Sokolov rushed at him then, fueled by some new-found fount of demonic energy. The old man, supposedly broken in the Gulag, now charged up the last six steps like a savage, stood before Targov, thrust both his hands at his chest and gave him an enormous shove.
Targov stumbled back, nearly lost his balance.
"Sergei! Be careful!"
But Sokolov charged again. This time he threw his entire weight against him, driving Targov so hard against the railing that he reeled and nearly fell.
It was madness, David thought, the way the two of them were wrestling up there while he and Anna rushed to the center of the courtyard and reed-thin Rokovsky yelled: "Look out! Look out!"
Two old men, locked in combat perilously above them, one husky with a wild white mane of hair, the other bald and cadaverous. Their movements were jagged as they grasped hold of each other's shirts. Spittle shot from their mouths as they screamed obscenities and fought. They swayed together wildly, first toward the railing, then away from it, then toward it once again. Two old men out of control, like robots whose mechanisms had gone berserk. Their wild struggle was etched out against the crenellated tower and the hot Jerusalem midday sky.
Each was battling, brawling, scrambling to kill the other while struggling to maintain his balance and stay alive. Madness! Madness! David thought, as he saw the railing start to give. He stared up at them, helpless, and then turned to Anna, standing beside him, who had just let out a scream.
"Sasha…"
They were falling now, twirling together through space, and even as they did they continued to fight like animals. Targov knew that in a second they would both hit the courtyard and die. He saw Rokovsky, the detective, and Anna looking horrified. His last thought, before he hit the stones, was: I will die here in Jerusalem.
THE NINTH OF AV
When the story broke in the press the references were discreetly veiled:
Sources within the Ministry of Justice allege…
Sources have revealed that persons as yet unnamed…
Knowledgeable sources suggest that murders were committed to cover up a conspiracy that reached into the highest levels of the government…
But then, when the Ministry of Justice spokesman refused to comment, shrewd editors, smelling something big, sent out their best reporters to dig around.
On the following morning the dispatches were sharply focused. Over breakfast David translated a story for Anna entitled "The Ninth of Av Conspiracy." He had given a long background only interview to its author and was now pleased to find himself described as "a confidential source within the Jerusalem police":
Wild rumors are circulating at the Etzion Airbase that a Lieutenant Ya'akov Ben-Eleizer, a pilot, has been placed under arrest. Lt. Ben-Eleizer, it is rumored, had been paid to bomb Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock at noon on the recent holiday, the Ninth of Av.
There are rumors too that soon after the arrest a large number of army bulldozers were sent into the Negev to destroy a surreptitiously constructed bombing target there. Unnamed IDF sources confirm that the money used to construct this target was diverted from funds appropriated for the cultural improvement of military personnel.
These same sources state that the designs for the target were prepared under the auspices of an obscure American charitable arts foundation with offices in Jerusalem. Attempts to obtain confirmation have met with official rebuffs.
But a confidential source within the Jerusalem police, who spoke only on condition that he would not be named, has confirmed that the bombing plot is connected to a string of unsolved killings, including the double murders of Aaron Horev and Ruth Isaacson, which rocked the capital this past spring.
This same police source, who is very close to the investigation, points to a power struggle now taking place between the Police Minister and the Director of the General Security Services. According to this source this struggle revolves around the roles played in these killings by certain unnamed Security Services personnel.
Arrests, this source says, are imminent. Meantime, there are rumors that a well-known religious figure and politician may also be involved. Rabbi Mordecai Katzer has publically called many times for the destruction of the Dome of the Rock. And a retired Air Force general, whose name is a household word, is reported to have left the country hurriedly…
When the phone rang, David and Anna were still sipping coffee discussing the article. It was Latsky's Moroccan secretary, The Claw.
"The superintendent's shitting green," said The Claw. "He wants to know what the hell you think you're doing."
"Right now, dear, I'm reading the papers. Sorry he's having trouble with his bowels."
"Cut the crap, David," she said. "People around here think you're the leak."
"So what can I do about it? People can think what they like."
"People can also wonder why you're looking for a lot of trouble."
"I'm looking to close out my case. If Latsky would listen I'd explain to him why he ought to divide it in two. Let the national headquarters big shots investigate the bombing conspiracy. Just let me wrap up the homicides."
"Hmmm. Interesting idea."
"Why don't you see that it gets around."
"I just might do that," said The Claw. "Of course, this isn't official."
"Of course not," David said. He grinned at Anna. "So tell me: How long, really, are your nails?"
"The Dome's one thing," he explained to Anna, "a political-religious conspiracy. That's solved for now, though I haven't the slightest doubt that sooner or later fanatics will try to blow it up again. The killings, however, are something else."
"You feel that way because of Gideon."
"Sure, I admit the case got personal with me, but there's another reason too. Latsky says: 'Don't rock the boat. You saved the Dome. Isn't that enough?' Not nearly enough! To leave it at that is to tell the Security Services: 'You can get away with murder.' So what message does that send to people who work in all the other special bureaus? 'You're immune from Justice. You can do anything in the name of National Security. You can kill and go unpunished.' That's intolerable. When people start believing that, then Israel is finished."
Later he said to her: "Sure, maybe someday they'll bomb the Dome, but if they do I think they'll be surprised. They'll have their riot all right, they'll have their war, but their Messiah won't appear."
Even as he said that he was startled by his tone: He knew he'd sounded just like his father.
Just after lunch, Rafi called him in.
"Okay, you've got the go-ahead. Cohen and his four goons will meet you in front of the compound tomorrow at seven A.M. Colonel Levin's ordered them to submit to arrest. You can hold and interrogate them for a week. Only condition: So long as they're in custody here they're to be kept separate from everybody else."
"Private cells? Must be afraid we'll bunk them with informers. What about the girl?"
"She was just a secretary."
"They've cooked something up, haven't they, Rafi?"
Rafi tapped out his pipe. "If I were them I sure as hell would," he said.
Two hours into the preliminary questioning David understood their strategy: Deny any connection to the homicides; produce unimpeachable alibis from impeccable Israeli citizens; stick to a claim that they constituted a special unit assigned to infiltrate right-wing Jewish terrorist groups.
Ephraim Cohen had brought along a file of his orders, each one properly dated and signed. He tried not to smirk as David read them, but couldn't disguise his confidence that very soon he'd have to be released.
At eight that evening, David called his people together. "We're going to have to scam these guys."
"They're tough motherfuckers," Uri said.
"Right, so first we've got to wear them down. They think we're finished with them for the night, so in half an hour we'll start in on them again. Hard tough questioning. Make them go over everything ten, fifteen times. Start chipping at those phony alibis. 'What color shirt we
re you wearing?' 'What color shoes?' 'What did you eat for dinner that night?' Make them think their stories maybe aren't meshing all that well. Every so often ask if they're sure they don't want a lawyer. Confer in whispers. Smile knowingly. I don't care how tough they are. Cohen chose them because they're goons. If we play them right, we can make that choice backfire in his face."
Because his prisoners had put together a phony story, he reasoned that sooner or later it would have to fall apart. He didn't spend much time with them; he'd drop in every so often, but mostly he listened and watched from the observation rooms. He was looking for stress points, the little things that made them hesitate. Their reactions to each other too, the particular way their eyes would move at the mention of their colleagues' names.
When he did enter one of the tiny basement interrogation rooms he went out of his way to sound reasonable: "Need anything? A sandwich? A glass of water? A lawyer? You're not being mistreated, are you? No one here's going to be abused or hurt."
He stayed completely clear of Ephraim Cohen. He knew Ephraim would wonder about that, prepare himself to be on guard when and if he did appear. Maybe he'd wonder if David had been taken off the case, or if he'd disqualified himself because of Gideon.
At the end of the second day, he had them sorted out. Two sets, he decided, the first smarter and more efficient than the second. The two European-types who'd been in the office, Gabi and Yoni, were the senior men. The two North Africans who'd stood before the gate, Ari and Shlomo, were the thugs. The senior guys had done the planning; the thugs had done the bad stuff. They'd picked up the victims, dumped the bodies, fired on him from the van, killed and dumped Peretz.
By the third morning David's people had narrowed the weak spot down to two: Ari, the Tunisian who'd set him up at the zoo, and Yoni, the short muscular one who'd pulled the gun in the Lover of Zion Street office and had stored the van out in Ein Kerem.
Uri and Micha liked Ari, because, they said, he seemed the angriest of the lot. Dov and Shoshana preferred Yoni, because, they felt, he had the most to lose.
"Why should Yoni do heavy prison time for Cohen?" Dov asked. "He followed orders, and he never actually killed anyone."
"Yeah, but Ari's bitter," Micha said. "He knows he's got no future here. And just because he was a triggerman doesn't mean he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison, especially when he thinks of Ephraim Cohen strutting around free in his hand-tailored British suits."
They turned to David for a decision. He said he liked Yoni best.
"They don't know we found the van. Yoni stored it out there, so on that he's vulnerable. If we play him right, he'll think he was betrayed. If he asks for a lawyer, we'll know he's ready to deal."
"Shouldn't I go out there and unwire that ignition?" Micha asked.
"No, we're going to be using that. Leave it just the way it is."
They drove out to Ein Kerem after lunch in a three-car caravan, Yoni with Micha and Uri in the lead, Dov and Shoshana with the videotape equipment just behind. David, with Ephraim Cohen and two pairs of high-powered binoculars, trailed the two lead cars by several hundred meters.
"Where are we going?"
David glanced at Ephraim. "Out for a drive," he said. Ephraim smiled. He looked, David thought, particularly handsome today, an idealized Israeli male with fair hair, clear eyes, and tanned and sculpted cheeks.
"I know you're pissed at me," Ephraim said. "And not just because of Peretz. On account of Gideon." Then, before David could respond: "I wish you could believe this-I considered him my closest friend."
"Almost like a brother?" And then, when Ephraim nodded: "Little bit like a lover too?"
Ephraim turned away. When he answered his voice was subdued. "Yes, that too for a while."
"So tell me something, Ephraim-since you cared for him so much, why did you betray him the way you did?"
"Oh, David, really-I didn't."
"He thought you did. Doesn't that maybe make you feel just a little bad?"
"He was unstable. You know that."
"You exploited his instability."
"It wasn't like that. I didn't deliberately-"
"Oh, I get it," David said. "Your blackmail was unintentional." He showed Ephraim his most sarcastic grin. "Yeah. I understand."
They drove on in silence after that. Then Ephraim turned to him again. "Because of you, David, the Dome plot came apart. In some circles you're a hero now."
"So?"
"Why not rest on your laurels?"
"Still a few little things that bother me." David looked at him. "Such as seven homicides."
"You're not going to get anywhere with that. Quit now and save yourself the trouble."
"Just give up, is that what you're saying? Withdraw honorably from the field?" When Ephraim nodded, David said: "I'm a cop. We don't fold our tents."
After that they didn't speak until they reached Ein Kerem. Ephraim glanced at him, confused when the other two cars turned off toward the farmhouse and David continued to drive straight on. Then, when David parked at the foot of the drive that led up to the Franciscan church, Ephraim shook his head.
"What are we doing here? Is this some kind of outing?"
"Sort of. Let's take a walk." David motioned toward the top of the hill. "Help yourself to a pair of binoculars, Ephraim. You'll want to take full advantage of the view."
He got out of the car. Ephraim scowled but took the binoculars, then the two of them started walking up the drive. It was a fine day for a walk in the country, David thought, the air fresh and clear, butterflies fluttering and bees humming and songbirds flitting from tree to tree.
David paused outside the gates of St. John's. Here, from a stone wall, there was a direct sightline to the ruined farmhouse below. David set his field radio on the wall, leaned against it, and began to sight in his binoculars. Ephraim stood beside him and did the same.
"I see them," Ephraim said. "They're down there in a field of rubble."
"Your man, Yoni-he's looking kind of nervous."
"He's going to show you the van. What's that going to prove?"
David continued to observe the scene. He spoke casually. "You've got it wrong, Ephraim. Yoni hasn't said a word. Not yet. But I think he will. Just keep a watch on his face. It'll be interesting to see his expression turn when he realizes he's been betrayed."
Uri and Dov had gone around behind the stone barn. Now they were returning with the broken panel door.
"See that door? Yoni's wondering how we found it. He stashed the van, and, since he didn't tell us about that, he knew, when we drove him out here, that one of his pals had blabbed. But that door's something else, an added complication, because it was damaged in the original accident. That was long before there were any pickups or killings of whores and hustlers and soldier girls. In a way you could say that door is what those killings were about. So now Yoni's maybe wondering if the person who blabbed was you."
Ephraim laughed. "Very clever, David, but, believe me, it's not going to work. Not with Yoni anyway. His balls are made of brass."
"We'll see. Personally I think he'll spill. Don't forget: He knows how far you'll go to cover something up."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That under the right kind of pressure he'll wonder if you'd kill him too. To save yourself. It's only logical. After all, if you'd order the killing of a soldier girl to fancy up a phony murder series, why would you hesitate to kill the very guy to whom you gave that order, a guy who could really roast you if it came down to a forced choice between him and you."
"Bullshit, David. You'll never force that kind of choice."
"Let's just see what happens, shall we?"
As he peered down again through his binoculars, he sensed that Ephraim was becoming unstrung. David's posture throughout had been directed at convincing him that, on account of his bitterness over Gideon, he was prepared to go a lot further than a cop might ordinarily go.
The view through the binoculars was e
xtraordinarily clear; the light fell just right upon the group below. David could see the strained expression on Yoni's face as Dov gestured toward the barn. The doors were open now. He could see the gleaming front end of the van, and the ruined panel door lying on the ground. Yoni seemed to hesitate. But then he shrugged and began to move.
He walked straight into the barn. After David lost sight of him he imagined him squeezing himself inside the van, then rolling down the window to air the vehicle out. Dov would call to him: "Drive it out," and Yoni would fumble around searching for the key. He'd remember finally where he'd hidden it, on top of the visor on the passenger side. He'd reach for it, bring it down, then insert it into the ignition switch. And then he'd hesitate again.
"What are you waiting for? Get that crate out of there," Dov would shout.
Yoni would sense that something was wrong, but he wouldn't know exactly what. Ephraim had told him to wipe everything clean and now he was leaving prints on the steering wheel and the key. But what difference would prints make if someone had actually squawked? So, okay, he'd drive the damn van out and pray there weren't any old prints or bloodstains in the back.
David imagined him reaching down, turning the key, pumping on the gas. And then how the whole front end of the van would seem to explode right in his face.
Smoke poured out of the barn.
Ephraim turned to him. "What the hell!"
But David didn't turn, just planted his elbows on the wall to steady his binoculars, and continued to observe.
They all ran forward at once to pull Yoni from the driver's seat. They brought him out, badly shaken, then laid him carefully on the ground. Shoshana, playing Good Nurse, knelt beside him and began to mop his brow.
"What happened?" Ephraim demanded.
"Someone wired up your van."
"You!"
David shrugged. "Question now is, what does Yoni think. My guess is he thinks it was you."
"Your people wouldn't be trying now to put that crazy notion in his head?"
"I have to admit that in this particular case, Ephraim, my people most definitely are."
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