Abu Yusef gagged. He tried to breathe. His mustachioed face stricken by incomprehension, his hands-the right one still holding the grenade-reached for his throat.
“ Swallow!” Gideon forced the Arab’s jaw to close and slapped him across the face. “It’s good for you.”
There was a sound resembling a hiccup, and the ball of explosives slid down into Abu Yusef’s stomach.
Gideon kicked him in the chest, sending him to the floor, and rolled over the bed to the opposite side, landing behind it.
*
Elie passed by the BMW, a little old man in a winter coat and a wool cap, hunched and slow, drawing no attention from Bashir Hamami, who sat inside with the engine running. Up the three steps, he was gone through the wood-and-glass doors into the motel.
The night manager asked, “ Que veux tu? ”
Elie handed him a few bills. “Two men came in a little while ago, one much younger.”
“Room thirty-two.” He pointed at the stairs. “Third floor on the right.”
Elie climbed up the stairs. Reaching the third floor, he paused on the landing to catch his breath. A door cracked open, and Gideon beckoned him in.
Abu Yusef was lying on the carpet, red foam dripping from his mouth. His eyes glared, frozen in horror. His pants were bundled around his ankles, and bloody feces piled by his naked buttocks.
“ You used too much explosives.”
“Next time I’ll use a fake grape.”
Elie leaned over the dead face. “ Nekamah,” he said quietly. “Revenge.” He handed Gideon a Polaroid camera he’d carried under his coat.
The camera ejected each photograph with a buzzing sound as it recorded Abu Yusef’s humiliating end.
“ The money is in the car,” Gideon said as they stepped out of the room. “A black briefcase.”
Downstairs, Elie went out first. He ambled past the BMW, his collar pulled up against the cold. At the corner he told Bathsheba, “Be careful. He’s clever and vicious.”
“He’s a pig.” She strolled down the street, her heels knocking on the cobblestones.
Elie watched from behind the corner. He saw Bashir’s head turn, following Bathsheba as she walked by the car, her long, sculpted legs in black stockings, the leather miniskirt swaying.
She paused by the Pinnacle and pulled a cigarette from her cleavage. She stooped and looked at Bashir through the car windshield.
His window slid down. He flipped on a lighter and reached out with both hands, shielding the small flame.
“Nice car,” Bathsheba said. “Are you German?”
He grinned.
She put the cigarette between her lips and leaned on his hands. The tip of the cigarette entered the flame, and she drew in, blowing the smoke in his face. Her fingers closed around his right wrist, weighing down on it. Her grip must have been firmer than he had expected, yet her smile was disarmingly lurid. Elie was impressed by her coolness.
The burning cigarette fell from her mouth. “My father died in Munich.”
She was taking too long. Elie started toward the BMW while reaching under his coat for the blade.
Bashir dropped the lighter and pulled his hands back in. But Bathsheba was ready. Her right hand rose, and the black barrel of the handgun, lengthened by a silencer, pointed at Bashir’s chest. It coughed twice, and his body jerked with each shot. She brought the end of the silencer to her lips and blew on it.
Gideon emerged from the motel and approached the BMW while Bathsheba was walking back toward Elie, slow in high heels over the cobblestones. Elie sheathed the blade, relieved. He beckoned them to hurry up as a group of Frenchmen emerged from the bar up the street, blabbering loudly.
The BMW’s white reverse lights came on.
Gideon reached under his coat for a gun he didn’t have. Elie opened his mouth to warn Bathsheba, but the engine roared and the tires screeched.
She turned abruptly and lost her balance, falling down. Gideon was on the pavement within reach of the BMW, but there was nothing he could do as the large car leaped backward. Bathsheba tried to get up, but she was too slow. Her hands rose in futile defense as the rear bumper hit her. The car continued, the right wheels running over Bathsheba’s extended legs, crushing her bones in a series of sickening crunches. The car jumped the curb and hit the wall of a building.
His perforated chest dark with blood, Bashir turned slowly and looked at Elie through the passenger-side window, his face a mixture of pain and satisfaction. Up the street, the bar patrons yelled, and a few of them approached what seemed like a drunk driver running over a prostitute. Elie crossed the street, leaned on the car, and inserted the blade just above Bashir’s collarbone, sliding it downward into his chest cavity. For a second he felt the Arab’s heart muscles flutter against the blade. He twisted and pulled it out, while Bashir uttered a last groan.
Gideon sprinted to Bathsheba. He grabbed her arms, pulled her up over his shoulders, and hurried to the Citroen. They laid her on the back seat, legs folded up.
Pulling Abu Yusef’s hand grenade from the knapsack, Gideon ran back to the BMW. He snatched the heavy briefcase from the passenger seat, tore out the fuse from the grenade, and tossed it in.
As they raced away, a ball of fire exploded behind them.
Gideon made a sharp turn, and in the back seat Bathsheba cried, “ Daddy! ”
A moment later she became quiet. Glancing back, he saw her open eyes, not moving.
*
Dr. Geloux took a while to get downstairs from his living quarters. He unlocked the front door and let them into the clinic. Gideon lowered Bathsheba on an examination table. Her face was gray and blank. He closed her eyelids.
There was a telephone in the outer office. “Make the calls,” Elie said.
Gideon called the police station in Ermenonville. He told the attending officer that he lived on Boulevard Royale and was hearing explosions and the staccato of automatic weapons from the direction of a villa surrounded by a brick wall. He made similar calls to the police stations in neighboring Senlis and Chantilly.
Dr. Geloux joined them a few minutes later. “Terrible shame,” he said. “Such a beautiful young woman.”
Gideon dropped into a chair. He felt cold and empty.
Elie handed Dr. Geloux an envelope with the photographs they had taken of Abu Yusef’s dead body. “We have to leave Paris immediately. Please take this to the nearest TV station. Tell them it’s Abu Yusef. His body is at the Pinnacle Motel near Gare du Nord, room thirty-two.”
Dr. Geloux put the envelope in his pocket.
Elie opened the black briefcase and took out a bundle of bills. “Hide this briefcase. We’ll come back for it.”
The doctor pushed it into a closet.
“ Let’s go,” Elie said.
Gideon stood. “What about Bathsheba?”
“ She made a mistake and paid for it. Nothing we could do.” Elie turned to Dr. Geloux. “Call the Israeli embassy, leave word for Tanya Galinski. She’ll make the arrangements to ship the body to Israel for a proper burial.”
“Tanya Galinski?” The doctor scratched his chin. “Is she a petite woman, with dark hair, a porcelain face, and the bearing of a princess?”
“ Yes,” Elie said, “that would be Tanya. Why?”
“ She was here yesterday, looking for you.”
“ Here? ” Elie gripped Gideon’s arm. “We must leave! Now!”
When they opened the door to exit the clinic, several quiet men pointed guns at them.
Tanya appeared from the shadows. “Shalom, Elie.”
*
Thursday, October 26, 1995
The El Al jumbo jet stood on the tarmac far from the main terminal at Charles De Gaulle Airport. Several armored police vehicles guarded the plane. The first group of passengers crossed the short distance from the bus to
