Jerry took out a long stick with a ball of cotton attached at the end. “One more little request. We’d like to take a little swab of saliva. Open your mouth, please.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we’ll have to cram it up your nose, but we might push it too far. If it goes into your brain, it could kill you … accidentally, of course.”
His words sent a chill across the table. He knew they were serious.
He opened his mouth without saying anything and let them take the swab.
Jerry placed the cotton end of the swab into a small electronic machine and sent the results to Wellington.
“Would you like to put on some latex gloves and give me a prostate exam, too? Or maybe, a colonoscopy?” He said it in a sarcastic manner. He was no longer amused by the welcoming committee.
“Not this time. But if we catch you following Professor Paige again, we’ll reconsider.”
“Message received, loud and clear.” His voice cracked slightly as he said the words. Simcha got the impression that Tom might actually enjoy giving such an examination. He could see in his eyes that he was capable of inflicting torture, or even death, without thinking twice about it. Some of his co-workers at Mossad were made of the same material.
“We don’t like it when people follow our people around. Not that he’s one of our people, you understand.”
“Of course, I would never think of following him around, even though he’s not one of your people.”
Jerry got a text message from Wellington. HE’S MOSSAD. LET HIM GO. TELL HIM TO GIVE OUR REGARDS TO SERGEI.
He showed it to Tom, who nodded, then turned to Simcha.
“OK, you can go. Give our regards to Sergei.”
“Yes, I will do that. Have a pleasant afternoon, gentlemen.”
He got up and left.
After the door closed behind him, Tom turned to Paige. “Well, I don’t know what we just learned, other than the fact that you’re being followed by Mossad, which we could have guessed before this meeting.”
Jerry turned toward Paige. “I think it’s more like communicating a message than a learning opportunity. We want to tell Mossad to stop following Professor Paige around.”
Tom turned toward Paige, who was getting ready to leave. “So, Professor Paige, can you tell us what’s going on? Mr. Wellington didn’t tell us anything, other than to pick this guy up, find out who he is, and ask him why he’s following you.”
“Sorry boys, you know how it is. Need to know basis. Besides, I don’t know much more than you do. Thanks for your help.”
They seemed a little disappointed at Paige’s response, although they understood the protocol. If Wellington had wanted them to know more, he would have told them.
Paige walked around the mall for a few minutes before returning to his car. He didn’t want to run into Simcha in the parking lot. Although relieved that the matter was apparently resolved, he still wondered what Mossad had up its sleeve. They’d probably back off after this encounter, but if they didn’t, then what? It would mean they weren’t going to let it go. That could only mean trouble … and maybe danger. Maybe they suspected Saul Steinman had been marked for extermination and wanted to prevent it. If so, they probably thought Paige was part of the plan to make it happen, when in fact Paige also wanted to prevent anything from happening to Steinman. He concluded that he would have to wait to see how events played out.
64
“Sergei? Hi, this is John Wellington.”
“I thought you might be calling.”
“Yeah, there’s something we need to talk about.”
“We got your message.”
“Yes, I know, but I think we should meet anyway. My Boss insists. You know how bosses are.”
“Yes, I understand. Same place?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Same time?”
“OK, five o’clock. See you then.”
They had arranged to meet at Bayfront Park, by the Anton Cermak plaque. Wellington enjoyed the short walk from his downtown office. It was another warm afternoon in Miami. He enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face, a pleasure he didn’t get by staying in his air conditioned office.
Sergei arrived a few minutes early. This time he didn’t inform his boss and he didn’t carry a wire. He figured he would give Gelman a briefing later. Wellington showed up right on time.
“Hi Sergei.”
Sergei shook his hand and they proceeded to walk together. It was a pleasant afternoon, not too hot with a slight breeze. They passed by some Hispanic children kicking a soccer ball. A young mother, presumably belonging to one of the boys, pushed a baby carriage a few feet behind them.
“Sergei, we’re a little concerned that you were following Professor Paige. We informed you of our intentions out of courtesy. Do you plan on doing anything that would complicate both of our lives?”
“We’re sorry about that. Aaron was just curious. He wanted to learn a little bit about Professor Paige, so he had him tailed.”
“So, you’ve decided to drop it?”
“Yes.”
Actually, Sergei didn’t know what his boss intended to do about the proposed Steinman hit, but one thing he knew for sure was that no decision had yet been made about what to do, if anything. Mossad had limited options. From a utilitarian perspective, it appeared the cost of doing something exceeded the benefits.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
“Have you decided to go through with the hit, or did you change your mind? Steinman’s small potatoes on the war on terror.”
Wellington smiled. “Well, maybe he’s small potatoes, but as far as I know, nothing has changed.”
“Have you decided when to do it?”
Wellington thought that Sergei was asking too many questions. If Mossad truly had decided not to interfere, perhaps he shouldn’t be asking so many questions.
“No, it’s not an urgent priority. It’s just on our list of things to do.”
Sergei laughed. “I’d love to see that list.”
“I’m sure you would. Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” Wellington extended his hand and Sergei shook it firmly. They took off in opposite directions. As Wellington passed by the hot dog and sausage vendor, he took a whiff of the grilled meat and fried onions that were assaulting his nostrils, stopped for a few seconds, turned around and approached the stand.
“Sausage, please. With onions, sauerkraut and mustard.” It had been a few years since he had tasted a vendor sausage. He was usually too busy with work to enjoy these small pleasures. He took a bite. The taste of the sausage, merging with the fried onions, sauerkraut and mustard reminded him of the times his father used to take him to ball games and parks when he was a kid.
As he stood there, consuming his sausage, he started thinking about his encounter. Sergei appeared a little too curious about the CIA’s plans for Steinman. Maybe the time had come to start worrying.
65
Bob and Sveta decided to take a walk around the neighborhood in spite of the broiling sun. The Winston Towers complex, comprised of seven buildings, sat in a comfortable section of Sunny Isles Beach, filled with young and old, representing an array of ethnic and age groups. On Saturdays, the sidewalks were populated by Hasidic and Orthodox Jews walking to or from services, often pushing a baby cart. They had to live within walking distance of their synagogue because the rules forbade them to drive on Shabbos.
Another area resident, a gorgeous and exotic looking Asian woman from Kazakhstan, strolled by them, pushing a cart with two seats, one for each of her twins. As she passed them, Sveta took notice. “Her babies are adorable, don’t you think?”
They were adorable, with thick black hair, just like their mother. But whenever he would see her with them, he never really focused on the babies. She was stylish and stunning, and looked more suited for Park Avenue in Manhattan. But she actually did fit in, culturally at least. She spoke Russian, as did her Ukrainian husband.<
br />
“Yes, they are cute.” Although physically present, his mind drifted far away, bouncing back and forth between the accounting article he started writing that morning and his recent experience at the Aventura Mall. He wondered if Mossad was really done with him, or if they had future plans that included him.
Sveta motioned to the park on the left. It was a small patch of lawn shared by the Winston Towers community. “Let’s go in here and sit for a while.” As they entered the park, she took his hand and dragged him behind her. They found an empty bench and sat down.
She started caressing his fingertips. He liked when she did that. It awakened his senses. He liked to caress her fingertips, too, usually when they were on her couch or when he was on top of her in bed.
Paige was enjoying the silent caress, but decided to break the silence. “You haven’t talked about work lately. Are you working on anything interesting?”
“Not really, it’s pretty much the same old stuff. Robert, I do have one question. It’s about taxes.”
“Sure, what is it? I don’t know if I can give you the right answer off the top of my head, but I can look it up for you.”
“There’s no need to look it up. We pay people to do that. I’m just curious. Do you remember that parcel of land I told you about? We have an option to buy, but we can’t finalize the deal until we get an environmental impact study.”
“Yes, I remember. You told me about it. That was months ago. You haven’t bought it yet?”
“No, it’s been seven months and the government still hasn’t started doing the study. We’re paying $30,000 a month to keep the option open, which means we’ve already spent an extra $210,000 for land we might never purchase.”
“That’s outrageous! What a waste of money.”
“Yes, I agree. And there’s absolutely no need for the study. It’s just a piece of land.”
Paige had heard about the high cost of environmental regulations like this before, but it was the first time it impacted someone close to him.
“My question is this … How should we account for those monthly payments? Should we take them as a deduction on our tax return, or do we have to add them to the cost of the land when we finally exercise our option? And what happens if the government doesn’t let us buy the land? How should we treat all those payments then?”
“Hmmm. I really don’t know the answer to that question. As I said, I could look it up.”
“I know you could look it up, but don’t bother. As I said, we have people who can do that. I was just curious.”
As Paige thought about how stupid and costly the federal government’s environmental regulations were, Sveta added, “We really don’t need any more deductions. All the regulations the government has been slapping on us the last few years have eaten up most of our profits. The owners are really getting fed up with it.”
They needed a break from talking. They took it. Sveta put her head on Paige’s shoulder, let out a sigh and caressed his forearm. They continued to hold hands in silence for a few more minutes.
Eventually, it was time to move on.
Sveta lifted her head off his shoulder. “Let’s walk some more.”
They stood up and resumed their stroll. As they exited the park they turned left, toward the 700 Building. It was hot and they were parched. Sveta suggested a solution.
“Robert, let’s go back to my place. I’ll make some iced tea.”
“Sounds good to me.” Actually, Paige had been thinking of suggesting they go to one of the restaurants or cafes on Collins Avenue for a cold drink, but hesitated to make the suggestion because it would have entailed additional time walking in the broiling sun.
As they walked through the front entrance, Milla, the Haitian desk clerk, had just come on duty. She stood behind the front desk unpacking her things. Apparently, she was working both the afternoon and evening shifts that day.
“Hello Miss Svetlana. Mr. Robert. It’s a hot one today, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” He liked Milla. She always seemed cheerful, even though she didn’t have much to be cheerful about. She earned just above minimum wage, raising two kids with a husband who mostly ignored her, living in a country where she had to function in English, her third language, after Creole and French, with little prospect of improving her lot much in the future. Still, she was much better off in America than Haiti, and she knew it. She was happy to be here.
A lot of Americans complain about immigrants, speaking funny languages and taking away their jobs, but most of them are hard workers. They have to be to survive. They’re willing to leave their homeland and family and take jobs that Americans don’t want, and they don’t just take, they also contribute to society. As economist Peter Bauer used to say, “Immigrants not only have a mouth; they also have two hands.”
Watching Milla at work caused Paige to reflect on a comment his undergraduate economics professor, Bill Dargan, made in class one day. “They should pass a law that requires people to leave after three generations. By then, they become soft and lazy. If we let in more immigrants, our growth rate would increase because they work harder than the people whose ancestors have been here for a few generations.”
The class of impressionable Gannon University freshmen and sophomores were shocked by his statement at the time, but now Paige could understand exactly what he meant by it. If everyone worked as hard as Milla, the American rate of economic growth would be higher.
Paige and Sveta walked into the elevator and started to hug, swaying back and forth slightly and caressing each other’s fingertips. Paige bent forward and nuzzled her neck. He breathed in her scent. Her perfume, mixed with her perspiration aroused his senses. As the elevator approached her floor, Sveta squeezed his hand, gazed into his eyes and smiled. Maybe she was thinking about giving him more than just iced tea.
66
They arrived at the door to her condo. As Sveta dug into her purse for her keys, Paige noticed a small camera above the door of the apartment across the corridor. It looked just like the camera across the hall from his apartment. It aimed directly at her door. He briefly thought about pointing it out to her, then decided against it. She didn’t know anything about his part-time CIA job. He didn’t want her to know she was being monitored, probably by Mossad. She had come from a totalitarian state where everyone watched everyone else. Informing her of the camera would do much more than just spoil the moment.
Her condo was always spotless, more or less. She liked to keep a clean place, in contrast to Paige’s condo, which varied between being messy and very messy. His was the epitome of “the bachelor pad.” Mail and open take-out containers everywhere. He usually decided to clean the kitchen when the counter tops started getting sticky. Sometimes he would borrow George and Florence’s maid for an hour or two. They lived one floor below him and emigrated from Brooklyn a few decades ago.
Sveta visited his condo occasionally, but she preferred her place. Whenever she visited him she got the urge to clean, and she didn’t want to do any cleaning when she was with him.
The tea had been chilling in the fridge for hours. She usually kept a quart or two on hand so she would have something cold to quench her thirst when she came home. She grabbed a bright yellow lemon, cut it in half, then squeezed both halves into the pitcher and stirred.
While she freshened up the drink, Paige retrieved the glasses. The galley kitchen was cramped. With the glasses stored in the cabinet directly in front of Sveta, brushing up against her was unavoidable, but she didn’t mind, as evidenced by the smile she gave him as he did it. She filled one of the glasses and gave it to him. He took it and gazed into her eyes as he took a sip. She gazed back. The fragrance of the lemon was reinvigorating and the cool liquid alleviated the dryness in his mouth.
She motioned to one of the chairs in the kitchen. “Robert, why don’t you have a seat?” Although she had a nice, large living room, they didn’t spend much time in it. Their interludes were usually split between the kitchen and the
bedroom. She turned on the sound system and selected “So Much To Give” by Lydia Canaan. It was one of her favorite Lydia Canaan songs.
The couple sipped their refreshments for a few minutes, all the while engaging in small talk and playing footsie under the table.
“Robert, I’m feeling a little icky from walking in the heat. I’d like to take a shower. Care to join me? I could really use some help washing my back.”
He grinned. “Well, I was always taught to help a woman in distress.” She smiled at him, turned, and led him to the master suite.
Once in the bedroom, she spun around and looked up at him. Standing on her tip-toes, Sveta and Robert shared a soft kiss, then continued on to the master bath. The room was a sizable space, yet comfortable. It looked like the kind of master bath one would see in magazines that showcase the most luxurious resorts and spas from around the world. She had it custom made shortly after buying her condo as a present to herself, and as a way to permanently celebrate her escape from the Soviet Union.
The décor provided a tranquil setting which included a large, stand-alone shower, surrounded by blue-gray slate tile. Shampoos and body wash sat on top of a built-in sill in the back of the stall. Sveta turned on the shower faucet and water began to sprinkle down like rain. Paige’s eyes scanned his Russian beauty before landing on the front of her white blouse. One by one, he unfastened each pearl button. After reaching the last in the row, he slowly took the silky garment down her right side and kissed the exposed skin. His lips traveled up and down her smooth neck. It wasn’t long before she assisted in his disrobing.
The two kissed tenderly and embraced while waiting for the water to heat up. Robert again inhaled her scent. Light, sweet flowers with a hint of vanilla. She always smelled great.
Once the water reached a good temperature, they stepped into the shower and found some soap. Each took a turn lathering up the other. First, Sveta ran her hands over Robert’s back, tracing his spine and massaging him lightly. Next, they faced one another. She rubbed his chest as he looked into her clear green eyes.
Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) Page 21
