The Sinai Secret

FIFTY-SIX

Central Police Station

Ibn Gabrel andAriozroy Streets

Tel Aviv

An Hour Later

Captain Kel Zaltov paced around the long table rather than sitting at it. His shirt was showing sweat stains at the armpits despite the frosty chill of overefficient air-conditioning. "I still don't understand why we have to cooperate with some neo-Nazi cop from Austria," he complained. "We owe those krauts nothing; and, far as I can tell, this goy Reilly has done nothing. Besides, he has the blessing of King Solomon Street," he added as an afterthought.

The other man in the room looked as though he might have just stepped from the pages of GQ or Esquire. His dark suit was tailored, his white shirt unwrinkled, and his toe caps shined to a military luster. "I'm not here on behalf on our friends on King Solomon Street," he replied calmly. He intertwined his fingers, resting his hands on the table. "My authority is higher than that."

Zaltov scowled. "I'm a policeman, not a diplomat or politician."

He spit the last word as though it had a bad taste.

That, thought the man in the suit, was one thing they both could agree upon.

The policeman was notorious for his distrust, if not downright hatred, of anything Germanic or Russian. During the decade between 1935 and 1945, each of those two World War II combatants had exterminated the larger part of his family: first the Stalinist purges, then the Nazi pogrom. It was amazing that a man could be so angry over the murders of relatives he had never known. But then, these Jews of Eastern European descent tended to hold grudges for centuries rather than generations. Zaltov was still probably pissed off at the Romans for destroying the temple in Jerusalem in, what, a.d . 70?

"Although unnecessary, I have explained the government's position," the man in the suit said. His voice was becoming frayed along the edges, the sound of a man letting his frustrations show. "Need I do so again?"

Zaltov sat down and stood up again. "Why do I give a shit what a bunch of ass-kissers from the State Department think?"

"That depends on whether you want your pension when you retire next year. You serve, after all, at the pleasure of the Israeli government, ass-kissers included."

The policeman sat again, this time staying put. "Okay, explain again. Maybe I'll listen this time."

The man in the suit nodded slowly, acknowledging the wisdom of the other's decision. "Very well. This Inspector Rauch wants to take into custody a man named Langford Reilly, an American. It seems Mr. Reilly may know something about one or more shootings in Vienna…"

"Like that is our business," Zaltov sneered.

The man in the suit silenced him with a lifted eyebrow. "As our friends from King Solomon Street tell us, Mr. Reilly is accompanied by one of their former employees, a Jacob Annueliwitz, hence the cooperation so far. Both Monsieurs Reilly and Annueliwitz have shown more than a passing interest in a man named Zwelk."

The policeman stood, resuming his pacing. "A patriot, from his file."

"A patriot perhaps. The leader of what amounts to a private army, an armed military force literally next to the Gaza border wall."

"Sounds like a good place for an army to me."

"The government is less than sanguine about troops it does not control, particularly in such a sensitive area."

The policeman snorted. "You mean someone not afraid to stand up to a bunch of fanatical murderers of women and children, someone who doesn't piss their pants for fear the United Nations might speak ill of them? If he's such a threat, why is he allowed to continue?"

"You are aware of the political situation, the narrow coalition by which the prime minister governs. Any action against a right-wing group would precipitate every Arab-hating Jew in the country screaming for the prime minister's head. Or worse, joining this man Zwelk's cause."

"And this is a bad thing because…?"

The man in the suit paused a second, perhaps the indecision of whether the conversation was worth continuing. "The man is an extreme Zionist, a frequent embarrassment to Israel's stance of moderation on the Palestinian question. He was bitterly opposed to the surrender of the occupied territories and the Lebanese cease-fire…"

"Last time I looked, this country allowed freedom of expression."

The other man continued as though he had not heard. "He's suspected in a number of preemptive raids against Palestinian communities, raids that provoked rocket attacks against our citizens."

"Since when did those people need provoking?"

The man in the suit sighed. "Not every rocket launched into an Israeli town, not every suicide bombing is without cause. You've been a policeman long enough to know the news doesn't always tell the whole story."

"And you've been with the government long enough to know it's very careful what it tells the news."

The man in the suit didn't disagree with the observation but continued. "From what I understand, Annueliwitz and Reilly are reconnoitering Zwelk's kibbutz right now."

Zaltov crossed his arms over his chest, body language that didn't exactly signal acceptance. "So, you want me to arrest Reilly the minute he enters the kibbutz and have a look around while I'm there, use the arrest as an excuse to snoop."

"I would prefer not to phrase it that way, but yes. Once you have a legitimate reason to enter private property, you can certainly follow up on anything you find suspicious."

"Like the Gestapo or NKVD."

The diplomat shook his head in resignation. "I don't think they compare."

The policeman smiled, an icy grin without humor. "I'm using my right of free expression."