tell you something, Mr. Policeman. You see Bursa, today. You see all the people. They are all thieves. If not thief today, then tomorrow they will be thief. Arik was a tomorrow thief.”

The two old men began to quarrel. Decker suspected the cantankerous routine predated the death of their children. He waited them out.

Finally, Menkovitz said, “Yalom don’t like me calling Arik a thief.” The argument with Moshe seemed to have revived him. “So ask you questions. That is why you’re here.”

Decker said, “Mr. Menkovitz, what were you and Kate Milligan talking about?”

Menkovitz stared at Decker. There was a knock on the door, then it opened.

Teatime. The secretary came in carrying an oversized salver. She set it down on Menkovitz’s desk, poured tea, then passed around a plate of finger sandwiches. Menkovitz picked up a sandwich of olive and cream cheese and popped it into his mouth. Yalom chose egg salad. Decker passed the first round.

The secretary smiled at her boss, then kissed the mezuzah, and left. Menkovitz asked, “Why you want to know about Kate Milligan?”

“She and Arik Yalom weren’t on good terms.”

Moshe Yalom sat up in his seat. “What you mean?”

Decker said, “The two of them had exchanged a series of angry letters.”

“Ma?” Yalom turned to Menkovitz. “Ani lo mayveen.”

Menkovitz translated. Both men seemed confused.

Decker said, “I had just spoken to Milligan in the States. She claimed to be working on a big case in Los Angeles that took up a great deal of her time. So I’m surprised she’s here.”

“Me, too,” Menkovitz said. “She don’t come to Bursa many times. She don’t like Jews.”

Decker paused, remembering how she had told them that diamond cutters were clannish and gossipy. He had told Marge that she had meant the Jews. “Why do you think Milligan doesn’t like Jews?”

“Because she don’t like Jews.” He translated his conversation for Moshe Yalom, then went on. “She thinks they are dirty thieves. So we are thieves. We are little thieves. VerHauten is big thief-anak. You know what is anak? Goliath is anak. Og is anak.”

“A giant,” Decker said.

“Yes, a giant. VerHauten is giant thief,” Menkovitz continued. “Like a mix-up Robin the Hood. Steal from the poor, give to the rich.” He shrugged. “I don’t like it, but so what? I’m not in Dachau, I am a happy man.”

“Did she ever have a problem with the Jews specifically?”

Menkovitz shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe yes, maybe no. Who needs excuse to hate Jews?”

Decker said, “Why is Milligan here, Mr. Menkovitz?”

“She looks at the stones. How many come from VerHauten, how many come from Russia, how many come from other African country.” He hesitated, then said, “Why was Arik mad at Milligan?”

Decker said, “According to Milligan, Arik Yalom had become threatening and abusive toward her and toward VerHauten. According to Arik’s letters, he was being cheated by VerHauten.”

Menkovitz translated Decker’s words to Yalom.

“VerHauten cheat all peoples,” Yalom piped in.

Menkovitz said, “How was VerHauten cheating Arik?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Decker said. “Arik had some landholdings in Angola that he wanted to sell to VerHauten. VerHauten passed.”

“Passed?” Menkovitz asked.

“VerHauten passed up buying the land. They weren’t interested.”

“It wasn’t good land?”

“It might have been very good land,” Decker said. “But for whatever reason, VerHauten didn’t want to buy it. Then there were a few letters…let’s see how I can explain this.”

Decker paused while Menkovitz translated to Yalom.

“Let’s try this. VerHauten said that the land Arik was trying to sell them wasn’t even legally owned by Arik. Do you understand?”

“Cain, cain,” Menkovitz said. “Did he own land?”

“Kate Milligan seems to say no. But I definitely saw land deeds that belonged to Arik. That’s why I wondered what you and Kate Milligan were talking about. Maybe she asked you about land deeds?”

“She says nothing about land deed. Only talks about diamonds.” Menkovitz translated for Yalom, then turned quiet.

Decker blew out air. “Mr. Menkovitz. Milligan doesn’t work for VerHauten anymore. I know that. And I have a feeling you know that. She’s on her own now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Menkovitz didn’t answer.

“So why would she bother asking you about your diamonds?”

“She still does work for VerHauten.”

“As an international lawyer, not as the director of marketing and sales in Overseas Operations. She wouldn’t be asking you questions like that anymore.”

“But she did.”

“Is that all she talked about, Mr. Menkovitz? Just diamonds?”

Menkovitz hesitated. “She’s interested in Arik’s business. I don’t know why. Arik is small time. But she keep asking questions.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I don’t know. She should talk to the partner, Shaul Gold.”

“Shaul Gold,” Decker said, mildly. “Did Ms. Milligan ask you some questions about Shaul Gold, sir?”

“Yes, and I wonder why.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Have I seen him? Have I heard from him since the murders? Do I know if he is in Israel?”

“And what do you say?”

“I tell her nothing.” Menkovitz was matter-of-fact. “I don’t like Milligan. I don’t like the way she acts. She has power and is bully with it. She would have been a fine Nazi.”

“Why do you think she was asking about Gold?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even ask. Because if I ask, I could say something wrong.”

Decker said, “Have you heard from Gold?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“He’s disappeared from the States. He claims to be looking for your grandsons. I’d just like to know where he is, why he fled from America so suddenly.”

“If he goes to Israel, it isn’t fled.”

Decker felt his heartbeat quicken. “Then he is here, isn’t he?”

“He has nothing to do with this terrible thing. He is an honest boy. He loved Dalia.”

“So I heard.”

“You hear but you do not understand.” Menkovitz shook his head. “Yes, he loved her. But after she marry Arik, there is no funny stuff. She is good girl. He is good boy.”

“Shaul Gold is looking for your grandsons, am I right?”

The room was quiet. Decker didn’t wait for an answer. “Mr. Menkovitz, do you know where your grandsons are?”

Again, Menkovitz shook his head.

“But they’re here.”

Menkovitz picked up a cucumber sandwich. He put it in his mouth and chewed slowly. “Take some food. It will help you think.”

Decker thanked him and picked up egg salad, ate it and sipped his tea, making sure he didn’t rush anything. Then he said, “Where are your grandsons, Mr. Menkovitz?”

“I don’t know.” He turned to Yalom. “Do you know where they are, Moshe?”

“Just they are here, not where.”

Menkovitz said, “We heard from them maybe two, three days ago. My wife…she was so happy they are alive. Dovie, the little one, say they are here in Israel. And they are both here in Israel. But they are not together.”

“They split up?” Decker asked.

Menkovitz nodded.

Swell! Decker thought. “And Shaul is looking for them?”

“Shaul knows the boys are afraid. He thought they come to Israel to hide with us. Shaul knows we help the boys any way we can. Shaul looks for the boys to find out why they are afraid. Because Shaul is afraid, too. If he finds out why boys ran away, maybe he finds out who did this terrible thing to my daughter.” He looked at Yalom. “To our children.”

“Do you know where Shaul Gold is?” Decker asked.

“Lo. Shaul says he looks for the boys, then he will call me. I ask Shaully where are you staying, but he won’t tell. He says it’s better if I don’t know. I think he’s right.”

Decker noticed that Shaul had become Shaully.

Menkovitz straightened in his seat. “I wish I could help, but Dov tells me nothing. Shaul tells me nothing.”

“Dov didn’t give you any idea where he might be staying.”

“Lo. Only he and Gil are apart and we should not look for them. I want to, of course, but Dovie says no, no, no! Don’t look, he will call later.”

Decker allowed himself a pat on the back. He had been the right man for this case because he was Jewish. Rina had drummed it into him. Every identified Jew alive looked to Israel for sanctuary. The Yalom boys were no exception. And if Honey needed a city of refuge, she and the family were probably here as well. He said, “Dov hasn’t called you yet?”

“Not yet. So I wait.” Menkovitz sipped his tea. “Yes, I wait. My wife waits. The Yaloms wait. We don’t say anything, we just wait. And wait and wait.” His eyes misted. “I hope he don’t wait too long. I am an old man. I’d like to see my only grandsons before I die.”

29

As if she didn’t know, the sign said it all: Tourists were advised to turn back. If not, they traveled the roads at their own risk.

Rina plowed ahead, tailing the Fiat at a brisk pace.

Congestion eased as they moved out of downtown Jerusalem. The road wound its way out of the city, framed by old Arab homes-big houses with doors and grillwork painted blue to ward off the evil spirits. Flower boxes decorated the balconies, impromptu gardens springing up in empty spots. The hillsides were lush with vegetation. It must have been a wet winter. Farther along, past the old houses, were the newer Israeli developments. Hundreds of attractive-looking apartment houses waffled into the mountainside. Then as fast as they appeared, they faded. Once again, the ground was opened for cultivation.

Rina passed olive groves, citrus groves, and cultivated fields. Here was strong land. Here was fertile land. And here was contested land.

The sun was high, beating downward with unmolested power. The road to Hebron bordered on the Judean Desert and Rina had forgotten how hot the Mediterranean sun could be, even in the tail end of winter. She switched on the air conditioning.

The road continued to ebb and flow through hilly terrain. Rina kept her eyes not only on the Fiat but on her rearview mirror. Though in hostile territory, Rina was calmed by the slew of army jeeps she had passed-in front of her, behind her. In about ten minutes, she knew she’d hit Bet Lechem-Bethlehem. Once the Christian Arab city had been a sleepy little berg that had catered to Christian tourists wishing to see the Church of the Nativity. It had been full of tiny little shops stocked with religious articles and icons. The stores had done a bang-up business around Christmas and Easter. But when the uprisings had swung into full gear, tours had been canceled. The result? Lots of empty shops.

A few moments later, a large block of Israeli soldiers came into view. Rachel’s Tomb. Once visible from the road, it was now blocked by a wall. It was a holy spot for the Jews, especially infertile women. They would go there to beseech God for children, in the same manner that Rachel Emainu had beseeched the Almighty thousands of years ago.

Rina felt comforted by the army’s presence, by the Uzis the boys held. There were many of them. So young. Dressed in khaki greens, the kids weren’t much older than Sammy. Rina briefly flashed on her other life, how it might have been for her boys if she and Yitzy had stayed in Israel. It had been her loneliness that had propelled them back to the States-to Rav Schulman’s yeshiva. And just as soon as they had settled in the United States, Rina wished they’d never left Israel. Everything had gone downhill after that.

After incanting a quick prayer, Rina passed through the square blocks of Bet Lechem without incident. It was the same town she had known-open-market fruit and juice stands, cafés with Arab men passing around the hookah, playing long games of backgammon. Rina passed women balancing baskets on their heads as they walked down dusty roads in sandals or bare feet. Their hair was swathed in colorful scarves, their bodies covered with long, intricately embroidered black dresses.

Abruptly, Rina realized that the Fiat had become a dot in the distance. She sped up, the car grunting as it accelerated, hugging the road as it twisted and turned. Once the Fiat was in striking distance, Rina allowed herself to relax.

The hillsides had changed, no longer walls of rock. Instead, the mountains had been terraced, carved into steplike mesas of cultivated lands. This ingenious job of landscaping had been done hundreds of years ago, the barriers of granite and limestone still holding back the forces of Mother Nature with grace and beauty.

The Fiat moved rapidly and so did Rina. They passed the turn off to Efrat, a town that had been mislabeled as a settlement. Settlements to Rina conjured up images of temporary inhabitance-people with backpacks wandering through fields, pitching tents and sleeping on the ground. Efrat was anything but. The town was perched atop the hill and was filled with modern apartment houses and sprawling private homes. It had its own school system, its own libraries, its own stores, and of course, its own synagogues. Rina had lots of American friends who had moved to Efrat to enjoy the fresh air, safety, and open land. Now, with the Arabs set to patrol this land, Rina feared for their safety.

Rina thought about that as she drove farther into the West Bank. The road became not only emptier but decidedly more Arab. For every car she passed with an Israeli license, Rina had passed five with Arab plates. Her rental was a target, as vulnerable as if she were a blip on a radar screen. She rechecked her door locks, glanced in her rearview mirror, scanned the area for signs of an ambush.

Everything appeared quiet. Another oncoming army jeep passed her in the opposite direction. It gave her courage to continue.

The Fiat was speeding by now. The terraced mountainside had become a blur of rock. When it made the turn into Hebron, the wheels screeched. Rina followed, the air-conditioning blowing full force at her face. But the frosty air did little to relieve the internal heat. Sweat was running down Rina’s face, seeping through her clothing. The armpits of her blouse had become darkened stains. Taking the turnoff, Rina slowed as the roadway narrowed to the entrance to the city.

Then things began to move in slow motion, the area growing dense with people as she delved deeper into the village, into the marketplace. Hostile, hateful stares cast upon her, the heat of anger born thousands of years ago and nurtured steadily by blood and revenge. Rina kept her eyes straight ahead, hands clutched to the steering wheel. She wanted to check her doors again, but that would show fear. Fear is always an invitation for trouble.

The city seemed to reproduce before her eyes, the crowd thickening with each second that passed. The marketplace began to close in on her, fruit stands spilling onto the roadway. Donkey-driven carts sided her Subaru, animal and human faces staring into the car’s window. Some eyes were curious but most were unfriendly. Rina attempted to act outwardly calm, but inside her heart pounded furiously.

Not an army jeep in sight.

A “ping” echoed inside her car. The slightest sensation of movement-as if someone had tapped the trunk. A sudden rush of adrenaline shot into her system. Were the tires just spitting out gravel or was someone stoning the car?

The Fiat had slowed to accommodate the heavy traffic of cars, carts, and camels. Rina’s Subaru was nudging against the Fiat’s back bumper. She was directly behind the car and that wasn’t good at all. But where was she to go? She was trapped in congestion.

A louder clunk against the trunk of her car, this one heavier, more meaningful. She wanted to turn around but didn’t dare. A glance to her right showed she was hemmed in by another donkey cart. Her eyes panned her surroundings, assessing her options. In the distance, a flash of army green.

Another hard clunk against her car.

Rina slid down into her seat, amazed by how calm she was. All those safety drills she had done when she had lived out here years ago. It had all come back.

The Fiat slowed, then hooked over to a small unpaved lane, not much more than a rut in the ground. Rina was not about to follow an Arab car into the isolated hillside. She had eavesdropped on Milligan’s conversation, had gotten the Fiat’s license plates, had tailed it into Hebron until it headed for the mountains. She had done enough. It was time to go home.

Heart hammering in her chest, Rina did an abrupt U-turn and headed back to Derech Hebron, once again into town. Sweat poured off her forehead as she carefully drove the car back through the marketplace. Everything seemed under control.

Then the deafening blast inside her car! Light flying, stinging her face! Instinctively, Rina ducked, but managed to keep control of the car. A donkey brayed, someone kicking at her car door, the sound of curses hurled in her direction. Through tear-stung eyes, Rina saw a streak of olive pass by.

An army jeep!

With finesse worthy of a race-car driver, she twisted and turned the Subaru, nearly knocking down a fruit stand, until she was tailing the jeep, until a platoon of army green came into view. A half dozen jeeps and dozens of soldiers-men and women in Israeli uniforms armed with Uzis!

Pools clouding her eyes, Rina realized where she was! Directly in front of her vision was a limestone building with a dark, cavernous archway for its entry. She had reached Ma’arat HaMachpelah-the Tomb of the Patriarchs. The ancient burial place of the holy ancestors. She brought the choking Subaru up a steep gravel hill, then pulled over and parked. Laying her forehead onto the steering wheel, she wiped glass off her hands and buried her face in the crook of her sweat-soaked arms.

She wept aloud.

Decker was trying to remain calm, but wasn’t succeeding. Having given up on Rina’s return to the Bursa, he went back to the hotel, deciding to wait for her there. But another hour had passed since she had left, two in all, and Decker was downright frantic.

He hadn’t any idea where Rina had gone; he hadn’t a clue on how to proceed to find her. All he had was the license plate of the Subaru. Decker had called the rental agency and had asked in English if their cars had been equipped with tracking devices. The two people he spoke to hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was talking about. He hung up in disgust, his stomach sizzling in its own juices.

The harsh ring of the phone made him jump. He grabbed it and muttered an angry hello.

It was the long-distance operator.

Fuck! Now something was wrong at home. And here he was, sick with worry ten thousand miles away.

Thanks to good old fiber optics, the voice on the other end was familiar and clear. An instant wave of relief came over him. It wasn’t his mother-in-law or the baby nurse or Sammy or Jake. It was Marge.

Decker caught his breath and said, “What time is it over there?”

“Two in the morning. What’s it over there? About one in the afternoon?”

“About.”

“Yeah, I’m all messed up with the time zones. I called your hotel yesterday-four o’clock in the afternoon my time. Some indignant desk clerk informed me in no uncertain terms that it was two o’clock A.M. over there and she was not going to wake you for anything less than an emergency. I figured I’d call back later. You’ve been busy?”

“Nonstop since we arrived yesterday.” Decker took out his pad and pencil. “I take it you have some news?”

“First, a quick update on the Honey Klein case. I got a call from a Sturgis in West LA. I told him you were in Israel and he told me you should get a job as a clairvoyant.”

“Honey is here?”

“No one’s certain, but Manhattan police think so. Right after Klein’s murder, they set up a specialized team to go out to the village-a couple of Jewish cops on the force who could speak Yiddish, including one woman. The men were mute, of course. With the women, it was a different story. While they weren’t exactly chatty, some things about Honey did come out. She had been talking for a long time about going to live in Israel. Then, right before Honey left for vacation, one of the neighbors saw a thick envelope sitting in front of Honey’s house; the return address was a federal office building. She had asked Honey about it. Honey had replied that she had updated their passports.”

“Interesting,” Decker said. “Do they have any evidence she was involved in her husband’s murder?”

“No evidence. But police have got a motive.”

“Let me guess. Her husband had been abusing her and the children. She wanted to get away, but he wouldn’t let her. So she took the kids and fled.”

“You’re on the right track, but not quite.” Marge paused. “You being Jewish and all, Rabbi. Maybe you can explain this to me. Yes, Honey wanted to get away from her husband. She had been asking for a divorce for over a year, but Gershon Klein wanted to stay married. Now this is the part I’m confused about. Apparently, if you’re a devout Jew, a wife can’t get a divorce if her husband doesn’t want it. Is that true?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“How’s that possible, Pete? We have laws in this country. Equitable laws.”

Decker was quiet. How could he possibly explain it to Marge when he didn’t understand it himself. “She can get a civil divorce, Marge, but she can’t get a religious divorce. Without a religious divorce, a Jewish woman can’t remarry.”

There was a long pause over the line. Then Marge said, “I don’t know about you, but that seems imbalanced to me.”

“Me, too,” Decker admitted. “I think it stinks. Has New York concluded how Gershon Klein died?”

“He drowned,” Marge said. “Rather he was drowned.”

“What kind of water was in the lungs?”

“It was fresh water, not seawater. They think he drowned in a bathtub. And they think Honey did it.”

“It would have been hard for Honey to get him into a bathtub,” Decker said. “Gershon had stopped bathing a while back.”

“Stopped bathing? Why? Now that couldn’t be religion.”

“It had nothing to do with religion,” Decker said. “Sounds like the guy was undergoing a breakdown. Go on.”

Marge said, “The next part is speculation but I’ll run it by you anyway. New York seems to think that Honey had intentions of calling it in as an accident. But she suddenly panicked.”

“I can see that,” Decker said. “It’s one thing to drown your husband in a frenzy of anger. It’s another thing to explain away a dead body.”

Marge said, “New York thinks she dragged the body out of her house-”

“This had to have taken place at night.”

“I would think so. Anyway, she dragged the corpse down to her husband’s office and left.”

“The body was shot.”

“Yeah, they figure Honey purposely shot the body, trashed the office to make it look like a robbery, then told everyone that Gershon was out of town in Israel.”

“Then Honey called up Rina,” Decker continued the story. “She made arrangements to be out of town when the body was discovered.” He became angry. “She chose to stay with a woman whose husband’s a cop. Got to give it to her. That took balls.”

“Or some screws loose,” Marge said. “Honey had to have been stupid to think that someone wouldn’t catch on.”

Decker said, “You know, Margie, dead bodies aren’t easy to maneuver. Drowning the guy, then dragging him into a car and up to his office…shooting him and tossing the place. That’s a lot of physical exertion for one little woman.”

“My thoughts to a tee. She must have had help, Pete. Unfortunately, the police can’t finger an accessory.”

“An accessory before the fact,” Decker said. “Someone had to have helped her with the drowning. She couldn’t have taken down a grown man by herself.”

“Unless the guy was drugged.”

“Anything in the blood?”

“Sturgis didn’t say anything so I assume the tests were negative. Unless the guy was pumped with some rare poison that didn’t show up in a normal chemical profile.”

“Honey had help,” Decker stated as fact.

“Probably. Could have been a member of her community. Maybe even one of her kids…the teenaged boy.” Marge was quiet for a moment. “Didn’t you tell me that the kids looked like abused children?”

“I was thinking out loud, but the signs are there.” Decker paused. “So they think Honey drowned him, then shot him in a panic to make it look like a robbery. Something’s missing, Marge.”

“Agreed. So all you have to do, Rabbi, is find the woman and ask her a few questions. Shouldn’t be too hard. Israel’s a very small country. I know because I looked at a map.”

Decker laughed. “It’s bigger in the flesh, Dunn. I’ll ask Rina if she has any ideas.”

If I can find her!

Marge said, “Department said as long as they paid your transatlantic way for the Yalom thing, you should look into Klein, too. Davidson was very excited about the latest developments. He’s going to ask Manhattan to kick in for some of your overseas expenses since you’re working on their case.”

“Our Loo likes things fiscally sound.”

“Our Loo’s a jerk.”

“Has he been giving you a hard time?”

“Not really. Simply because I’ve been producing.” Marge took a breath. “Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

“We finally found the airline tickets for the Yalom boys. They took a flight from LA to Vancouver. Another one from Vancouver to Toronto. Then a third from Toronto to Israel. We finally have confirmation that the boys are in Israel.”

“I’m looking for them as we speak. Nothing so far. But I’ve only been here a day. Anything else?”

“Yep. I’ve been doing a little research on our friend Katie Milligan.”

Decker felt himself gripping the receiver. He tried to quell a rush of anxiety, but it was a lost cause. “What?”

There was a moment of silence. “Are you okay, Pete?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What about Milligan?”

Marge couldn’t understand the sudden harsh tone in his voice, but maybe he’d explain himself afterward. “It seems that Katie made some interesting recent investments for her pension plan. Namely Southwest Mines and West African Consolidated.”

“The companies Arik Yalom had invested in.”

“Pete, she bought Southwest Mines after it went bankrupt.”

Decker thought a moment. “Maybe Milligan was bottom fishing. Or it may be that Milligan had insider’s information that the company was going to be picked up and restructured.”

“And just who would pick up the company, Pete?”

“VerHauten.”

“On the nose, Rabbi,” Marge said. “VerHauten is listed as the majority shareholder of the recently defunct Southwest Mines with Milligan and Yalom listed as prominent minority shareholders. Would you like to hear some of my theories on what came to pass?”

“Shoot.”

“Milligan was intrigued with Arik’s stockholdings. She thought he just might literally be sitting on a diamond mine with all his shares in this Southwest. But there was a glitch.”

“The company was going bust,” Decker said.

“Exactly,” Marge said. “It takes a heap and a half of capital to mine diamonds. The company simply didn’t have the wherewithal to see it through. They made overtures to VerHauten for a buy-out, but Milligan knew they were in big trouble. She told VerHauten to sit on the offer and wait until the company went bust.”

“Which it did.”

“Which allowed both VerHauten and Milligan to buy it out at a fraction of its worth.”

“With VerHauten in the picture, Arik’s stock could be worth a bundle,” Decker said.

Marge said, “If VerHauten ever decides to move on it. Which is a big if. According to my spies, VerHauten isn’t developing Southwest Mines for two reasons. Arik Yalom owns too much of the company, and secondly, VerHauten isn’t doing any development right now. It seems to have enough diamonds out of its other pipes. Pete, Arik’s stock is worthless as long as VerHauten keeps the land fallow.”

“And so are Milligan’s shares of the company.”

Marge said, “Pete, what if Milligan had insider’s info that VerHauten would move if they could get hold of Yalom’s and Milligan’s shares at a reasonable price? Now Milligan could have afforded to sell cheap. She bought at rock bottom. Arik, on the other hand, didn’t buy at the low. He was holding out for more.”

“But the company went bust. A little is better than nothing.”

“Maybe not to Arik. Suppose VerHauten began to lose interest. Milligan grew anxious. She wanted her money and needed Arik out of the picture. She offed him and his wife, figuring it would be easier to deal with the heirs-the boys-than with the parents.”

And suddenly things began to click into place. It was time to lay his news on Marge. “Milligan’s in Israel, Detective. And so is Gold.” He filled her in on the details, conveniently leaving out Rina’s foray into policework.

Marge said, “So Gold’s looking for the boys and Milligan’s asking about Gold. You gotta wonder why she’s searching for him. I tell you, they were in on it together.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. I think she’s hunting him down. You want to hear my theory?”

“Shoot.”

“Remember when you spoke about the inequality of the partnership. Arik seemed to have so much more money than Gold.”

“Yes.”

“Gold claimed Yalom had used Dalia’s money when Yalom first started investing in his African schemes. But I say no. I think Yalom wanted Gold to believe that the business wasn’t doing so hot when in fact it was doing fine. I think Yalom was draining some business money to pay for personal investments.”

Marge stated, “Then Arik covered his ass by saying the money came from Dalia.”

“Some of that may have been true. But not all of it.”

“Only got one quibble with your theory, Pete. Gold’s a sharpie. If Arik was dipping into the till, Gold would have found out real quick.”

“Agreed. I think Gold did find out about it. And I think he allowed Arik to use business money for personal expenses.”

“Pete, why would he do that?”

“Because Gold was in love with Dalia-had been for years.”

“He was willing to be ripped off for love?”

“Why not? Sure as I stand here, I know they had something going on. As long as Gold thought that the money Arik pilfered was going for Dalia and the kids, for her house, for household expenses…that was okay with him. But eventually Gold found out that Arik was using the money for stock and land purchases in Africa. He hit the roof and demanded payment. And I think Arik capitulated, Marge. I think Arik paid him back.”

“How?”

“By selling him the bulk of his mining investments-things like land deeds and Southwest Mine stock.”

“Then Arik got popped,” Marge said. “Let’s just speculate and say that Milligan popped Arik to get to his land deeds and mining stocks.”

“Right.”

“At this point, we both know it’s pure conjecture.”

“Agreed, but let’s go with it anyway,” Decker said. “Because with Milligan being here, hot on Gold’s tail, it looks like she’s involved in some fashion.”

“True.”

Decker said, “Say Gold had known that Milligan had designs on Arik’s former mines. What Milligan hadn’t known was that the assets no longer belonged to Arik. They belonged to Gold.”

“So when Arik was popped, Gold knew his ownership of the assets put him in jeopardy. He asked some questions, then split. Eventually Milligan found out that Gold owned the stocks and followed him over to Israel.” Marge paused. “Took her long enough to figure it out.”

“I don’t believe she had even thought about Gold being in the picture until we brought it up. Then she must have done some checking. Bingo. She found out that Yalom was no longer the primary shareholder. Gold held the cards now.”

“So Milligan came to Israel specifically to get Gold?”

“Why else would she be asking about him and not the boys?”

“So why did the boys run scared?”

“Maybe they’re next in line to inherit the stocks.” Decker blew out air. “I know we’ve got lots of holes in our theory. But why else would Milligan be asking about Gold?”

“I still say they could be in on the murder together and he split on her with his assets. She’s hunting him down just like she did Yalom. Where is Milligan now?”

A very good question. Anxiety suddenly strangled Decker’s chest. The better question was, where the fuck was Rina?

“Pete?” Marge said. “Are you still there?”

“I don’t know who Milligan’s out to get,” Decker said flatly. “We’ve just been throwing out stuff, Marge. Maybe I’m completely off base.”

“Pete, you sound upset. What is it?”

He was silent. He just couldn’t confess his stupidity to his partner. He just couldn’t tell her that he let Rina tail someone potentially involved in a double murder. “I’m fine. Look, Marge, I’ve got some work to do here. And you need your rest-”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Pete?”

Decker whispered, “I’ve got to go now. Call you later.”

He hung up the phone, grabbed his coat, and headed for nowhere.

30

Someone tapped on the driver’s window. Rina jerked her head and looked up. A soldier, his young face earnest and full of concern. He was blond with bright blue eyes and strong cheekbones-a heartbreaker. She dried her eyes and gave him a weak smile.

“You…hokay, g’veret?”

Rina unlocked the door and got out of the car, a dry heat grabbed her body. The soldier was sweating, weighted down by his weapon. She spoke in Hebrew. “I’m…overwhelmed by the spirituality, by the ruach of Hasham.”

Upon hearing Rina speak his language fluently, the soldier launched into a tirade. What was she doing out here alone? Was she crazy? Hadn’t she read a newspaper for the last year? Didn’t she know she was inviting herself to her own funeral? Of course, she was American and that explained everything. What the hell was wrong with these crazy American fanatics? Didn’t they know what they were doing to Israel, how they put every soldier-every Jewish soldier-in danger with their rhetoric and their stubbornness? Who needed them anyway?

Then the soldier noticed her shot-out window.

Rina listened patiently as the man went ballistic.

Did she expect sympathy for her ordeal? Well, she wasn’t going to get anything from him. Nosirree. Not when she not only endangered herself but every single man and woman in the Israeli army. And now that she had arrived here in Hebron, how the hell did she plan to get back? Of course, God would take care. The stock answer to everything. God would take care. Except God wasn’t out here, shvitzing like a behaima-sweating like a beast-watching his rear end every second of his duty, fending off hate-driven terrorists, doing frightening, dangerous work just to guard a bunch of crazies who believed that mass suicide was a virtue.

He stopped abruptly, blew out air, then gingerly traced the bullet hole with his finger. “It is so incredibly stupid, you coming out here. No one comes out here, let alone a woman. Who are you? A terrorist in disguise?”

Rina told him she was not a terrorist.

The man didn’t seem comforted, asking now what was he going to do with her.

Rina spoke softly and meaningfully. “I’ll wait until one of the jeeps goes back to Jerusalem. I’m very sorry to cause you grief. I showed very bad judgment. I do know what’s going on, but I guess old habits are hard to break. I lived here twelve years ago. I remember a much different Israel.”

“A much, much different Israel.” The soldier cocked his hip and made eye contact. She smiled at him. It seemed to soften his anger. He said, “You speak Hebrew very well. How long did you live here?”

“About three years. Back then you could travel the main roads without too much concern. Of course, if you went into the remote areas and passed through the small villages, you always carried a gun. I wish I had a gun now.”

The soldier eyed her suspiciously. “You should have thought of that before you came out here like an American cowboy.”

“Yes, I should have.” Rina looked at the sky. “Is the Ma’arah open?”

The soldier shifted the Uzi in his arms. “For the moment, until another incident closes it up.”

“Then I can go in,” Rina said. “At least do what I came here for.” Her eyes suddenly moistened. “Who knows? I may never see it again.”

Wearily, the soldier looked over his shoulder at the mausoleum holy to two separate nations. He shook his head as if religion was the root of all evil. “I need to check your purse before you enter.”

Rina handed him her purse. He dug through it, examining her belongings, checking her passport, then handed it back to her. “Hokay,” he said in English. “Hokay, you go. I go with you.”

“Into the Ma’arah?” Rina stated in Hebrew. “But it’s guarded. I’ll be fine.”

“I still go.”

“You don’t trust me,” Rina stated. “I understand. Then come with me.”

The soldier adjusted the strap of his Uzi. In Hebrew, he told her ladies first.

The Jewish name for Hebron was Kiryat Arbah-kiryat meaning “city” and arbah meaning “four”-because the town held the Ma’arat HaMachpelah-the Cave of the Pairs. Specifically, there were four pairs of ancestors interred beneath the memorial in a cave below: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, and Adam and Eve. The holy spot was also the resting place of the decapitated head of Jacob’s brother, Esau, sliced off by Chushin, son of Dan. He had garroted his great-uncle after the burial negotiations between Esau and his nephews had broken down. The body had remained outside the walls, but the head had rolled in. After much discussion, the nephews allowed the head to be buried in the cave reserved for their ancestors.

Rina thought about that as she entered the shrine. The mausoleum had undergone many transformations, from a Jewish shrine, to a Christian church, then finally into a large Muslim mosque around the thirteenth century. Rina couldn’t imagine why Muslims would want to worship in a shrine that held Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. She realized that Abraham was the father of their religion as well as hers. But the others? They had nothing to do with the formation of Islam. But every day, six times a day, the Muslims would do just that. They prayed to Allah with Isaac and Rebecca looking on. Their cenotaphs were in the mosque proper.

Rina did concede that the ancient Muslims deserved proper credit. They had not only kept the shrines in excellent condition, they had embellished them in their own unique style.

It had been said that if the Jews were to dig underneath the memorials and into the cave below, if they were to actually reach the graves of the patriarchs and matriarchs, the messiah would come. After 1967, when Hebron came under Israeli rule, which opened the city to everyone, some Jews started digging. The Arabs immediately put a stop to the desecration of their mosque. The Israeli government supported the residents of the city. The messiah would just have to wait.

It was cool inside, albeit dank and musty. Immediately, Rina was hit by a cry from an elderly, blind beggar. It was anyone’s guess how he had become blind, but Rina knew of an old Arab custom. Some men, after they made their haj to Mecca, felt that nothing else was ever worth seeing. So they purposely blinded themselves. Rina wondered if that’s what had happened with this man. He continued to plead, palm stretched outward. Rina fished through her purse and dropped a shekel in a jerky dried hand. The man’s bony fingers closed in on the coin.

The guard looked at her with angry eyes that said there was no time for charity. Get a move on.

Rina took a deep breath as she entered the heart of the mausoleum. It smelled like a compost pile of rich, decaying vegetation, as if the shrine echoed God’s very words-for dust thou art and unto dust thou shall return. Rina walked through the memorial, stopping in front of the shrine for Abraham and Sarah. Something ethereal came over her, a sense of personal history. As if she were looking through her parents’ scrapbook. She thought about the Five Books of Moses, specifically B’raisheet, the book of Genesis. In a sense, B’raisheet was the scrapbook of the first Jews. These people weren’t fairy-tale characters or mythological creatures, they were real people. And like all real people, they had lived, they had died.

And Rina was standing at their graves.

Every visit to the cave brought Rina that much closer to her ancestral roots. With a shaking hand, she took a pocket siddur from her purse and began to pray. First, she did formal prayer-the Shemona Esreh. Then she made her own requests of God. First came the prayer for her family’s safety and health. Next came the prayer for the Jewish people. Lastly came the prayer for mankind. She prayed for everyone. She prayed for peace.

When she was done, she put her siddur away and turned to the soldier. “I’m done.”

They both squinted as they came out of the shrine. The soldier wiped his face with the back of his hand and quickly escorted Rina back to her car.

In Hebrew, he said, “Wait here. I tell the next group going back to Jerusalem to keep an eye on you.” He sighed, his expression street-worn and melancholy. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. I’m sorry it is not the same Israel you once knew. But we all must adjust to reality. If HaKadosh Baruch Hu has a better idea than our prime minister, let Him run for office.”

Rita smiled and thanked him.

The soldier ran his boot over the dust of the ground. “Where are you from in America?”

“Los Angeles.”

“I have a cousin in Los Angeles. Micah Golan. You know him?”

Rina held back a laugh. There were six hundred thousand Jews in LA. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She wiped sweat off her forehead. “It’s miserable work out here. Again, I apologize for upsetting you.” Her expression was kind. “Thank you for taking me inside the Ma’arah.”

“I have to take you,” the soldier said, grumpily. “Who knows who is a terrorist anymore?”

“I’m not a terrorist.”

The soldier closed his eyes, then opened them. “I see with my own eyes that you’re a good woman. Because I followed you in the Ma’arah. I saw the tears in your eyes when you prayed, the expression on your face when you davened shemona esreh. I saw you mouth the words with clarity, with assurance, with purpose and meaning. Your posture, your sincerity. It shows through as if you have a window to your heart. You pray to a God of mercy, not to a God of revenge. Many pray here-Arab and Jew. I don’t think you’re a crazy fanatic. And I don’t think you are an Arab spy, either. Many try to pretend to be us to infiltrate. They speak our language, eat kosher food, drink our wine, and love our women. But they cannot love our God. They may know the motions of prayer, but they don’t have the emotions.”

The soldier paused.

“Here there has been too much bloodshed caused by small minds. I talk to the settlers, try to tell them that bloodshed and revenge is their way, their customs, their laws. It is not our way.” He shook his head. “I talk too much.”

“You feel deeply.”

“You would too if you did this job. It stinks. I think they’re leaving for Jerusalem. I’ll introduce you to the group. I don’t want you to get hurt. Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

After an hour of walking proved fruitless, Decker returned to the phone calls. First, Menkovitz’s office. He had called so many times, the secretary recognized his voice.

“No, your wife has not come back here, Mr. Decker. I call you if she comes.”

“She hasn’t phoned, maybe left a message?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Click!

Decker slammed the receiver and cursed out loud.

He tried the police. He tried to explain the situation, but there was a language barrier. In the end, all he could do was wait.

Three hours! Where the hell could she have gone?

Time for the Mideast geography lesson.

Once again, Decker quit pacing long enough to study the road map of the region. It was a big mama thing he’d bought at the overpriced bookstore downstairs. He couldn’t believe the prices! They had wanted eleven bucks for a paperback!

He blew out air, tried to remain calm. He leaned over the tabletop, studying the map, retracing the squiggly color-coded lines. If Rina had been going one way all this time at roughly sixty miles an hour, she’d be in Amman, Jordan, by now! Or if she went north, she’d be in Lebanon making her way up to Beirut. Cairo looked like it would take much longer.

Disgusted, he crumpled up the map, threw it at the wall, then immediately regretted his impulsive action. He cursed again, then smoothed out the wrinkled roadways.

His ears perked up. A key being inserted into the slot. Decker jumped up and threw open the door, dragging Rina inside. She took her hand off the doorknob and held it up.

“Wait for the speech until I get the door closed.”

Decker didn’t move.

Slowly, Rina freed the key from the slot and closed the door. She leaned against the wall and exhaled, waiting for the onslaught.

Fighting control, Decker said between clenched teeth, “I don’t know whether to hang you or hug you. I vote for hug.”

Decker gripped her so hard, he thought she’d break. Rina allowed herself to be swaddled by him. His embrace felt so protective. She was determined not to cry and was proud when the tears didn’t come. In truth, she had no energy left for weeping.

Decker kissed his wife’s forehead. “There is an invention called a phone. Even in Israel.”

“I didn’t have a phone card.”

“A phone card?”

“A plastic phone credit card to use the pay phones. And I didn’t want to stop off at the post office to buy it. Once I got into Jerusalem, I wanted to get back as quickly as possible.”

“Why? What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Peter. But I’m hungry. Do you mind ordering up a little room service?”

Decker dropped his arms to his sides and sat down on the bed, smoothing out his mustache with his fingertip. “I’ll be happy to order some food for you. I hope you don’t think this is too goyish, but if you do, too bad. I need a drink. A very strong drink!”

“Get a glass of wine for me, too.”

Decker stared at her with wide eyes. “What the hell happened, Rina?”

“I got caught up in the situation. For future reference, I don’t think I’d make a very good cop.”

“My fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to do my job. I’m so incredibly stupid sometimes!”

“If we’re going to self-flagellate, I’m way ahead in the stupidity department.” She smiled at her husband, but knew it wasn’t going to assuage his wrath. “I followed Milligan, Peter. She went to Hebron.”

Decker felt his face afire. “You followed Milligan into Hebron?”

“Yes. And I know it was stupid beyond belief. All I got for my efforts was a shot-out window. But I’m here. I’m safe. Do you want to hear what I found out?”

Decker slapped his forehead. “I don’t fucking believe you. How could you do that?”

“I already said I was stupid.”

“No, Rina. I was stupid. You were insane.”

“I see it’s going to be one of those interchanges.” She picked up the phone and ordered room service. “I can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Decker stared at her, then stood up. “Pack your bags. You’re going home.”

“Fine. It wasn’t my idea to come out here in the first place.”

Guilt shot through Decker’s veins. He sat back down on the bed. He willed himself rational, then quietly asked, “Who shot at your car? Milligan?”

“I have to think for a moment.” Rita sat next to him. “I don’t think it was Milligan. Because at that point, I had already stopped tailing her car. It was probably just a villager consumed with hate.”

She began to recount her ordeal. “In Jerusalem, Milligan met up with two guys in a Fiat near the Israeli museum. The men were Arabs. One of them was named Ibri-short for Ibrahim. The other was named Gamal.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“I overheard them talking.”

Decker paused. “I don’t think I want to know how that came about.”

“Good idea,” Rina said. “Ibri was complaining to Milligan about something. She interrupted him, saying if his idea of heroism was blowing up a school bus, he was working for the wrong person. They mentioned a guy named Donald. No last name. Does he mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“Ibri said they worked for Donald, not Milligan. Milligan said that Donald worked for her. Then Ibri offered to take Milligan to see Donald. Gamal took Milligan’s Volvo into the Old City of Jerusalem. Ibri and Milligan went to Hebron. I stopped following them when the car went up an isolated road. I turned around, planned to go back, then someone shot out the window. Luckily, I caught up with an IDF jeep. I went to the Cave of the Patriarchs-”

“Wasn’t that the place where the massacre took place?”

“Yes. But it’s pretty secure now.”

“Oh, I feel so much better.”

Rina ignored the sarcasm. “I left the city with a caravan of army jeeps.”

She took Peter’s hand. “Milligan had to catch an important meeting at the American Colonial Inn. The hotel is in East Jerusalem. Not for Jews, but the place is popular with non-Jewish tourists and reporters. We should check Milligan out. I got the willies when she talked about blowing up a school bus.”

“What? You think that’s actually in the planning?”

“No, but-”

“Oh shit!” Decker began to pace. “If so, we should call the police immediately.”

“And tell them what?”

“That you overheard a conversation where Milligan talked about blowing up a school bus.”

“Peter, she might have been using strong words to prove a point. If we report it as fact and nothing comes of it, you’re going to lose credibility with the police. But I realize we just can’t let a comment like that slip away.” She looked at her husband. “First, tell me who Milligan is and why you’re so interested in her.”

Decker started from the beginning, explaining Milligan’s career in VerHauten, segueing into her financial involvement in companies also carried by the late Arik Yalom. He recapped his conversation with Marge: how Milligan could make a fortune if VerHauten ever decided to develop Southwest Mines. But Arik Yalom’s interest in the company seemed to be a sticking point. Then Yalom was murdered, and Gold and the boys disappeared to Israel. Suddenly Milligan was here, too, asking questions about Shaul Gold.

“Does Gold actually own Arik’s portion of Southwest Mine stock?” Rina asked.

“I’m not sure. But that’s my assumption.”

“Him and not the boys?”

Decker sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe the boys do own it and that’s why they fled. But if that was the case, why would Milligan be asking about Gold?”

“Well, she couldn’t ask the grandparents about the boys. That would be pretty obvious, right?”

“You’re thinking that Milligan’s trying to get to the boys via Gold.”

“Isn’t it a possibility, especially since Gold is looking for the boys?”

Decker paused. “You’re very bright. So now I don’t know who to be worried for first. The boys or a school bus.” He ran his hand over his face. “What I’d like to know is, who were these men Milligan was talking to?”

“If she’s out to get someone…the boys or Gold…maybe they were hired help, Peter.”

“These men were hit men?”

“Why not?” Rina asked.

“Because why would a woman of Milligan’s smarts and stature travel all the way to Israel-a land I’m sure she doesn’t know much about-to murder Gold or the boys. She’d hire out.”

“Maybe that’s what she was doing. Maybe she came here to hire some locals to kill them.”

“Unless these men were very good friends of hers, I think she’d be taking a very big chance.”

“Maybe they’re not good friends of hers. But maybe Donald is. Donald certainly isn’t an Arab name.”

“You’re right. Who is this Donald?”

The room fell quiet.

Rina laughed, “Well, we can go to the American Colonial Inn, pull Milligan out of the meeting, and ask her.”

“A fine idea in theory,” Decker said. “It’s the practical application. So much is going on…I’ve got to sort all this out. I don’t want to act rashly.”

“Peter, why are you here?”

A very good question. It put everything into perspective. “To find the Yalom boys before someone else does them harm.”

“I think it’s a very good idea to investigate Milligan. And we probably should call or go to the police and tell them what I overheard. But if you think the boys are in grave danger, they should be our top priority.”

“Right,” Decker said. “You’re right again. We can’t get sidetracked too much. Yes, we’ll report what you heard. But I’ve got to remember why I’m here. Gold is looking for the boys, Milligan’s looking for Gold. If I find the boys, I’m betting I’ll find Milligan and Gold as well.” He turned to Rina. “You know this country. Where do you think they’d be?”

“First thought?” She shrugged. “Well, you mentioned something about Dov wanting to be religious but his father wouldn’t let him. Maybe he’s hiding in a yeshiva. There are quite a few ba’alei tchuvah places in Jerusalem that take in American boys, no questions asked. And, let’s face it. All those boys in black coats and hats look alike, tough for a killer to spot him. Plus, it’s hard to get inside a yeshiva unless you know the ropes.”

“You think Gold would know the ropes?”

“Possibly,” Rina said. “But as an Israeli, he probably doesn’t know too much about ba’alei tchuvah yeshivas for Americans. By this time, the Yalom boys are more American than Israeli.”

Decker agreed. There was a knock at the door. Immediately, Decker’s heart started pumping hard. Maybe someone had followed Rina back to the hotel. He put his finger to his lips and quietly got off the bed.

“Peter,” Rina whispered. “It’s probably room service.”

He let out a big laugh. Mr. Paranoid! Still, he wasn’t taking any chances. He chained the door before he opened it and insisted that Rina duck out of sight. Better to feel silly than sorry.

It was room service-a waiter named Mohammed. Decker signed the bill but gave the young man a cash tip. Apparently, it was generous because Mohammed grinned, sporting a clear view of his gold front tooth.

Rina ritually washed her hands, then bit into her sandwich. She was ravenous and it was delicious. Decker sipped his Scotch, noticing that Rina was gulping her wine. She was more nervous than he had ever seen her. Didn’t stop her intellect. Matter of fact, it heightened it.

She said, “We really should go to Jerusalem. That’s where the two big ba’alei tshuvah yeshivas are. Milligan’s there. And so are the national police headquarters located at French Hill.”

Decker wiped his mouth. “Then let’s do it.”

Rina finished her sandwich. “Peter, you said that the boys fled shortly after they came home from school. What caused them to run away? The house hadn’t been trashed, had it?”

Decker shook his head no.

“So from the boys’ perspectives,” Rina went on, “they just walked in their front door and saw that their parents weren’t home. Why would the boys have taken off?”

Another very good question. If the boys weren’t involved, how did they know something was amiss. He said, “The only thing I can think of is that the parents left them a sign.”

“A sign?”

“A signal of some sort.” Decker thought out loud. “Arik knew that Milligan had a lot to gain if she could get hold of his stocks. Maybe he knew she was capable of doing some pretty ruthless things to further her ambition. So he was worried. He told his sons that if they ever came home and saw such-and-such picture was crooked, or if such-and-such lamp-”

Decker suddenly stopped talking.

“What?” Rina asked.

Decker’s eyes were on Rina, but his mind was elsewhere. “Or if a certain porcelain dog was turned around…” He wagged his finger in the air. “If you see that damn dog in the open shelf in the entry hall turned around, you go grab the money I left hidden for you in the inside mezuzah, you go grab your passports, and you get out of town immediately!”

His focus returned to Rina.

“There was a porcelain dog sitting in Yalom’s entry hall facing backward. It would have been a very easy thing for Arik Yalom to do. Just a simple flick of the wrist on his way out the front door. The boys saw it and fled.”

“They must be terrified.”

“I’m sure they are.” Suddenly, Decker pulled his wife into an embrace. “I love you so damn much!”

“I like it when you’re passionate.”

“That’s not passion, baby, that’s relief.” Decker blew out air. “Let’s go find the boys.”

Decker opened the door, then turned to his wife. “By the way. Did I mention that Honey Klein’s probably in Israel?”

Rina stopped in her tracks. “What? She’s here? You can’t just drop that on me, Peter!”

Decker slipped his arm around Rina’s shoulder and scooted her out the door. “Tell you all about it on the ride over to Jerusalem.”

31

Rina looked out to a grove of sunflowers, stalks bending under the weight of their fruit, black faces with golden manes craning their necks toward the sunlight. Her eyes stared out the window, but her mind was on other things. She couldn’t believe that Honey Klein had set out to murder her husband. The police and their conclusions just didn’t square with the girl Rina had known, the woman and mother who had visited their home.

She faced her husband. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it.”

Decker said, “Honey was trapped. As long as Gershon refused to give her a Jewish divorce-a get-she couldn’t go on with her life. She couldn’t see her way out of the relationship, so she took matters into her own hands.”

“Honey would not kill her husband.”

“And why not? Jews aren’t immune to abject despair that leads to immoral acts.”

“You think she could live with herself and with her children, knowing that she purposely murdered their father?”

“How about if the father was abusing the kids?”

A horn honked from behind, a flash of lights in the rearview mirror. Peter glanced over his shoulder, then looked at the speedometer. “I’m going over a hundred kilometers. What the hell does he want from me?”

“Just let him pass.”

“Jerk.” Decker pulled to the side and let a red Honda speed by. “I wish I had my unmarked…pull out the light and flash the mother. Man, I’d love to give him a ticket.”

“He wasn’t, you know.”

“Who wasn’t? What are you talking about?”

“Gershon Klein. He wasn’t physically abusing the children.”

Decker’s attention was still focused on the obnoxious driver. He turned to Rina. “How do you know?”

Rina blew out air. “Because I asked her.”

“When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We never had time to talk about it. I was going to tell you, but then Honey disappeared. You were preoccupied with this big murder case. I didn’t want to disturb your concentration. I thought about it on the plane ride but you slept the whole way-”

“You slept. I didn’t sleep a wink. Too busy being serenaded by fifty throat-cracking adolescents singing Crash Test Dummies songs in Spanish.”

“Well, for whatever reason, we didn’t talk.”

Decker said, “You specifically asked Honey if Gershon was abusing the kids?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said something like…” Rina sighed. “Oh boy, here goes. She said she’d kill him if he ever did that-”

“Oh boy is right!”

“No, Peter, it wasn’t like that. You’re taking her words out of context. She went on to say that Gershon had been a good man and a wonderful father-”

“Yeah, she was friggin’ in love with the guy. That’s why she was trying to divorce him.”

“She was cognizant of his problems. She knew he wasn’t…how did she put it…he wasn’t meant for organized life anymore.”

Decker said, “The woman did him in, Rina. Trust me on this one.”

Another honk from behind. Decker yanked the wheel to the right and allowed the Camry to pass. “I’m Jewish and they’re pissing me off. I could only imagine what a goy would think.”

“It’s a young country.”

“It’s in its late forties.”

“That’s a country in its teens. And like lots of adolescents we know and love, it has no manners. Give it time.”

“What were we talking about?”

“Gershon Klein.”

“Did Honey happen to mention to you that she was trying to divorce the guy?”

“No-”

“Yeah, she conveniently forgot that.”

“I think one of the kids walked in.”

The car began to balk as it made its climb through the mountains, toward Jerusalem. The air was clean and filled with the tang of pines.

“Peter, does it make sense for Honey to murder Gershon by drowning him in a bathtub?”

“It was probably the most effective weapon she had in the house.”

“Then why would she bother to shoot him, drag him over to his office, then trash the place to make it look like a robbery?”

Decker was quiet. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.”

Another blast from a horn. This time it was a woman who passed him. Equal opportunity rudeness. Decker said, “Why do they have a stupid law like that on the books?”

Rina turned to him. “What are you talking about?”

“Why can’t a woman file for a Jewish divorce? The law is so damn archaic as well as sexist. It’s unfair enough to raise even your underdeveloped feminist hackles.”

The car turned silent.

Decker said, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t mean to be hurtful. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, where is it written that you can’t be traditional and a feminist at the same time? One doesn’t preclude the other.”

“You’re right. I apologize-”

“I know who I am and I’m happy. There are still a few relics like me who are proud to be full-time mothers.”

“I’m proud of you, Rina. I’m proud of who you are and I wouldn’t want you to change for the world.”

He was really trying! Biting back a smile, Rina gave him a mock sneer. “You’re just kissing up to me because you’re lost in Israel without me.”

Decker was hurt. “I’m being sincere!”

“Sincere, my foot!” Rina held back a laugh. “Besides, it’s not the feminists who look askance at us stay-at-home moms. It’s everyone else. Especially the men-”

“What?”

“Men today have such unreasonable expectations-”

“Is this conversation going to deteriorate into a petty battle of the sexes?”

“It’s not enough for us poor women to keep house and take care of the kids.” Rina began to tick off her fingers. “We’ve also got to be beautiful, charming, sexy, physically fit, good cooks-amend that to gourmet chefs-”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing-”

“…who can make cappuccino. You haven’t the faintest idea how to steam milk, have you?”

“You got me there, Rina,” Decker said. “For your information, lady, I don’t drink cappuccino.”

“And we also have to work full time and bring in enough money to pay not only our own way, but also help pay for the kids’ clothes, the baby-sitters, the groceries-”

“Are you done yet?”

“Basically.”

“Never once have I asked you to work outside the home. And never once have I asked you to pay bills. So I must be way ahead of those other schmucks you’re talking about.”

“Indeed, Peter, you are neither a chauvinist nor a jerk.”

“So how about a little appreciation?”

“You’re a saint.”

“I didn’t say that! How’d we get on this stupid topic?”

“You were talking about Jewish divorce,” Rina stated. “It’s not the law that’s bad, it’s the implementation of the law that’s the problem. In biblical days, if a husband was recalcitrant, the rabbis had ways of making him cooperate. They might starve him or beat him until he relented and gave his wife a get. Harsh methods weren’t considered inhumane acts.”

“You don’t think starving or beating a guy is inhumane?”

“He doesn’t starve or get beaten if he relents, Peter. He only gets into trouble if he remains unreasonably stubborn. Then the rabbis take action because they feel they are actually doing the man a favor-”

“They’re doing him a favor by beating him up? This I’ve got to hear.”

Rina said, “Any man who would blindly refuse to give his wife a get was under the control of his yaitzer harah-his evil impulses. The rabbis considered it appropriate to beat the yaitzer harah out of his soul until he came to reason, until he felt the compassion and kindness of his yaitzer tov-his goodness.”

“A lot like leeches. You bleed to death but it’s good for you.”

“Peter, the process wasn’t irreversible. At any time, when the husband saw reason and gave his wife a get, the beatings were stopped.”

“They just whopped him until he cried uncle?”

“I’m not a rabbi, so don’t take what I say as fact. But I think the process went something like this. They’d ask him if he was going to give his wife a divorce. If he said no, they’d strike him. Then they’d ask him the same question again. If he said no again, they’d strike him again. And so on. Each time, they’d stop to ask him, hoping that the yaitzer harah had left his soul and he saw reason.”

Decker didn’t speak right away. Then he said, “And what happened if his yaitzer harah refused to leave? What happened if he never saw reason?”

Rina was quiet.

“Rina, did you hear my question? What happened if the guy kept on refusing to give his wife a get?”

“Again, I’m no rabbi.”

“I understand. Answer the question to the best of your ability.”

Rina exhaled forcefully. “I think that if he died during the procedure, it was not considered murder. It was considered the ultimate liberation of his yaitzer harah. The man has seen reason through death. His wife was free.”

“Are you saying if he consistently refused, he was beaten to death?”

“You should ask Rabbi Schulman-”

“To the best of your knowledge, darlin’.”

“I think he could be beaten to the point of death. If he was that desperate or vengeful to hold on to his wife, he was possessed.”

“So this whole ritual is kind of like an exorcism?”

“Peter, I don’t want to misrepresent the law. Ask Rabbi Schulman.”

Decker reflected upon her words as the Subaru continued its upward path to Jerusalem. The whole approach to divorce seemed not only arcane and unnecessary, but dangerous. A frustrated woman, a vindictive man, and no way out. Decker cleared his throat. “Does it have to be beating or starving the man?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose the rabbis…” Again, Decker cleared his throat. “Can they exorcise the demons by drowning instead?”

“Gershon was shot, Peter.”

“But he died from drowning, Rina. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because if anyone was possessed, it was Gershon Klein. It wasn’t his fault per se, just his yaitzir harah acting up-”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m trying to make sense out of something that’s irrational to me. I’m trying to think like Honey’s Rebbe, putting myself in his position. Because that’s who she’d run to. The Rebbe probably figured what would it hurt to give him a few minor dunkings. It’s better than a beating because it doesn’t leave marks-”

“Peter, the main objective of the process wasn’t to kill anyone. It was to bring the man to reason.”

“But what if the man is simply incapable of reason, Rina?” Decker heard another honk. Instead of pulling over, he pressed the pedal to the metal. The car bucked, then flew upward, jolting them back in their seats.

“What are you doing?” Rina cried out.

Decker said, “Car doesn’t accelerate too well, does it? You like my theory?”

“No.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to picture a bunch of holy rabbis methodically drowning a crazy man?”

“Even if you’re right, even if they were trying to bring Gershon to reason, I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill him.”

“But Gershon’s still dead all the same. No wonder the great Rebbe didn’t want me on the case. He wasn’t protecting Honey. He was trying to save his own hide.”

“Maybe he was doing both.”

“One thing is for certain. He was being obstructionist for his own gain. Because he couldn’t see beyond the absurdity of what he was doing. Talk about blindly following the letter of the law.”

Rina didn’t answer. They drove the next few minutes in heavy silence. Finally, she said, “I’m very religious, Peter. I accept lots of laws on faith. Even laws that don’t make a lot of sense to me. Even so, I am a product of the twentieth century. The way Jewish divorce has been used by some men against their wives is a crime. Resentful husbands basically blackmail the women. They use gets as weapons-to obtain better property settlements or better visitation rights…to get lower alimony and child-support payments. It’s terrible. Some of the rabbis are very sympathetic to the women’s plights.” She paused. “But others are not.”

“Is anyone doing anything about it?”

“Yes, of course. Some of the rabbis are putting clauses in the official Jewish marriage contract-the ketubah. They add clauses that state that if the husband refuses to give his wife a Jewish divorce after the civil divorce goes through, he must pay her enormous amounts of money daily until he relents. Unfortunately, the rabbis weren’t doing things like that when Honey got married.”

Decker said, “I don’t think money would have been a motivating factor for someone as far gone as Gershon Klein anyway.”

“So maybe the rabbis did what they thought they could do. Maybe they used what halachic means they had available.”

“It’s murder, Rina!”

“You’re judging by American jurisprudence standards.”

“Damn right, I am. They live in the U.S.A., not in Israel…do they do that in Israel?”

Rina shook her head. “They just put them in jail.”

“But they don’t starve them…beat them?”

“No, they can’t do that legally.”

“So even here, it’s murder.”

Rina didn’t speak.

Decker said, “You don’t consider it murder?”

“I consider the whole thing tragic.”

Rina navigated Decker down Jaffa Road-an old main thoroughfare cluttered with people and traffic. Decker wanted to gawk, to take in the parade, but there was work to be done. Sightseeing was for another time and occasion. By the grime collected on the buildings, Decker could tell he was in the old area of town. It wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t ugly either. Part of the reason was that all the buildings were made from the same colored limestone. The material not only lent a uniformity to the city, but was durable as well.

He and Rina weren’t talking much. Their discussion about Honey and divorce had sobered them. His mind was ablaze with images: a crazy man dunked in a bathtub, never fully understanding the gravity of his crime. A wife hopelessly trapped in a loveless, mindless marriage. Children caught in the middle…

Rina said, “I think it’s right off Machane Yehudah-the Jewish Marketplace. Turn down the next road and let me see where we’re at.”

Decker’s attention snapped to the present. “Where are we going?”

“To Or Torah. It’s one of the biggest yeshivas for newcomers. Turn here.”

Decker made a sharp right, the Subaru hugging the cobblestones quite nicely.

Rina said, “Park anywhere you can just so long as the curb is marked with blue and white stripes. They Denver-boot here. The yeshiva’s a couple of blocks. We’ll walk. It’ll be easier and nice to stretch our legs.”

“How about that solid blue curb?”

“That’s okay, too.”

Decker squeezed the car into a tight space. As per instructions from the car rental agency, he crook-locked the gear shift to the wheel and got out of the car. He sprinted around the side and opened the passenger door for Rina.

“A gentleman,” she said.

Decker smiled, helped Rina out of the car, and looked around. The cobbled street was tiny and had no sidewalks. Many of the cars were parked with their right wheels over the curb onto dirt and their left wheels still in the street. A line of cars doing wheelies.

The neighborhood held what appeared to be apartment houses-square limestone buildings punched with small windows. Laundry hung from the sides. Some of the structures had grass patches in front. Some had window boxes. A small fruit stand was perched on one corner; across the street were a bakery and post office. A background buzz of yelps and shouts permeated the air. Something Decker hadn’t heard for a long time. Children in the streets at play.

They started walking.

“You look very upset,” Decker said.

“I am,” Rina said. “This whole thing with Gershon is just horrible. What’s worse is, Honey’s probably taking the blame for the village’s mistake. The cops think she did it. And she’s not around to set the record straight.”

“Anything for the Rebbe,” Decker said. “And to tell you the truth, I’m not crying for her. Even if she didn’t murder her husband, she owns some culpability. She knew what was going to happen.”

“I’m sure Honey never dreamed they would actually kill Gershon. And I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill him. Oh, Peter, the whole thing is just sickening!”

“Yes, it is. But right now, I’ve got Dov and Gil Yalom to worry about.”

“Poor kids. Peter, how in the world do you deal with so much tragedy?”

“I compartmentalize. Come on. Let’s go.”

32

The cell-like stone entry to the yeshiva was cold and dim, the scant illumination provided by a small, square barred window and an uncovered light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The walls were masoned with limestone blocks; the floor was tiled with a travertine-colored crushed rock. The air was damp. Decker could almost smell the spores. He stuck his hands in his pockets and bounced on his feet, eyes darting about.

Rina lagged behind, watching her husband’s jumpiness. He was lost, depending on her to trailblaze. She stepped inside the chilly room, her hand reaching up to touch the mezuzah posted on the doorjamb. She kissed her fingertips.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m with you, I’m fine.”

He waited for his pupils to dilate, then looked around. An empty desk stood along the right-hand wall; behind it was an open door leading somewhere. He called out a hello, then wondered if hello was the greeting of choice in Israel.

It took a few moments for a young man to come through the door behind the desk, his fingers touching the mezuzah, then his lips, as he came into the room. He was good-looking with solid features and a masculine bone structure, even though his cheeks and chin were hidden by a thick, black beard. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. Atop his close-cropped head was a black hat. Big brown eyes studied Rina first, then Decker, then climbed back to Rina. It was as if he instinctively knew to whom to talk.

“Yes, can I help you?”

An American accent. Decker was elated. The man spoke English. “You’re from the States.”

The man nodded.

“Whereabouts?”

“Omaha, believe it or not. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I’m Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from the Los Angeles Police Department.” Decker took out his badge and showed it to the Nebraskan. “I’m here on official business. I’m looking for two teenaged brothers-Gil and Dov Yalom. Their parents were murdered about a week ago in Los Angeles and they’ve disappeared. We’re trying to find them-just to talk to them.”

The young man studied Decker’s badge, then lifted his eyes. “And you think they’re here?”

“I know they’re in Israel. I have reason to suspect that the younger boy-Dov-might be hiding out in a yeshiva.”

“In Or Torah specifically?”

Decker said, “A frightened, young kid alone in a foreign country. A yeshiva is a perfect sanctuary.”

“What does that mean?” The man was offended.

“All my husband meant was that the boy may be in trouble. He’s probably seeking Hashem for guidance.”

“Do you know Dov Yalom?” Decker said.

“Not at all.”

Too fast a response? Decker studied the young man. “Dov Yalom’s parents were murdered. He ran away because someone scared him away. It’s imperative that we find him before someone else does.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think the boy’s in danger. And frankly, anyone who’s keeping him might be in danger as well.”

The man stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Who exactly are you two?”

Decker peered into the face. “Has someone else been asking for Dov Yalom, sir?”

“No.” Again, he spoke too quickly. “I think I should call the police.”

Decker called his bluff. “Go ahead. We’ll search the place together.”

The man said nothing. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Rina broke into Hebrew. The man answered her back angrily. Decker bit his tongue, as the two of them went at it for a while. In the end, Rina seemed to have won out. The man dropped his arms at his sides and stared at Decker.

“You two are married?”

Decker nodded.

“She isn’t your partner?”

Decker didn’t answer right away. Now he was positive that someone had been here before him. Someone who told this young man that a cop and his female partner were out looking for Dov Yalom. Who? Gold? Milligan? Both knew Marge was Decker’s partner.

“No, she isn’t my partner. She’s translating for me.” Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “Do you have a name, sir?”

“Moti.” He held out his hand. “Moti Bernstein.”

“Moti Bernstein from Omaha.” Decker took the hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moti. Now who told you that I might come over here and poke around.”

“No one told me anything.”

“Then why did you think that this charming young woman who covers her hair was my partner?”

Bernstein didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Look, I’d like to help you. But there’s no Dov Yalom here. Sorry.”

“He might be using an alias.” Decker handed Bernstein a stack of Dov’s high school pictures. “Does this boy look familiar?”

The religious man flipped through the pictures, then handed them back. “I’ve never seen this boy.”

“I’d like to look around anyway.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you, Moti,” Decker said. “But sometimes I see things that no one else sees.”

“You know, parents are really nervous about letting their kids stay here. Israel gets a real bad rap because the foreign newspapers depict it as a much more dangerous place than it is. If I let you poke around, it’s going to raise a lot of dander.”

Decker didn’t speak right away. “You’re willing to risk a kid’s life to keep up an image?”

The tops of Bernstein’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’m just saying I don’t recognize the boy in the picture. So what excuse do I have to let you poke around and invade people’s privacy?”

Again Decker paused before he spoke, his eyes boring into Bernstein’s. “I thought Judaism has a concept called pikuach nefesh. That the saving of a life takes precedence over everything!”

Bernstein stared at Decker. “You learn, Sergeant?”

Decker stared back. “What?”

“You know about pikuach nefesh, you must have done some learning.” Bernstein dragged his toe over the stone floor. “See, if you were learning, then maybe you’d want to go inside the bais midrash to look up something.”

Decker knew the bais midrash was the study hall which held the library of reference tomes for the yeshiva students. Most of the students congregated there for classes, lessons, and studying. In effect, Bernstein was giving him an excuse to look over the majority of the boys at the yeshiva.

Decker said, “I’m studying B’rachos. I could use some reference material.”

“Fine, I’ll take you to the bais midrash. Who am I to deny a scholar?” Bernstein glanced at Rina, then averted his eyes. “It would be better if you waited here. You might be kind of distracting-”

“I know, I know. I’ll wait here.”

Bernstein’s eyes fell on Decker’s face. “You don’t have a black hat, do you?”

“No. Do I look too goyishe?”

“More like a secular Jew, and that’s just as noticeable. You’re going to draw attention. Do you want that?”

Decker said, “It would be better if I blended in.”

Bernstein studied Decker and gave a hopeless shrug. “You won’t blend in. But maybe I can help so you won’t stand out so much. Wait here. I’ll find you a hat.”

Again, Rina checked her watch, amazed to discover that only ten minutes had passed. She now knew the secret of Einstein’s theory of relativity. Endless time had nothing to do with the speed of light or the mass of the object. It had everything to do with standing in a cold room on a bone-chilling floor with nothing to do. Ten minutes translated into ten hours in Comfortable Earth Time.

Nobody had passed through the portals. It was as if the entry was the weigh station of purgatory. Suddenly, the concept of indulgences made sense.

The solitude did give her an unwelcome chance to reflect upon Peter’s assessment of Honey Klein and her village, to think about Jewish divorce.

It wasn’t that Judaism had an innate antifemale bias. As a matter of fact, the original laws of marriage and divorce were laws of protection for both parties. While it was true that men could file for divorce for reasons as trivial as bad cooking, it was equally true that women could file for many reasons-if the man was unattractive to her, if he didn’t fulfill her sexually. Wasn’t that the case with Gershon?

The law was on Honey’s side. Gershon should have granted her a divorce. And when he didn’t, the rabbis did what was in their Jewish legal right to do.

Yet, no matter how she thought about it, Peter was right. It was still murder. She wondered how far Peter would pursue what he suspected.

A little old man walked through the open doors, his overcoat dragging on the floor, his black hat too large and slightly askew. His demeanor suggested disorganization. He had a long white beard and spoke to Rina in a high-pitched voice. His Hebrew was thick with a Moroccan accent.

“No one is here?”

Rina shrugged.

The old man rubbed his hands together. “You haven’t seen anyone?”

Again, Rina shrugged innocence.

“You are waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

“Your son?”

“My husband.”

The old man took out a card. “Maybe he would like to give us a small donation.”

The card told Rina he was working for Yeshiva Rev Yosef Caro. He was a meshulach-someone who goes around collecting money for an institution or a poor family, then takes a cut of whatever he collects. Most Jews called them shnorrers.

The man said, “You can make a donation, too.”

Rina smiled wearily. “I have your card. Thank you.”

The man said, “I go inside. Check the bait midrash.”

Bait instead of bais. Sephardic pronunciation. Rita told him to go check. The man left.

Another ten minutes crept by. Again, Rina thought about Honey Klein, about Arik and Dalia Yalom. Two boys suddenly orphaned, four other children without a father. Her mind drifted with faraway thoughts, her emotions sinking into a whirlpool of tragedy. Tears had formed in her eyes.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

She went behind the desk, through the door, kissing the mezuzah as she went into a hallway.

Lots of doors muffling noise. The air here was warmer, but a great deal more stale. Gravel-voiced men speaking of the intricacies of Jewish civil law. Rina put her ear to one door, then opened it. Empty-devoid of people but filled with folding chairs, the space inside not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A window had been opened, allowing a tiny draft of fresh air to percolate.

At the end of the hallway was a staircase with tiny stone steps worn smooth by traffic. Rina held the wrought-iron handrail and walked down a flight.

The basement held a communal kitchen and dining hall. Wafting through the air was the smell of onions and garlic sweating with grease. The lunchroom was empty, the doors locked. But heat came through the walls and warmed the bottom layer of air a couple of degrees. That was good, Rina thought. The boys could eat in comfort during the winter months.

She climbed back up two stories. The bais midrash was the biggest room on the floor. Even at a distance, Rina could hear the shouting and arguing of boys engaged in learning. The bais haknesset-the yeshiva’s sanctuary-no doubt occupied the other big room. Rina didn’t go inside in case there was a prayer minyan going on. She didn’t want to disturb anyone. Checking her watch, she saw that only five minutes had passed. She decided to explore the two floors above.

The upstairs levels were just dorm rooms spilling over with piles of dirty clothes and sweat. Each floor had a small private kitchen and a laundry room-three washers and one dryer each. All of the machines were in use.

Rina climbed back down two flights, debating whether to go inside the bais midrash. Maybe Peter would need her help. She knew rationally that Moti Bernstein could translate anything Peter needed to know. Plus a lot of the boys here were American and English-speaking. Still, what if Bernstein chose to misrepresent something? Or there was a snatch of conversation in Hebrew that might be relevant to Peter’s case? Only Rina would recognize that.

She went inside.

The din was deafening, the sweat and heat given off by the hundred or so boys hitting her face. The walls were taken up by bookshelves, high dormer windows struggling to let in natural light. The room was made bright by the parallel lines of fluorescent tubing on the ceiling. Through a thick fog of black, Rina could spot Peter across the room, a too-small derby perched over his carrot-colored hair. The hat looked like a candlesnuffer trying to extinguish a flame.

On the left side of the room was a big conference table occupied by a group of twenty boys. The rabbi was giving them a lecture, his deep voice managing to project over the noise. The rest of the room was filled with lecterns and desks. Most of the boys had paired off with their chavrusas-their learning partners. The boys shouted at each other, locked in verbal combat. What looked like a hostile interchange was, in fact, just a routine method of learning Talmud.

Rina looked about, sensing that more than a few of the boys were aware of her presence. Some stared hungrily, others gripped their payis, as if holding their side curls would ward off their lust.

Decker spotted her and waved. She squeezed her way through black coats and desks, and found her husband.

“Any luck?”

“A blank so far. At least, I haven’t seen him. How many other yeshivas are there like this one?”

“In Jerusalem there are two others,” Bernstein answered.

Rina felt eyes upon her. The gravel-voiced rabbi who was giving the lecture was glaring at her. “Maybe I should leave.”

Bernstein nodded vigorously.

“I won’t be more than a few minutes, Rina,” Decker said.

Rina took a final glance around the room, espying the little old unkempt man. “I see the meshulach found you, Moti. Boy, are those guys persistent.”

“What meshulach?” Bernstein said.

“That little old man who’s walking out the door-” Rina’s hand suddenly flew to her chest. “Peter, catch up with that guy. He doesn’t belong.”

Reacting as a professional-actions first, questions later-Decker took off immediately, breaking through the wall of black clothing, just in time to see the little old man enter the stairwell.

“Hey!” Decker shouted out loud. “Hey! You!”

The man bolted like a jackrabbit, scaling down the steps in allegro tempo. He hit the door, then fastballed his overcoat into Decker’s face. Cursing, Decker peeled it off his eyes and sprinted after him, both of them running into the glare of a blinding, setting sun. Squinting, Decker took off in what he hoped was the right direction, praying that strong rays had slowed the guy’s pace.

Through bleached vision, he managed to spot the intruder darting through the streets, into the path of oncoming cars. For just a moment, he froze-a deer caught in the headlights. Then he sped forward, causing several vehicles to screech and swerve on sudden stops.

The moment’s hesitation was all Decker needed. He leaped with full stride across the street, narrowing the distance between him and his prey. The man was faster but shorter. Decker used every inch of his long legs to close in. Another few seconds and he knew he’d be in striking distance. Taking a giant step forward, he extended his gorilla arms and shoved the man hard in the back, breaking his rhythm, causing him to trip over his own feet.

Decker leaped to the side as the man fell forward, running past him for several paces. Then he backtracked and jumped on top of the man, his knee pressed into the small of the intruder’s back. The man was young, his flailing arms striking wildly. Decker pulled them behind his back.

“Take it easy, buddy. I just want to talk to you.”

The guy was small and slight, his pasted beard falling off his face. Without it, he appeared no older than twenty-five. He was talking rapidly and in gibberish. It took Decker a few moments to realize that, in fact, the man was speaking in a foreign language. People had gathered around, all of them talking to him at the same time.

Well, this was swell, Decker thought. He had literally tackled a man without knowing why and couldn’t explain himself to anyone around.

Get yourself out of this one, Deck.

When in doubt, don’t talk. Just look official. He flashed his badge and, in a deep, authoritative voice, told everyone to move back.

Not a soul budged. In fact, the crowd began to close the circle around him, people shouting, probably demanding explanations. The man broke into bloodcurdling screams. The crowd moved closer. Sweat began to pour down Decker’s face. All he could remember were Rina’s words-that they were in a Levantine country. Which at the moment conjured up images of mob rule or, just as bad, a Levantine jail.

Then, like the angel Gabriel, Rina appeared, breathless and wet with perspiration. Moti Bernstein was at her side. She stammered out. “This guy said he was a meshulach, which he isn’t. Find out who he is, Peter.”

“I don’t think we speak the same language, Rina. First, get the crowd off my back.”

Rina shouted something in Hebrew. It took several orders and a little pushing by Moti Bernstein before the crowd retreated an inch. Then she focused her attention on the man, demanding answers to her questions. The man remained silent.

Decker held the man tightly, “Moti, search his pockets.”

A quick trip through his garment revealed nothing. In Hebrew, Rina asked him his name.

“Kus amak!” he replied.

And then he spat at Rina’s face.

Decker felt his head explode. He pushed upward on the man’s restrained arm and gripped it hard. “You got ten seconds before I snap the sucker in two-”

“Noooooo!” The man began to struggle violently. “No break!”

“Well, look who talks English.” Decker thought quickly. It was only a matter of minutes before the police arrived and the guy would be lost to him. Calmly, he said, “Rina, ask him what he was doing at the yeshiva? And tell him if I don’t like the answer, he’s dead meat.”

Rina translated the question. The man turned white but said nothing. Decker knew it was useless questioning him among the masses. He jerked him like a rag doll. “Let’s take a walk back to the yeshiva-”

“No yeshiva!” the man cried out. “Is bomb there! No yeshiva!”

“You fuck!” Decker screamed. “Moti, run back and evacuate the yeshiva immediately.” Decker gripped the bomber’s arms and pushed him forward, dragging him as he went limp. “Now you’re going to show me and the police where you put the bomb, you understand!”

“No good! Fife minoots!”

“It’s going to go off in five minutes?”

The man nodded. “Fife minoots.”

“Jesus Christ!” Decker grabbed the first male he saw-a man in his forties who appeared fit. “Hold him.”

Decker took off, raced in the direction of the yeshiva, his only concern now saving the boys. Moti had just finished rounding up the boys when Decker stormed into the bais midrash. Moti was trying to keep order among panicked boys, but was losing control. Everyone was running toward the stairwell. Moti saw Decker and started shaking.

“Someone has to go upstairs to get the boys in the dorm!”

“Got it!” Decker screamed. “Single file everyone.” He began pushing boys in an orderly line. “Move it, but watch your feet. I don’t want anyone trampled on. Moti, is there another staircase-”

“No.”

“Then we’ll make do with this.” Decker bounded up a flight of steps, then went running down the hallway, shouting the word “bomb” as he pounded on doors. He fished out about twenty boys and led them to the staircase. He checked his watch.

If the motherfucker was right, he had two and a half minutes to go.

Up the final flight of stairs. Again, shouting to be heard. Three boys emerged from the front rooms. Then to the last room down the hallway. Out came a teenaged boy dressed in yeshiva garb, a small mole under his eye.

Gil Yalom.

Victory, but a pyrrhic one if they all blew to smithereens. Decker grabbed the teenager’s hand and led him and the remaining boys to the bottleneck of human flesh, disorganization, and panic slowing things down. Decker knew he was going to have to direct traffic if they were all going to get out of here alive.

Two minutes to go.

To Gil, Decker said, “I’m police, Gil. I’m here to help. If you run from me, you’ll be dead in a week. So wait for me outside!”

Decker broke loose of Gil and pushed his way to the front, using his wide arms to unclog the drain. He pushed boys, rearranged them, forcing order upon the horror-stricken. Rapidly and orderly-two at a time out the door. He looked up.

The staircase was still half full.

One minute to go.

“Run! Run! Run!” Decker shouted as he and Moti shoved the boys out the door. “Far away from the building! Run!”

Decker looked up at the staircase again. At the top, behind all the boys, were a dozen rabbis holding Torah scrolls-four large scrolls, two men to a Torah. Decker prayed they wouldn’t drop one of them in his sight. That would mean forty days of daylight fasting…providing he made it in one piece.

Decker looked beyond them, at the empty space at the top of the steps.

Thirty seconds.

More and more boys filing into the streets. Moti shouting at them to go farther back. At last, Decker could see Gil Yalom approaching the exit.

The last of the boys!

Behind him a parade of long-coated rabbis. Slowly, the Torahs began to descend the last flight of steps, rabbis walking carefully so they wouldn’t drop the holy writings.

Twenty seconds.

Three steps down, another three steps down.

“C’mon! C’mon!” Decker shouted.

Ten seconds.

Another step down.

Five.

And another.

Four.

Another.

Three.

To the front door.

Two.

Decker grabbed the last of the holy scrolls and fled to the streets.

One.

And then nothing.

A huge crowd had gathered. They waited.

Fifteen seconds passed.

And waited.

A minute.

And waited.

Decker shifted the Torah onto his right shoulder and looked at his watch. Another thirty seconds had passed.

A false alarm.

The police arrived, two cars, then another two. They pushed the crowds back. One gentleman was moving toward Decker, who was still holding the Torah. He spoke, Decker didn’t understand. Then the man started talking English.

He was with the police, around five-ten, one-eighty with well-developed arms. His complexion was dark, his face was round with fleshy cheeks, and he had a head full of black curls. He was wearing a yarmulke. His English was accented but understandable.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“You want the long version or the short one?” He looked around. Gil Yalom was standing by himself, wiping his eyes. “Someone planted a bomb in the yeshiva.”

“Who?” the cop asked.

“I don’t know who he is. He’s back a couple of blocks. They’re holding him for you. I ran back here to get the boys out.”

Three minutes had passed. The yeshiva remained whole.

Decker shifted his weight, realizing he was still holding the Torah. He called a rabbi over and passed him the holy scroll. Once liberated of the heavy article, he rolled his shoulders and looked at the cop. The face was round and he looked to be around thirty-five, with intelligent black eyes.

The man lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Decker’s face. “I hear on my radio. There is no bomber-”

“What!”

“He escape. Where he say he put bomb?”

“I think it’s in the bais midrash.”

“You think? You don’t know?”

“He never said where he put it.”

“He never said! A quiet man, this escape bomber.”

Decker stared at the cop, aware that he had zip credibility. “I gave the bomber over to someone in the crowd, then came back here to help. I told the man to hold him until the police came!”

Moti broke into the conversation. He and the cop spoke for a few moments in Hebrew. The cop turned his attention back to Decker. “You have some identification on you?”

Decker reached into his jacket pocket, then handed a stack of papers to the cop-his passport, his badge, and official papers for the Yalom boys. The cop started to riffle through them, staring at the typed words. He probably spoke some English, but Decker was willing to bet he didn’t read it too well. Rina had finally caught up with him, hugged him fiercely.

“Thank God!”

Decker embraced her back. Five minutes had passed and still nothing had happened. He felt like a fool.

The cop took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Who is this woman?”

“My wife.”

“You always take your wife on your cases…” The cop squinted and studied Decker’s passport. “Sergeant Peter Decker, is it?”

He pronounced the word ser-kee-ant.

“I don’t speak Hebrew,” Decker explained. “My wife does.”

The cop pocketed Decker’s identification. The action gave Decker a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “We talk later. I make my calls. You wait here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You have my passport.”

“B’emet, adoni. You not go anywhere.”

The cop turned his back, just in time to miss the initial blast from the second floor of the yeshiva. It was followed by an even stronger explosion. Glass rained down, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and fire and panicked screams. Decker pushed Rina’s head deep in his chest and shielded his own eyes from the glass. When he looked up, he saw flames licking the sashes of the blown-out windows. Rina was shaking in his arms, sobbing against his chest. Decker looked at the hundreds of black-garbed boys. The children were hugging each other and crying. The rabbis were embracing the Torahs and weeping as well. Moti Bernstein had frozen in panic, tears running down his cheeks. Decker blinked. His own eyes felt as dry as dust.

The cop stared at Decker open-mouthed, his dangling cigarette falling from his lips and onto the ground. In a soft but firm voice, he said, “Who are you?”

Decker’s eyes were on Gil Yalom. “See that boy over there sitting under the olive tree?”

The cop nodded.

“I came here to look for him. His name is Gil Yalom.” Decker pointed to the scorched building. “I’m looking for his brother, Dov, as well. Rina, can you give this guy a quick rundown for me.”

Rina spoke rapidly. The cop answered her back in equally rapid Hebrew. They spoke for a few minutes. Then the cop crooked a finger in Gil’s direction. Slowly, the boy got up, his face a mask of terror.

The cop said, “We need to talk-all of us.”

Decker said, “I’m ready.”

33

In the brief car ride over to the police station at French Hill, Rina, placed in the front seat, had learned that the cop was a mefakeah-an inspector. His name was Ezra Elhiani; he was thirty-four and a former colonel in the Israeli army. His division had been tanks. Elhiani wore dark slacks and an open-necked white shirt. He smoked like a chimney, sucking his cigarettes down to the butt. The smell was so thick, it was nauseating. Unfortunately for Decker, it was also inviting.

Four years and, like a zombie, the cursed craving refused to die.

Knees to his chest, Decker was pressed into the backseat, next to Gil Yalom. He tried to make some headway, the first question being, where was his brother, Dov? But no matter how much he stressed urgency, Gil sat motionless and mute. Decker knew Gil’s behavior was a product of shock so he eased up. But his mind kept going, bursting with images.

A director couldn’t have staged the scene with more drama. The screaming fire trucks, the wailing ambulances, the racing squads of police cars, frightened boys hugging themselves, hysterical neighbors hugging each other, rabbis praying in the street, and lots of standers-by offering opinions without foundation. Then the newspeople came. Lucky for Decker he didn’t speak Hebrew. He was relieved when Elhiani motioned Rina, Gil Yalom, and him over to the police car.

It was a tiny thing-a white compact with a blue flashing light-an igloo on wheels. He could barely squeeze inside. He opted for the backseat to get to Gil. But it was Rina who got information, such as it was.

At police headquarters, Gil was taken away immediately. Decker and Rina were seated in a tiny windowless cell barely big enough to accommodate the few folding chairs it had. There was a one-way mirror on the wall.

Elhiani came in, lit up, and blew out a plume of smoke that hung in the static air.

Decker said, “We’ve got to get Gil Yalom to open up. Find out where his brother is staying. If someone tried to blow him up, someone’s going to do the same for Dov.”

Elhiani puffed his cigarette and licked his lips. “The boy is not talking to anyone right now.”

Decker reminded himself to speak slowly. “People are going to die unless we find out where his brother is hiding.”

“Your anger will not serve anything, adoni.”

Decker took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, I’m anxious. We evacuated just minutes before the building blew up.”

“Nothing blew up,” Elhiani answered evenly. “Yes, windows popped, and some sepharim burned. A pity, but the fire people put the flames out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “The building still stands and hardly a stone is cracked. Good construction.”

Decker glared at Elhiani.

“Not that you didn’t do a tovah and a mitzvah,” Elhiani said. “Maybe we give you key to the city and take your picture for newspaper.”

Decker forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I’m not interested in accolades, but I do want to find Dov Yalom. I need to talk to Gil.”

“The boy is with doctors. He is in shock and is given sleepy medicines. Your talk with him will have to wait.”

Decker was about to explode, then held back, remembering the ride over. The boy had been stunned with fright. What was the use of pounding him with questions he couldn’t process?

“I go through all your official papers,” Elhiani said. “Everything is in order. Why don’t you contact police when you first got here?”

Decker said, “I just arrived here yesterday.”

Elhiani raised his brow. “Do you always make such excitement in twenty-four hours?”

“It’s a long story.”

Elhiani sucked in smoky poison and took out a pad and a pen. “Tell me your long story, Sar-kee-ant.”

Decker did just that. Every so often Elhiani would interrupt and ask Rina to translate. After Decker had finished, the room was silent, bathed in suds of nicotine.

Elhiani leaned back in the folding chair. “Why do you think this bomb is for Yalom and not terrorist act?”

Decker ran his hand over his face. “That’s just it. It was supposed to look like a terrorist act. The only reason we know it wasn’t random is because we know the history.”

“I’m still not so sure,” Elhiani said. “Describe to me this mad bomber.”

Rina broke in. “He came into the yeshiva wearing a long beard and an overcoat. He acted like a meshulach. He even gave me a card with the name of the yeshiva he was collecting for.”

“You have the card?”

“In my purse.”

“And where is your purse?”

“You took it,” Rina said.

“Ah,” Elhiani said. “Please. Continue.”

Rina said, “I had no reason to suspect he was anything else but a shnorrer.”

“But you changed your mind?”

Rina squirmed in her seat as she thought about a soldier’s words.

They may know the motions, they don’t have the emotions.

“It was the way he kissed the mezuzah.”

Decker looked at her. “What?”

“When he walked out of the bais midrash, he didn’t kiss the mezuzah right.”

“You told me to tackle a complete and utter stranger based on the way he kissed the mezuzah?”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Please, please.” Elhiani waved his hand. “Go on, g’veret.”

“Peter, rabbis usually touch the mezuzah with the fringes of their tzitzit, then kiss the fringes. Even if they use their fingers, they touch the mezuzah with their fingertips only. This guy covered the mezuzah with his entire hand and kissed his palm. Someone had schooled him, but not quite correctly. And even though he was wearing tzitzit, he didn’t use them. Because he didn’t know what they were for.”

She threw up her hands.

“What can I say? It’s an intangible thing. And I was right.”

Decker thankfully admitted she was.

Elhiani spoke to her in Hebrew. Rina laughed.

Decker asked, “What’d he say?”

Rina said, “The moral of the story is listen to your wife.”

“I have a problem,” Elhiani announced.

They waited.

Elhiani said, “If this is not act of terrorism, if the bombing is to kill Gil Yalom, it is a stupid way to do that. What if Gil was not in bais midrash? Then the explosion does nothing to him. And as fact, he wasn’t in the bais midrash.”

Decker said, “At any given time during the day, the bais midrash holds the majority of the boys. The man was playing the odds.”

“I don’t understand playing odds?”

Rita translated.

“Ah,” Elhiani said. “They want him dead but only ninety percent.”

Decker smiled. “Mefakeah, someone brutally murdered this boy’s parents. The boys fled in fear. I think someone was out to murder Gil. But he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was out to get Gil. So he made it look like a random terrorist act. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, your English is okay.” Elhiani puffed away. “And you think your mad bomber will be out to get the other brother?”

“Him or someone else. But yes, I think Dov Yalom, wherever he is, is in danger.”

“It still doesn’t make me sense,” Elhiani said. “To use a bomb. Bomb isn’t missile. Bomb doesn’t aim and hit target. Bomb just explodes. If you are there, you die. If not, you don’t die. Why use something so unperfect? Why not choose to stab him on the street like terrorist usually do?”

Decker said, “Gil was in hiding. Which means the hit man-”

“Hit man?”

“A hit man is an assassin.” Decker paused, then said, “Think about it, Mefakeah Elhiani. In order to get Gil, the assassin would have to go inside the yeshiva to find Gil. Then he’d have to get Gil alone. Then he’d have to get close to Gil to stab him or shoot him. He’d have to make sure that the gun didn’t make too much noise. Or that Gil didn’t scream. Because noise would attract attention. Then he’d have to escape. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sneak inside dressed like a rabbi and drop off a small package inside a crowded bais midrash, hoping that one of those boys is Gil Yalom.”

Elhiani lit up another smoke and puffed away as he thought. “It make some sense.”

Decker rubbed his eyes. “So if they tried this method for Gil, why not for Dov.”

“But fortunately, it didn’t work.”

“We were lucky.”

“Whatever the reason, it didn’t work.”

Decker said, “Maybe they don’t know that. The bomber escaped. I’m sure he didn’t go back to his boss and tell him he messed up. So look what the boss sees. A building with blown-out windows, pandemonium in the streets-”

“What means pandemon-”

Rina translated.

Decker said, “To the bomber’s boss, it looks like success.”

“And who is the bomber’s boss?”

Decker remained cagey. “I’m not sure, Mefakeah. I have my suspects but that’s all.”

“Which is suspects?”

Decker and Rina traded looks. Then Decker said, “There’s a woman in Israel named Kate Milligan. She is a well-known lawyer who has worked for the VerHauten Diamond Company for many years. She’s big, she’s important, and this afternoon my wife tailed her into Hebron. But not before she overheard her talking to two men.”

“Two Arabs. One named Ibri, the other named Gamal.” Rina said, “Milligan told them that if their idea of heroism was blowing up a school bus, they were working for the wrong person.”

Elhiani’s eyes got wide. “Where do I find this lady?”

“She had a meeting at the American Colonial Inn about two hours ago,” Rina said. “Maybe she’s staying there. I also have license plate numbers for you in my purse. Maybe that will tell you something.”

“That’s why I need Gil Yalom. I was hoping Gil could tell me something.”

Elhiani bit his lip. “But he has been put out. Maybe tomorrow he can talk to both of us.” He picked up the phone and spoke rapid Hebrew. Decker looked to Rina for translation.

“He’s having an underling call up the American Colonial Inn.”

“That is right, g’veret. Your Hebrew is good.” Elhiani sat back in his chair. “I still think this bomb is strange. You don’t use bomb to kill pacific people.”

“Pacific people?” Decker asked.

Elhiani spoke to Rina. She said, “He meant specific people.”

Decker continued his argument. But even as he spoke, he recognized the validity of Elhiani’s point. Want someone dead, take him out directly. Bombing would have been a clumsy way to kill. The phone buzzed. Elhiani picked it up, then slammed it down.

“Milligan’s not there.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Decker said.

“I don’t know if she was staying there, Peter,” Rina said. “Only that she had a meeting there. For all I know, she’s staying with her pal Donald in Hebron.”

“Yeah, I forgot about him.”

“What?” Elhiani said. “Who is Donald?”

Rina said, “The man for whom Ibri and Gamal were working. I think he lives in Hebron.”

A hard pounding at the door echoed through the small chamber. Elhiani frowned, then got up from his seat. He opened the door, revealing an ashen-faced policewoman who spoke using her white-knuckled hands for emphasis. Elhiani punched his fist in his hands. Rina covered her face and muttered an Oh God.

“What?” Decker said. “Another building exploded?”

“Not a building.” Rina had tears in her eyes. “An explosion at Kikar Zion-an open square in the heart of Jerusalem’s shopping district. Someone put a bomb in a garbage can. Two dead, fifteen wounded.”

Elhiani turned to them. “You two can leave your number with me. Now I have other business.”

Assessing his mood, Decker decided he was tired, famished, and pissed-off in that order. It had taken them two hours to retrieve Rina’s purse, another hour to get back to their car. By then night had fallen over the silent city. Two bombings within an hour of one another made people retreat to the safety of their homes. The city was eerie with calm. The curbs once filled with parked cars were empty. Only the Subaru remained alone, sitting like a punished child behind the police ropes.

Decker unlocked the door, and he and Rina dragged themselves inside the car. He rubbed his eyes and smelled his smoke-drenched clothes.

“I sure wouldn’t want to be a bronchiole in Elhiani’s lungs.”

Rina gave him a tired laugh.

“Are you hungry?”

“You can eat?”

Decker nodded. “’Fraid so.”

“Sure, let’s get something to eat.” Rina paused. “First let’s go back to Tel Aviv. Who knows when the next bomb might go off?”

Decker started the car engine. “So you buy Elhiani’s terrorist bomber.”

Rina sighed. “Well, someone’s bombing the city. Maybe it was random, Peter.”

Decker said, “Gil Yalom just happened to be in the yeshiva that blew up?”

“Who knows?” Rina said. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that, coincidence or not, you saved lives.” She felt her eyes watering. “I’m very proud of you.”

Decker turned off the motor and leaned over the console to hug his wife. “Thank you. And you should be proud of yourself while you’re at it. You spotted the guy.”

“Baruch Hashem,” Rina sobbed out.

“Baruch Hashem,” Decker repeated.

Rina dried her tears with a tissue from her purse. “So if this was a random terrorist act, maybe Dov Yalom isn’t in danger like you thought.”

“I think he’s still in danger.”

“All I’m saying is, maybe we still have time to find him.”

“Well, hope springs eternal confusion or something like that.” Decker started the car and pulled away from the curb. “You’ll have to navigate me back.”

Rina gave him a series of directions.

Decker said, “How about we go back to the hotel and order room service at outrageous prices? Maybe if they find out we’re heroes they’ll give us a discount.”

“Don’t count on it.” Rina looked at her lap. “A man from the Jerusalem Examiner left his card with me. It’s an English-language newspaper. He wants to interview you-”

“Publicize my case and let my enemy know what I’m doing? Not a chance.”

Decker turned onto the main thoroughfare to Tel Aviv. The night was black, the road surface barely visible. As the car descended down the mountains, he rode the brake and cursed the poor lighting.

“So what’s next?” Rina asked. “Besides food and a hot bath.”

“We’ll have to wait for Gil Yalom to come out of his shock…whenever that’ll be.” Decker pulled to the side, allowing a speeding Fiat to pass him by. Within moments, the car was a red streak in the darkness. Slowly, he accelerated back onto the roadway.

“That driver was obnoxious and you didn’t even comment,” Rina said. “You must be exhausted.”

“You’re right about that.”

They rode for a few minutes in silence. Then Rina said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“My mind is a bundle of very confused neurons at the moment. Things aren’t adding up, Rina. Elhiani kept talking about the stupidity of using a bomb to kill a specific person.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you argued your case very well, Peter.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your loyalty. But this isn’t about egos. It’s about logic. If I were in his shoes, I would have made the same points he made. Bombing is an inexact way to murder.”

“So it was just a coincidence that we were there at the yeshiva?”

“No, not exactly.”

“So it wasn’t a coincidence?”

“No, not exactly that, either.” Decker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think the bomb was meant for Gil but in an inexact way. If they got him, fine. If not, that’s fine, too.”

“That sounds really strange.”

“Then this other bomb explodes in the middle of Jerusalem’s marketplace. Someone wants all the attention focused here…in Jerusalem.”

“Peter, Jerusalem is hot property now. The Arabs want to grab the city and redivide it. We want to keep it united and open to everyone. After all, it is the capital of our country. These terrorists will resort to anything to get their way.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“There have always been lots of terrorist acts in Jerusalem,” Rina said.

“I guess I’m thinking like a cop and not like the State Department,” Decker said. “From my limited perspective, I see it differently. You get a lot of action focused on one spot, it takes attention away from the other spots.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Meaning, if you have in mind to bomb something, you want all the bomb experts and all the bomb dogs and all the police and all the other personnel as far away from your target spot as possible.”

Rina was quiet. “You think these bombings were nothing more than a diversion tactic?”

“Possibly.”

“Peter, who are the bombers trying to divert?”

“This is going to sound incredibly arrogant.”

“You?”

“Someone knows I’m here, Rina. Someone knows I’m looking for Gil and Dov Yalom. From the minute Moti Bernstein thought you were my partner, I knew that someone had preceded me at the yeshiva.”

“I can explain that,” Rina said. “There are a few boys in Or Torah whose nonreligious parents aren’t happy they’re there. Sometimes the parents will go to extremes to bring the kids back. They send over deprogrammers.”

“Moti thought you and I were deprogrammers?”

“He heard a rumor from somewhere that a man and a woman were out to bring home a boy to deprogram. So naturally, he was leery. When you rattled off pikuach nefesh, he knew you were legit. He figured deprogrammers wouldn’t know that.”

Decker hesitated, then said, “I know it sounds implausible, but just let me talk this out.”

“Go on.”

“Say someone knows I’m here looking for Gil and Dov. So they bomb Gil’s yeshiva to draw my attention to Gil. But they don’t really care if they kill Gil or not. What they want is me locked up in Jerusalem. For good measure, they bomb the open square and bring all the bomb experts to Jerusalem as well. It’s to throw me off track.”

“Throw you off track from what? What are they diverting you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a bit of a rub in your theory,” Rina stated.

Decker smiled. “Look, I’m just talking conjecture. But that’s the way Marge and I solve cases. Throw out this theory or that theory. Hopefully, something clicks. Turn on the news, Rina. The more we learn, the better.”

She turned on the radio. News about the bombings, Rina announced. She listened intently and translated. At first, Decker focused on her words. Then his mind began to wander, his attention drawn elsewhere.

He needed to think this out. He needed to talk this out.

He missed Marge.

34

Digital clocks were a pisser when you were stricken with insomnia. The one on Decker’s nightstand had a malevolent red face that laughed at him in the dark.

Only five more hours until daylight, sucker. Boy, are you going to feel crappy in the morning.

He began to play games with the LCD dial, guessing how the little illuminated lines would configurate in order to form the next numeral. Soon came some mental calculations. Two-twenty-seven A.M. in Israel would translate into three-twenty-seven yesterday afternoon LA time. Although his body ached with fatigue, his brain simply refused to shut down.

At two-fifty-two A.M., he gave up. Quietly, he climbed out of bed and slipped on a robe. Checking through his jacket, he found his notepad and pen, then went into the bathroom. After shutting the door, he turned on the lights, then lowered the toilet seat. He picked up the phone receiver. The ignominy of it all. Conducting business in the john.

Luck hadn’t left him. Marge was in.

“This is weird,” she said. “I was thinking about you.”

“My vibes are very strong.”

“You sound terrible.”

“I had a tough day. You got a minute?”

“Even two.”

Slowly, he related his ordeal, trying to keep the facts straight while looking at his notebook with bleary eyes. He tried to keep his voice even. Nothing clouded an investigation like emotion. Marge gave him the requisite number of uh-huhs, letting him know she was following his train of thought, which was good. Sitting on the can in his bathrobe, his ears ringing, his mind half dead, he wasn’t sure if he was making sense.

When he was done, Marge didn’t speak right away. Then she said, “You sound battle-scarred, Rabbi. Maybe you should take a couple of days off.”

“It’s not on Davidson’s timetable.”

“Pete, even Tug wouldn’t argue. You know, I heard something this morning on the news about a bomb going off. But I was listening with half an ear and bombs are always going off somewhere. I’m freaked out.”

“You’re not allowed. One of us has to remain sane.” He paused. “I know I’m running on empty. So what the hell. Keep going until the engine block cracks. Does any of my stuff help you make headway at your end?”

“I do have some news. Nothing dramatic.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah, thank God is right. You have your pad with you?”

“Yep. Shoot.”

“First, Milligan,” Marge said. “I’ve been looking into her finances. Because if she’s connected to Yalom, it has to be through business. I’ve been asking myself, what could she be after?”

“Cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential that she could sell to VerHauten at a great price.”

“Almost. I think she’s after cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential period.”

“She wants to develop it herself?”

“Why share the profits with VerHauten?”

“Where is she going to get the capital to develop a diamond pipe?”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Marge said. “First, where is she going to find cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential? I started checking into diamond companies not associated with VerHauten. I called up your ex-father-in-law, Jack Cohen the lawyer, and he referred me to his broker.”

“Barry ‘The Deal’ Orblatt?”

“You know him?”

“Jack’s been investing with him for years.”

“Is he good?”

“Put it this way, Marge. Jack’s still working for a living. Did Orblatt tell you anything?”

“Yes, he did. There are a lot of African diamond companies not controlled by VerHauten. Mind you, none of them are big time. But some of them have turned a profit.”

“Are any of them undervalued?”

“That’s the trouble. The profitable ones are selling shares at market value. Even the ones that look slightly undervalued are still selling much higher than book value. You know what book value is?”

“The total assets remaining if you liquidated the company.”

“You know your finance. Now the real, real, real cheap companies are in fact not undervalued. Because they haven’t produced a damn thing except red ink.”

“So there is no free lunch.”

“Maybe not superficially. But when you dig deeper, some interesting things pop up.”

“Such as?”

“A little birdie dropped Milligan’s tax forms for the last two years in my lap.”

Marge’s contact didn’t sound like a snitch, more like one of her ex-beaus. Quickly, Decker ran through his mental Rolodex of Marge’s formers. “Ah, the birdie who worked at Health Alliance?”

“You’ve got a good memory for birdwatching.”

“What did tweetie pie tell you?”

“You know, Pete, it’s amazing. Feed a computer a Social Security number, it spits back a life history. There is no privacy in the electronic age.”

Decker said, “Marge, go on. We’re long distance.”

“Milligan has been investing heavily in the defunct companies for over two years.”

“That’s predating Yalom’s angry letters to VerHauten.”

“Exactly. But not predating Yalom’s purchases in his African companies. Maybe Milligan and Yalom had done some investing together. Because the same companies kept cropping up.”

“Why would Milligan invest with Yalom?” Decker asked. “What does she need him for?”

“If she was working for VerHauten, she couldn’t very well invest in competing companies.”

“He was her front?”

“Maybe,” Marge said. “Except somewhere down the road, they obviously parted company. Maybe it was over Southwest Mines. Arik bought in when the company was still operable. VerHauten and Milligan bought in when it had gone under. Still, if VerHauten ever decides to mine it, Milligan and whoever owns Arik’s shares will make a nice chunk of change.”

“But VerHauten’s sitting on it at the moment.”

“Exactly,” Marge said. “I think she had hopes for Southwest Mines, but with Yalom owning so much and VerHauten sitting on it, she decided to move on. Orblatt did some checking around mining stocks and co-op funds. Much to his surprise, he discovered some recent movement upward in these investments. Plus, three of the prominent companies in the mining funds were also in Arik Yalom’s portfolio.”

“Did Yalom own large quantities of those stocks?”

“He owned some, but nothing like Southwest. And VerHauten isn’t even in the picture. Now even though shares have been changing hands, the price hasn’t risen. But the activity indicates something.”

“Interesting.”

“It gets better. These companies are also being heavily traded by the African exchanges with an influx of buy orders coming out of countries like Tunisia, Libya, Algeria, Morocco, and Egypt.”

“Arab countries.” Decker paused. “They’re also North African countries.”

“Exactly,” Marge said. “I don’t know which fact is more significant.”

“Maybe both,” Decker said. “With oil prices dropping, could be some Arab countries are trying to branch out into diamonds. And why not, Marge? They are African countries. The continent is their sphere of influence.”

“Good point,” Marge said.

“Is it the government or individuals who are investing money?”

“That I don’t know,” Marge said. “But it doesn’t take a lot of money to buy stock in these companies. They’re either bankrupt or moribund. So they’re cheap.”

“Why invest in them in the first place?”

“All I can say is, look at Southwest Mines. It has potential. VerHauten’s just sitting on it. Maybe Milligan has found other companies with the same potential as Southwest.”

“Any indication?”

“Nothing yet, but it takes a while to get that kind of information.”

Decker said, “You know, Marge, no matter how much potential the land has, Milligan would still need huge chunks of capital to develop it.”

Marge said, “You told me that Rina followed Milligan into the occupied territories, right?”

“Yep.”

“So maybe Milligan’s on a mission to convince the Arabs to invest with her.”

“Except the territories are inhabited by poor Arabs. And while I don’t know my per capita incomes by heart, the countries you’ve mentioned are also the poorer Arab countries compared to the oil-rich countries like Saudi Arabia or Kuwait.”

“Libya has oil.”

“Libya has been in the doldrums economically since the United States bombed it.”

“Well, all I can tell you is someone from those countries is trading in diamond mines.”

Decker heard a knock on the door.

“Peter, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Rina. Go back to bed.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Hold on, Marge.” Decker reached over and unlocked the bathroom door. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m talking to Marge.”

Rina was squinting from the light. “Go back to bed and use the phone there. You can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“I’m really fine.”

“Pete, are you there?” Marge said over the line.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

Marge said, “Rina knows more about that part of the world than we do. Ask her who the rich people are in Egypt or Libya.”

Decker said, “I’ll put her on the other phone. You can ask her the question yourself.”

Rina said, “Marge wants to talk to me?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m up anyway,” Rina said. “I’ll get the extension by the bed.” She crawled back under the covers and picked up the receiver. “I’m here, Marge.”

“Sorry about this.”

“It’s not a problem. What would you like to know?”

“Who are the rich people in Egypt?”

Rina kept her voice low so she wouldn’t blast out her husband’s ear. “The usual. Businesspeople, international financiers, ex-royalty, of course. And politicians probably.”

“But the country of Egypt itself,” Decker said. “It’s poor, isn’t it?”

“Very poor.”

Marge said, “So money is probably coming from individuals rather than the government.”

Rina said, “What’s going on?”

Decker quickly brought her up to date. “We’re trying to figure out if these land investments are government sanctioned or just the doings of some private individuals.”

Rina asked, “What does any of this have to do with the murder of Arik and Dalia Yalom?”

“Yalom owned stock in companies heavily traded in Arab countries,” Marge said.

“Someone killed him for his stock?” Rina asked.

Decker said, “We don’t know. All I can tell you is that Yalom had investments in companies being heavily traded in African exchanges-Egypt, Morocco, Libya, Tunisia-”

“PLO,” Rina said.

“What?” Decker asked.

“PLO,” Rina repeated. “The PLO’s corporate office is in Tunisia. Has been for years.”

Marge said, “So maybe I’m right, Pete. Maybe Milligan did go to the territories to raise capital. Maybe not from the inhabitants, but from their government, which is essentially the PLO. Aren’t they and Arafat representing the Palestinians in the peace talks?”

“Yes, they are.” Decker grew excited. “Aren’t they highly capitalized by rich Arab countries?”

“Not anymore,” Rina said. “They’re broke.”

“Well, so much for my theory,” Marge said.

Rina said, “They used to be highly capitalized. The Soviet Union gave them money. But now there is no more Soviet Union. They used to get money from oil-producing Arab countries. But times change. Libya has never fully recovered from the U.S. bombing. The Gulf War just about did in Iraq economically. The war put a nice dent in Saudi Arabia’s economy as well. And it couldn’t have come at a worse time for them, with oil prices being depressed. The PLO’s cash cows just don’t have the disposable income they used to have.”

There was silence across the line.

“Then how does the organization exist?” Marge said.

“As a matter of fact, Arafat was very, very weak until Israel gave him and the PLO power by giving them Gaza and bringing them into the peace talks. If Arafat ever gets a real government-and it looks like that’s a strong possibility-the PLO has been pledged hundreds of millions of dollars by the United States and Europe to get the Palestinian economy off to a rip-roaring start. Even if half that money comes through, Arafat will have plenty of investment capital.”

Again no one spoke.

Finally Decker whispered, “Milligan saw it all coming. She’s been cultivating the PLO for several years. Now that everything is almost in place, she’s making her move.”

Rina said, “What move?”

Decker said, “First, Milligan buys out undercapitalized land with potential for diamond fields. Then she cultivates the PLO, betting that eventually they’ll get a government and lots of start-up capital for its economy from the Western countries. Now that Israel and the PLO have struck some kind of deal, she knows she’s in like Flynn. She’s just waiting for someone to sign on the dotted line, so she can tap into those pledges.”

“If the peace process lasts.”

“Rina, it only has to last long enough for her to raid the initial investment capital pledged by the Western nations. Because the woman knows her Western civilization. Remember her bookcase behind her desk, Marge?”

“Not really.”

“I do,” Decker said. “Because I thought her choice of books was rather eclectic. She had a row of books that dealt with the economies of postwar Japan and Germany. Meaning, she knew from history how the United States and the Allies poured billions of dollars back into those countries to set them on their feet. They not only throve, they became world economic powers.”

“I don’t see the PLO becoming a world economic power,” Rina said.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Decker said. “All Milligan cares about is the money that’s going to start flowing in. The newly formed territory or country or whatever the hell you want to call it is going to have to set up some businesses if it’s going to thrive economically. Why not diamonds, offers Milligan.”

“But why would the Arabs use her as a middleman?” Marge asked. “Why wouldn’t they invest in the land directly?”

“In fact, that’s just what they’re doing,” Decker said. “They are investing in the same companies that Milligan is investing in. But this time, Milligan knows they’re not going to sit on the land like VerHauten’s doing. They’re going to try to develop it, paying her for her expertise. So she wins two ways. One, she gets paid as an expert. And two, if they strike it rich, so does she.”

Marge said, “She has everything to gain and nothing to lose. All she had to do was make her pitch and apparently it worked. Because the Arabs are buying.”

Decker said, “What do you think, Rina?”

There was a long moment of silence.

Exasperated, Decker finally said, “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. Something’s off.”

“What is off?”

“If Milligan’s interested only in start-up capital from the PLO, why was she dealing with two local Arabs from Hebron instead of someone high up in the PLO. And who is Donald?”

“Donald?” Marge asked.

“The Hebron Arabs Milligan met with-in secret-claimed they were working for a man named Donald,” Rina explained. “Milligan claimed Donald was working for her.”

“Who’s Donald?” Marge asked.

“No idea,” Decker said.

Rina said, “To my untrained eye, it seemed like Milligan and those men were planning something clandestine. Besides, I just don’t see the PLO giving something away for nothing.”

“They’re not giving away something for nothing,” Decker said. “They’re investing in Milligan’s know-how.”

“But Milligan is still setting herself up as queen without giving them something tangible.”

“She’s giving them something tangible. She’s giving the Palestinians, headed by the PLO, the potential to be big diamond producers.”

“Potential is not a commodity,” Rina said. “Besides, you’re thinking like a Westerner, Peter.”

“How so?” Marge asked.

“Most of the Arabs in the territories are dirt poor. Sure, they’d love to be rich. But they’ve never had capital so they don’t even know what wealth is. Their prime motivator is revenge, not money.”

“Revenge…” Decker thought a moment. “Then suppose Milligan presented the deal not only as an economic boon for the Palestinian government but also as a way to strike out at Israel.”

“The PLO would go for that,” Rina said. “What do you have in mind?”

“She could present the deal like this. If the PLO invested with her, they would control vast amounts of raw diamonds. With that, they could undermine Israel’s economy by going into direct competition with the Israeli diamond industry and the Israeli cutters.”

“So who would cut their stones?” Rina said. “With the Israelis out, there go the best cutters in the world. And VerHauten wouldn’t dare deal with the upstarts.”

“They could develop their own cutters,” Marge said. “A good industry for a fledgling country.”

“A skill like that takes ages to learn,” Rina said. “And even if they did, the stones would be second-rate. The brilliance of a diamond is as much in the cutting as it is in the raw stone. To get any kind of competitive edge, the Arabs would virtually have to annihilate all the Israeli cutters. Even they’d have a hard time doing that.” She paused. “Unless they’re planning to blow up the Bursa.”

Decker heard her words. Then he broke out in a cold sweat.

35

Jet lag was a blessing in disguise. While the country slept, Decker was in high gear, his body fueled by urgency. He cut his conversation with Marge and began raking through his coat.

“Elhiani gave me his card.” Decker pulled something out of his pocket. “Damn! It’s his work number.”

Rina took the card. “We’ve got to start somewhere.” She dialed the digits. It took a long time for someone to answer. Not unusual, considering it was four in the morning. As calmly as she could, Rina related the emergency nature of the call, the necessity to speak to Mefakeah Elhiani directly. A moment later, Rina placed her hand over the receiver.

“I’m on hold.”

Decker covered his face with his hands, then looked up. “He’s going to think I’m crazy, you know. I’d think I was crazy. Because what I’ve got is a house of cards. If there’s a glitch in any of my suppositions, the whole thing’s going to come tumblin’ down.”

“What’s the alternative? Letting the Bursa blow up?”

“Yeah, you’re right. So I’ll look like a fool. Better that than…” Decker began to pace. “I hate being here. Out of my element. My investigation completely stymied because I don’t know the friggin’ rules!” He stopped walking and ran his hands through his hair. “Hell with the self-pity, Deck. First things first. Get hold of Elhiani.”

“I’m trying!” Rina felt her husband’s desperation. “Should I hang up and call back?”

“No.” Decker checked the clock. Four-twelve. “No, don’t hang up. If need be, I’ll call from another phone.”

He laughed softly, imagining himself trying to communicate with a night operator without Rina’s help.

Rina held up a finger, indicating she was back on the line. The woman on the other end told Rina to go ahead. Through the crack of static, Rina could make out a voice heavy with sleep. She identified herself to Mefakeah Elhiani and told him why she was calling.

Elhiani heard the crisis in her voice. “Let me talk to your husband.”

Rina handed the phone to Peter. Decker told her to pick up the extension in the bathroom in case he needed help.

“Explain yourself,” Elhiani stated.

Decker told the story, Rina translating when asked to do so. When he was finally done, there was a moment of silence over the line. Decker could picture incredulity on Elhiani’s face.

The mefakeah said, “You like bombs, Sar-kee-ant?”

Decker took a deep breath. “I know this sounds farfetched-”

“What is farfetched?”

“Meshuga,” Decker said. “Crazy.”

“Cain, it is crazy. I would hang you up, but I have news.”

Decker felt his heartbeat quicken. “What?”

“I take your wife’s purse…look at the license number. One of them belongs to Khouri family. The father lost a brother and two sons in the massacre at Hebron. Ibrahim Khouri has pledged act of revenge. Your wife talks about blowing up school bus. I get very nervous. This sounds like Ibri’s act of revenge. But now you talk about blowing up Bursa…this is act of insanity.”

Decker said, “Look what happened with Or Torah yeshiva. That was an act of insanity.”

“Not like blowing up Bursa.”

Without emotion, Decker said, “It’s your call, Mefakeah. This is your country. You’re in charge.”

The line fell silent. Decker could hear Elhiani breathing hard.

“If this G’veret Milligan put bomb in Bursa,” Elhiani said, “why is it still standing?”

Decker said, “Maybe she set the timer to go off when there are people inside. The idea is to incapacitate Israel as much as possible.”

“It should blow up today?”

“Maybe.”

“You tell me Milligan is rich lawyer person with power. And this is what she does with free time? She plans acts of terrorism? Why?”

Decker said, “Greed. If she can destroy the Bursa, she can set up her own diamond center with Palestinian money in the newly formed Palestinian territory.”

“Milligan is terrorist for money?”

“She may have other reasons.” Decker paused. “Did you ever find out who Donald was?”

“Ah, Donald. The man Ibri works for. No, I not find out yet. Is he terrorist, too?”

“I don’t know who he is,” Decker said. “Mefakeah, I called to let you know what I know. Now it’s in your hands.”

There was a pause over the line. Elhiani said, “If, by some neis, you are right and Bursa blows up and people die, it is terrible, terrible tragedy that I did not prevent. If you are right and I investigate, there is no tragedy and I am big, big hero. If I investigate and we find nothing, they think I’m crazy for listening to crazy American sar-kee-ant. You give me big headache.”

Decker said, “I’m giving myself a big headache.”

Elhiani said, “You call me Ezra. I call you Peter.”

Decker knew this was a turning point. “Call me Akiva.”

“B’seder, Akiva.” Elhiani sighed. “I call Northern District Headquarters for you. Ask them what they want to do. I tell them you wait downstairs in lobby. Leave it up to them. It’s their territory.”

“Fine.”

“I tell them to meet you at your hotel. Some advice to you, Akiva. Take your wife with you. She talks better than you. And she looks better, too.”

In a frantic rush, they dressed and went downstairs into the brightly lit hotel lobby. The front desk was deserted, the couches and chairs empty. In the background was the hum of some kind of generator. The outside picture windows framed twinkling lights set into a backdrop of blackness. Everything was quiet but tense, like an animal crouching for its prey.

Two police cars came fifteen minutes later-uniformed officers who checked their papers and identification. Since Elhiani still retained their passports, the officers from Tel Aviv had to make do with the leavings, confiscating their driver’s licenses and Decker’s papers as well as his police badge. Stripped of ID, Rina felt naked and faceless, then wondered why. Perhaps it was the realization that she and Peter were actually viewed as suspects. She glanced at her husband. His eyes said nothing, his expression was all work. Too wrapped up in the case to care about indignities.

The cops escorted them into the backseat of the subcompact police car, Decker contorting his body to get inside. Night blanketed the city and the asphalt roads were very dark. But the faint visibility didn’t stop the police from racing through neighborhoods, the automobile jumping hurdles whenever it encountered a rut or a bump. Tiny vehicles had tiny shocks.

They reached the Bursa just before five. The boulevard was empty, but the curbway was lined with blue flashing lights. The cop parked the car and opened the back door. Decker got out first, then helped Rina to her feet. He stretched his legs, heard yelping dogs in the background.

Within moments, he and Rina were surrounded by the police both uniformed and nonuniformed. A tall, well-built man in his forties broke through the protective circle. He was fair-complexioned and good-looking. Enter Paul Newman in Exodus, Decker thought. Except his clothing was cheap-old suit, an open-necked white shirt, and scuffed oxfords. He puffed away on unfiltered cigarettes. Decker drank in nicotine with craving nostrils.

Mr. Exodus was presented with their papers and looked them over intently. Decker wondered if he actually understood them since they were written in legalese English. Finally, Exodus handed them back to the uniformed cop, crushed out his cigarette on the sidewalk, then stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I’m Sgan Nitzav Levi Kreisman,” he said. “Mefakeah Elhiani wasn’t too clear over the horn. He mentioned something about a possible bomb threat in the Bursa. Is this just a little hunch of yours or are we all in imminent danger of being blown up?”

Joy of joys, the guy spoke English fluently! Decker could communicate! “I don’t know if there is a bomb. And if there is a bomb, I don’t know when it’s been programmed to detonate.”

“So basically you don’t know what the hell is flying,” Kreisman said.

“A correct assessment,” Decker said, flatly. “Maybe I should tell you what I do know.”

“Shouldn’t someone be searching the Bursa?” Rina broke in. “I mean, if there’s a bomb, what are we waiting for?”

Kreisman glared at her. “Who the hell are you?”

“She’s my wife,” Decker said. “I brought her here because I don’t speak Hebrew.”

Kreisman turned to her and broke into Hebrew. Rina answered back. They talked for a few minutes until Kreisman returned to English. To Decker, he said, “I’m explaining to your wife this isn’t the Wild West. We have to coordinate an operation like this with Bursa security. And since there aren’t any people inside, the safety of everyone involved is the primary concern. It would help a great deal, Detective, if you told me what’s going on.”

Decker related the case as concisely and as quickly as he could. But with all the questions and answers, it still took time. When Decker was done, Kreisman patted his breast pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. Bringing it to his lips, he saw longing on Decker’s face. He offered him a smoke.

Without hesitation, Decker took it. Just this one time, he promised himself. Kreisman lit the cigarette for him and Decker inhaled deeply, enjoying the infusion of nicotine into his hungry bloodstream. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rina’s face.

“I’m nervous,” he told her.

“I know, Peter. I am, too. I love you.”

Kreisman cleared his throat. Decker smiled. He and Kreisman smoked, they checked watches, they looked at the sky and at the ground. They asked each other questions. They took notes, then compared the notes they took.

Finally, Kreisman spoke into his walkie-talkie at length. He signed off and said, “Okay, we’ll check it out. We’ll go in with Bursa security, but only the public areas-the entry, the lockers, the trading room, the restaurants, et cetera. We’ll pass on the individual offices because we don’t have keys. You have any ideas where this bomb might be planted?”

“I first saw Milligan at Mr. Menkovitz’s spot,” Decker said. “It’s the far side of the trading room. It would be easier if I just showed it to you.”

Kreisman tapped his foot. “I don’t know who the hell you are. Why should I let you in with us?”

“Have it your way,” Decker said. “I’ll remain here in the custody of your men.”

Kreisman gave him a sour look. “You’re giving me a headache, you know that?”

“I’m noted for that,” Decker said. “Nitzav, you’re in charge. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Technically, it’s sgan nitzav. You just promoted me.” Kreisman cursed under his breath. “Put your arms up.”

Decker did. Kreisman frisked him very carefully. Afterward, he said, “I suppose you can’t do much harm under my eye.”

“Maybe I’ll even do some good.”

“I doubt that,” Kreisman answered. “All right. Let’s go collect stories for our future grandchildren.”

At first glance, the trading room had been transformed into the morgue. It was large and deserted, cold and sterile. It held no life. Lit with fluorescent fixtures, the long rows of vacant tables resembled autopsy slabs. The scales, though small, could have been path scales for weighing small organic tissue or evidence such as bullets. Decker went on to notice the goosenecked lamps, the calibrators, rulers, pincers, cleavers, loupes, microscopes-

The loud barks of the tracking dogs shook the image from his brain. Funny what happens on so little sleep. Security closed around him-Kreisman’s men, guards from the Bursa itself-encircling him as if he were an escape risk. Like it or not, Decker knew he was suspect.

Kreisman said, “We’ll stay here. You point the dogs in the right direction.”

Decker could see clearly over the human wall that surrounded him. The advantage of being six-four in a Mediterranean country. With an extended finger, he indicated Menkovitz’s spot. The leader of the bomb squad, suited up in full regalia for the “just in case” scenario, guided the dogs toward the site.

Decker studied the animals-medium-sized spotted dogs with a decent coat. They had pointed snouts and alert eyes. “Those aren’t retrievers or shepherds. What kind of dogs are those?”

“Canaan hounds,” Kreisman said. “‘Bout as close to a dingo as you can get and still be considered domesticated. Smart little suckers.”

Banned from his cigarettes, Kreisman became jumpy. Decker regarded him, bouncing on his feet, hands in and out of his pockets. Decker felt the need for a fix as well. But there was no smoking in the Bursa. Besides, the odor would wreak havoc with the dogs.

Decker kept his eyes on the search. The guide had first taken the dogs to Menkovitz’s spot. Yanking on their leashes, the animals sniffed the table and chairs in the vicinity, but nothing appeared to register. The guide then led them around the entire room. It took around twenty minutes for them to canvass the area. Drawing a blank first time out, the handler took them in for a second pass.

Decker asked Kreisman where he was born.

“Dayton, Ohio. I moved to Israel when I was nine, then went back to the States for college. I moved back here about ten years ago.”

Another twenty minutes rolled by. The dogs went around for a third time. Decker watched the animals work. Sometimes it took multiple passes before the dogs could detect a bomb. Sometimes they missed cues. Sometimes they got distracted. As the animals hunted, members of the bomb squad conducted their own visual search, going methodically through the Bursa from table to table.

Decker was feeling more stupid by the moment. But at least it had been Kreisman’s call. Mr. Exodus was pissed but holding it well. Time announced its passage by the beginnings of daylight. The room-sized picture windows that walled the Bursa had lightened from black to gray. Decker checked his watch. Five after six.

Kreisman spoke on his walkie-talkie. He signed off, then turned to Decker. “We’ve cleared the entry area, the front lockers, and the restaurants. If we don’t find anything soon, we’re going to have to pack it in. People are arriving, waiting to do business with the world.”

“Are you letting them in?” Decker asked.

“Not yet. We’ve cordoned off the area. But I can’t stall them with no good reason. This is their livelihood. This is the country’s livelihood. Diamonds are probably Israel’s biggest industry. The one thing I liked about your theory. If the Arabs wanted to get back at us, it’d be with diamonds. It’s the heart of Israel’s economy.”

The bomb-squad leader shouted something to Kreisman. Kreisman nodded and shouted something back. To Decker, he said, “We’ve cleared this area. I told him to take the dogs to the upstairs lounge.” He pointed to a series of smoked windows above the official weighing booths. “If the dogs don’t find anything, we’re out of here.”

“Can we go up and watch?” Decker said.

“No,” Kreisman said. “The lounge is relatively small and has lots of furniture. I don’t want to distract the dogs.”

Decker nodded, realizing how much credibility he had lost. He wondered how he had got sidetracked from Yalom to Milligan. Everything had happened so damn fast. From a visit with Tziril and Moshe Yalom to Menkovitz and Milligan at the Bursa. From Milligan in Hebron to a bomb in Gil Yalom’s yeshiva.

Gil. He did find Gil and that would certainly help the Yalom case. At least, the trip wasn’t a failure. Today, maybe the boy would talk.

Suddenly, Decker’s ears perked up. The ambient noise in the Bursa dramatically changed. The dogs were barking. Loud, loud barks. He and Kreisman exchanged glances. The buzz of Kreisman’s walkie-talkie. The look on his face as he listened to rapid-fire speech emanating from the box.

“Where’d they find it?” Decker asked.

Kreisman waved him off as he spoke back to the bomb-squad leader. Finally, he signed off and began shouting orders in Hebrew. To Decker, he said, “You got some explaining to do, buddy. But for now you’re out of here. My men will take you and your wife to the station house. You wait for me there.”

“Where did they find it?” Decker asked again.

Kreisman glared at him. “Sure you don’t know the answer?”

“No, I don’t know,” Decker said. “I wasn’t even in the lounge. Ask Mr. Yalom. He’s the one who took me around the Bursa.”

To his men, Kreisman said, “Get him out of here.” He realized he was speaking English, then switched to Hebrew.

In a flash, Decker was surrounded. Slowly, he was guided-even shoved-out of the building. Conversation was flying a mile a minute. If only he could understand. Pushed forward by cops, aware that at this point he had no control over his destiny, he decided to roll with the punches. Eventually, someone would tell him what was going on…maybe.

He strained to hear words that sounded familiar. He finally recognized one and it was a doozy.

Televizion.

It didn’t take a genius to extrapolate. Since it was too early for the invasion of TV news cameras, there had to be only one other logical reason why cops would be talking about the boob tube.

The dogs were searching a lounge. They must have found the bomb in a television set.

Though Decker’s case was far from over-Dov was still missing-he couldn’t help but feel victorious! He slammed his fist into his empty palm and whispered, yes!

36

This time Decker passed up the smoke. He sat next to Rina, across from Kreisman, and kept a flat expression while being questioned. Kreisman asked about his case, about Gil and Dov Yalom, about Arik Yalom’s schemes and how they dovetailed with Milligan’s investments. Then Kreisman zeroed in on Milligan. He asked about Rina’s excursion into Hebron, asked her to repeat the conversation she had overheard word for word. He asked about Donald-the mystery man. The lull came after an hour and a half of interviewing. Decker took advantage to formulate his own questions.

“When was the bomb scheduled to go off?”

Kreisman pretended not to hear. The two men had formed a cold truce, but as yet no trust.

“Look, Sgan Nitzav,” Decker said, “I’m working on a case. You’re working on a case. I’m gathering information just like you. How about a little interdepartmental cooperation?”

Kreisman scratched his head. “Let’s go back to the bomb at the yeshiva.”

Rina was about to interject something. Decker patted her hand and said, “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s go over it one more time.”

Rina couldn’t help it. “Why?” She launched into Hebrew. Kreisman answered her back. It was interesting to Decker’s ear. When they spoke English, their tone of voice and manner were distinctly American. Talking in Hebrew, they had both become Israelis-the pauses, the inflections, and the gesticulations of the hands.

Abruptly, Rina folded her hands across her chest. “Okay, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

Kreisman said, “A very good idea.”

Decker was about to speak, but Rina stopped him with a gentle squeeze on the leg.

Kreisman said, “Detective, you said your wife told you to stop this guy whom you didn’t know at all.”

“Yes.”

“So you took off after him and you didn’t know why.”

“Rina told me he didn’t belong. That was reason enough.”

“But you didn’t know why she suspected him.”

“No.”

“In other words, you blindly listened to your wife.”

“She knows the nuances of this country, of the religion. I don’t. I didn’t listen to her because she was my wife. I listened to her as one listens to an expert witness.”

Kreisman stared at him. Decker stared back, waiting for the pissing contest to be over. He understood Kreisman’s suspicions. On the other hand, based on Decker’s information, a bomb in the Bursa had been discovered. He knew that was worth a lot.

Kreisman went on, “So you caught up with this guy.”

“I caught up with the suspect, yes.”

“And he just suddenly blurted out there was a bomb in the yeshiva.”

Decker paused. “After a little physical prodding, yes.”

“And then you just let him go?”

“Not at all. I handed him over to someone in the crowd, emphasizing the importance of detaining him until the police arrived. He had a firm grasp on him as I handed him over. But the bomber must have been limber and strong. He escaped.”

“Why didn’t you stay with the suspect and have other people go and help out at the yeshiva?”

Decker said, “It was a judgment call. I cared more about the boys than about apprehending the suspect.” He bit his mustache. “Did someone call my captain in Los Angeles?”

“Yes.”

“So you know I’m-”

“We’ve been told that you were sent over here to find Gil and Dov Yalom. They’re wanted for questioning in the deaths of their parents-Arik and Dalia Yalom. That’s all good and fine. But it doesn’t explain drek about your fatal attraction for bombs.”

“Nonfatal attraction. No one died.”

Kreisman glared at him.

Decker said, “You want to know how I think Milligan got a bomb through security?”

Kreisman studied Decker’s face. “Are you telling me firsthand knowledge or is this conjecture?”

“Conjecture.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Fair enough. Do you want my opinion?”

“I want your opinion,” Rina piped in.

Kreisman glared at her. “You’re trying my patience, Mrs. Decker.”

“You have no patience,” Rina shot back. “Why don’t you open your mind a little?”

“You want to visit our jails, g’veret?”

“I’ve been in worse places-”

“Rina…” Decker interrupted.

“All right, I won’t say another word.”

Kreisman exhaled, then broke into a smile. “Only in this country. What would happen to her if she spoke that way to your captain?”

Decker shrugged. “You want my take on the bomb?”

“Go on.”

“Milligan couldn’t bring an assembled bomb inside the Bursa,” Decker said. “Security is too tight.”

“Is this going to get better?”

“Can I just get the thought out?”

“Hurry up.”

“Milligan brought in the explosive bit by bit. Every time she visited the Bursa, she toted in another piece of the bomb. Yalom told me it was rare to see her on the floor itself. Mostly she went to offices or to the trader’s lounge where it was quieter to conduct business.”

Decker noticed Kreisman was suddenly listening.

“What do people do in the business lounge? They talk. They relax. They read the papers. They catch a little TV. And you know how lounge TVs work. They’re communal. So nobody would have looked twice if Milligan got up and adjusted the color or changed the channel.”

The room was quiet.

Decker said, “Every time she made an adjustment, she dropped off a part of the bomb in back of the TV set. Yesterday, when she was at the Bursa, I’m betting the TV broke down. So no one thought it was odd when some guy with credentials and a toolbox suddenly showed up to repair it.”

“Security checks people out,” Kreisman said.

“Security takes your passport, checks out your business there, and maybe they run your name inside a computer to make sure you’re not a terrorist or a felon. So if your name comes up clean because you’re using falsified credentials, how are they going to check that out on the spot?”

“Someone would have checked this guy out at the door.”

“I’m sure someone did. So what did they see? A repairman with his toolbox. I’m sure they went through the toolbox and all they saw was tools. So what’s the big deal? If the TV was broken, then a repairman and his tools had legitimate business in the Bursa.”

Kreisman’s face darkened. “Pretending he was fixing the TV, he assembled the bomb on the spot.”

Decker said, “He probably wasn’t even pretending. I’m sure he knew about the workings of a TV set. He also knew bombs as well. How was the bomb rigged?”

Kreisman pursed his lips. “It was set to detonate as soon as someone turned on the TV.”

“So the repairman hooked the detonator up to the power switch on the television set.”

Kreisman nodded. “A basic device. Nothing fancy. One that could be assembled in maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”

“How powerful was the bomb?” Decker said.

“It wouldn’t have ripped the building from the foundation,” Kreisman stated. “But potentially it could have done bad damage on the trading floor. The back of the TV was packed with plastiques.”

“Not to mention the psychological damage it would have done,” Rina said. “It’s demoralizing when the impenetrable becomes penetrable.”

Kreisman nodded. “I can’t believe Milligan got past security.”

“She brought in the pieces, bit by bit,” Decker said. “Besides, she was a trusted and respected person in the business.” He turned to Kreisman. “Are you bringing her in?”

Kreisman bit his lip, then sighed.

“You can’t find her,” Decker said.

“We’ve checked every goddamn hotel in the country.”

“What about Ibri and Gamal?” Rina said. “Can’t you bring them in for questioning?”

Kreisman ran his hand down his face.

Rina said, “You can’t find them either?”

“They’re probably in Jordan,” Kreisman said. “But since we don’t have common extradition laws, we’re going to have to get them by other means.”

“Do you think Milligan’s in Jordan?”

Kreisman shrugged.

“Has anyone taken responsibility for the bomb?” Rina asked.

“You mean a terrorist group?” Kreisman shook his head. “Why would anyone acknowledge the bomb? We caught it, ergo, we won, they lost. Their mission was a failure. As a matter of fact, if I were Hamas or the PLO or some other terrorist group, and I’d paid Milligan a bundle of money to pull this stunt off, I’d be pretty damn pissed off at her. If Milligan’s involved, she’s not only running from us, but from whoever hired her as well.”

Kreisman rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“I can understand why any of the terrorist groups would do this. If they succeed, they have everything to gain. And not much to lose, if they fail. But I can’t understand why Kate Milligan would do it. Risk everything she had-which was a shitload-to be even more obscenely rich. And don’t tell me greed. She might be greedy, but we all know she isn’t stupid.”

“Money’s a powerful motivator,” Rina said.

“She had money,” Kreisman said.

“Maybe she wanted power,” Decker said. “Maybe Milligan was tired of being passed over when she felt she deserved to be number one. VerHauten is a male-dominated, family business. She knew she couldn’t ever be CEO no matter how hard she worked. She wanted it all.”

“So she did all this to get back at VerHauten?” Kreisman shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

Rina said, “Well, we exhausted money and power as catalysts. She’s not an Arab, so she probably didn’t do it for revenge. That leaves only one other prime motivator.”

No one spoke.

Rina smiled. “Maybe she did it for love, gentlemen. Maybe she was in love with a radical Arab terrorist and did it for him. They’ve used women in terrorist acts before.”

Decker suddenly sat up. “I don’t think she was in love with an Arab. I think she was in love with a black.”

“Black?” Rina said. “Why do you say that?”

“Not American black. A South African black. Wasn’t Mandela a big supporter of the PLO when he was in prison?”

Rina said, “I think he still is, although I know he’s more moderate now. He’s met with Israeli officials.”

“I’m not painting Mandela as a villain,” Decker said. “I’m just saying, when Mandela was in prison, the South African blacks and the Palestinians allied themselves together as exiled, displaced people. Israel was often compared to South Africa-”

“That’s not a fair assessment,” Kreisman interrupted.

“I’m reporting the news, Sgan Nitzav, not making a value judgment,” Decker said. “My partner in America and I had discussed the possibility that Arik Yalom had been blackmailing Kate Milligan. Why else would Milligan deal directly with someone as small as Yalom?”

“Go on,” Rina said.

“What could Yalom have had on her that would have screwed her up with VerHauten?” Decker asked. “We figured maybe she had an affair with a black. Maybe the guy was a Black Muslim to boot. Having an affair with someone like that would have been highly frowned upon in a bastion of white conservatism like VerHauten.”

Kreisman said, “I don’t think VerHauten would have dismissed her services as long as she was doing a good job. Business is business.”

Rina said, “Maybe while working for VerHauten, Milligan came to some sort of an epiphany. She met a black man, fell deeply in love, and was suddenly full of rage that she couldn’t openly love him.”

Decker said, “And opportunity reared its head. Here was a way to get rich and get even with VerHauten-the white power structure of South Africa. Not only that, Israel, another oppressor country, would get screwed as well.”

“Do you have a name for this mysterious black man?” Kreisman asked.

“No,” Decker said. “Just throwing out ideas. Retrospectively dissecting Milligan’s mind.”

“A nice theory,” Kreisman said. “Find a name to go along with it and you might give us something to work with.”

Rina blurted out, “Donald.”

Decker looked at her.

“And why not?” Rina said.

Decker said, “Didn’t Milligan say that Donald was working for her? That he was her underling?”

“Peter,” Rina chided. “Where is it written that the woman can’t have the upper hand in a love relationship?”

“Women always have the upper hand in a love relationship,” Kreisman said, dryly.

“Well, not always,” Rina said.

There was a pause. Then Kreisman and Decker said in unison, “Always.”

37

Without thinking, Rina leaned against the heavy glass door, butting it open with her shoulder.

“What are you doing? I’ll get that.” Decker held open the door. “Chivalry isn’t totally dead.”

He stepped aside and let Rina enter the hotel lobby first. It was filled with casually dressed tourists, bellhops, management personnel, and lots of kids garbed in bathing wear. Wearily, Rina trudged up to the front desk and checked for messages. Nothing. She slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her arm around Peter. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m tired of room service,” Decker said. “Let’s just eat downstairs.”

“Fine. Do you want to eat meat or dairy?”

“Up to you.”

“I’ll opt for dairy,” Rina said. “The thought of eating fleisch on three hours of sleep churns my stomach. Besides, I’m in the mood for onion soup.”

Descending a flight of stairs, they walked into a patio restaurant, replete with white wicker tables and chairs shaded by a lattice roof of blooming vines. The sun was out, the air smelled freshly washed. Children and pool noises chirped in the background. They were seated in a cozy corner, the table dressed with white linen and scented roses. A busboy came over, filled their crystal water glasses, and presented them with a basket of crusty olive and onion bread. Decker took a slice and topped it with a generous amount of sweet butter.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Let’s pretend we’re on vacation.” Rina took some bread and picked at the onions. “How about a moratorium on work?”

“Great.” Decker polished off his bread and took another slice.

A raven-haired waitress presented them with menus which they studied for a few minutes. Decker put his down, then said, “How were the kids when you spoke to them?”

“Surprised that we were awake at three in the morning. The family was on its way out to dinner courtesy of my parents.”

“Where?”

“Kosher Kanton. The boys were in the mood for sweet and sour chicken.”

The waitress came, took their orders, and left. Decker said, “How’s the baby?”

“In a great mood. Although Nora told me that Hannah does say ‘Mama’ a lot.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No big deal.” Rina looked up. “We’ve only been away for two days. We should be home soon.”

“Rina, if you want to go back, I can manage on my own. Lord knows you eased my way. I can take it from here.”

Rina bit her lip. “I would except I can’t get Honey Klein and her kids off my mind.”

“We could look for Honey, too,” Decker said. “Depends how long you want to stay here.”

“I want to go home,” Rina admitted. “I’m exhausted and I miss the kids. But I also want resolution. I’m torn.”

“Well, right now we’re not going anywhere. We don’t have our passports.”

“When do you think we’ll get them back?”

“I’m sure you could get yours back anytime you wanted. As for me, they may take longer to check me out.”

“You’re going in for questioning this afternoon?” Rina asked.

“Looks that way. Kreisman isn’t done with me.”

“He doesn’t trust you.”

“I know. Frankly, I don’t blame him. I’m here for a couple of days and all sorts of bombs start exploding-”

“Peter, you saved the Bursa from blowing up. You’re a hero!”

“I’ll let you in on a clue, Rina. Police are suspicious of heroes.”

“What does he want with you?”

“To go over my case, bit by bit. Frankly, I welcome some fresh input. My main concern right now is finding Dov Yalom. But I sure wouldn’t mind finding Milligan as well.”

“What about Shaul Gold?”

“Yeah, I forgot about him. Where the hell is Gold in all of this? And why was Milligan looking for him?”

Rina paused. “Peter, I have a thought.”

“Shoot.”

“What if Yalom found out about Milligan’s plan to blow up the Bursa? Wouldn’t that be a reason to want him dead?”

Decker waited a beat. “Absolutely.”

“Suppose Milligan thought that maybe Yalom had told his sons…or possibly Gold…about the terrorist plan. Couldn’t that be the reason why Milligan was looking for Gold…or the boys?”

“Absolutely.”

“So maybe that was the reason why Milligan was dealing with Yalom directly. Maybe he was blackmailing her over the Bursa plans.”

“But you can’t blackmail someone for something that hasn’t happened.”

“Maybe she murdered him so she could make it happen. And maybe Arik’s sons found out about it and that’s why they ran.”

Decker ran his tongue in his cheek. “There’s one way to find out. While I’m at the police station, I have a job for you if you’re interested.”

“What?”

“Find Gil Yalom…talk to him.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“See if you can get him to tell you what’s going on.”

“How do I do that?”

Decker shrugged. “It’s intangible. Each person’s different.” He paused. “Hell, even if you can’t get him to talk about the case, just go visit him. Give him some sympathy. The kid’s parents were murdered, he’s scared shitless. He’s a sensitive kid, Rina. Did I tell you about the poetry he wrote? Full of longing and hope for a better world.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Last night he was in terrible shock. Maybe he’s been that way since his parents were murdered. It was Dov who had made the phone calls to his cousin and grandparents. Find Gil. If for no other reason than to tell him he’s got people on his side.”

Rina nodded. “How?”

“You might try calling up the Yaloms. They might know which hospital Gil was admitted to. They might tell you.”

“They’d tell you as well as me. After all, you were the hero yesterday. You’re in today’s paper, you know.”

“I am?”

“The Jerusalem Examiner here. Someone showed me a copy while you were with Kreisman in the Bursa. Apparently, you were here with your wife on vacation, and you just happened to be visiting Or Torah Yeshiva. Suddenly you noticed a suspicious man.” Rina sang out. “Duh-da-duh-duh.”

“I never talked to any reporter.”

“Then someone talked for you. They didn’t quote you. So maybe they got the story from Moti Bernstein.”

“We’re here on vacation, huh?”

“Must be true,” Rina said. “I read it in the papers.”

Decker frowned. “Maybe the Yaloms consider me a hero. Or maybe they’ll blame me for the bomb in the yeshiva, that my investigation put their grandson at risk. If I were you, I’d call them up acting as a concerned citizen. They like you. You speak their language. You’re not an outsider like I am.”

“And if they don’t tell me anything?”

“Then do legwork. Check out the hospitals in Jerusalem.”

“Just go in real casual and ask patient information for Gil Yalom?”

“That sounds simple, but sometimes simple works.”

After an hour’s worth of searching, Rina was certain that Gil wasn’t at Bikur Cholim, Hadassah, or Shaarey Zedek. Which meant he was at one of the smaller Jerusalem hospitals if he hadn’t been transferred out of the city. She checked her map against her list, and started with the closest address-in Emeq Refa’im just off the railroad tracks. Rina remembered the area as residential. Any hospital there was probably small, just a step up from a neighborhood clinic.

She started the Subaru’s engine and took off, wearing the car’s shot-out window like a battle scar. She followed the road through a short business district. At a major intersection filled with stoplights, she turned left and continued, riding on a half-paved, two-lane road lined with apartment houses. When she got to the railroad tracks, the road ended. On her right stood a multistoried stone and glass building completely at odds with its surroundings. She parked the car, got out, and went inside.

The lobby was spacious and flooded with light, the white marble floors gleaming in the sun’s rays. At the door, a guard checked Rina’s purse. She stepped inside, spotted an information booth, then hesitated. Behind the desk was a guard as well as a young woman in a white uniform. She had a pixie face surrounded by short black hair. Two sets of eyes looked at Rina, then peered with suspicion.

Hospital personnel weren’t usually leery. The bombing had scared everyone to heightened awareness.

The best approach?

Rina lowered her eyes and put a slump in her walk. She approached the pixie woman whose name tag said Orly. Rina spoke in Hebrew. “My friend had a terrible miscarriage. I’m here to visit her.”

Orly spoke with efficiency. “The name?”

“Sarah Yardin,” Rina said. “Yardin spelled like the winery.”

Orly consulted her computer. “There is no Yardin here.”

Rina scratched the scarf covering her hair. “Are you sure-”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Can you check again?”

Orly said, “G’veret, I don’t need to check again. There is no Yardin in the hospital.”

“Maybe they accidentally listed her under Sarah.”

Orly sighed. “There is no one here listed under Sarah.”

“Can you just check one more-”

“G’veret-”

“She is my good friend. She was so excited about the baby. The miscarriage was just terrible. I need to see her.”

The guard rolled his eyes.

Rina pressed on. “Once more? Please?”

Orly punched the name back into the computer. “There is no Yardin here.” She turned the terminal around-a list of names beginning with the Hebrew letter yod. “You can see for yourself.”

No Yardin, but a Yalom…room 346. Rina looked upset. “How can that be?”

“I don’t know, g’veret.”

“Thank you,” Rina said, meekly.

“What’s to thank me? I didn’t do anything.”

Rina went back to the car, took off her scarf, and unpinned her hair. Layers of black satin fell down her back. To change her look even further, she untucked her blouse and hiked up her skirt. The final touch was the shades-Peter’s aviator glasses. They were too big for her face, but it gave her the look she wanted.

She studied her reflection in the window of her car-a righteous woman posing as a floozy. She wondered if Tamar felt that way when she was picked up by her father-in-law, Judah.

Coming back into the hospital lobby, she presented her purse for a second time to the same guard. First time out, he didn’t notice her. This time, he did. As he rifled through her purse, his eyes were on her legs.

No wonder terrorists used women.

She went inside the hospital and studied Orly and her henchman from a distance. The woman was good, doing paperwork but constantly scanning the lobby. Rina waited. A young man with flowers came up to Orly’s desk. At the same time, the guard had strolled over to the bathroom.

An opportunity not to be lost! Rina took a deep breath and walked briskly over to the elevators. She was fast, but not fast enough.

Orly shouted at her to come over.

Rina turned around and lowered her shades slightly. She spoke in rapid English. “Areyoutalkin’tome?”

Orly seemed perplexed. She attempted to speak English. “You get badge first.”

“I’ve already got my badge,” Rina fired out in a high voice. “I was here yesterday and I still have it in my purse.” She pulled out a piece of paper, held it up for a split second, and pushed the elevator button. “I didn’t want to wear it ’cause it punches holes in the clothes, you know. I hate that. But if you really want me to wear it, I can do it. Like if it’s really important to you.”

The young man tapped his foot impatiently. Orly asked him if he understood her. The young man shook his head. The elevator dinged. Rina held the door and stepped in. “See ya.”

The doors closed and that was that. Once inside, Rina lowered her skirt, folded her hair into a bun. She tucked in her blouse and got out on the third floor. Immediately, she saw the guard down the hallway, posted in front of a room.

With feigned confidence, she went up to him, opting to keep the shades because it made her look official.

“Police,” Rina said, in Hebrew. “I need to speak to the boy-Gil Yalom.”

“ID.”

Now what? Rina fished through her purse. Hoping the guard couldn’t read English, she brought out her rental-car contract. “My official papers to interview him.”

The guard said, “This is in English.”

Rina appeared exasperated. “Of course they’re in English. I’m the liaison between the American and Israeli police departments. Bomb division. Northwest-Tel Aviv. Sgan Nitzav Kreisman’s office. You heard what happened this morning at the Bursa, didn’t you?”

The guard’s cheeks took a blush.

“Ach!” Rina said. “You haven’t heard. No wonder you don’t know what’s going on.” She snatched the rental-car contract out of his hands. “These papers allow me to interview Gil Yalom and search his car. He has a Subaru. See here?” Rina showed him the contract. “Subaru. This is the model number and the license plates. Can’t go around searching cars without knowing which cars to search.”

She shoved the contract back in her purse and snapped it shut. “I’m pressed for time. Shalom.”

The guard let her pass.

She stepped inside the room. Her heart sank. Another guard posted on the inside. He sat up when he saw Rina, started coming toward her, blocking her view of Gil Yalom as well as Moshe and Tziril Yalom, who were keeping vigil by their grandson’s bedside.

“I have papers.” Once again, Rina took out the contract. The guard grabbed them and read.

“Nice,” the guard said in accented English. “You rent a Subaru.” He grabbed her arm. “You’re under arrest.”

Tziril Yalom stood and came to her defense. “Are you crazy? Let her go. I know her. She is a very nice young lady.”

The guard continued to hold Rina. “My strict orders were not to let anyone in here other than relatives. Orders are orders-”

“Orders are orders? So this is the Third Reich?” Tziril came up to him and whacked him on the shoulder. “I tell you I know this young woman. She came here to help. Let her go!”

“Only relatives, g’veret. Sorry, but-”

“She is my illegitimate daughter,” Moshe Yalom announced.

All eyes fell upon him.

“It happens to the best of us.” Yalom shrugged. “Just ask anyone at the Bursa. I took her there yesterday and introduced everyone to her as my daughter.”

The guard laughed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, I do,” Yalom said gravely.

The guard continued to hold Rina, but looked at Moshe. “Then why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I should embarrass my wife by making such an announcement out loud?” Yalom retorted. “Let her go. She is a relative.”

Reluctantly, the guard released Rina’s arm.

Rina shook off her indignity. “Thank you.” She took off her glasses, went over to Gil Yalom’s bedside and hugged Tziril. “Thank you.”

“I should thank you,” the woman said. “Moti Bernstein told us what your husband did yesterday at the yeshiva.” Tziril hugged her again. “You married a very brave man.”

Rina swallowed dryly. “Mrs. Yalom, he sent me here because he was concerned about Gil.”

“You need to talk to him, don’t you?” Tziril said.

Rina nodded.

Grandmother looked at grandson. Rina studied Gil. Peter had told her that Gil had been in a state of shock. But the teenager Rina saw was alert. He stared at her for a long time, intense eyes sizing up her worth. Rina smiled at him, but it failed to elicit a response.

Finally, Tziril spoke, “Gil, this woman is here to help. You need to tell her what you know.”

Gil didn’t answer.

“Gil-”

“I heard, Savta,” Gil whispered.

Rina sat by his bedside. Gil was more young man than boy. His full beard had yet to come in completely, but patches of stubble shadowed his lip and cheeks. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes tired. Rina waited a moment, then tried another smile. He still didn’t smile back, but this time it got a response.

Gil looked at his grandparents and spoke Hebrew. “I need to be alone with her.”

Moshe Yalom stood and said, “I can use a cup of coffee.” He took his wife’s hand and they walked out the door. Gil watched them leave, then turned his eyes to Rina. In English, he said, “My savta tells me you’re the cop’s wife? The one who saved the yeshiva.”

Rina nodded. The boy’s voice was low and soft. Rina could tell the guard was straining to hear.

“How’d he know I was there?”

“Luck. We were searching all the ba’alei tchuvah yeshivas. Actually, we were looking to find Dov. We were told he’d been frum a while back.”

“Yeah, my dad took care of that one real quick.”

The sarcasm was dripping. Rina kept her voice soft. “Is that why you sent your grandparents out? You didn’t want them to hear negative things about your father?”

Gil didn’t respond, just peered at her. Then he said, “Am I going to be extradited to LA?”

“I don’t know if extradited is the right word. Sergeant Decker was sent here to take you and your brother back to Los Angeles.”

Gil looked at the ceiling. “In a way, it’s a relief. I shouldn’t have left in the first place. But in a panic you make bad decisions.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“I had reasons.”

Rina moved closer and spoke softly. “Your dad warned you off with the porcelain dogs.”

“Not my dad, my mom-” Gil stopped talking. His eyes widened. “Shit, you know everything, don’t you?” He waited a beat. “You know, your husband almost had me killed by finding me. They were following him to get to me.”

“By they, do you mean Milligan’s men?”

Gil whitened at the mention of her name. “They were using your husband to find me. He played perfectly into their plans. Is he stupid or what?”

Rina knew it had been the reverse. Milligan had located Gil before they had. She had planted the bomb in the yeshiva in order to draw Decker there and away from her intended target-the Bursa. But she played along. “Milligan was out for you because you knew too much.”

Gil nodded.

“We know a lot, too, Gil,” Rina told him. “We know about the stocks and land deeds in Angola that your father owned. We know Milligan wanted those assets and your father wouldn’t sell them to her at the price she wanted. So she had your parents killed, figuring you two boys might be easier to deal with. But you two escaped before she had her chance. She came here looking to find you.”

The boy looked down and said nothing.

“Honestly, we’re not as stupid as you think,” Rina said. “Do you know where your brother is? My husband’s really worried about him.”

“He’s safe. But he’s homesick, too. Not that either of us have much of a home anymore.”

Tears began to roll down Gil’s cheeks. He quickly wiped them away. “You don’t know as much as you think.”

“So fill me in.”

The room fell silent. Gil whispered and spoke to the ceiling. “Bastard was sleeping with her. She had him totally bagged, the stupid fuck!” He lowered his head. “Excuse my language.”

“S’right.”

Gil rubbed his eyes, slumped in his bed. “Dov and I used to do bullshit work at the office. Dad made us do it. ‘Turn you two boys into men.’ What a total crock! Anyway…you hang around a place long enough, you hear things. Whether you want to hear them or not.”

Rina said, “Your father was going to sell Milligan his assets?”

“He was going to give them to her! Anything to keep her on her back!” He covered his face, then let his hand drop slowly. “He stretched it out too long. She lost patience, the bitch.”

Rina thought a moment. Was the exchange of all those hostile letters just a front? “He was going to give Milligan his stocks and land deeds?”

“Yeah, can you believe that bastard?” Gil said. “Only problem was, half of the shit wasn’t his to give away. My uncle made him transfer it to my mom a while back.”

“Your uncle?”

“Uncle Shaul,” Gil said. “My dad’s partner. We called him Uncle. Shaul was going to sue my dad, because my dad bought some of his assets with business money. Shaul caught him monkeying with the books. Dad realized he was up shit’s creek, could have done time. So he transferred a little over half the assets into my mom’s name.”

“Why didn’t Shaul keep the assets for himself?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

“We know he’s here in Israel. Do you know where he is specifically?”

“No. Wish I did. Shaul’s a good guy. Rough but straight. He was around a lot, especially when my dad was out of town. Which was all the time. Used to take us out to dinner. My mom liked him. He liked my mom. Who didn’t like my mom? She was a wonderful…”

Again, the boy’s eyes welled up with tears. He made a quick swipe at his face.

“Do you know what happened when Milligan found out your dad didn’t own all the assets?”

“Not totally. But once at work I accidentally picked up the extension. She was yelling at my dad that he was a traitor. My dad was pleading, just begging her for another chance he was so hot for her. God, it was pathetic. But she wouldn’t have it or him. She totally blew him off.”

Gil bit his nail.

“Dov and I thought it was finally over.”

“When was this?”

“A year ago, maybe longer. But it wasn’t over. Maybe a month or two after I overheard her blow him off, Dov overheard my dad talking to Milligan…again. Dov said that Dad sounded real up about something…money opportunities in the Mideast if the Palestinians ever got their own state. Dov said Dad did most of the talking. Milligan just listened.”

Gil looked at Rina.

“Dad went yo-yo after that. For a year, he was lunatic. One minute he was on top of the world, saying he was going to make it big enough to buy out all of Israel. The next minute he’d be paranoid, sure someone was out to get him.”

“Did you believe him?”

“That someone was out to get him?” Gil shook his head. “Not really. But my mom was real worried.”

“She felt he was in danger?”

“Mostly she felt he was coking again. Dad used to do a lot of coke. The way he was acting, it sure looked like he was having a relapse. She felt that under the influence, he might be doing some stupid things. And you can’t do stupid things in diamonds. Because the business is dangerous enough just being what it is-all cash and stones. Dealers have been gunned down in broad daylight. She was the one who told us to get out immediately if we saw the dogs turned around. I don’t think she ever trusted my dad.”

“She knew about the affair?”

Gil looked pained. “Probably. She never said anything.”

“When did you first notice the porcelain dogs had been turned around?”

“As soon as we came home from school,” Gil said. “They’re right in the open.” His breathing became audible. “We panicked. We knew it was bad. Mom had special money for us put aside-”

“In the mezuzah?”

“God, you do know everything!”

“How many Jewish families post a mezuzah on the inside of the door?”

“Yeah, you would notice that. If you were Jewish.” Gil paused. “Anyway, Mom told us not to take my car, that we might be followed. We just grabbed the money, grabbed our passports, and walked down to the shopping center. We took a bus to the airport-several buses. We already had about a half-dozen flight plans mapped out. Bought some tickets and…”

Again, Gil looked up at the ceiling.

“I have never been so fucking scared in my entire life! Not even when your husband pulled me out of the yeshiva. As much as I want to die and start over, you know…I know I can’t. Mom wouldn’t have wanted that.” He paused. “God, I loved her.”

The boy broke into unrestrained sobs. Rina reached out for him and he fell into her arms, hugged her tightly.

“I gotta take care of my brother,” he wept. “I’m almost a man, but I’m such a goddamn kid.”

“Gil,” Rina said softly. “That’s what family is for. You have grandparents who love you. You have an aunt in Los Angeles who loves you, too.”

The boy broke from Rina’s embrace and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, we can probably stay with her until we both graduate. Their house isn’t as big-”

“I’m sure that’s not a problem.”

Gil smiled through tears.

Rina said, “Gil, we need to talk to your brother.”

“I know. But I’ve gotta talk to him first. There are complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

“I can’t say. Besides, he might not agree to it. He’s in real bad shape. Super-scared of Milligan. Especially after we found out about my parents in the mountains. Milligan’s vicious. I know she set my parents up.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“No…I mean, my dad was always doing secret meetings with her-obviously. He didn’t want my mom to know…even though she did know. Dov and I could understand how my dad fell into the trap. We couldn’t understand why my mom would. Only thing we could figure out is…” He lowered his head. “She must have known we were due home from school soon. She must have left the house to get Milligan or her men away…to protect us. Why else would she have gone with my dad to the mountains?”

He looked at Rina.

“You know where Milligan is?”

“No. But she’s a wanted woman, Gil. Everyone’s looking for her. Israeli police, my husband and the American police. Even people who she thought were on her side.”

“What does that mean?”

“We think Milligan may have been behind some terrorist acts in Israel.”

“The bomb in my yeshiva?”

“And other things. But her plans went awry. We think the people she worked with may want to find her as well. Please, Gil. Tell me where your brother is.”

The teen covered his face, then dropped his hands, and blew out air. “I wish I knew who to trust.” The boy shook his head. “You’ll just have to wait.”

Rina bit her lip.

“You’re pissed at me,” Gil said.

“No, of course not.” Rina took the boy’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m just concerned about Dov. You know, even if you don’t tell me, your grandparents have a right-”

Rina stopped talking.

The one person she and Peter hadn’t had time to visit. “He’s with your other grandmother, isn’t he? That’s why she’s not here with you.”

Gil closed his eyes and flopped back on his pillow.

Rina patted his hands. “Don’t fret, Gil. You didn’t tell me. I guessed.”

38

An hour’s nap and Decker felt much better. He showered, shaved, then dressed, automatically reaching for a nonexistent shoulder harness. He was still brooding over his nakedness when his phone rang. He picked up the receiver.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

A female voice-familiar.

“Where are you?” Decker played along.

“Downstairs,” she said. “I’d like to come up to your room. Make this as private as possible.”

The light bulb went off. Honey Klein. Decker said, “Fine.” He gave her his room number. A minute later, he answered a knock.

Had Decker not heard the voice, he wouldn’t have recognized the person. While in Decker’s home, Honey had dressed modestly in keeping with Orthodox tradition-a dress below her knees with long sleeves-and her hair had always been covered. But judging from the way she looked, Decker knew that something inside of her had snapped. Only the face was visible among the drapery of black that swathed her body. A gaunt face with sunken eyes ringed with dark shadows. She looked more like a nun in habit than any Orthodox Jewish woman Decker had known.

She looked around the hotel room, then zeroed in on Decker with tired eyes. “Where’s Rina?”

“She’s not here.”

Sitting down on the bed, Honey blew out air. “I read this morning about what you did at the yeshiva-a real mitzvah. I’m happy for Rina that she remarried such a tzaddik-such a righteous man.”

There was pain in her voice.

“The article said you two originally came here for vacation. I know you and Rina hadn’t planned on any vacation. Now I know you’re here because of your case. But with Rina? I was wondering if she came here to look for me.”

“She did indeed. She was very concerned about you and the children.”

“That’s Rina. A tzedeikess for a tzaddik. She’s a good woman. I could take lessons in middos from her.” Honey looked at Decker. “I can’t hide anymore, Akiva. Not that I couldn’t have done it physically…you wouldn’t have recognized me, right?”

“Not at all.”

“I can’t hide mentally. I can’t do that to my children. I’m here to bring resolution to the mess I created. What do you want to do with me?”

“The authorities want to ask you some questions, Honey.”

“Ask.”

“It would be better if we conducted the interview in America.”

Honey’s shoulders slumped. “It wasn’t supposed to work out like this.” Tears formed in her eyes. “All I wanted was a second chance. It wasn’t…”

Decker waited.

“Nothing can help me,” Honey whispered. “It was all my fault. The Rebbe told me to be patient with Gershon.” She looked at him. “I ran out of patience, Akiva. I simply…gave up. You should never, ever give up.”

“You stuck with Gershon a long time, Honey.”

She swiped at wet eyes with the back of her hands. “I know you won’t believe me, but I had nothing to do with his death.”

“I believe you,” Decker said. “But for your own protection, I suggest you don’t talk to me without a lawyer. Because I am a sworn officer of the law. And if you say something incriminating, I could use it against you.”

Honey nodded. “But I can talk to you if I want?”

Decker threw up his hands. “Please don’t. Wait until you’re back in New York.”

“But I want to explain it to you. I was trying to divorce Gershon-”

“Honey-”

“He refused to give me a get. I was stuck. It wasn’t supposed to work out like that. I didn’t…”

“I know,” Decker said. “You went to the Rebbe for help, didn’t you?”

Honey was quiet, her eyes far-away. “It’s too bad you and Rina didn’t know Gershon when I first married him. He was…wonderful! Handsome and kind…a wonderful father.”

She closed her eyes and opened them.

“The changes happened so subtly. I blinked…and the next thing I knew I was married to a stranger. Looking back, I wonder if it wasn’t something organic-a tumor or a mental breakdown. Because a person doesn’t change just like that.”

She adjusted the black scarf that covered every inch of her hair.

“It was so subtle. First it was the davening all day. Then it was him becoming a Nazir. It was only when he started in on the children that I knew it was hopeless. Preaching to them. He’d sit them down and preach to them for hours, screaming at them if they moved a muscle or squirmed or blinked.”

She licked her lips.

“He’d make them wear sackcloth when he sermonized. Then, when he started making them fast once a week, I knew I had…do you know what kind of mental damage he did? Baruch Hashem, the Rebbe was there to neutralize him.”

“Why didn’t you just leave him, Honey?”

“He swore he’d see me dead before he’d give me a get. The Rebbe tried to get a dispensation…you can divorce a crazy person. Unfortunately, Gershon was rational in his fanaticism. If you talked to him, he could answer you back. He was coherent…but he wasn’t.”

“Did the Rebbe talk to him?”

“Of course!” Honey said. “Everyone could see what was happening to him. They all did what they could to try to make Gershon see reason.”

“But he wouldn’t listen to reason. His yaitzer harah had invaded his yaitzer tov.”

Honey broke into tears and nodded.

Decker said, “No one meant any harm, only to get Gershon’s yaitzer tov back.”

“So you do understand.”

“Of course.” Decker spoke very softly. “The Rebbe had no choice. He did what he had to do. What he was allowed to do halachically, what he was permitted by Jewish law.”

Honey’s head shot up. “What? What are you suggesting?”

Her voice had turned cold. She wasn’t about to incriminate her beloved leader.

“Honey,” Decker said. “You may not verbalize what happened. But I know what happened. I know it was probably an accident. But that doesn’t mean it’s not murder. Keeping quiet to protect individuals isn’t going to help anyone.”

Honey hesitated, then said, “Let me put it this way. I know that some…people in my town were going to talk to Gershon, try to convince him to give me a get.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“That’s why I came out to Los Angeles. So people could talk to Gershon alone.”

“And that’s why you’re here using a false passport?”

“Akiva, I knew that if it didn’t work, Gershon would be furious. I didn’t care for me. But I feared for the kids. I knew I would have to go far away. That’s why I bothered with forged passports.”

Decker sat beside her. “Honey, listen to me. Because what I’m saying is from the heart. I’m sorry for all your tragedy. Because this really is a tragedy. But I think the best way to deal with it is to face it head-on. You get yourself a lawyer, get great legal representation for the Rebbe-”

“He had nothing to do with this!” Honey snapped.

“Okay, okay,” Decker backed off. “Okay, we’ll just stick to you. You get yourself a lawyer and you work out your case with him. Where are the kids?”

“Safe.”

“Here?”

“Yes. With people who love them and can care for them. I don’t have to bring them back to America with me, do I?”

“You want to leave them here…alone?”

“They’re not alone here, Akiva.” Honey blinked and regarded Decker’s face. “They are with three million brothers and sisters. That’s an awfully big family.”

“If that’s what you want, fine.”

“That’s what I want.” Honey looked down at her lap and straightened her skirt. “It’s funny. Originally, I moved with Gershon to the village as a refuge against the outside world. But there’s no escaping evil. It comes at you in many forms. It took me time to realize my strength. And now, like Jacob, I’m ready to wrestle with the Ish. You’re right. I have to face whatever is in store for me head-on.” She stood. “Where do I go from here?”

“I’ll get you an official escort back to the States, Honey. Manhattan police will detain you for questioning. Once in America, you hire yourself a good lawyer.”

“I didn’t kill Gershon.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Thank you, Akiva. Thank you for believing me.”

Kreisman bit into an overstuffed pita. From the smell, Decker figured it was bologna with mustard. He sipped his coffee and waited for the interview to commence. The sgan nitzav was chewing slowly. Decker wondered if it was on purpose. A waiting game.

But he didn’t mind. In fact, the silence was a welcome respite, a chance for him to digest his thoughts. Honey was now in official hands. He couldn’t get her face off his mind, the plaintive way she had looked at him as she was led away by a gentlelooking Israeli policewoman. Honey’s expression had been agony and anguish. And though anguish wasn’t a viable excuse for murder, he sincerely hoped that things might work out for her. Then Rina had called him, describing her conversation with Gil Yalom. He recalled the crack in her voice as she recounted how the teenager had cried in her arms.

Too much pain. So let Kreisman take his time with his damn sandwich. The sgan nitzav gave a final swallow and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“I got word to be nice to you. That isn’t easy for me. Especially because I don’t fully trust you.”

Decker waited.

“Actually someone called from the prime minister’s office. Some bigwig wants to thank you publicly.”

“You can take my place.”

“Fuck you, Decker. I don’t need to ride the coattails of your glory.”

“Kreisman, I’m not interested in glory. All I want is to collect my suspects, go back home, and sleep for a day.”

“Well, if you’re looking for Milligan or Ibrahim Khouri or Gamal Shabazz, you can stop. They’re gone. However, our detectives did pick up some interesting information from some of the residents of the town.”

“People actually talked to you?”

“We have ways and I don’t mean physical ways.” Kreisman rubbed his thumb against his fingertips. “Works like a charm.”

“Who’s Donald?”

“Donald Haas. He isn’t a Black Muslim, but he is a South African black and a very radical one at that. He’s far left of the ANC and has been responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen people. Some were white, but some were moderate blacks who publicly opposed Haas’s known philosophy of white extermination. The guy did ten years in jail, got sprung shortly after they liberated Nelson Mandela.”

“And what’s the connection between him and Kate Milligan?”

“Pussy connection. They were lovers.”

“Longtime lovers?”

“Who knows? Guess Haas had no problem justifying his inconsistency. A fuck is a fuck. What I don’t get is why a woman like Milligan would go for him? What could she see in him?”

Decker thought about what Rina had told him. How Milligan had slept with Yalom-a Jew whom she probably despised-to get what she wanted. “Maybe she saw a pit bull who could implement her plans.”

“That could be.”

Decker studied his thoughts, recalling his conversation with Marge. Perhaps they had been right all along. Yalom had originally gotten Milligan’s attention by blackmail. Perhaps she and Haas had been longtime forbidden lovers. Had her plan worked, had she been able to raid Palestinian start-up capital, she would have set them both up for life. He said, “Then again, Kreisman, you can’t explain love.”

“Love.” Kreisman made a face. “Milligan’s a cold bitch. She doesn’t have a heart, Decker. She’s just got a pump.”

“Where is Donald Haas? Is he gone as well?”

Kreisman nodded. “They all must have slipped over the Jordanian border last night. From Jordan, they could move freely about the Arab countries without worrying about us tailing them. But that doesn’t mean we’re giving up. We have ways of finding people even in hostile countries.”

“Is the PLO helping at all? Because Milligan’s stunt must be an embarrassment to them now.”

“Not helping, not hindering, so far as we can tell. Yeah, Milligan’s an embarrassment to Arafat. Every time someone in any of the Arab organizations fucks up, it lessens his chance of becoming king of Palestine.”

Kreisman waved his hand in the air.

“Yeah, we’re still hunting, but your part in all of this is over. You got the Yalom boys. Take them home and let us do our job.”

“Sounds good. I’ll need my papers back.”

Kreisman stood. “I’ll get them for you. Maybe we’ll meet again down the line.”

“Maybe,” Decker said. “But I hope not.”

Kreisman smiled. “You’re blunt.”

“I speak my mind.”

“I can see that. You’d make a good Israeli.”