memory.
“Doctor Stein? You have a call on line one.” Rani’s secretary always used a carefully-modulated voice, conveying tranquility and calm.
Rani frowned and put down his pen, pushing the small pile of examination notes and patient files to the side. He punched the intercom button.
“I’m kind of busy right now. Who is it?”
“She said to tell you Golda was on the phone.”
Golda was his late mother’s name.
Rani picked up the handset and depressed the blinking line. “Yes?”
“Gabe’s. Five minutes,” Jet said.
Gabe’s was a delicatessen two blocks away.
Rani began sweating. He hated deadlines of any kind. Had since he was a child. He always felt like someone was imposing their will on him, controlling him, when he had a deadline, and it rankled.
Rani had spent two years in therapy exploring this and other issues, with no clearly defined resolution. He still hated them, still got anxious, and had added self-loathing to the mix now that he fully apprehended how silly hating deadlines was — another reflection of a fatal flaw in his character to accompany his inability to control his appetite. He abandoned the comfort of his desk and moved his considerable bulk through his office door to the reception area.
“I’m stepping out for a soda. You want anything?” he asked his pert young secretary.
“Thank you, Doctor. No, I’m fine. Remember you have Mister Solberg in fifteen minutes.”
“How could I forget Artie? I’ll be right back. Like lightning. Like Ali.” He threw a few air punches that looked more like a bear swatting at a beehive than the famous boxer.
She returned her gaze to the computer screen without comment.
Rani reached his car and unlocked it, taking care to fasten his seatbelt before backing out of his reserved stall. After pulling out of the parking lot, he coasted to a stop at a light one block away and tried some of the self- talk his therapist had recommended.
The light changed, and he rolled forward, careful with the gas. Within another minute, he was at Gabe’s.
He waited outside, wondering what was expected of him, then decided that he might as well get a snack. A guy had to eat. No point in letting his energy wane.
Inside, he was browsing the chip selection when Jet sidled up beside him.
“Rani. What have you got for me?”
“He’s not in great shape, but he wants to see you. Here’s the address. It’s a cottage in one of the suburbs. Been in my family for years. He said to knock on the door the same way you used to.” He slipped a small piece of folded paper to her in what he imagined was sterling spycraft, eyes roving around the empty deli as he did so.
She wordlessly took the paper and unfolded it.
“Got directions? How do I get there from here?”
So much for his vision of how a clandestine rendezvous would work.
“Head to the main boulevard three blocks north and make a left towards the sea, go down until you hit a big supermarket on the right, make a right at the next street. It’s three blocks down. Can’t miss it.” Rani paused, studying her face. “It was nice meeting you. I wish it was under better circumstances.” He tried a smile.
“How badly hurt is he?”
“Gut shot. I had to do some fast and complicated surgery, but he should recover, with a little luck. All I had was local anesthetic in the office. The pain must have been incredible…”
“He’s always struck me as brave about things like that.”
“Not always. If he cut himself shaving when we roomed together he’d cry like a newborn.” Rani hesitated. “That was a while ago, I guess.”
“You’re a true friend. Now do yourself a favor, Rani. Forget you ever met me. Don’t tell anyone about me, or about David. Your life depends on you knowing nothing. Whoever shot David is still out there. You don’t want any part of this.”
And then she was gone, leaving only a lingering fragrance of clean, sweet skin.
Chapter 15
The little house was unremarkable, one of countless bungalows in the neighborhood, close enough to the beach to smell the sea. She found a parking place on a side street and performed her customary stealthy perusal of the area to ensure there were no obvious threats — no suspicious vehicles, no questionable loiterers. This kind of area was a nightmare for counter-surveillance, with few places to hide and a lot of single and multi-story buildings with plenty of windows, any of which could hold a watcher or a sniper. She adjusted her new sun hat and oversized dark sunglasses, and ambled slowly down the sidewalk, past the cottage and to the corner, where she ducked into a market and bought a half-liter bottle of mineral water. When she emerged, she took her time drinking it, eyes methodically scoping out the block from behind her colored lenses.
Satisfied that the area was clean, she approached the front door, taking note of the tiny all-weather camera mounted under the eave. Two soft knocks. A pause. One louder.
She listened for any sound, but heard nothing. Then a voice from inside, barely audible, but distinctive.
“It’s open.”
Reaching down to twist the knob, she took a deep breath. After three years and traveling halfway around the world, the moment of truth had finally arrived.
Jet stepped into the dimly-lit entry foyer and closed the door behind her. David’s voice called to her from the living room.
“Lock it.”
She did as instructed, then turned, moving to where he was waiting for her.
Sunlight filtered in through the translucent curtain, framing David’s silhouette as he sat in an easy chair, facing her, holding a Glock. Next to him was a computer screen with two application windows open, grainy images of the front and rear of the building flickering — Rani’s amateur security system, she presumed. She squinted and raised her hand to remove her hat and sunglasses — he motioned with the gun.
“Slowly.”
She took the glasses off, dropping them on the coffee table that sat between them.
“Nice to see you, too,” she said. “Now what?”
“That depends. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“I was attacked. I want answers.”
“Well, we have that in common.” He regarded the couch to her right. “Sit down.” Not so much an invitation as an order.
She did as instructed and took in his appearance. His face was pale and drawn, but other than that, he was the same David she’d last seen — a few days before she’d disappeared in a bright flash on the streets of Algiers.
“How did you think to find me through Rani?”
“I went by the safe house. Cops and army everywhere. Figured you’d need a friend.” She shrugged. “Which you do, from where I’m sitting.”
“Ah.”
“How long are you going to point that thing at me like I’m here to kill you?”
“Until I know you aren’t here to kill me.”
“David. Please. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. All due respect, you’re no match for me in the field.” She smiled tentatively. “So why don’t we cut the bullshit and you tell me what’s going on?”
The pistol wavered, then he put it on the arm of his chair and sighed, closing his eyes. He’d obviously used up considerable resources just holding it on her.
“You look like shit. How badly wounded are you?” she asked.
