The Plan

**

After Cole left, Ryan and Lucinda went to their room down the hall. Kaz sat for a long time on his bed lost in thought. He decided they needed to get hold of some ordnance. Something told him that wandering around Tel Aviv, unarmed, was dangerous. And stupid. He figured that buying arms in Tel Aviv couldn't be too tough. He locked the door and headed down the hall to Ryan's room to get some cash. He paused in front of the door when he heard a sound inside and realized it was Lucinda moaning. The breathy gasps were accompanied by the gentle tapping of the headboard against the wall. Kaz, concerned for her safety, almost knocked but caught himself at the last moment.

Jesus, he thought, it's been so long since I got laid I almost didn't recognize the music. He decided to find a dealer and bring him back here. A few minutes later, he was out in the bustling street.

Akmad Jarrar spotted him from the front seat of the blue Mitsubishi, then got out and followed on foot.

The restaurant in the Kolbo Shalom Center was on the second level and overlooked the harbor. The food was international and the clientele was strictly business.

Cole could hear four or five different languages and the tenor and tone of the conversations were intense. Spreadsheets were pored over, cell phones rang, while watercress salads and shish kebab were ferried around on pewter trays.

Tel Aviv had become a business mecca, where the emerging Eastern democracies were spreading their wings on the currents of Israeli financing.

Naomi Zur walked into the room wearing a tailored shooting jacket. She had her black hair pulled back in a bun and her shirt tied in a knot at her waist. She wore no makeup. At almost five-nine, she was a truly striking woman. She spotted him and, with black eyes twinkling, moved toward him. They were eye-to-eye as they embraced. She squeezed his hand before sitting down across from him.

"You look like the cover for the desert edition of Vogue."

"You're such a fucking liar, Cole, but thanks." She smiled and grabbed the menu. "So you're buying?"

"All you can eat, as long as you stay under ten U. S. dollars."

"Then we better work the roll basket."

"I'm sorry about Uri."

"Thank you. He's gone… and we have to move on." It was very Israeli. She was not about to dwell on it or share her pain with anybody. She asked for no sympathy and wanted none.

After the salads arrived, she started the ball rolling. "Alluring as I am, I don't think you came all the way to Israel to buy me a plate of falafel."

"I need help on a story. I thought the computer bank at Reuters might have what I need."

"What about the computer bank at UBC?"

"They threw me out, Naomi. Punta de basta."

She nodded as if she wasn't surprised. For a second, Cole wondered what effect he'd had on people over the years. Maybe it wasn't the impression he thought he'd been leaving.

"Whatta you need?" she finally asked.

"When I covered Lansky's trial in '71, the lead prosecutor was a man named Gavriel Bach…"

She listened attentively as he ran the backstory, ending by saying he needed to find Bach's widow, if she was alive. If not, then his family. He was sure that a major political figure like Bach must have reams of background stuff in the computer. He left out all of the information about Mickey Alo and UBC, his newsman's paranoia still intact. When he was finished, she looked at him quizzically.

"What's the story here? This is more than just a background check on Gavriel Bach."

"Yeah."

"Gimme the lead line."

"He was breeding Persian longhairs. I'm doing a story for Kitty Litter magazine," he said.

"Look, Cole, you know how it works. If I help you and it leads anywhere, I need to take the ride."

"Okay, but you gotta trust me to give it to you when I think it's safe. I have certain security considerations. Some dangerous people are after me."

"Your word was always worth something," she said slyly. "I just could never figure out what."

He paid the bill with American money and they took the elevator up to the news bureau. On the way out, they passed a tall Israeli with dark ringlets. Yossi Rot joined them in the elevator and watched while Naomi pushed "14." He got out at 3 and went back to the lobby and looked at the directory. The entire fourteenth floor was occupied by Reuters News Bureau.

Cole was seated in the Background File Room in front of the computer as if he owned it, scrolling information while Naomi stood behind him. There were reams of material on Gavriel Bach. His widow was Mishama Bach, known as Misha. She was last mentioned in a story about an Arab shoot-out in Jerusalem only two months ago. She had been a witness to the shooting. The article said she was living in the Old City and taking care of her sister-in-law.

Cole scribbled down the address on Ben Yehuda Street and promised Naomi he would cut her in if anything happened.

When Cole got back to the Carlton Hotel, Kaz was already there. He had two Uzis with extra clips lying on the bed. A suitcase was open on the dresser with two Desert Eagle automatics and a nine-millimeter Beretta, complete with extra clips and shoulder holsters. Standing beside th e d resser, with one hand still on the open suitcase, was a scruffy-looking man in a dusty brown shirt.

"Meet Emir Shamgar," Kaz said.

"Shamagar," the Israeli corrected him.

"Right. And he's your friendly Allenby Street firearms dealer. I figure we oughts pick out some party favors before we tool around in this jungle. Ken and Barbie are asleep, but once you pick out what you want, we'll get 'em up and conclude the arrangements. Mr. Shamagar is very agreeable to terms as long as we pay one hundred percent up front."

Ten minutes later, Ryan and _Lucinda joined them. Ryan decided to risk putting the purchase on his American Express card. It amused Cole that Shamagar had an AmEx charge plate and imprinted the card before picking up the phone and calling the AmEx credit center for verification.

"It's the new Israel," Cole said bleakly.

After Ryan picked out one of the heavy Desert Eagles and two clips, they concluded the deal. It came to just under sixteen hundred dollars. Mr. Shamagar graciously threw in two boxes of ammo before he left.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Shamagar left the Carlton. By then the Ghost was seated in the blue Mitsubishi across the street and saw him go.