Tanya looked away, grimacing.
“ I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude.”
“ I’ll tell you.” She took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh. “His name was Abraham. Near the end of the war, I was seventeen, and he was eighteen. For a short time, a few months, despite the cold and hunger and violence, our passion was endless. It was like a glorious dream in the middle of the worst nightmare. But then we lost each other.”
“ How?”
“ We each thought the other one had died. We were deceived.”
“ By whom?”
“ By Elie Weiss.”
“ What? ”
“ It doesn’t matter anymore. Fifty years have passed. Hard to believe.” She patted his cheek. “I’m sharing this so you understand how devious Elie can be. You’re still young. Go back to Israel, live a normal life, raise kids. Your poor mother deserves a bit of happiness. I can tell you that for me, as busy as I am with my work, the little time I spend with my daughter and her family is the only time I feel happy.”
Was she lying to make him distrust Elie? He wanted to question Tanya about her old love and Elie’s involvement, but he could see on her face that she would not answer.
“ With all my achievements at Mossad,” Tanya said, “Bira is my greatest pride.”
“ Is she still digging out old bones and broken clay with her students?”
“What else?” Tanya laughed. “She’s working on a Jewish cemetery at Gamla, on the Golan Heights. It dates back to the Great Revolt. Every other day a bunch of black hats come by to chant curses at her team for the desecration of those stupid old bones.”
“Those stupid bones are archeological evidence of the Jewish past on our land.”
“You see?” Tanya’s face lit up. “You’re still passionate about that! Bira said you should return to archeology.”
“ Tell her I’m more interested in fresh corpses.”
“That’s morbid. And where’s Elie?”
“We expect him back later today.” Gideon glanced at the desk, making sure nothing revealing was left on it. Tanya was the only outsider Elie allowed in the apartment, but her comments about shutting down SOD would change that.
“ I’m just off a red eye from Washington,” she said, “and we didn’t stop working, takeoff to landing. The second Oslo agreement requires careful implementation. We’re working with other countries to drum up support for the Palestinians’ effort to build government institutions.”
“ Including secret services?”
“ It’s a necessary evil.” Tanya rubbed her eyes. “I could use a good nap.”
“ There’s a bed in the other room. What about your escorts?”
“ What escorts?” She removed a plain clasp and her hair fell around her face, well below her shoulders. Threads of silver lightened up the black. She brushed it with her fingers and rolled it around itself, tying it together. Under the heavy coat she wore a wool dress that revealed a slim, youthful body. She had long passed sixty, but the skin of her face bore no hint of aging. He wondered whether she found time for lovers.
*
The voice on the speakerphone said, “How is my favorite banker this morning?” Prince Abusalim az-Zubayr spoke with an impeccable British accent, which he had acquired at Oxford.
“I’m delighted to hear you, Excellency!” Lemmy’s mind brought up the tall, dark man, the intelligent eyes under a groomed mane of hair. “Are you well?”
“ Insha’Allah, my friend.” The prince’s voice was even, lucid, showing no hint of impatience as he moved on to business. “How is my six-one-nine El-Sharif?”
By providing the password and account number-chosen for the 619 AD mythological journey of the Prophet Muhammad to Jerusalem-Prince Abusalim gained access to his account with the Hoffgeitz Bank, including discussion of confidential financial information on the telephone.
Lemmy pulled up the account on his computer screen. “Current balance is near seventy-seven million U.S. dollars.”
“That sounds correct.” The prince’s voice remained calm despite the size of his fast-growing fortune. “I’d like to make a transfer.”
“Of course. Will you be investing or acquiring a pleasure motorcar?”
“Making a donation.”
“Your generosity will be rewarded by Allah.” Lemmy pulled up a blank form on the screen and typed in the prince’s name in the space for the account’s owner. “The amount?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Recipient?”
“ Monsieur Perez Sachs. He’ll pick it up in cash at the local branch of Banque Nationale de France in Senlis, France.”
Lemmy’s fingers danced on the keyboard. “We’ll execute the transfer today.”
“ My warm gratitude, Herr Horch. Please visit Paris again soon. I’ve discovered another cabaret-beautiful girls, every one of them!”
*
Prince Abusalim az-Zubayr put down the receiver. The rays of the sun illuminated the deep colors of the rug at the foot of the canopy bed. The pile of leather belts, pointy hoods, and studded collars brought a grin to his face, reminding him of the three teenage girls from last night. Unlike the submissive Arab females, the French gave as much as they took, wielding their alluring physique in the battle over peaks of volcanic pleasures.
Out on the balcony, he tightened the waistband around his silk bathrobe and leaned against the railing to watch the French capital’s own phallic symbol, the elevators ascending and descending through the Eiffel Tower’s enormous web of iron beams.
Back inside, he poured a cup and browsed the front page of the Financial Times. The British pound was falling again. Muammar al-Qaddafi announced the expulsion of thirty thousand Palestinians from Libya in protest of Arafat’s signing of the second Oslo agreement. Iraqis went to the polls to obediently reelect Saddam Hussein. And Israel prepared to hand over control of West Bank cities to the PLO.
Pierre arrived on time. “ Bonjour, Monsieur Abusalim,” he said in his clipped, hurried French.
The bathroom was equipped with a barber chair that could turn and recline toward the sink. The prince sat down, surrendering to Pierre’s experienced hands. It was Tuesday, which meant only shampoo and a shave, but no trimming, which was just as well. He needed a nap after such a night.
*
At noon, Lemmy walked out the front door of the Hoffgeitz Bank for his daily lunch. He strolled down Bahnhofstrasse, enjoying the crisp air and beautiful shops. A pretty woman smiled at him, and he smiled back. He passed Credit Niehoch Bank, where he had worked years ago, and the massive building shared by Grieder and Bank Leu. Turning left, past the armory, he paused in front of St. Peter Kirche-the church of Old Zurich. Paula had once explained that the copper bells atop the tower were the largest in Europe, built to warn the neighboring citadels of Germanic or Mongol invaders.
The Limmat River was just around the corner, and despite the cashmere coat, he felt the cold draft from the lake. He walked faster.
The Orsini Restaurant kept an open account for the overpriced lunch he regularly shared with Zurich’s most successful bankers. But today he passed by the iron gate and continued down the narrow alley.
At the corner was the clock store, where he had bought Paula the five-foot-tall grandfather clock that rang hourly in their living room in perfect synchrony with the chimes of St. Peter Kirche. The alley curved to the left, and he slipped into the service door in the rear of the Bierhalle Kropf.
The dining hall smelled of cigarette smoke, fried sausages, and potatoes baked in butter. Lemmy unbuttoned his coat, loosened his tie, and stepped into the clutter of voices and laughter. The long wooden tables and hard benches were occupied with the usual mix of bank clerks, blue-collar workers, and off-season tourists. He negotiated his way down the center aisle until he reached the far end. The last table was partly occupied by four elderly men, chewing on fried sausages and sauerkraut. He squeezed through and sat all the way in the corner, his back to the wall.
A voluptuous waitress waved cheerfully from the aisle. He pointed at his neighbors’ beers and plates, then held up two fingers and gestured at the empty seat across the table.