by Dana Arama
***
It was exactly noon. The water danced in the bright light. I stood on my own shadow at the wheel and I thought about setting up the awning.
Guy’s head popped up. "Stop the engine. I want to switch to the southern port route." Our natural choice would be Tel Aviv, which we had given up on for security reasons. Our second option, Haifa, seemed a logical option. It was larger port, easy to disappear in and out of. Maybe even Ako, or head south to Ashdod or Ashkelon.
"Well? So what's the problem?" I was exhausted and wanted to get home already. I was hoping that an email was waiting for me from Pierre.
"I want to get in during twilight."
"Why? Why delay more than necessary?"
"Because getting in when the sun sets is a beautiful view, and -"
"I've seen that view, Guy," I interrupted him roughly. "I don’t want to dwell on it too much.” But my desires were not in line with what was happening in the world. Foreign ships trying to break the naval blockade of Gaza had resulted in increased security patrols by the navy. Immediately after our debate, a warship came over and stopped us to look us over. Thus, Guy got his delay.
Ashdod marina was spacious and clean, and the city was full of excellent fish restaurants. Just before they closed the stores, we went to buy a laptop and a cell phone charger for Guy. From there, we went to a vegetable store. (They are always open until the last moment before the Sabbath.) We both felt the need to fill the pantry with fresh food. Only then did we go to the fish restaurant, taking our shopping with us.
"I told you so!" he told me after our meal, flashing me his winning smile.
"I'm full," I answered with a satisfied smile. "It’s been a long time since I felt like basic, fresh food. Salad, grilled fish."
"Hummus and tahini."
"Yes. Also that. And mint tea. I'm not normally a tea person.”
"That's because, the last few days, you’ve been without coffee. I miss even the Friday newspaper.”
“That can be solved in about ten minutes and for about ten shekels." I smiled and added immediately, "More importantly - where we will sleep tonight?”
"The boat. The marina’s closed at night and it’s quite safe there. Also, I'm sure they don’t know we’re here.”
"And I'm sure that if they want to break in, it won’t be hard, and I'm sure also that the computerized records will be in their hands in a matter of hours.”
"That's why I wanted to delay out at sea. I wanted to come into the marina after the main offices closed. Once Sabbath starts, all entries are manual, until Shabbat ends. Maybe even until Sunday morning. It gives us a few hours to get organized.”
"Then why didn’t you say so?"
"I tried. You barked at me, remember?"
"Yes." Now I was ashamed of myself. "I was a bit of a bitch." I smiled apologetically.
"Nonsense. You have a full stomach now. When we get back, we’ll connect the laptop to the power and you can check your emails. Now, let’s go find a newspaper.”
We bought a newspaper at a nearby kiosk. We soon found our picture, beneath which was this headline: NEW EVIDENCE IN PARIS MURDER CASE. What? Where did this come from all of a sudden? We’d been set up.
"Let's get back to the boat and quickly," I whispered nervously. I was hoping that the seller from the kiosk did not notice.
"Don’t worry. We’ll be okay. That’s what they want - to increase pressure on you. Pressure leads to mistakes."
"He sells Le Monde too. We should buy a copy." The brain has a way of classifying things. I preferred to be classified as a French tourist buying Le Monde and the Israeli paper, than a woman whose picture points to involvement in a murder.
"True," he replied in French. "Let's get you a bargain scarf at the gift shop. After all, it’s a bit chilly in the evenings. This will take you the rest of the way.”
We started to walk comfortably toward the marina, papers in hand. We looked like any pair of cruisers: tanned, relaxed, and laden with shopping bags. The Hebrew newspaper was hidden inside the French newspaper. Guy's head wore a cap and I had a scarf over my head and shoulders. This garment took me back to the concert and the woman sitting next to Sergey. Was she Natalia, she who wore the blue dress that complimented her? The sophistication of my enemy made me worry even more about Pierre. If they sent Natalia to him, would he have been able to resist her?
I’d hooked up the boat to the electricity supply on the dock already, so we plugged the new laptop in and booted it up. I was hoping Pierre’s email was waiting for me. The computer connected to the Internet, and Guy downloaded the appropriate software. We went to sit on the deck while we waited. I think Guy felt the need to keep us safe. I went through an infinite number of emails from old friends trying to rekindle our friendship, and emails arrived from Yoram, and Dorit, too. I went up and down the electronic lines, deleted and marked page after page… no email from Pierre.
"Well?" Guy's voice seemed like thunder in the quiet marina. It was a warm, relaxing silence accompanied by the breaking of waves on the side of the boat, masts purring with the movement of water, and the cries of the last seagulls, just before nightfall. Seconds later, the Sabbath started. On a normal day, it would have reassured me.
"Still looking," I replied. "There’s a load of junk." I sat at the back, near the skipper’s chair. The map had been folded away, the ship's computer was shut down and my new computer was plugged in.
"Need help?"
On the fifth page, I found it.
"Yes," I said. "I mean, no. I don’t need help. He sent an email."
A few minutes later, Guy peeked in the door. "Everything okay with him?"
"I'm still trying to figure out what he means."
"Okay. You concentrate on it. Before I call Nadav, I'll try to figure out from the article if the police followed us. I haven’t figured out if we’re witnesses or suspects."
"You think he’d betray us?”
"I wouldn’t want to question that.”
"You're right. This is no time to examine personal loyalties.” I was hoping there would be no need to double check on Pierre’s loyalty.
The beginning of his email did not bode well.
"The price of the Rodin sculpture is outrageous." I gasped. He was in trouble. The last time he spoke of Rodin's statue was when we were first going out. His ex-wife made his life miserable, trying to squeeze him for the house. Finally, he had to sell the statue of the dictator that he so loved. I read on.
"The customer was satisfied with a Ming vase for the lobby. We didn’t check the other rooms." This was good. They had visited him, but were satisfied with the information provided by him. There was no violence and they did not look at the rest of the house. The first time I walked with him to make a purchase for a client, we bought a Ming vase.
"Doing business with a smile. The closing of this transaction is not a war. A good deal is when both sides feel they earned it." What was he telling me? He sent them on their way with a good feeling? He closed a deal with them and gained from it? Information in exchange for his life also sounded like a good deal. Was this a warning? I wanted to get definitive information, but at the moment I made do with the fact that he was alive.
The last sentence sounded like positive information. "In connection with last week's invitation, I'm in closing stages of a deal. I'll let you know by phone immediately after I receive the first financial transaction from you." He had found me an apartment in Paris and was now looking forward to hearing from me. I let out the deep breath that had been imprisoned in my lungs the whole time I was reading, and sat back. Only Pierre could have formulated that e-mail. I had no doubt that it was written under threat and pressure, but of his own free will. Now I could go up to the deck and hear what Guy had to say.
"It's all right. They did visit him. He was able to get rid of them without unnecessary violence and he’s waiting to hear from us."
"I’m very happy to hear that. You’ll be glad to hear that we’re not suspe
cted by the police. A camera memory card was sent to the newspaper by an unknown source. The last photo on it was of the two of us kissing in the parking lot. Remember?” Guy was lying on the deck bench.
I nodded. I remembered. This had happened only a short time ago, but since then, the world had turned over several times for us.
"Okay," he continued. "The newspaper decided to find out who took the picture and they came to look for us. In Paris. There, our footsteps disappeared. Now, for them, our disappearance is newsworthy stuff, and therefore they’ve posted this juicy title with the juicy image.”
"So you can call Nadav?”
"I’m about to do it. I want to check your place out as quickly as possible and get back to it. To me, it's still the safest place.”
"For me, too, believe me." Now, I was relaxed, replete and relatively rested, I could see him as the sexy, tough guy that he was. I lay down on the bench next to him, but there was insufficient room for us both. Having no choice, I sat on him, holding him in place. First, I pushed the newspaper aside, then I took off his shirt, pushed his hands above his head, and pressed my lips to his. He responded eagerly.
Chapter 21
By Saturday night, I had showered in my own shower with my own soap. Then I applied my favorite lotions and sprayed on some of my own perfume. Immediately after that, I put on my robe and went down the stairs of my house to sit in my garden. There was no one as relaxed or happy as I was. Signs of neglect were evident in the garden. I walked barefoot on the grass and enjoyed the feeling of the ground under my feet.
"It’s just as well you have automatic sprinklers, otherwise the grass would have dried up, too." Guy observed, coming up behind me without a sound.
I turned to him. "That's exactly what I was thinking," I said, and added, "Your eyes look almost blue with your tan."
The embarrassed smile I knew so well appeared at the edge of his mouth. "You have to think about what to do next. Now you’re back, you don’t want to have to stay hidden indoors. Don’t you think it's time to involve the police?”
"Not at all. I’d have to hand over the diamonds. I'm still not sure I can give them up.”
"But why?" He waved vaguely at the house behind him. “This isn’t enough for you?"
"I may not be able to stay. My brother-in-law loves this house and would do anything to get me out of here. There’s also a chance that he’ll succeed." I did not want to tell him any more than that. He was not involved in my history with Nathaniel and would not be involved in my plans for the future. In fact, as soon as I found a way to trap Sergey, Guy would become nothing to me. I did not want him involved when I got to that part of my program. He deserved to be above suspicion and I deserved to continue with my life… a life free from Sergey.
"As long as you have his diamonds, he won’t let you rest."
What does he know about diamonds? I thought, before I took a deep breath and began my story. “What makes these diamonds legally problematic is the fact that Sergey didn’t even pay for them.”
“So it’s more about the ownership of the diamonds than the financial loss,” Guy replied. “After your husband used Sergey’s connections to smuggle them out of Russia, and deceived him, it's become a matter of honor. And you don’t play with a mobster’s honor.”
There was a lot of truth in his words. Deep in my heart, I agreed with him and I knew this problem had only one solution - the one entirely consistent with my need for revenge. Sergey must die. We strolled to the patio and the white sofa. I laid my head on his lap and I stared at the listening device we took out of the car, which was now sitting, crushed, on the table. I closed my eyes, as if to erase its image from my head. Guy stroked my hair just as I liked - random contact, with regular movements. Soon, I fell asleep in this position. In my sleep, I felt him pick me up in his arms and carry me to the bedroom.
***
I was sitting in the gallery on a black sofa, wearing a black dress. I looked down at my dress. The slit spread out on the floor and my legs looked like white crevasses opened up after an earthquake. To my complete surprise, I found a tear in my left sleeve. Unlike the floor, the walls were black. They had wide cracks in them as well, through which people flowed in. The more the cracks expanded, the more people came in. Each of them said a word or two in a whisper, eyes downcast. The whispers I was subjected to filled the gallery like a huge swarm of buzzing bees. They had all come to comfort me.
I realized I was sitting shiva. In the entrance, I saw Dan and Robbie hand in hand, wounded but alive. "Come to me," I cried out to them, but my voice was inaudible through the crowds of hundreds of people. They continued to stand there. Go to them, I said to myself, but I remained rooted to the spot. Beside me, on the couch, sat Yigal. He was about ten years older than me, but now looked old and worn out. White whiskers adorned his sad face.
"What happened, Yigal?" I asked him, but the sound of whispers around us prevented him from hearing my words. Tears ran down his cheeks. I reached out to stroke his face, but the part of the sofa he sat on moved away from me.
"Are you sad because of my mom and dad?" I asked him. Yigal was younger than them but knew them well. His clinic was located in the building across from our gallery, and when my dad’s back wore out, Yigal saved him. He was a first-rate chiropractor, but also the most modest one. He was so humble that I could not hear his voice. The sofa moved away and with it Yigal. I reached out and tried to hold onto him, so he would not leave, would not go to the building across the street, to his clinic. I filled my lungs in the air and screamed at the top of my voice “Quiet!”' All the people fell silent. They started to leave, more and more of them being absorbed back into the walls until they were all gone, and Yigal came up to me and I could hear him.
"I always thought it would happen to me," Yigal whispered, but his whisper was strong and clear.
"What happened to you, Yigal?" I asked in a whisper. The walls listened.
"The patient, the Russian thug who always threatened me - I thought that he would kill me. Why did he murder you?"
"You're right," I said to Yigal in panic. "I died. Who’ll avenge their blood now? Who?"
I woke up. I discovered tears on my face. I remembered Yigal from the shiva. He had really been there. He had sat on the couch next to me and tried to tell me something, but I did not hear it, just as I did not hear all the others. Was Yigal trying to tell me something significant, something I needed to know to get on with my life? Yigal was my solution. Poor Yigal. If Sergey went to him for treatment, he’d certainly be very scared, I realized. And if Sergey still visited him, he may do so without an escort of his bodyguards.
I got up from my bed. I had to know… if there was a chance I could catch him as he left the building opposite the gallery, if it was one-time treatment, or if he came on fixed days and if he was careful to protect his privacy and attend without his bodyguards, and if I could come up with a plan in which I could use that information. The biggest one was if I would have the determination to carry out this plan. In my dream, I already had answers, but a dream was not a reliable source of information.
I knew one phone call to Yigal could give me the answers I needed. He knows when and where Sergey is most vulnerable without his bodyguards surrounding him. But Yigal must not be made to feel like an informer. I had to get the information without letting him know that he had given it to me. I glanced at my watch. It was too early to call. Coffee and light breakfast first.
My reflection in the mirror in the shower was more optimistic than ever. I felt like I had found the key of the door at the end of the maze. Once I inserted the key in the lock, the walls of the maze would collapse and everything would be easier… the path, the result, and even my Sergey-free life afterward; I felt a deep need for that life.
***
"You waiting for something?" I heard the question through the tangle of thoughts.
"Waiting? No, not at all. Why do you ask?”
''It’s the third time you've looked a
t the clock. You look like you’re expecting something." He gave me a knowing grin. Sometimes I hated the fact that he had such a sharp mind.
"I’m trying to find out the time in the United States and France. It’s time to make some phone calls abroad." I hated having to explain myself.
"Okay. I'll go for a swim. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll get back to training. It sure proved itself back in Paris.”
"Yes. No doubt about that." I smiled at him. “I don’t think I ever thanked you…”
"There's nothing to thank me for." He leaned back and added with a grin, “Well, there’s one thing: one less bastard in the world.” Then he went back to a straight face. “But you know it was an accident, right? We didn’t go there to kill someone.”
"Accident or not, any encounter with that guy had to end like that. It’s us or them."
What a lie. Poor Guy, I thought, you’re not a killer and this isn’t your war. Although I started to feel pity for him, I was afraid of the new vibe in his words. How did it start? Was his conscience tormented or was he worried that he would need to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life?
A wave of warm feelings overwhelmed me. I wanted to repay Guy for his devotion, the danger he had put himself in and the concern he showed toward me, but all I saw in front of me was danger to myself if he should bring about a police investigation and point a finger at me. I knew that the best thing I could do for him was to keep him out of the complexities of my life. But - how to do it in a way that was also good for me?
