“Abu Yusef didn’t have time to plan something like this,” Elie said. “This was done by someone else, maybe even the PLO itself, trying to jack up the price for the next phase of the Oslo negotiations.”
“Didn’t you hear the news?” Bathsheba followed him into the room. “Abu Yusef took credit!”
“You believe the news?”
Gideon watched Elie’s face. Was he lying?
“Taking credit means nothing,” Elie continued. “Abu Yusef was first to call a TV station. An Algerian group also took credit, claiming they targeted the minister of art and culture. Others will follow. You’ll see.”
Bathsheba seemed unconvinced.
“We’re leaving,” Elie said. “This apartment is no longer safe for us.” He gathered his papers into a small pile, topped by his heavy copy of the Bible, a decorated edition that was bound between two plates of carved wood.
They packed their clothes, equipment, and weapons-two mini-Uzis and three handguns with silencers.
Gideon drove. On Rue de Rivoli, across from the public gardens, Elie told him to park at the curb.
No. 4 Palace de La Concorde had once been a hotel, but in the sixties an American law firm had turned it into its Parisian branch office. Now it had a wood-paneled lobby, which was bustling with men in business suits and strained faces. Elie led the way to a bank of pay phones in the back and ran a phone card through the slot. Gideon noticed the first numbers he was punching. Forty-one for Switzerland. One for Zurich. Then Elie moved and blocked the view.
*
Paula started working on a beef stew for dinner. The pot was hissing on the stove while she sliced a large sweet onion. The telephone rang. “Can one of you gentlemen get it?”
Klaus Junior moved the white knight to B-4. “Check!”
“What?” Lemmy examined the board. “Are you trying to kill my queen?”
The phone on the kitchen counter rang again.
Paula said, “Guys?”
“ Sorry,” Lemmy said, “but we’re at war here!”
She dropped the kitchen knife on the cutting board and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “Herr Horch will be right with you.”
Lemmy got up. “Don’t move anything. I’ve memorized the battlefield, and I’m winning.”
“You’re dreaming, Papa!”
He twisted his face at Paula, who picked up the knife threateningly. He circled her at a safe distance and snatched the receiver. “Yes?”
“Are you watching the news?” The voice was meek and scratchy, but Lemmy recognized it instantly.
“Excuse me?”
Paula gave him a curious look.
Elie Weiss coughed. “Turn on your TV.”
Lemmy’s hand tightened around the receiver. Elie had never called him at home.
“Watch the report from Paris.”
“What is this about?” Lemmy glanced at Paula, whose eyes moistened from the sliced onion.
Elie said, “Here’s what I need you to do. First-”
“I beg your pardon.” Lemmy tried to keep his voice formal, professional. “Please call my office on Monday morning. I’m sure we can assist you.”
“Shut up!” Elie’s voice was still hushed, but the rage came through clearly. “Security is not important anymore.”
Lemmy wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He could feel Paula and Klaus Junior watching him.
“Listen carefully. First, as soon as the prince contacts you, call me at the Hilton Paris under the name Rupert Danzig. Second, you must take over the bank ASAP. We’re out of time.”
Lemmy almost choked. He couldn’t believe Elie was saying this on an open line. “This is highly irregular-”
“Get rid of your father-in-law. Tomorrow. It’s an order!”
“Who is this?”
“Remember who you are! Nekamah! ”
The line went dead.
“ Is everything all right?” Paula asked.
“An odd duck. Some clients are just…weird.”
“Papa? What’s your next move?”
“Coming.” Lemmy could hardly believe what had just happened. Elie’s voice on his home phone, with Paula and Klaus Junior a few feet away. Such an invasion was never supposed to happen. Complete separation was the only way things worked. Otherwise Wilhelm Horch’s life would collapse like a tower of cards.
Get rid of your father-in-law. Tomorrow. It’s an order!
Was Elie losing it? Armande Hoffgeitz as a target? A job inside the family? It was madness! Why the sudden urgency?
The news!
“Papa? Are you playing? Check! ”
Lemmy advanced a pawn, an irrelevant move.
Klaus Junior moved in for the kill and announced, “ Check mate! ”
“Great game.” Lemmy got up and walked out of the kitchen, not looking at Paula. He could not face her.
In the living room, he turned the TV on to CNN.
Klaus Junior followed him. Lemmy put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, and they watched the broadcast from Paris, a procession of injured people and body bags moving across the screen.
*
Everything was white-the walls, the ceiling, the door, the sheets that covered Tanya. Even the curtain hanging from a circular rail around the bed was white. A woman appeared, her coat white, hair white, face white, only her lips were red as rose petals. “Ah! Madame is awake!”
Tanya tried to sit up. “Am I dead?”
“Not at all,” the woman said matter of fact, as if responding to a normal question. She pointed to an embroidered logo on her coat: Saint Antoine Hospital.
The pain appeared suddenly, as if someone hit her head with a hard object. Tanya groaned and touched a bandage on her right temple.
“Careful.” The nurse held her hand. “You had a concussion. Do you remember?”
It took a moment for the memory to surface. “The synagogue!”
“Yes, terrible. The detectives would like to speak with you when you’re ready.”
As soon as the nurse left, Tanya got out of bed. She was dizzy from the pain in her head, but this was no time for self-pity.
The cabinet doors were not locked. Her dress, which was dark enough to hide the bloodstains, was draped over a hanger, and her shoes rested on a shelf next to her purse, which contained false identification papers and a credit card that could not be traced. Tanya got dressed, rinsed her face in the white basin, let her hair down over the bandage, and left.
*
Sunday, October 22, 1995
Prince Abusalim spent the night in a sparse room with only a prayer rug to cushion the concrete. At dawn, he was brought to his father’s chamber, and they prayed together. No words were exchanged, and Abusalim figured this was his punishment-a night of seclusion, discomfort, and repentance.
Within an hour of sunrise, the air was already warm and dry, the palm trees still, and the servants hushed with dread. Sheik Da’ood az-Zubayr kneeled, his forehead on the carpet, and completed his prayers. Hajj Ibn Saroah helped him rise.
Prince Abusalim touched his forehead down once more and got up. The long galabiya covered him as a cloak, reaching down to the plain sandals. He could smell his own body odor and longed to soak in a foam bath, sit on the
