The Austrian was hardly in a position to refuse.
Lang looked at Alicia. 'You okay?'
'Oh, sure,' she said. 'Just peachy keen. And why not? After all, I've been within seconds of being killed, treated to a marvelous display of testosterone, and splattered with someone else's blood. No reason to worry about me.'
Sarcasm was one of her less attractive features.
Lang, Gruber, Jacob, and two Israeli soldiers crossed to a small hut on the far side of the kibbutz. Rauch, unwilling to let his prisoner out of his sight, followed a pace or two behind.
The interior of the building was deja-vu for Lang. A long table was lined with scientific equipment resembling the laboratories at Georgia Tech and Amsterdam. There was a notable addition: an oblong, boxlike device clearly made of a combination of wood and gold, decidedly out of place among the gleaming gauges, scales, and machines.
Gruber pointed to it. 'Mr. Reilly, I have a feeling you might know what that is'
'Whatever gave you that idea?'
Gruber frowned. 'It is getting late, and I have little patience for games. I think you did not spend the time reconnoitering this kibbutz as a possible place to vacation. I think you were interested in this object.'
Jacob spoke for the first time. 'Actually, old man, he was looking for the lady, the red-haired bird you saw. Seems Zwelk nicked her as bait to force Mr. Reilly to come here. Truly ill of the man, what?'
Gruber was unconvinced. 'Why would he do that, want to force Mr. Reilly to come here?'
Jacob shrugged. 'Who knows the mind of someone that irrational? You yourself said the man was a fanatic.'
Gruber's expression said he was certain he wasn't hearing the whole story. Jacob's expression said he had told all he intended to.
Gruber shook his head slowly. 'It is unlikely anyone in government will mourn Zwelk's death. He was a threat to any possible peace with the Palestinians.' He jerked his head toward the wall. 'The cache of arms here far exceeds any need to simply defend the kibbutz. The man was prepared to provoke a war.'
One of the men in uniform with a sergeant's chevrons on his sleeve spoke excitedly in Hebrew. Gruber stepped over to where the man was pointing and held up a test tube and a beaker.
'Some sort of white powder and…' He looked closer at the test tube. 'What looks like gold dust.' His face wrinkled into that of a man perplexed. 'What would these people be doing with gold dust?'
Jacob and Lang exchanged glances.
'Struck gold on the Jordan River?' Lang suggested.
'Not likely. It is fifty miles away.' Gruber's glare told him the man had no sense of humor.
'I say, looks like something you might want to refer to your superiors,' Jacob offered.
Gruber looked skeptical.
Jacob spoke in Hebrew, apparently repeating the suggestion before switching back to English. 'I cannot tell you how deucedly clever it would be to take all this equipment, gold, and that white powder back to Tel Aviv. I'd speculate someone there will be very interested in the whole lot.'
Gruber shook his head. 'But I can't just… just take kibbutz property because someone back at the office might be interested.'
Jacob puffed his cheeks and exhaled loudly, the sound of exasperation. 'I'd give a monkey to a monkey wrench that this kibbutz is about to go out of business once the government sees what's in this building.'
He reached into a pocket, producing a pipe. Another hand held the tobacco pouch. Under Gruber's glare he shook his head and put both away for the moment, turning to Rauch. 'Inspector, I'm no copper, but I'd suggest you take a close look at the arsenal these people have here. Another wager: You'll find either the weapon that killed your Dr. Shaffer or its mate. No point in putting Reilly in the coop when it's clear that Zwelk and his lads had every reason to kill the professor.'
Rauch had a mental picture of returning to Vienna without Reilly after what had been spent to get here, life- size and in natural color. He'd be back in uniform, foot- patrolling the Karlsplatz Bahnhof for drug dealers or chasing Gypsy beggars out of U-Bahn stations.
'I will certainly be interested in what you have to show me,' he said noncommittally. 'I have been sent for questions to bring Mr. Reilly to Vienna. My superiors will decide what acts to take.'
The German syntax reminded Lang of Gurt. Too bad the inspector lacked her humor.
And looks.
Gruber intervened. 'Hate to disappoint you, Inspector, but I have a feeling my government will want to speak with Mr. Reilly before he leaves the country.'
And they did.
SIXTY-ONE
Tel Aviv
Two Days Later
Lang spent the days with a man Jacob later identified as Mossad's master interrogator. He was mostly interested in just how much Lang knew and how far along Zwelk's work with gold might have gotten. The word weapon was never mentioned, but the progress of the foundation's research was. Although not specifically told, Lang came away with the definite impression that it would be wise to stick to matters of a medical nature.
It was an idea he would definitely consider.
While Lang was occupied with answering questions, Jacob gave Alicia a view of the city, a fast-paced walking tour that left her begging for time-out and an afternoon nap. With her back at the hotel, Jacob moved much more leisurely and directly into the Yemenite Quarter, the city's oldest. Narrow streets were lined with Arab-type dwellings competing for space with newer Art Deco homes, many decorated with tile panels. He turned into Nakhaler Binyamin Street, where fashionable boutiques and cafes did a brisk business despite the afternoon heat.
He passed several outdoor tables under an awning and a sign announcing the premises as the Camel's Hump in Hebrew and English before slowly turning around. As though unsure of his surroundings, he surveyed the nearly empty street before backtracking to the cafe and sitting across a table from a man whose face was hidden by a newspaper.
'Try the konafa,' said a voice from behind the pages. 'It's freshly baked.'
Jacob nodded his assent to a waiter who had appeared as though by magic and vanished just as quickly. 'I assume you didn't ask me here to sample the pastry.'
The paper dropped to the table and Gruber shook his head. 'No, but it's good enough to make the trip worthwhile.'
Jacob waited until a tiny cup of black Turkish coffee was placed next to the small plate holding roasted pistachios wrapped in crisp strings of fried dough and the waiter had retreated.
Gruber folded the paper with a great deal more care than a day-old tabloid merited. Jacob wondered idly whether Mossad budget cuts had mandated reuse of newspapers.
'We owe you and your friend Reilly,' the security man said.
Jacob was reaching for his coffee. 'And just who might 'we' be?'
Gruber folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. 'All of us Jews, the government.'
Jacob refrained from pointing out that the two were far from synonymous.
'We needed to get rid of that nutcase on the Gaza border. He would have provoked the Palestinians into another war.'
Again Jacob kept quiet, not mentioning that everything from an Israeli prime minister's casual visit to the Temple Mount to security precautions against suicide bombers seemed to have that unfortunate effect on the Palestinians and their beneficent, peace-loving Islamic brethren.
'Or worse, much worse. And the politicians would never have allowed us to storm in there without a reason. How'd you steer Reilly to that kibbutz, anyway?'
