'Good enough.' rpri ki ht to 'You don't seem su sed, Uncle. Luc ng
into a flig
South Africa on,such short notice? I couldn't believe it.'
'It wasn't luck, Gadi. I called an old friend of mine in the air force
and requested a bit of creative rescheduling.'
'You're kidding. They can do that?'
'I really wasn't sure. My faith in mankind is renewed.'
Gadi laughed infectiously. 'It's very good to se@ you again, Uncle.
Traveling first class, as usual?'
Professor Natterman could contain himself no longer. As far as he was
concerned, the conversation had taken a sudden turn into outer space.
'Stern, ' he interrupted. 'Would you please tell me why we are sitting
here in this godforsaken airport while my granddaughter is in mortal
danger in South Africa?'
Stern switched back to German. 'Professor, your manners leave quite a
bit to be desired. However, I do appreciate your motive. In ninety
minutes we board an El Al flight to Johannesburg, from whence we shall
begin our search for your granddaughter. We are only one day behind
Hauer and Apfel, and we know the time and location of their rendezvous
with the kidnappers. The Burgerspark Hotel at eight tomorrow night,
remember? And remember this also: that our interests happen to coincide
is for you a lucky twist of fate.
For me that remains to be seen.'
The Israeli's words infuriated Natterman, but since he imew Stern could
simply abandon him in the airport, he decided to remain silent.
'Now,' said Stern, 'I suggest we all have something to eat. I expect
everyone to sleep during the flight. Once we land in South Africa, we
won't have much time for it.' He summoned the waiter with a flick of
his eyes. Everyone took one of the flimsy paper menus.
'Cheer up, Professor,' Stern said. 'You and Gadi should have quite a
lot to talk about. He took his degree in history just last year.'
'Really?' said Natterman. 'He looks more like a soldier than a scholar
to me.'
Gadi stiffened.
'You have a good eye, Professor,' Stern said, gending his nephew with a
quick glance. 'You may prove to be more Of an asset than I thought.'
Four tables away sat an expensively dressed woman with blue-rinsed hair.
She looked dun for her age-which could have been anywhere between fifty
and sixty-and she was obviously not an Israeli. A Louis Vuitton handbag
lay or table.
Beside it stood a glass -of orange juice. When the waiter inquired if
the woman would like to order some food, she politely declined. Her
voice was pitched low, but the waiter thought it very pleasant. In the
babel of the Mideast, there was nothing like a crisp British accent to
tickle the ear.
When the woman smiled, the waiter thought the smile was for him, but he
was wrong. It was for Jonas Stern.
Swallow had acquired her target.
225 A.M. Jon Smuts Airpoll, Johannesbarg
The taxi was a small, clapped-out Ford. It stood out sharply from the
short line of Rovers and Mazdas, which were mostly new and owned by the
same two taxi companies.
Hauer chose a taxi over the shuttle bus because he wanted speed and
privacy. The forty-mile taxi ride to Pretoria would be outrageously
expensive, but money was the least of their worries. He chose the old
Ford because he wanted a driver with some character-an entrepreneur.
'English?' the driver asked with a strong Indian accent.
'Swiss,' Hauer replied.
The driver switched to a strange but fluent German. Oddly enough, the
Teutonic consonants did not prevent the dark ypung man from speaking
with the singsong inflection of his native country. 'And where do you
wish to go?' he crooned.
'You speak German?' Hauer said, surprised.
'Most happily, yes. Taught to me by a cousin on my mother's side.
His father was a houseboy to the German ambassador in New Delhi.
He knew the language well and I picked it up quite easily when they
moved back to Calcutta.
I pick up all languages easily. A wonderful aid in my humble profession
. .
Hans sank back into the Ford's rear seat and listened to the Indian's
spiel, luxuriating in the stability of the automobile.
'Listen,' Hauer said, breaking the Indian's flow, 'we need to get to
Pretoria. My son and I are stockbrokers.
We've come to South Africa to do a little business, but also to have a
little fun, you understand?'
'Most certainly, sir,' said the driver, sensing the possibility of a
generous tip.
'For this reason we'd like you to take us to a somewhat cheaper
establishment than you might expect-a fleabag, one might say.'
'I understand perfectly, sir,' the driver assured him, appraising Hauer
in the rearview mirror.
'Then drive,' said Hauer. 'And keep your eyes on the road.'
The Ford jumped to life and joined the stream of taxis moving out of the
airport like a line of beetles.
'Salil is my name,' the Indian sang out. 'At your service.'
Hauer said nothing.
'Sir?' Salil tried again.
'What is it?'
'I believe I understand your requirements perfectly. But might I
suggest that for gentlemen such as yourselves, a fleabag-as you so
accurately call it-might be just the type of place where you are most
quickly noticed? Why not one of the higher-priced hotels? If you have
the money, of course. You would blend right in, and no one would think
of asking questions. Privacy is at a premium in such places.'
Hauer considered this. 'Any suggestions?' he asked, liking the idea
better the more -he thought about it.
'The Burgerspark is an excellent hotel.'
Hans jumped as if struck physically.
'Where else?' Hauer asked quickly.
