by Sanctuary
Decker reached into his jacket pocket, then handed a stack of papers to the cop—his passport, his badge, and official papers for the Yalom boys. The cop started to riffle through them, staring at the typed words. He probably spoke some English, but Decker was willing to bet he didn’t read it too well. Rina had finally caught up with him, hugged him fiercely.
“Thank God!”
Decker embraced her back. Five minutes had passed and still nothing had happened. He felt like a fool.
The cop took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Who is this woman?”
“My wife.”
“You always take your wife on your cases…” The cop squinted and studied Decker’s passport. “Sergeant Peter Decker, is it?”
He pronounced the word ser-kee-ant.
“I don’t speak Hebrew,” Decker explained. “My wife does.”
The cop pocketed Decker’s identification. The action gave Decker a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “We talk later. I make my calls. You wait here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You have my passport.”
“B’emet, adoni. You not go anywhere.”
The cop turned his back, just in time to miss the initial blast from the second floor of the yeshiva. It was followed by an even stronger explosion. Glass rained down, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and fire and panicked screams. Decker pushed Rina’s head deep in his chest and shielded his own eyes from the glass. When he looked up, he saw flames licking the sashes of the blown-out windows. Rina was shaking in his arms, sobbing against his chest. Decker looked at the hundreds of black-garbed boys. The children were hugging each other and crying. The rabbis were embracing the Torahs and weeping as well. Moti Bernstein had frozen in panic, tears running down his cheeks. Decker blinked. His own eyes felt as dry as dust.
The cop stared at Decker open-mouthed, his dangling cigarette falling from his lips and onto the ground. In a soft but firm voice, he said, “Who are you?”
Decker’s eyes were on Gil Yalom. “See that boy over there sitting under the olive tree?”
The cop nodded.
“I came here to look for him. His name is Gil Yalom.” Decker pointed to the scorched building. “I’m looking for his brother, Dov, as well. Rina, can you give this guy a quick rundown for me.”
Rina spoke rapidly. The cop answered her back in equally rapid Hebrew. They spoke for a few minutes. Then the cop crooked a finger in Gil’s direction. Slowly, the boy got up, his face a mask of terror.
The cop said, “We need to talk—all of us.”
Decker said, “I’m ready.”
33
In the brief car ride over to the police station at French Hill, Rina, placed in the front seat, had learned that the cop was a mefakeah—an inspector. His name was Ezra Elhiani; he was thirty-four and a former colonel in the Israeli army. His division had been tanks. Elhiani wore dark slacks and an open-necked white shirt. He smoked like a chimney, sucking his cigarettes down to the butt. The smell was so thick, it was nauseating. Unfortunately for Decker, it was also inviting.
Four years and, like a zombie, the cursed craving refused to die.
Knees to his chest, Decker was pressed into the backseat, next to Gil Yalom. He tried to make some headway, the first question being, where was his brother, Dov? But no matter how much he stressed urgency, Gil sat motionless and mute. Decker knew Gil’s behavior was a product of shock so he eased up. But his mind kept going, bursting with images.
A director couldn’t have staged the scene with more drama. The screaming fire trucks, the wailing ambulances, the racing squads of police cars, frightened boys hugging themselves, hysterical neighbors hugging each other, rabbis praying in the street, and lots of standers-by offering opinions without foundation. Then the newspeople came. Lucky for Decker he didn’t speak Hebrew. He was relieved when Elhiani motioned Rina, Gil Yalom, and him over to the police car.
It was a tiny thing—a white compact with a blue flashing light—an igloo on wheels. He could barely squeeze inside. He opted for the backseat to get to Gil. But it was Rina who got information, such as it was.
At police headquarters, Gil was taken away immediately. Decker and Rina were seated in a tiny windowless cell barely big enough to accommodate the few folding chairs it had. There was a one-way mirror on the wall.
Elhiani came in, lit up, and blew out a plume of smoke that hung in the static air.
Decker said, “We’ve got to get Gil Yalom to open up. Find out where his brother is staying. If someone tried to blow him up, someone’s going to do the same for Dov.”
Elhiani puffed his cigarette and licked his lips. “The boy is not talking to anyone right now.”
Decker reminded himself to speak slowly. “People are going to die unless we find out where his brother is hiding.”
“Your anger will not serve anything, adoni.”
Decker took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, I’m anxious. We evacuated just minutes before the building blew up.”
“Nothing blew up,” Elhiani answered evenly. “Yes, windows popped, and some sepharim burned. A pity, but the fire people put the flames out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “The building still stands and hardly a stone is cracked. Good construction.”
Decker glared at Elhiani.
“Not that you didn’t do a tovah and a mitzvah,” Elhiani said. “Maybe we give you key to the city and take your picture for newspaper.”
Decker forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I’m not interested in accolades, but I do want to find Dov Yalom. I need to talk to Gil.”
“The boy is with doctors. He is in shock and is given sleepy medicines. Your talk with him will have to wait.”
Decker was about to explode, then held back, remembering the ride over. The boy had been stunned with fright. What was the use of pounding him with questions he couldn’t process?
“I go through all your official papers,” Elhiani said. “Everything is in order. Why don’t you contact police when you first got here?”
Decker said, “I just arrived here yesterday.”
Elhiani raised his brow. “Do you always make such excitement in twenty-four hours?”
“It’s a long story.”
Elhiani sucked in smoky poison and took out a pad and a pen. “Tell me your long story, Sar-kee-ant.”
Decker did just that. Every so often Elhiani would interrupt and ask Rina to translate. After Decker had finished, the room was silent, bathed in suds of nicotine.
Elhiani leaned back in the folding chair. “Why do you think this bomb is for Yalom and not terrorist act?”
Decker ran his hand over his face. “That’s just it. It was supposed to look like a terrorist act. The only reason we know it wasn’t random is because we know the history.”
“I’m still not so sure,” Elhiani said. “Describe to me this mad bomber.”
Rina broke in. “He came into the yeshiva wearing a long beard and an overcoat. He acted like a meshulach. He even gave me a card with the name of the yeshiva he was collecting for.”
“You have the card?”
“In my purse.”
“And where is your purse?”
“You took it,” Rina said.
“Ah,” Elhiani said. “Please. Continue.”
Rina said, “I had no reason to suspect he was anything else but a shnorrer.”
“But you changed your mind?”
Rina squirmed in her seat as she thought about a soldier’s words.
They may know the motions, they don’t have the emotions.
“It was the way he kissed the mezuzah.”
Decker looked at her. “What?”
“When he walked out of the bais midrash, he didn’t kiss the mezuzah right.”
“You told me to tackle a complete and utter stranger based on the way he kissed the mezuzah?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Please, please.” Elhiani waved his hand. “Go on, g’veret.”
“Pet
er, rabbis usually touch the mezuzah with the fringes of their tzitzit, then kiss the fringes. Even if they use their fingers, they touch the mezuzah with their fingertips only. This guy covered the mezuzah with his entire hand and kissed his palm. Someone had schooled him, but not quite correctly. And even though he was wearing tzitzit, he didn’t use them. Because he didn’t know what they were for.”
She threw up her hands.
“What can I say? It’s an intangible thing. And I was right.”
Decker thankfully admitted she was.
Elhiani spoke to her in Hebrew. Rina laughed.
Decker asked, “What’d he say?”
Rina said, “The moral of the story is listen to your wife.”
“I have a problem,” Elhiani announced.
They waited.
Elhiani said, “If this is not act of terrorism, if the bombing is to kill Gil Yalom, it is a stupid way to do that. What if Gil was not in bais midrash? Then the explosion does nothing to him. And as fact, he wasn’t in the bais midrash.”
Decker said, “At any given time during the day, the bais midrash holds the majority of the boys. The man was playing the odds.”
“I don’t understand playing odds?”
Rita translated.
“Ah,” Elhiani said. “They want him dead but only ninety percent.”
Decker smiled. “Mefakeah, someone brutally murdered this boy’s parents. The boys fled in fear. I think someone was out to murder Gil. But he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was out to get Gil. So he made it look like a random terrorist act. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, your English is okay.” Elhiani puffed away. “And you think your mad bomber will be out to get the other brother?”
“Him or someone else. But yes, I think Dov Yalom, wherever he is, is in danger.”
“It still doesn’t make me sense,” Elhiani said. “To use a bomb. Bomb isn’t missile. Bomb doesn’t aim and hit target. Bomb just explodes. If you are there, you die. If not, you don’t die. Why use something so unperfect? Why not choose to stab him on the street like terrorist usually do?”
Decker said, “Gil was in hiding. Which means the hit man—”
“Hit man?”
“A hit man is an assassin.” Decker paused, then said, “Think about it, Mefakeah Elhiani. In order to get Gil, the assassin would have to go inside the yeshiva to find Gil. Then he’d have to get Gil alone. Then he’d have to get close to Gil to stab him or shoot him. He’d have to make sure that the gun didn’t make too much noise. Or that Gil didn’t scream. Because noise would attract attention. Then he’d have to escape. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sneak inside dressed like a rabbi and drop off a small package inside a crowded bais midrash, hoping that one of those boys is Gil Yalom.”
Elhiani lit up another smoke and puffed away as he thought. “It make some sense.”
Decker rubbed his eyes. “So if they tried this method for Gil, why not for Dov.”
“But fortunately, it didn’t work.”
“We were lucky.”
“Whatever the reason, it didn’t work.”
Decker said, “Maybe they don’t know that. The bomber escaped. I’m sure he didn’t go back to his boss and tell him he messed up. So look what the boss sees. A building with blown-out windows, pandemonium in the streets—”
“What means pandemon—”
Rina translated.
Decker said, “To the bomber’s boss, it looks like success.”
“And who is the bomber’s boss?”
Decker remained cagey. “I’m not sure, Mefakeah. I have my suspects but that’s all.”
“Which is suspects?”
Decker and Rina traded looks. Then Decker said, “There’s a woman in Israel named Kate Milligan. She is a well-known lawyer who has worked for the VerHauten Diamond Company for many years. She’s big, she’s important, and this afternoon my wife tailed her into Hebron. But not before she overheard her talking to two men.”
“Two Arabs. One named Ibri, the other named Gamal.” Rina said, “Milligan told them that if their idea of heroism was blowing up a school bus, they were working for the wrong person.”
Elhiani’s eyes got wide. “Where do I find this lady?”
“She had a meeting at the American Colonial Inn about two hours ago,” Rina said. “Maybe she’s staying there. I also have license plate numbers for you in my purse. Maybe that will tell you something.”
“That’s why I need Gil Yalom. I was hoping Gil could tell me something.”
Elhiani bit his lip. “But he has been put out. Maybe tomorrow he can talk to both of us.” He picked up the phone and spoke rapid Hebrew. Decker looked to Rina for translation.
“He’s having an underling call up the American Colonial Inn.”
“That is right, g’veret. Your Hebrew is good.” Elhiani sat back in his chair. “I still think this bomb is strange. You don’t use bomb to kill pacific people.”
“Pacific people?” Decker asked.
Elhiani spoke to Rina. She said, “He meant specific people.”
Decker continued his argument. But even as he spoke, he recognized the validity of Elhiani’s point. Want someone dead, take him out directly. Bombing would have been a clumsy way to kill. The phone buzzed. Elhiani picked it up, then slammed it down.
“Milligan’s not there.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Decker said.
“I don’t know if she was staying there, Peter,” Rina said. “Only that she had a meeting there. For all I know, she’s staying with her pal Donald in Hebron.”
“Yeah, I forgot about him.”
“What?” Elhiani said. “Who is Donald?”
Rina said, “The man for whom Ibri and Gamal were working. I think he lives in Hebron.”
A hard pounding at the door echoed through the small chamber. Elhiani frowned, then got up from his seat. He opened the door, revealing an ashen-faced policewoman who spoke using her white-knuckled hands for emphasis. Elhiani punched his fist in his hands. Rina covered her face and muttered an Oh God.
“What?” Decker said. “Another building exploded?”
“Not a building.” Rina had tears in her eyes. “An explosion at Kikar Zion—an open square in the heart of Jerusalem’s shopping district. Someone put a bomb in a garbage can. Two dead, fifteen wounded.”
Elhiani turned to them. “You two can leave your number with me. Now I have other business.”
Assessing his mood, Decker decided he was tired, famished, and pissed-off in that order. It had taken them two hours to retrieve Rina’s purse, another hour to get back to their car. By then night had fallen over the silent city. Two bombings within an hour of one another made people retreat to the safety of their homes. The city was eerie with calm. The curbs once filled with parked cars were empty. Only the Subaru remained alone, sitting like a punished child behind the police ropes.
Decker unlocked the door, and he and Rina dragged themselves inside the car. He rubbed his eyes and smelled his smoke-drenched clothes.
“I sure wouldn’t want to be a bronchiole in Elhiani’s lungs.”
Rina gave him a tired laugh.
“Are you hungry?”
“You can eat?”
Decker nodded. “’Fraid so.”
“Sure, let’s get something to eat.” Rina paused. “First let’s go back to Tel Aviv. Who knows when the next bomb might go off?”
Decker started the car engine. “So you buy Elhiani’s terrorist bomber.”
Rina sighed. “Well, someone’s bombing the city. Maybe it was random, Peter.”
Decker said, “Gil Yalom just happened to be in the yeshiva that blew up?”
“Who knows?” Rina said. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that, coincidence or not, you saved lives.” She felt her eyes watering. “I’m very proud of you.”
Decker turned off the motor and leaned over the console to hug his wife. “Thank you. And you should be proud of yourself
while you’re at it. You spotted the guy.”
“Baruch Hashem,” Rina sobbed out.
“Baruch Hashem,” Decker repeated.
Rina dried her tears with a tissue from her purse. “So if this was a random terrorist act, maybe Dov Yalom isn’t in danger like you thought.”
“I think he’s still in danger.”
“All I’m saying is, maybe we still have time to find him.”
“Well, hope springs eternal confusion or something like that.” Decker started the car and pulled away from the curb. “You’ll have to navigate me back.”
Rina gave him a series of directions.
Decker said, “How about we go back to the hotel and order room service at outrageous prices? Maybe if they find out we’re heroes they’ll give us a discount.”
“Don’t count on it.” Rina looked at her lap. “A man from the Jerusalem Examiner left his card with me. It’s an English-language newspaper. He wants to interview you—”
“Publicize my case and let my enemy know what I’m doing? Not a chance.”
Decker turned onto the main thoroughfare to Tel Aviv. The night was black, the road surface barely visible. As the car descended down the mountains, he rode the brake and cursed the poor lighting.
“So what’s next?” Rina asked. “Besides food and a hot bath.”
“We’ll have to wait for Gil Yalom to come out of his shock…whenever that’ll be.” Decker pulled to the side, allowing a speeding Fiat to pass him by. Within moments, the car was a red streak in the darkness. Slowly, he accelerated back onto the roadway.
“That driver was obnoxious and you didn’t even comment,” Rina said. “You must be exhausted.”
“You’re right about that.”
They rode for a few minutes in silence. Then Rina said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“My mind is a bundle of very confused neurons at the moment. Things aren’t adding up, Rina. Elhiani kept talking about the stupidity of using a bomb to kill a specific person.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you argued your case very well, Peter.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your loyalty. But this isn’t about egos. It’s about logic. If I were in his shoes, I would have made the same points he made. Bombing is an inexact way to murder.”
