by Jeff Spence
"Plus five thousand for each of our men killed, if such a tragedy should occur. For their families."
"Fine."
Tan Jacket smiled again. It would be easy to manufacture the deaths of a half dozen men if need be. If Thoma wanted bodies, well that was no problem either — plenty of bodies could be found at five thousand a head, with room to spare. This man Thoma had money, to be sure — but he wasn't used to having it. They had dealt with rich men before, and they were always the most unwilling to let go of their money. This man seemed eager to prove the abundance of it.
"I will give you instructions then, when I have the details of his current whereabouts. How do I contact you?"
"Here," the man handed him a small paper card with an email address and password written on it, "You sign into this email address and write an email with the information. Then you save it as a draft. Do not send it. They scan emails for information, but only when they move from sender to receiver.”
“They? Who are they?”
“Anyone. Authorities.”
"So I don't address it to anyone?"
"No, just write it and leave it there. I will access the account and read the email. I will delete it when I have done so, so you will know I have it."
"And if you have anything to tell me?"
"The same method, the same email. Open up the draft and read it, then delete. Delete everything once you have seen it. We must not leave a trail, however faint or difficult, for others to follow. And no names. Use ‘the American,’ or ‘the Jew,’ that kind of thing. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes I do." Thoma nodded. It was a good plan. These men seemed to know what they were doing.
"Then the final thing," the man leaned forward, the smile gone from his face and his palms placed flat upon the table. He looked directly into Thoma's eyes with a stare that seemed devoid of all life, of all Thoma knew as human.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Do not ever come back to this place again. When the time comes for the rest of the money to come, we will make arrangements. Is this, too, understood?"
"Yes. It is."
"Never."
"Yes, I understand."
"Do you have any questions before you go?"
Thoma thought a moment. "What should I call you?"
The man stared long into his eyes, but Toma focused all of his will to wait out the answer. His eyes fell to the table in the face of that lifeless stare, but he did not move away.
"You don't need to call me anything, Mister Thoma. All you need to do is remember that we, too, are serious men. If your end of the bargain proves true, you need not worry about anything."
Thoma stood and backed away from the table, then he slipped out into the light and went back out through the narrow alley and into the back of the bazaar and the bustle of everyday life. With the parting words of his new partner he had realised the simple parallel: if Thoma held up his end of the deal, he needn't worry about anything — he believed that — but he also understood that, should anything go wrong from his end, should that money not reach its destination or should his new partner feel cheated on the deal in any way… then there was very little Thoma should not worry about.
Ben wished he had said more to Marina, had convinced her that talking to the police was not an option, that talking to anyone was not an option. He wasn’t sure if he should tell her about others being in danger if he didn't translate the writing on the photographs or do as he was told — just for a while. Would that help keep her quiet, or stir up panic in the woman. He suspected the former, but without a concrete reason to think so, he had to consider the worst case scenario as well. He couldn’t risk David and Mimi’s lives, even for his own safety. A little work, a little time, then he would be out of it, and no one would be in danger anymore.
He came to a decision. He should ask her, simply and plainly, to help keep those he cared about safe.
He grabbed the little piece of paper and tapped the number into his phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me. Ben.”
“Yes.”
Yes she knew, or yes what-do-you-want? he wasn’t sure.
“Look,” he said, “I know today was weird, what happened. It’s not a normal thing.”
"I feel like this is somehow my fault — the fight and everything."
"It's not your fault at all. It's nothing to do with you. You just came to do a good thing at a bad time."
“I-”
“No, please, let me finish. What this man wants, he’s going to get. He’s willing to hurt people to get it, and I’m not willing to let him do so. I can stop it. I do what he wants, and he leaves them alone, leaves me alone, leaves you alone too.”
“You’re doing something for him?”
“Nothing illegal.” He wasn’t sure of that. Probably was illegal, when he thought about it, even possessing the stolen images… or was it? “He just needs some translation work, that’s all. I’ll do it, then walk away. He won’t need me after that, and he won’t need to hold a threat over anyone else after that. Just please, for a little while, just pretend it never happened. You’re safe. I promise.”
“What about you? You don’t seem too safe to me.”
“I will be, if I do what he’s asked.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” though he wasn’t, “I am positive.”
She said nothing. He waited.
“Okay. I won’t say anything.” She didn’t know who she would have said anything to. Certainly not the police. “But let me know you’re okay, from time to time, alright?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Okay. Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“You were very brave today, trying to keep me out of this.”
“Yeah well… had to try.”
“I appreciate it, really. If I hadn’t have pressed you, he had have let me go.”
“Maybe. No way to know.”
“Even so… thank you. Not many guys would do that.”
“I guess I’ll see you later… around the school.”
“Yeah, probably. And you’ll let me know.”
“Yeah.”
It was a strange end to the call. Anticlimactic. They mumbled goodbyes and hung up and that was it. Ben put the car in gear, pulled out into the street, and headed for home. When he felt the acceleration of the vehicle, he sensed that something in him had changed. He didn't feel afraid anymore. He felt the way she saw him in that moment, the way Donna had seen him as he sat beside her bed in the hospital, always there, quiet, but aware. A sentry of sorts, between the world and those he loved. He could do this. He could keep them all safe. He rode home in silence, pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine. He sat still a moment, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine. One more call to make. It was late, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had made sure. He pulled out his phone and dialled his father in law.
"Hello, David? How are things?"
"I'm at the hospital, Ben, Mimi's been attacked."
"What happened?" He held his breath.
"She's been beaten, son, pretty bad."
"How bad? Will she be okay?" Sweat broke out in Ben's forehead. Bass had lied again.
"I don't know. Her face is pretty swollen, they say she has some cracked ribs. Oh God, Ben, who would do this? For a purse? Mimi would have given money to anyone who needed it. Those bastards. Those…" His voice trailed off.
So much for Bass's assurance that it had been only a couple of bruises. Trust no one, he had said, trust no one.
"It will be okay, I'm sure she'll be okay. Do you want me to come by?"
"No, she wouldn't want that — being seen that way, I mean — she's shaken up though. I'm so goddam mad, I could kill somebody!"
"I know, I know how you feel. It'll be okay, though. It will."
Ben could hear an attempt at an answer, choked off by a sob, or by the effort of stifling one. He waited.
"You t
ake care of yourself son, and I'll let you know when you can come and pay your respects. She'll stay the night in the hospital, but should be home tomorrow. I'll let her know you called and wanted to come by.”
“Yes, do. Thanks. Hang in there, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah I will."
Ben hung up.
A few bruises, Bass had said. A few bruises. Instead she had broken bones, a messed-up face and at least one night in the hospital. What else had Bass lied about?
Would they be safe from that psycho even after this stuff was all over?
Ben still had to do what he was told, he was resigned to that, but how best to keep the others out of danger? That was the main thing. It was too much to ask David and Mimi to go anywhere, even if they could, with their house and mortgage. Besides, he was too ashamed to tell them what he had gotten mixed up in, that it was his fault Mimi had been beaten and that the rest of them might be facing the same thing — or worse. Besides that, they were both stubborn and proud people. They weren’t likely to do anything under threat, not for their own safety, anyway.
No, Mimi and David would have to stay in the dark on this one, at least for now.
Marina, however, she was a different situation. She had only just gotten involved, and even then, barely so. If she packed up and fled, maybe Bass would let her go and forget about her. After all, he didn't need her… he had Mimi and David. Ben had agreed to cooperate in exchange for their safety, and he meant to do it. Thanks to Bass, and to the man in his office, Ben had fifteen thousand dollars in cash. He could give her enough for a long holiday, someplace cheap and far away. She might even welcome the opportunity.
Marina needn't be involved.
The first thing Marina did after Ben was gone was to pull her gun out of its case and slide it between the cushion and the end of the couch, within quick and easy reach. It was a G43 9mm Glock. The six round magazine was loaded, and an additional round was already chambered. It was ready to fire. She moved to the kitchen, held her head over her kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face. She had the urge to wretch, to puke out the stress and memories dredged up by the last hour and a half. But she took in a few deep breaths, rubbed the cool water over the back of her neck, and the feeling subsided.
She opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, the last one there, and returned with it to the living room. She turned the television on and flipped through to something light — an early Frasier rerun — and then dropped her hand to rest on the grip of the Glock. Feeling it there helped her, in some way. She felt exposed. Foolish. But not helpless.
The phone made her jump, and it rang several times before she picked it up. It was Ben again. He waited on the other end of the line and each ring brought to him images of a home invader, a beating, rape, or killing. He had almost made up his mind to race back there when her voice, soft and controlled, came over the line.
"Hello?"
"Hi Marina, it's Ben again."
"Hi. You okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I was more concerned about you."
"I'm alright."
"Look, you know how I told you that things would be okay if you just kept quiet and if I did what was wanted of me."
"Yes…"
"Well now I'm not so sure."
"What do you mean? Have you changed your mind? Do you need me to call someone?"
"No, no, don't do that. What I mean is that I don't think things are as safe as they seem… as they seemed earlier. I don't think…" how should he word this? “I think you should consider getting away for a while. Quietly."
"You mean run away?"
"Not like that, not anything so desperate or permanent. All I mean is that now would be a good time to take yourself off of the radar. The people who need this work done might not be interested in using you against me, but then again… I don't trust them. I would just feel better if I knew that it wasn't an option for them, that's all."
"So you mean I should get out of here so I'll be safe? Just pick up and run? Leave everything?"
"I know, I know, it is a lot to ask. Money isn't an issue though, I have enough to leave you as much as you need — ten or fifteen thousand if you need it — you can go to Mexico, or even Europe. Just vacation for a month or two, lie low. I can leave a message for you when it's all safe… email or something."
"That's what you want? For me to run away and hide?"
"In a nutshell, Marina, yes. Would you do that for me? I know you hardly know me, but would you consider that if I paid for it?"
She paused, processing his words, weighing the situation and the man with whom she was in it. He waited.
"Okay, I'll consider it. How would I get the money? Can I stop by your place?"
"Yes, that would work. Thank you, Marina, I know it's a lot to ask, but thank you so much. It's a load off my mind."
"You just keep yourself safe. What's your address?"
The smell of strong coffee wafted through a small Indiana hotel room. A petite woman, wrinkled and scowling, listened to a headset attached to a laptop. The audio transmitters that had been planted in Ben Gela's car and home were doing their job, feeding a steady stream of audio to her computer each time sound rose above the ambient. She had been listening in on a few of his conversations over the past day, nothing terribly exciting or juicy — but this was different.
He had told the girl to run. What did that mean? The wrinkled woman wasn't party to whatever Mr. Kantor had going on, and she was too smart to ask any more than he chose to tell her, but she was sure this threw a wrench into his plans. She picked up a packet of cigarettes and placed one, unlit, between her lips. Then she pressed the speed-dial on her phone.
"Hello Mr. Kantor. Yes, just thought this shouldn't wait for the report. He's called Marina Saalik and asked her to run away, to hide. … No, just Marina. … Yes sir," she flicked on her lighter as she spoke and held it to the end of her cigarette, "I certainly will." A deep pull, as if all that was calm and good in the world could be sucked in through the little white tube of paper, and a cloud of smoke billowed out to join the fragrant smell of coffee in the air, "Of course, sir. Good-bye."
Leonard Kantor held his thumbnail to his teeth, nearly pinched them down on it, then stood up in disgust. He had not chewed his fingernails since he was a child. The American was starting to become a problem. Again he thought back to how simple it would have been to keep the images on an unconnected computer with a couple of armed guards in the room. So easy to do, and so much trouble would have been averted. If something happened to the scroll or, worse yet, to the treasure to which it might lead, he didn't know what he had do. The shame of it was more than he could imagine.
"What to do?" he said softly, rising from his chair and looking out of his window toward the sparkling water of the Mediterranean Sea. He was a hard man, when he needed to be, but he far preferred a nuanced approach, something mutually beneficial wherever possible. His mind rolled over and over, seeking different options. But he could only think of one thing to do. The woman gone, the professor uncooperative… Bass seemingly in control. Not unsympathetic, a man trying to keep the woman safe, his late wife's parents safe. No, not unsympathetic.
But he couldn't let it go on. He had to get Ben Gela working for his side. Or at the very least, remove him from Bass’s.
"Shame," he muttered, "a true shame."
ELEVEN
"Shame on you, thinking I'd cut and run like that while you faced this by yourself!"
Marina stood in his doorway, the light rain wet on her shoulders. She wore a thin, tan shirt, like an African explorer, and Ben tried to keep his eyes from straying to the spots where her nipples pressed out against the damp material. No time for distractions. He knew that she was there to support him, but he also knew the danger involved. Besides, what could she do to help?
"I wouldn't just leave you in all of this, Ben! What kind of person do you think I am?"
"I think you're a regular person, the kind that can't help in a situation like th
is, no matter how much she might want to."
"A regular person? I don't know what 'regular' means then, because I couldn't let an innocent person face this, alone, whether I thought I could make a difference or not. Being here for you, that's the difference I can make." She didn't mention the Glock tucked into the back of her jeans, or that she knew how to use it. "If I need to keep the coffee on while you work, I'll do that. If you need groceries, I'll do that. If I need to learn Greek to help you, I'll even do that. You might find there's more to me than you know!"
Ben smiled. "Aramaic."
"What?"
"What you'd need to learn… it's Aramaic. Usually one learns Hebrew, then Aramaic and Syriac. The text I'm translating for Bass, it's in Aramaic."
"So then I'll learn Ara-"
"-maic"
"Yes, Aramaic… I'll learn that then." Her arms were folded across her chest and her face set in an expression that left no doubt in the one who saw it: she was there to stay.
Ben took her coat, and as he turned to hang it on a hook in the short hallway, she pulled the hem of her shirt from her belt and let it hang down, covering the gun from casual view.
He was glad, truth be told, that she hadn't listened to him. The task would seem less lonely, less frightening, with someone else there. She ruffled her hair and peeked at him through the damp locks. "So you don't know Greek?"
Ben smiled and shrugged, "We learn that before Hebrew…"
"My God! When do you nerdy types ever have any fun?"
As she walked off to the kitchen to put on the coffee, Ben stared after her, one corner of his mouth pulled back in a crooked smile. He didn't dare tell her about the French or German he had had to learn for reading scholarly articles, or the years of Akkadian and Arabic in his graduate period… just for fun.
From the depth of shadow by a brick wall across the street, a man in a thick raincoat adjusted the gun under his arm and dialled a number on his mobile. He spoke in low tones, always with an eye toward the ground-floor apartment across from him.