hairy-arsed coppers with a drink problem.’ He picked up an
Harry nodded. ‘Long shot. Leave it.’
Rik opened the folder and tapped the briefing paper where it mentioned Haifa University. There were no other details, such as contact numbers, faculty, or departmental names. ‘Didn’t you say Silverman was a doctor of theology?’
‘According to Jennings. Before he went AWOL.’
Harry chewed on that for a while. Jennings might have picked up the information at an original client briefing, but for some reason hadn’t bothered including it in his notes, such as they were. Still, even if they didn’t have the department, how big could the place be? The Professor must have had friends there at one time; someone might remember him and give them some background information.
‘I need a phone number,’ said Harry.
‘I’m on it.’ Rik turned to his laptop and began punching keys.
TWELVE
Harry dialled the number and waited. It rang twelve times before being answered by a gruff male voice. He asked if they had a Professor Samuel Silverman on the staff. There was a sharp reply in what he took to be Hebrew, before the phone clicked and a woman’s voice came on with an American accent. He repeated the question.
‘Who are you?’ She sounded instantly suspicious. ‘It’s a holiday today. Why do you want to know?’
‘I need to speak to him,’ he said finally, winging it. He had no idea if the university staff were aware that Silverman had gone walkabout, and didn’t want to set alarm bells ringing unnecessarily. ‘He was helping my nephew with some study advice.’
The woman made a grudging noise, and he heard the sound of paper rustling. In the background someone laughed and a computer beeped. ‘You say Samuel?’ said the woman after a lengthy wait. ‘Samuel Silverman?’
‘That’s right. Professor Samuel Silverman.’ He waited. If she wanted the department and the subject, he was sunk.
‘What’s he teaching? You don’t know?’ The woman must have extrasensory perception. He wondered what to say. What subject or speciality would an Israeli professor, apparently much valued by his government, teach? It wouldn’t be theology, in spite of what Jennings had said. Defence studies was more likely. Statistics, maybe. But they wouldn’t work — not now he’d mentioned a nephew. He had to risk a bluff. ‘You think my nephew tells me what he’s studying?’ he countered dramatically. ‘He tells me nothing, like he tells his parents. I have to force things out of him. It could be theology, though — he’s into all that stuff.’
Across the room, Rik shook his head in mock despair.
‘Sorry,’ said the woman. ‘Silvermans we have plenty of, but not a Samuel. And believe me, sir, we’ve had the same theology staff here since Golda Meir was in small pants.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry — nobody of that name on the staff here.’ In spite of her abruptness, she sounded sympathetic. ‘And no visiting lecturers, either — I checked the register, in case. We have people coming and going all the time, you see. You should maybe try another campus.’
He thanked her and rang off. ‘No Professor Samuel Silverman, nor ever was.’
Rik pulled a face. ‘Maybe he was caught playing naughties with a student and they’ve blanked him from the records.’
‘That would take some doing.’
‘Not if he was in tight with the government. Scandals they don’t need.’
‘OK, so given that he’s cut loose from his life in the Promised Land, what made him decide to come to Britain?’ He stood up and stretched, then stared at the ceiling as if it might contain the answer. He didn’t mind puzzles — relished them, in fact — but this wasn’t even a small one; it was a nothing made up of vague facts.
‘If he was grief-stricken,’ Rik ventured, ‘it might have been on impulse.’
‘Or he’s been here before without anyone knowing. It’s always easy going back to a place the second time round.’
‘Where would you go if it happened to you? If you had to disappear at a moment’s notice?’
Harry pursed his lips. Good point. Not being a family man himself, the question was academic. If he were forced, really forced, he could cut and run anywhere he chose at a moment’s notice. But trying to imagine himself into the lives of the people they were searching for was a habit that had often proved useful in whittling down the options.
‘I’d go anywhere I could find a hole, pull the lid over me and hide,’ he said eventually. ‘I suppose if I was coming from somewhere like Israel, I’d want a similar climate without the people. But nowhere I wouldn’t fit in and nowhere I’d be recognized.’
Rik yawned. ‘Fair enough. But wouldn’t you want somewhere familiar — somewhere where you knew you
Harry saw what he was driving at. People on the run rarely chose a place they’d never been to in their lives before. A few did; those who could step off the edge with no backward glance and a sincere faith in their own abilities to survive in an alien location. But they were a rarity. Mostly, runners looked for a place with a similar culture or language, where the requirement to adapt was less of a struggle, or where they had local contacts to fall back on. There was no guarantee otherwise that they would find a suitable hole. It also followed that only the truly desperate, with none of the mental or financial resources required to successfully disappear, would put themselves unwittingly in the position where they stood out to the degree that people began asking questions.
Harry’s phone buzzed. He listened for a few moments, then asked the caller to hold. He turned to Rik. ‘There’s no record of a Samuel Silverman coming through any terminals on the twenty-seventh.’
‘You told her the right date?’ Even as he said it, he looked apologetic. Harry wouldn’t have made such a basic mistake. ‘Scratch that.’
They stared at each other until they heard a whistling noise emanating from the phone. Harry put it to his ear.
‘Sorry, Sandra,’ he said softly. ‘Surprised, that’s all.’ He listened, then said, ‘It was a reliable source, yes.’ Then he added, ‘OK, will do.’ He switched off the phone. ‘No Silverman. If Jennings’ information was correct and he came in on the twenty-seventh, he must have been using another name. And LH4736 originated in Frankfurt, not Israel.’
‘He took a roundabout route.’
‘Looks like it. But why?’
There was only one answer: Silverman had been laying a false trail, making it harder for anyone to follow. It made their task even worse. How to find a man they didn’t know, using a name they didn’t have? If the name was chosen at random, he could be holding a passport in the name of Mr Magoo for all they knew.
Harry checked the folder, but there were no other family names the professor might have used. He wouldn’t be the first person in the world to have acquired a second set of papers. The reasons why a professor might do such a thing would be interesting, as would be the source of supply. But that wasn’t relevant right now. It was also a pity they didn’t have access to the acquaintance who had spotted him at the airport.
‘We’re stuffed,’ Rik concluded.
‘Not yet.’ Harry waved his phone, not ready to give up. ‘Since Nine-eleven, all CCTV recordings and digital media are sent from the cameras around the terminals to an editing service near the airport for checking, enhancing and archiving. Sandra can get us inside but we’d have to sit and check the screens ourselves. We know what Silverman looks like. If we can spot him on the screens, we’ve a chance of seeing where he went.’
Rik looked sceptical. ‘She can do that? What about security?’
‘I didn’t like to ask.’
Rik groaned, his feelings clear. The prospect of spending several hours poring over flickering images was