“The Paradigm job,” Saul said.
“All right, let’s get to it. We’ve got an energy problem. So what do we do? We make an agreement with the Arabs to buy cheaper oil, provided we stop our commitments to Israel. All unofficial, of course, the negotiations conducted by American billionaires—but with the tacit agreement of our government. The ultimate result? We get to drive big cars while Israel disappears. I’m not denying the claims of Arab factions. The Mideast situation’s complicated. But dammit, Israel exists. We’re talking about destroying a nation.”
“So you had me kill the negotiators.”
“A few men as opposed to a nation. The message was clear—don’t try it again.”
“But after, you tried to kill me.”
“The president wanted to get even for his best friend’s death. With that kind of power behind the investigation, you’d have been found.”
“You know how I felt about you. I wouldn’t have talked.”
“Not willingly. But under chemicals, you’d have sent them to me. And under chemicals, I’d have sent them to the rest of the group. It had to be protected.”
“That isn’t logical.”
“Why?”
“Because the nation you wanted to protect—Israel—was the nation blamed.”
“Temporarily. Once you were killed, I planned to show you worked on your own initiative. A Jew, determined to protect your spiritual country. I’d already insured the failure of your last few jobs—to prove you were unstable. Israel would be exonerated.”
“Sure. And I’d be dead. Is that what you call love?”
“You think I did it easily?” Eliot’s voice cracked. “The nightmares. The guilt. Isn’t my grief the proof I didn’t want to do it?”
Saul shook with contempt. “Words. Castor and Pollux and me. What the hell happened to the rest? Not counting Chris, fourteen other orphans.”
“Dead.”
“On similar missions?”
Eliot’s throat heaved. “I didn’t order it. They were casualties.”
“That’s supposed to make it all right?”
“You’d prefer they died for the men in that room? They were soldiers.”
“Robots.”
“But working for someone whose values are more substantial than their government’s.”
“Values? You want to talk about…?” Saul’s chest constricted. “Here’s one you never heard of. You don’t betray someone you love!” He trembled, raging. “We trusted you. What else made the shit you put us through bearable? We wanted your high opinion. Love? You’re so damned arrogant you think it’s your right. You want to save the world? When we’re all dead, there’ll still be assholes in that room. And none of us will have mattered. Except for the comfort we gave each other.”
“You’ve missed the point. Because of sons like you and operations I had you sabotage, I’ve saved who knows how many thousands of innocent lives.”
“But Chris is dead. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a damn poor trade. Hey, I don’t know those other people. I’m not even sure I’d like them.” Glaring, barely able to restrain himself, Saul shook his head with disgust and walked up the bank.
“Wait! Don’t turn your back on me! I haven’t finished yet!”
Saul didn’t stop.
“Come back! Where do you think you’re going? I didn’t say you could leave!”
Saul swung at the top. “I’m through obeying. A son ought to comfort his aging father. Me? I’ll make your last days hell.”
“Not here! If you kill me, you die and lose!”
“A son gets big enough—”
“What?”
“And smart enough to crush his father. What you didn’t count on was I loved Chris more than you.” With a final glare, of utter contempt, Saul pivoted sharply. Stalking away, he disappeared beyond the bank.
14
The river hissed. Eliot tried to stand, but his strength gave out. Legs buckling, he slumped on the bank. Throughout the argument, he’d made sure not to glance at the wooded bluff across the river.
But now he did. In confusion.
Castor and Pollux were over there. Along with the rest home’s manager, an investigator who’d come with a team to conduct an inquest on a suicide, and most important, a sniper.
He’d calculated every detail. Saul had two options. To listen to reason. Wasn’t the argument—thousands of lives—persuasive? Wasn’t one man’s life, even Chris’s, worth the sacrifice?
Or else to try to kill me.
If Saul had chosen the first, I could’ve lived my last days in peace, perhaps returned to my mission, and saved more lives.
If Saul had chosen the second? Trying to kill me, he would have been shot. With witnesses, I’d have been absolved. The end would have been the same.
But—Eliot frowned—something was wrong. Saul had done the unexpected, choosing neither. He hadn’t been convinced, but he didn’t try to kill me. Nothing was changed.
Except.
He seemed too sure. He balanced his actions carefully, never coming too close.
Had he guessed? Is it possible I taught him better than I knew? Can he read my thoughts?
It couldn’t be.
15
“You were with them.” Squinting, Saul sat at the top of the lodge steps, waiting.
“What?” Don stopped in surprise, putting a muddy white shoe on the bottom tier.
“You ought to do something about your wardrobe.”
Don peered down at the knee ripped out of his red polyester slacks. Reflexively he picked burrs from his navy blazer. “I went for a walk.”
“In the woods. I know. With them.” Saul pointed past the tennis courts toward Castor and Pollux, an investigator who’d arrived by helicopter this morning, and a narrow-eyed man who carried a long slim case that might have contained a billiard cue. Or a sniper’s rifle.
Approaching from the river, Eliot clutched his fishing poles and tackle box.
“My, my, he didn’t catch a fish.”
“What do you mean I went with them?” Don said.
“When I came here, the first thing you did was accuse me of planning to kill a guest. You slapped two guards on me. Then all of a sudden the guards disappeared, so I followed the old man to the river where he offered me the chance to kill him. Since I never intended to kill him to begin with, I didn’t know what he was talking about. He’s my father, after all. Naturally I felt like seeing him. But he started talking crazy, so I walked away, and you’ll never guess what happened next. All of a sudden my guards came back.” Saul pointed at two men on lawn chairs near him. “What would you think?”
“I—”
“It looks to me like that old man set me up. If I laid a hand on him, I’d be dead, and there’d be witnesses to make it legal. Don, tsk, tsk. You’re not exactly watching over my interests.”
The manager puffed his chest as if to argue. It deflated like an inner tube. He gave up the effort. “I had to go along. The old man insisted you’d kill him.”
“And without proof, you believed him.”
“Hey, he went to the investigating team. If I argued, they’d think I wasn’t doing my job. A test. That’s all it was. If you meant no harm, you wouldn’t be hurt. If you tried to kill him—”
“But I didn’t. I paid a lot for protection, and what I’m getting for it is threats. Everything’s reversed. The old man just proved he wants to kill me. I deserve—hell, demand—equal treatment.”
“What are you talking about? You’re already guarded.”
“House arrest. They’re not protecting me. They’re watching me. In the meantime, Eliot can do whatever he wants. It isn’t right. He ought to be guarded as well. And not by those clones he brought with him. Your own men. He’s paranoid enough to try something foolish.”
“Absurd.”
“If it happens, you’ll wish to God you’d listened. The investigators’ll ream you out. I’m telling you he’s crazy. I also want those thugs of his
under surveillance.”
“I don’t have the staff!”
“Just six more guards?”
“In shifts of three? In addition to the men I’ve got on you? That’s twenty-four!” Don sputtered. “I need those men other places. And that’s just for now! What happens when the other guests catch on? They’ll want protection too! A lot of them were enemies before they retired! The only reason they’re able to sleep at night is their confidence in a rest home! If they thought its neutrality could be violated… guests being followed everywhere? Bodyguards scrambling all over each other? A rest home’s supposed to be quiet and peaceful!”
“You think the others haven’t noticed you’ve got men watching me? When I went for breakfast this morning, everybody in the restaurant took a look at my guards and couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“You’ve been here only two days and—”
“What?”
“Threatened forty years of tradition.”
“Not me. Eliot. And you. I didn’t ask for those watchdogs. What goes for me should go for him. If I’m being tailed, then dammit, so should he.”
Don gestured. “I won’t put guards on him. This madness can’t be allowed to escalate.”
“Logically you’ve got only one other choice.”
“What is it?” Don looked hopeful.
“Do it the other way around. De-escalate. Call off your watchdogs.”
16
Flanked by Castor and Pollux, Eliot tensed as he entered the greenhouse.
He’d been anxiously waiting for its completion. Eager as a lover, he came to his roses.
But someone else was in here. At the other end, a man straightened from under a table and ducked out the back.
Eliot frowned. “Wait a minute! What were you—?” Rushing to the door, Eliot threw it open, watching Saul cross the jogging track toward the lodge. “Come back here!”
Saul broke into a run.
“What was he—?” Eliot swung to Castor and Pollux. “Check under that table.”
Puzzled, Castor knelt. He groped and murmured, “Wires.”
“What?” Startled, Eliot crouched, peering under. Two wires, red and black, dangled from a hole in the table leading up to a rose bed.
“Jesus.”
“Not a bomb. Not here,” Pollux said.
“The way he killed Landish.” Eliot’s eyes gleamed. “What are you waiting for? Call security. Have him stopped if he tries to leave the grounds.” Eliot lurched to his feet and almost cheered. “Now I’ve got him. I can prove he wants to kill me.”
Castor rushed to the phone.
“He figures he’s a match for—wasn’t even fast enough to finish before I got here.” Eliot laughed. “I’ve beaten him.” Turning, he shouted to Castor on the phone. “Tell that manager to get out here!”
“Where would he get explosives?” Pollux asked.
“The same place you would! Look around! Fertilizer! Peat moss! He could go to the druggist and mix a cocktail! All he’d need was batteries and—!” Eliot shoved his hands in the rose bed. “Help me find it!”
Pollux watched, dismayed.
17
When Don arrived, he opened his mouth. No sound came out. The greenhouse had been built to Eliot’s specifications. State-of-the-art equipment. Rare varieties. All of it was ruined. Eliot had started with the bed beneath which wires dangled. Tracing the wires through soil and roses, he’d yanked and dug, tearing, throwing, lunging from one bed to the next till he was covered with dirt, and roses lay around him.
“Where? Dammit, I know it’s here! He planted a bomb! I’ve got to find it!”
Flinging earth, he staggered against a glass wall, almost crashing through it.
Castor and Pollux rushed to help.
“Where’d he put it?”
Pushing his sons away, Eliot heaved on the wires, lurching back as they pulled free. He stared at two bare-stripped ends. “Oh, Jesus, no. The bastard…! There wasn’t any…!” Sobbing, the old man sank to the floor.
18
I’ve had it, Don thought. A stunt like that. He’s made as much trouble as he’s going to.
It had taken an hour for him to deal with the disturbing aftermath of what had happened at the greenhouse—medical attendants examining Eliot before they escorted him back to the lodge; bomb specialists verifying the absence of explosives. But at last he’d been able to get away. Raging into the gym at the lodge, he faced the attendant. “Grisman’s supposed to be here.”
“He left a minute ago.”
Don slammed back through the door. Too furious to wait for the elevator, he pounded up the stairs. Grisman’ll want to change his clothes.
Sweating, telling himself he had to get back in shape, he reached the third floor, pivoting in time to see Grisman go in his room. “Hey, stop right there! I want to talk with you!”
But Grisman didn’t hear. Already in his room, he shut the door.
Don stormed down the hall. “You bastard.”
Two rooms away, the blast jerked him off his feet. Concussed, his ears rang as the door blew off Grisman’s room.
“No!” Stunned, Don crawled to the door. Guests jerked open other doors. He didn’t pay attention.
“Grisman!” Smelling sulphur, Don squirmed in.
The room was destroyed, the stereo, television, and computer shattered, the walls charred. Embers smoldered on the bed. The smoke alarm shrieked.
“Grisman!”
Coughing, he lurched to the bathroom.
There! On the floor! Thank God, he was breathing!
19
“You can’t be serious! You think I—!”
“Either you or them.” Don pointed at Castor and Pollux.
“He made the bomb himself!” Eliot said.
“And set it off? Ridiculous. It almost killed him.”
“Almost? You think this is fucking horseshoes! Isn’t it obvious? He took cover in the bathroom before he set it off!”
“But why would he—?”
“To blame it on me, for Christ’s sake! He pulled that stunt with the wires to make it seem I was angry enough to pay him back!”
“Or maybe you rigged the wires yourself. To blame it on him. To make it seem he was playing with bombs and one went off.”
“You dumb… You think if I rigged a bomb it wouldn’t have killed him?”
“I think the bylaws say if a guest keeps causing trouble I can give him a refund. I’m requesting a hearing. What I’d dearly like—I don’t know who’s at fault, so I’ll pick both of you—is for you and your son to settle your problems somewhere else.”
20
Saul lingered in the lobby, glancing toward the elevator and the stairs. His flashburns hurt, but he felt too excited to care. Pretending interest in a window display of jogging shoes, he studied the reflection of the entrance to the restaurant.
At seven, his patience rewarded, Eliot—flanked by Castor and Pollux—came down the stairs. They went in the restaurant. Waiting a minute, Saul followed.
The guests reacted at once, setting down forks, swallowing thickly, glancing from Saul to Eliot, then back again. Feeling the tension, several demanded checks. Others, coming in, took one quick look and retreated to the lobby. The room became nervously quiet.
Though Eliot faced the entrance, he studied the menu, spoke to Castor and Pollux, and deliberately avoided noticing Saul.
“I’d like that table over there,” Saul told the maître d’.
“May I suggest the one over here, sir—in the corner?”
“No, the one across from the old man suits me fine.”
He didn’t give the maître d’ a chance to argue. Walking across, he sat so he stared directly at Eliot six feet away.
Eliot tried to ignore him. Other guests got up and left. Surrounded by empty tables, Saul kept staring.
Eliot sipped water.
Saul did, too.
Eliot broke off a piece of garlic bread.
Saul did the same.
They chewed in unison.
Eliot wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Saul reciprocated, keeping his eyes on Eliot’s. It gave him pleasure to know he was using one of Chris’s tricks against their father. Chris had told him about the monastery. “Some of us were desperate to stay. A few, though, wanted to leave. They didn’t have the courage to say so. What they did was make a nuisance of themselves. The best way? To mock a companion at dinner. Sit across from him and mimic every action. There’s no defense. Your opponent gets trapped in your repetition. You follow him, but he follows you. He can’t break the pattern. It drives him crazy. Eventually he complains. The irony is the monastery’s director can’t tell if you’re making trouble or the other guy’s just imagining things.”
The Brotherhood of the Rose Page 34
