with his group-conspiracy theory.
All of the above. None of the above.
Ten suspects. His men and Amos Harel's undercover backups would be stretched to capacity. The chance of getting something before next Thursday's women's clinic seemed slimmer than ever.
The Sumbok wire. Bij Duurstede had sent it, but he hadn't received it. He left his office to check with Communications and, midway down the corridor, met a female officer carrying the printout.
Taking it from her, he read it in the hall, running his finger down the names of St. Ignatius students, and getting even more frustrated when he saw the size of it.
Four hundred thirty-two students, fifteen faculty, twenty 'ancillary' staff. Not a single match to his ten.
Four hundred sixty-eight surnames followed by first initials. None of them identified in terms of nationality. About half the names sounded Anglo-Saxon-that could mean British, Australian, New Zealanders, and South Africans as well as Americans. And, for that matter, Argentinians-some of them had names like Eduardo Smith. And some of the Italian, French, German, and Spanish names could have belonged to Americans too.
Useless.
He scanned the list for Arabic names. Three definites: Abdallah. Ibn Azah. Malki. A few possibles that could also have been Pakistani, Iranian, Malaysian, or North African: Shah, Terrif, Zorah.
Another waste of time.
He returned to his office, suddenly exhausted, forced himself to call Gabi Weinroth, the Latam man stationed atop the law building at the Scopus Hebrew U. campus with an infrared telescope focused on the Amelia Catherine.
'Scholar,' answered Weinroth, in code.
'Sharavi,' said Daniel, eschewing the name game. 'Anything new?'
'Nothing.'
The fifth 'nothing' of the day. He reiterated his home number to the undercover man, hung up, and left for the place that matched it.
He drove around Talbieh and the neighboring German Colony, looking for Dayan, seeing only the luminescent eyes of stray cats, part of nocturnal Jerusalem for centuries.
After three go-rounds, he gave up, went home, opened the door to his flat expecting family sounds, was greeted by silence.
He entered, closed the door, heard a throat clear in the studio.
Gene was in there, using Laura's drawing table for a desk, surrounded by stacks of paper. The stretched canvases and palettes and paint boxes had been shoved to one side of the room. Everything looked different.
'Hello, there,' said the black man, removing his reading glasses and getting up. 'The Arizona and Oregon files came this morning. I didn't call you because there's nothing new in them-the local investigations didn't get very far. Your boys are sleeping over at your dad's. The ladies are catching a late movie. I just got a call from the night manager at the Laromme, very dependable fellow. Another package arrived for me. I'm going to run down and pick it up.'
'I'll go get it.'
'No way,' said Gene, looking him over. 'Take some time to clean up. I'll be right back-don't argue.'
Daniel acquiesced, went into his bedroom, and stripped naked. When the front door closed, he gave an involuntary start, realized his nerves were frayed raw.
His eyes felt gritty; his stomach sat like an empty gourd in its abdominal basket. But he felt no desire for food. Coffee, maybe.
He put on a robe and went into the kitchen, brewed some Nescafe double-strength, then padded to the bathroom and took a shower, almost falling asleep under the spray. After dressing in fresh clothes, he returned to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and sat down to drink. Bitter, but warming. After two sips, he put his head down on the table, awoke in the midst of a confusing dream-bobbing in a rowboat, but no water, only sand, a dry dock
'Hello, sweetie.'
Laura's face smiling down at him. Her hand on his shoulder.
'What time is it?'
'Eleven-twenty.'
Out for half an hour.
'Gene found you this way. He didn't have the heart to wake you up.'
Daniel got up, stretched. His joints ached. Laura reached out, touched his unshaven face, then put her arms around his waist.
'Skinny,' she said. 'And you can't afford it.'
'I didn't find the dog,' he said, hugging her tightly.
'Hush. Hold me.'
They embraced silently for a while.
'What movie did you see?' he asked.
'Witness.'
