the stairs. Gideon watched them through the window on the upper deck. A Mossad agent guarded the door, occasionally whispering to his wristwatch.
Some of the first-class seats had been removed to make room for Bathsheba’s coffin and Elie’s hospital bed. He was asleep. His skin was almost transparent, and his facial bones gave him a skeletal appearance. A nurse attended to his IV bags and the heart monitor.
While the flight attendants downstairs recited the emergency instructions for use of exits and oxygen masks, Tanya Galinski showed up with a small entourage. She greeted Gideon with a nod. He turned away, adjusted the small pillow against the fuselage, and closed his eyes.
*
Pierre was ready for Prince Abusalim in the bathroom with a jar of warm lather and soft music on the radio. He fastened the cape around the prince’s neck, lowered the back of the barber chair, and laid a steamed towel over his eyes. He applied the lather to the prince’s cheeks and chin while on the radio Jacques Brel sang “ Regarde Bien Petite. ”
The blade was like a musical instrument in Pierre’s hand, hovering near the skin so lightly that Prince Abusalim barely felt it. Pierre worked slowly, patiently, humming with Brel as he stretched each plot of skin and slid the blade.
His eyes closed under the soothing facecloth, Prince Abusalim thought about the dramatic events that would unfold in the next few days, paving the path to the restoration of the family’s greatness and his own eternal fame. Pierre was done with the left side, and the prince heard him shuffle around the chair. Brel continued singing, but Pierre stopped humming.
The prince began to wonder. He pulled the warm towel off his eyes and tried to sit up, but strong hands held him down.
The barber was gone. Hajj Vahabh Ibn Saroah looked back from the mirror, his brown skin and white hair oddly out of place in the dark business suit that replaced his robe and kafiya. He held Pierre’s blade. His sun-beaten face radiated raw power. Two men stood by the chair, holding the prince down.
The hajj took out a pocket-size cassette player and placed it on the counter among the toiletries. He leaned over Prince Abusalim and brought the blade to the skin, moving it down, marking a dark path in the white lather. When the hajj placed the blade for a second take, the voices came from the small cassette player:
“ Our operation last week was just the beginning. Allah will bring us victory. And he will bless you with fortunes ten times your generosity.”
Prince Abusalim recognized Abu Yusef’s voice and tried to rise, only to be pushed down. He heard his own voice reply: “Yes. I think He will. How much do you need?”
“The fight is long and costly. Very costly.”
“ Truth is, I’m having some difficulties right now.”
“ I understand.” Abu Yusef paused. “Can we help?”
“There is a man who stands in my way. He will be in Paris soon.”
“We shall be honored to remove that man from your way.”
“ Five million dollars.”
“Excellency! Your friendship alone is a sufficient gift. But of course, we accept!”
“ Good. I’ll arrange to transfer half the amount. Call me on Wednesday morning for the details. The other half will be paid after you remove him.”
“ Agreed! And who is that dog, that filthy infidel, who dared to stand in your way?”
“Turn it off!” Prince Abusalim again struggled to sit up, but fell back, defeated, his own condemning words coming from the counter:
“That man is my father, Sheik Da’ood Ibn Hisham az-Zubayr.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. My father will be in Paris next week. I’ll let you know where he’s staying. And I don’t want him to suffer. A clean job, that’s what I’m looking for.”
“Your own father? Allah’s mercy!”
“ Can you do it?”
“ Ah, well, for the freedom of Palestine, five million-”
The hajj’s fingers tightened around Prince Abusalim’s wavy mane, holding his head back against the headrest. He slid the blade down the prince’s cheek, taking bristles and skin with it. “Stealing from your father to pay for his murder?”
The prince shouted, “Get your hands off me, slave! ”
“I’m proud to serve.” The hajj looked down at him. “Your father is a great man.” He pushed up the back of the barber chair until Prince Abusalim was sitting up straight, the white cape around his neck, the hajj’s left hand tightly clenched in his hair. The other hand held the blade to the prince’s neck. “Your father is my master, not you!”
“And my father must have told you not to harm me!”
“ Do not raise your hand to my boy! He did say that.”
“ Then obey! Or you’ll pay dearly!”
“But I must protect my master, especially when his kind heart could cause his demise. I’ve known you since the moment you came out of your mother’s womb. You won’t wait for Allah to take your father in old age. You’re a menace, and I’m your father’s protector.”
“ If you kill me, my father will never forgive you!”
“ All the same, I must do my duty. Now beg for Allah’s forgiveness.” The hajj’s hand pulled hard on Prince Abusalim’s hair, tilting his head back. With one quick movement, he slashed the prince’s throat from ear to ear.
In the mirror, Prince Abusalim saw blood burst out of his slashed throat. At first there was no pain, but soon a fire spread from his throat to his chest and arms, and in another moment his whole body was burning. He tried to move but couldn’t. The blood oozed down onto the white cape. He tried to talk, his jaw moving up and down without sound. The air that left his lungs never reached his vocal cords but slurped out through his severed trachea. He realized that this was the sound of his last breath. In desperation, his hands rose to stem the flow of blood, but he slumped, powerless. His head dropped forward, his eyes still open, seeing only red.
*
Gideon woke up as the jetliner crossed the coastline south of Tel Aviv. Hebrew music played on the speakers, “ We bring shalom upon you .” The small TV screen above the aisle showed a video clip produced by the Israeli Ministry of Tourism, with flowers and sunshine and deep blue water splashed by a passing windsurfing board and a pretty woman on a grinning camel.
Down below, Gideon saw the cigar-like shadow of the plane on the blue water, the sandy Tel Aviv beach, and the strip of five-star hotels. The jetliner tipped its wings eastward. The roar of its engines drew up the tiny faces of fishermen on the rocky pier of Jaffav›
They descended in a wide crescent over Ramla and Lod, touched down on a runway that bordered well- groomed fields, and came to a final stop a few hundred feet from the main terminal.
On the upper deck, a side door opened to welcome a hydraulic ramp. Men in El Al uniforms rolled out Bathsheba’s coffin and Elie’s hospital bed.
Gideon followed them onto the ramp, which descended to the ground. Feather clouds floated above, and the warm rays of the sun shone on Elie’s face. He opened his eyes, and his hand felt about until it found the heavy bible, which rested on the sheets by his side. Gideon had placed it there last night, after helping Tanya and her Mossad agents clear out the suite at the Hilton.
Elie curled a finger.
Gideon leaned over the bed to listen.
“ Call Zurich,” Elie whispered. “Hoffgeitz Bank. Wilhelm Horch. Tell him to launch CFS.”
“Tell him what?”
“Launch…CFS.”
“Hey!” One of Tanya’s agents ran over. “No talking!”
Gideon gestured dismissively. “He’s confused. What did you give him?”
A plane was taking off nearby, and the ground quivered with the thunderous roar of its engines.
Screeching tires made him turn. Two white Subaru sedans, each with several antennas, let out men in civilian
