by Dan Sofer
“Those were the exit polls,” Shmuel explained, his lower lip trembling. “These are the real results.”
“What did we get?”
“Two seats so far,” Sivan said. She turned to stare at the others and a maniacal smile broke over her face. “We’re in!” she cried. They shouted. They jumped up and down and hugged like soccer teammates after a deciding goal.
“We’re in! We’re in!”
They were so busy celebrating the turn of events that they didn’t hear the door open again. Sivan saw him first and gasped. A man leaned against the doorpost. Dirt stains marred his T-shirt, a fresh bruise his cheekbone. He staggered inside and Irina launched forward to help him. “Alex!”
CHAPTER 76
Moshe gulped air, his chest heaving. Moments ago, the hard, cool barrel of a gun had pressed against the side of his head. Game over, he had thought, as a dagger of pain pierced his heart and slashed his left arm. At least the bullet would end his life quickly.
Then Avi had cried out. Years ago, in a cold army position in the Judean Hills, Avi had thrown Moshe to the ground, saving him from a terrorist’s automatic gunfire. Today, against all Moshe’s expectations, Avi had saved his life again.
But now Mandrake had turned the tables.
King Kong held Avi in a neck lock, lifting him in the air like a rag doll, while Vitaly walked over and put his gun to Avi’s head.
“No!” Moshe cried. “Don’t!”
Mandrake’s shoulders slumped like a frustrated teenager. “Moshe,” he chided. “This is your moment. We’re doing this for you. Your old friend here betrayed you and deceived you. He’s done everything in his power to destroy both you and all that you’ve worked so hard to create.”
Mandrake sighed. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘He just saved my life, so now I should return the favor.’ Awkward, isn’t it?” He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Personally, I think he did it for the girl—your wife. She’d never forgive him if he let you die. But let me tell you a secret.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but loud enough for all to hear. “I wasn’t really going to kill you. You’re far too valuable to me. You’re a natural leader. Avi here, on the other hand, well”—he turned to Avi—“no offense, Avi, but you’re an idiot. Nobody believes in you. Nobody is going to follow you into battle.”
Mandrake paced before them, as though lost in thought. “Tell you what, Moshe, let me do you this favor, and then I’ll let you and your wife go. Little Talya is waiting for you. I’m sure that young babysitter of yours must be very anxious by now. Just say the word. Vitaly will put Avi out of his misery and we can all go home. What do you say?”
Moshe looked at Avi. As much as Moshe detested him, he had no desire to watch his head explode. And Moshe didn’t believe Mandrake’s promises either. None of the captives would leave the warehouse alive. The psychopath was toying with them.
“Please, Moshe,” Avi pleaded, misinterpreting Moshe’s long silence. “I’m sorry.” He convulsed with tears. “I never meant to hurt you. I’ll give up politics. I’ll leave the country. I’ll do anything, just please don’t kill me!”
“Say the word,” Mandrake crooned, “and all your troubles will be over. You don’t have to pull the trigger. You don’t even have to say the words. Just nod your head. Nod your head and we’ll understand.”
Galit sobbed beside him. Whatever he answered, the result would be the same. So Moshe said nothing, and kept his head as still as humanly possible.
What did Mandrake really want? If Moshe could find that out, he could make a deal. But nothing the man did made any sense. How did you bargain with a psychopath?
“Moshe,” Avi pleaded. He was bawling now. “I never wanted to kill you. I just wanted to be like you. That’s all. Can’t you see?”
Moshe could remain silent no longer. “Don’t hurt him,” he said. His voice sounded weak and foreign to his own ears. His mouth had dried up. “Leave him alone.” Then he closed his eyes and braced for the worst. Who would they shoot first?
A chair leg scraped on the cement floor and Moshe opened his eyes. King Kong was tying Avi to the third steel-framed chair.
Mandrake padded toward Moshe. “I’m disappointed in you, Moshe. You could have ended it all.” He towered over him like a large bird of prey and smiled. “But between me and you, secretly I was hoping you’d do this.”
He danced back a few steps and spun around on one foot. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried like a circus ringmaster. “A warm round of applause for our brave volunteer, Moshe Karlin.” With a wild flourish of his arms, Mandrake indicated the overturned tabletop. “The show must go on!”
CHAPTER 77
Alex stumbled into the call center of the Dry Bones Society. Irina gripped his arm and the rabbi wheeled over an office chair, and they eased him onto the seat. A half-dozen worried faces huddled over him and stared at his face with pained expressions. They had fallen for his act.
The black eye was real. After the street show on King George Street, he had stopped by his apartment in downtown Jerusalem, munched a tuna sandwich, and slammed his bedroom door into his face. The injury added an element of realism that nipped any doubts in the bud.
“What happened?” Shmuel and Rafi said at once.
“Where is Moshe?” Sivan said.
“We were ambushed,” he said. “On King George Street. They took Moshe and Galit.”
Irina gasped. Sivan swore.
“Who did?” Shmuel again.
“Men with guns. They wore masks.” That much was true. “They shoved them into a van and sped off. One of them got away on a motorbike.”
Shmuel and Irina exchanged meaningful glances. Did they doubt his story? Or had they run into these goons before?
“This is Avi’s work,” Sivan said. “Gurion wouldn’t do anything as stupid as this.”
“No,” Shmuel said. “It’s Boris.” Sivan didn’t know the name, so Shmuel explained. “We were practically his slaves in his labor camp until Moshe bought our freedom. After that, the Society saved new arrivals from falling into his hands.”
“Organized crime?” Sivan put a hand to her forehead as though she had a fever. “You went up against organized crime? Perfect!” She turned to Alex. “What do they want—ransom money?”
Alex raised his hands in a gesture of helpless ignorance. Irina swept strands of hair out of his face and dabbed a damp tissue over his wounds. He had to deceive her; it was the only way to keep her safe.
“Thank God the press has gone,” Sivan said, “but they’ll be back soon.”
“They will?” Alex said. The show was to proceed on the quiet, without public attention.
Sivan waved at the screen. “We’re back in the game. Just when our numbers go up, this has to happen.”
Alex glanced at the bar chart on the television screen, which showed Restart ahead of Upward and the other parties. He had to tell Mandrake. Surely this would change his plan for Moshe and Galit.
Rafi said, “We should call the police.”
“Are you crazy?” Sivan said. “No one can know this. People are still voting out there. We have to get him”—she pointed at Alex—“out of sight. We’ll go public once the voting ends.”
“No!” The single word dazed them into silence. Rabbi Yosef had spoken for the first time. His forceful utterance seemed to have surprised him as much as them. “We can’t just wait here and do nothing. We have to help Moshe. He’d do the same for us.”
Irina and Shmuel nodded.
“What can we do?” Rafi said.
The rabbi blinked. “Try and find him? At least we’ll know where to point the police. Alex, what color was the van?”
“Brown. A brown GMC.”
Shmuel said, “So what are we going to do—drive around the city and hope we bump into them?”
“We don’t have to.” This time Rafi had spoken up. “Most cabbies still have CB radios. I’ll put the word out to look for a brown GMC.”
Sivan said, “And I’l
l speak with my friends at Ridez. They can broadcast messages inside the app. It’s worth a shot.”
“I’ll take my cab out now,” Rafi said. He mopped his dark, balding forehead. “Alex, which way were they heading?”
“Toward Talpiot,” he said. He knew exactly where they were heading. He moved to get up. “I’ll come with.” If they were going to play the hero, he had better keep tabs on them.
“But you’re hurt,” Irina said.
“I can drive. And two cars are better than one.”
“Three cars,” the rabbi said. “I’ll head out too.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Sivan said. “You’re number two, remember. We need you to hold the fort and speak with the press. This place is going to explode soon. It’s what Moshe would want.”
The rabbi relented.
“I’ll go with you,” Irina told Alex.
Alex considered refusing. She might see things she wasn’t supposed to, and he had to keep her out of harm’s way. But how could he persuade her without raising questions that he couldn’t answer?
“OK. Call if anything comes up,” he told the others. “Wish us luck.”
CHAPTER 78
Eli parked his Harley Davidson in the private garage beneath Jaffa Road and ran for the elevator. Wind and turbulence had decapitated most of the roses in the bouquet, and now he was running out of both flowers and options.
Noga had been at Sarit’s apartment and the Dry Bones Society, but Eli remained two steps behind. He had called some numbers from her phone, but neither Hannah nor her adoptive parents had heard from her, and now she had disappeared from the face of the planet.
A new anxiety gnawed at his heart. Something had happened to her—something sudden and terrible. His stubborn refusal to help her had pushed her into the ever-waiting jaws of tragedy, and he had lost her forever.
The Thin Voice had not told him this; the whisper of Divine providence remained as silent as ever. Instead, his fears fed off a vague and very human premonition. But the premonitions of Elijah the Prophet meant business.
As the elevator climbed toward his penthouse apartment, his heart clung to one final possibility: that while he had sped along the streets of Jerusalem in search of her, Noga had returned home. To her real home, with him. Whether she had come back to make peace or to claim her stuff didn’t matter; he didn’t mind if she hated him, as long as she was alive and well.
Never delay, Oren had warned. His late former roommate in the neurology ward of the Shaare Zedek Medical Center had shared far more wisdom than, apparently, Eli had accumulated in centuries. But Eli had not taken that advice to heart in time. Happiness had fluttered into his life and he, with the carelessness of a jaded immortal, had left the window wide open.
The floor numbers incremented on the digital panel inside the elevator. She would be waiting for him when the door opened, and she’d greet him with conciliatory smiles and hugs—or a well-deserved slap across the face—either way, preemptive tears of joy welled in his eyes.
But when he punched in the code and the door clicked open, he found the apartment dark and empty. The blinds slid on their tracks and spotlights faded in as the Jerusalem skyline basked in late afternoon light. He placed the surviving roses on the kitchen island. Her laptop lay closed on the coffee table. He made a quick search of the penthouse, checking the bedrooms and bathrooms—even his den, the walls naked and forlorn. Selling his mementos had been a rash move, and he would never see them again. Would he see Noga again?
He dashed back to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, his feet twitching as he waited, like an edgy racehorse at the starting gate. As the doors opened, he rushed to the front desk.
“Tomer,” he said, reading the watchman’s name on the identity card clipped to his shirt pocket. Eli had never bothered to find out his name, a factoid he added to the growing evidence against his former callous personality. “Has Noga come by—today or last night?”
Over the past few months he must have seen her come and go, although in his line of work it was wiser not to ask too many questions about a tenant’s casual visitors.
Tomer looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows, so Eli added some identifying details. “Long dark hair. Pretty. About twenty-eight—and don’t tell her I told you her age.”
Tomer smiled but shook his head. “Not today, but Evgeni might have seen her last night. I can call him, if you like, but he’s on his way here for the night shift.”
Evening already? The late summer sunlight was misleading.
Eli swallowed his disappointment and his fear. “Thanks.”
Had she snuck in undetected? Even watchmen took bathroom breaks.
He dialed Sarit on his phone. “Anything?”
“No,” she said. “I called her folks again. Her professor too. Now they’re worried as well.”
The dark cloud of foreboding returned. Noga was in danger. More than ever, she needed him. But where could she have gone? “Are you sure she didn’t mention any other places or people?”
“Nothing. She borrowed my disc on key, though.”
“Your disc on key?”
“You know, a USB thumb drive. She didn’t say why.”
A theory kindled in his mind, a final desperate spark. You stubborn girl. “I’m heading out again,” he said. “I think I know where she’s gone.”
CHAPTER 79
As the henchmen fastened leather straps over his wrists and ankles, Moshe realized his mistake. The round, upended table was no table at all, but an oversized archery target.
King Kong and Vitaly stepped back and admired their work. They had strapped Moshe, his limbs extended like the Vitruvian Man, to the target, the tender flesh of his belly over the bull’s-eye.
A lever thumped and a spotlight in the rafters beamed a brilliant circle of white over the target, making Moshe blink and avert his eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mandrake cried in his stage voice, “another round of applause for our brave volunteer!”
Galit and Avi stared at Moshe in horrified silence, unable to comply, gagged and bound as they were to their chairs. Moshe’s suit jacket hung limply on the empty third chair.
Mandrake turned to the two seated figures and palmed his forehead. “Silly me! Your hands are tied. But cheer him on. He’ll need your moral support before the show is over. Go on!”
Galit and Avi made muffled noises through the duct tape.
“That’s better.” He clapped his hands twice. “To work, boys. We can’t keep our audience waiting.”
King Kong inflated red balloons with large gulps of air and handed them to Vitaly, who tore lengths of adhesive tape with his teeth and stuck the balloons to the target. He positioned the first balloon below Moshe’s left armpit, beside his palpitating heart, and the second balloon beside his left ear. Moshe had seen enough magic acts to know what would come next. They were just trying to scare him. They wouldn’t really throw knives at him, would they?
“I apologize for my vulgar assistants,” Mandrake said, like an old friend striking up conversation. “But the pretty young women were unavailable on such short notice.”
The two assistants completed their preparations. King Kong scuttled aside, veins bulging on his forehead from the effort of inflating the balloons. Amplified sound rung in Moshe’s ears from the plastic orbs on either side his head, and he felt the pressure of those under each armpit. Vitaly placed the final red balloon between Moshe’s legs and uncomfortably close to his crotch.
“Hold it tight,” Vitaly said. Moshe pressed his knees together, gripping the balloon between his thighs as tightly as his bound ankles would allow.
Satisfied, Vitaly hurried away and set a leather case on a low stool before his boss, then returned to the shadows.
“I don’t like guns,” Mandrake said. “So cold and impersonal. If you’re going to kill a man, you ought to get to know him up close and personal, don’t you agree?”
Kill—did he say kill?
Mandrake held the blade horizontal, placed a single finger under the edge of the hilt, and balanced the knife in the air. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘I hope this guy can throw straight!’” He laughed at his own joke. “Rest assured, Moshe Karlin. I practice often, and I hardly ever miss.” His eyes twinkled, and he laughed again, enjoying himself.
Moshe’s legs began to shake against his will. The balloon slipped from between his thighs and bounced on the stained cement floor.
“Aw, did I upset you? Vitaly, please help our friend. This time, Moshe, hold tight.” Vitaly emerged from the shadows and lifted the balloon into position again. Moshe clamped his legs together, the awkward position demanding a lot of effort, but when he glanced at the knife held so casually in Mandrake’s hand, the tremors returned to his legs.
“Not so brave, after all, are we? Vitaly…”
Vitaly returned to the circle of light and taped the balloon in place.
“Don’t be ashamed, Moshe. I understand how you feel. You’re afraid the knife might cut you… over there. Of course! How thoughtless of me. Vitaly, see what you can do.”
Vitaly disappeared behind the target and emerged holding a silver cooking pot, which he positioned over Moshe’s nether region.
“Very good. But Vitaly, this is Moshe Karlin we’re dealing with. Can’t you find something a bit more… suitable?”
Vitaly made a show of scratching his head, then slipped behind the target again. This time he returned with a silver tea strainer and tested it on Moshe for size. The tiny strainer barely covered the button of his trousers.
