Two From Isaac's House

by Normandie Fischer

  “Way overrated.” He turned into a small lot. “Can you take it out of gear, please?”

  She could see the tension in his face. “You need me to park it?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She changed places with him. “I don’t suppose it would be as easy as leaving the car here?”

  “I don’t think the owners of that shop would appreciate it, and I’d rather not bring attention to us or the car. No, I saw a space just up the block, and I’m hoping our friends won’t be looking for a car with a dent or two. Let’s try for it.”

  She managed to parallel park without incident, and Tony led her down one block and around a corner to a small, unpretentious hotel surrounded by other unpretentious buildings. She kept seeing white cars, all sorts of white cars. White was definitely on her mind, instead of the dark car that matched every other blackish car and was stuck behind a train.

  The hotel’s stone façade had little ornamentation except for balconies that jutted from the few windows facing the street. But the inside made up for the austerity of the front. Everywhere, the thick Oriental carpets and wine-red damask drapes wedded the Orient and Europe. It was gaudy, overdone, filled with huge plants and brass scrollwork, Japanese pots and French furniture. She loved it.

  Tony rang the bell at the desk and smiled down at her. “We should be able to relax a little now, but I’m getting you out of this country as soon as I can.”

  A young woman emerged from an office behind the counter. Tony asked for his cousin. “He is not here. But I am Rachel,” she said, “the sister of his wife. So, your cousin by marriage, yes?”

  Tony laughed. “Yes, indeed. I am Tony. This is Rina.”

  “So pleased. Your cousin will be devastated to have missed you, but he has taken his family to Europe for a month. Would you please to wait in the lounge while I make certain all is ready? We had some late guests.”

  Tony led Rina to a comfortable corner and pulled out his cell phone. “I’m going to call Adam.”

  “He’ll worry.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Tony had just explained where they were and why when Rachel came for them. “Adam, I’ll call you back. Our rooms are ready.” He listened and said, “Yes, we’ll be fine. No, I don’t think you should come.” Another pause. “Just be careful.”

  He disconnected as they headed up the carpeted stairs to rooms on the third, and top, floor of the small hotel. Her room was decorated in pale blue and cream, and her balcony overlooked the narrow street and minuscule park opposite.

  “I hope you will be comfortable, Miss.”

  “Rina, please. It’s lovely, thank you.”

  “And you, Tony, are just next door. Here is your key.”

  “Thank you so much.” As the door shut behind her, Tony pulled Rina close.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, really?”

  “I’m fine. No permanent damage.”

  “You know we don’t have any other clothes, and I need things like a tooth brush and nightshirt.”

  He eyes laughed at her. “You don’t really need a nightshirt, do you?”

  She ducked away from him “I like to sleep in something.”

  “I’ll have Adam grab some of my things and some toiletries on his way.”

  “You told him not to come.”

  “Yeah, well, he insisted. I was pretty sure he would.” He touched her cheek, tracing a line to her chin. His touch eased her constraint. “Relax, love. It will all be okay.”

  He gave her a moment before lowering his lips to hers, a gentle touch that deepened but lasted only long enough to provoke a moan from him. Or had that been from her?

  And then he sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll check my room out and call your uncle. Be right back.”

  That kiss hadn’t slowed her heart, but at least the faster rhythm now came from passion instead of fear. And wouldn’t she like a little more of that sooner rather than later?

  She walked into the bath and splashed cold water on her face. After patting it dry, she brushed her hair and checked out her well-kissed lips. It was incredible what that man could do to her. Just thinking about him put another smile on her face and brought the heart-thumping back into full production.

  Looking at her watch, she imagined Acie tucked neatly in Nicco’s arms about now. And wouldn’t that dear girlfriend be ecstatic when she learned about Tony’s arrival?

  Without luggage, she couldn’t change clothes, so she picked up a magazine from the bedside table and flopped on the edge of the bed. She had started to thumb through it when Tony let himself in the door with her key.

  “Adam had already thought about bringing some of my clothes, and he’s on his way. I’ve got to go out, but you’ll be safe enough. Just keep the door locked and don’t let anyone in but Adam or me. I have a friend with an airplane. I’m going to see if he can fly us out.”

  “Just make sure it’s us and not just me.”

  “Always.”

  “Be careful?”

  “I will, love, don’t fret.” And with another kiss, he left.

  Her nervous stomach forced her into the bathroom. The cramping reminded her how debilitating stress was to her body, but surely it was over now.

  What she ought to do was jog away the tension. As she couldn’t go out, she tried a little running in place. Which distracted her for about ten minutes.

  Figuring a third-floor balcony was safe from prying eyes on the street below, she stepped outside. At least the small terrace had shade against the oppressive heat.

  The men chasing them were out there somewhere, driving around, perhaps still searching. If they found the car, they wouldn’t know about this hotel, a comforting thought as long as she and Tony stayed indoors. But Tony hadn’t.

  She wouldn’t let her mind go there. He was smart. He’d be careful.

  The street was noisy, the air muggy. When she turned to head inside, a flash of color and movement caught her eye from three balconies over. Someone had been there a moment ago. The heat must have driven him back inside, too.

  The air-conditioner muffled outside noises. She kicked off her shoes, fell back on the bed, and flipped open an old copy of Paris Match. Maybe the struggle to read French would dispel her jitters. She managed a few articles, but her knotted muscles wouldn’t loosen. A hot shower sounded like a good idea. She sighed, feeling as if her whole body needed to heave one big, long sigh. Her hand was on the bathroom doorknob when a thump on the balcony floor, followed by a clicking sound, riveted her, and she heard the gentle whoosh as the door opened.

  “One moment, if you please.” Shimon, of the flashy cowboy boots, pointed a small black revolver in the general direction of her nose.

  “Shimon?” Wasn’t he supposed to be on the side of the good guys? He’d claimed to be from the Tiberias area.

  His eyebrows lowered in a scowl, and he swung the gun barrel toward a chair. “Away from that door.”

  “Is this some sort of mistake?”

  “No mistake, and I said move.”

  She inched into the room, not taking her eyes off the black hole pointed at her. How strange that something so small could wield such power. What was he, Israeli Mafia? “Was it you in the black car?” she asked, trying to sound calmer than she felt.

  He smirked. “But of course, my dear. I will say this for Tony. He drives well.”

  “How do you know Tony, and how did you find us after the train?”

  “Tony? Tony and I are old friends. And the train was no hindrance, for, you see, I had Khasim to help me once again. He located you a block from here.”

  “Khasim? Then not Israeli. This Khasim was in the white car? I thought we’d lost him.”

  He shrugged. “Your mistake. We shall sit quietly together until he returns. I have asked him to follow our dear friend Tony, who will perhaps be good enough to lead us to more of his contacts before I have the pleasure of taking him.”

  “You won’t catch
him. Tony’s too smart for you.”

  “Not this time.” His tone lost its cool authority, became bitter. “If I had been given the authority before… It was all the fault of that imbecile Bahir, but now he is dead, and the job has been given to an expert, a professional. It will be accomplished. Sit down.”

  She slid onto the brocade chair. Bahir, Tony’s once-upon-a-time friend. The one who had shot him and left him to die. So, the executioner had been executed. “What’s your name, if it’s not Shimon?”

  He grinned, his crooked teeth showing brown stains. “Jamal. Actually, I am from Israel, though I prefer to give it its proper name. I was born not far from where we met. Naturally, I consider myself a Palestinian.”

  “Naturally. An important distinction, I imagine. You’re one of the terrorists?”

  “Terrorists? Absurd. We are freedom fighters.”

  “Another distinction that depends on perspective.” She kept her tone even. “How do the Israelis let you roam around freely?”

  His grin had turned to a smirk, ugly and evil. “Ah,” he said, “but I am a respected member of society with international business interests here and in Europe. I speak for peace, for negotiation, and so have much freedom.”

  “To kill.”

  “When needed. My talents are often used more effectively elsewhere.”

  “Like tracking foreign women?”

  “And spies.”

  She didn’t have much to say to that, but her stomach acids revolted again. She and Acie had placed themselves at the mercy of this madman and had thought him harmless. She could kick herself for such stupidity. The smile that had seduced her to friendliness now made her ill.

  How on earth was she supposed to escape and warn Tony? He could not be caught again and certainly not through her ineptitude.

  Jamal moved to the window. As he glanced at the street below, he kept the nasty looking muzzle focused on her chest.

  “Do you have to point that thing at me?” She stared at the gun. “I’m not likely to try any heroics, even without it. I forgot to take karate.”

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you, Miss Rina Roberts, you with your American humor. But I have the gun, and you are my prisoner, so which of us is the clever one?” He tossed it from his left hand to his right and back again.

  Her eyes widened as the weapon flipped from hand to hand. “I-I believe you. You’re smarter, and I’m your prisoner. Now do you think you could put that down or at least stop playing with it? It might go off accidentally.”

  He checked outside again before refocusing on her. His hands no longer shifted, only his eyes. She tried to slow her breathing so he wouldn’t see her fear as she hunted up a topic to distract him or to help her concoct an escape plan. He’d checked the lock on the hall door and stood between her and the balcony, and he would kill her, or at least hurt her, if she screamed. Besides, who was likely to hear?

  “Tell me about your cowboy boots,” she said. “Why do you wear them?”

  He shrugged with both his face and the gun. “I like them.”

  Why hadn’t she stayed in Europe? Or gone home? Then Tony wouldn’t be about to walk into a death trap, and she wouldn’t be sitting here at this crazy’s mercy. Two crazies, because he said Khasim was out there, the one they awaited. Khasim of the gray blazer, she assumed.

  She’d come so far. They’d come so far. Tony had survived all those horrible things that had happened to him. And they’d found each other again.

  Everything had been against them from the beginning, and yet everything had worked for them, hadn’t it? She’d waited all her life for him without even knowing of the possibility of such a love. Until they’d met. Until they’d kissed. Until he’d laughed into her eyes.

  And now it would end.

  God, I’m sorry I mocked you. I’m sorry for my lack of faith. Please, please help.

  Her foxhole prayer. Here she was, praying because she didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want Tony to die.

  She pictured him running up to her in the airport with that big grin on his face, the same grin she’d seen the evening he first accosted her on the street. That evening, Tony’s hands had grabbed her arms, and he’d said she was going to be such fun to know.

  These madmen kept snatching away their time. If only Tony hadn’t gotten involved with his cousins in the first place.

  But then he wouldn’t have been in Perugia, would he? And they would never have met. She’d have settled for Jason, which meant she would never have known the first thing about love and passion.

  A toss-up, surely.

  That thought wasn’t productive, except to inspire her toward life. She had to get free, because she was not finished with passion yet. She sent up another prayer to the God she hoped wanted to know her better. Sorry was all she could manage when that thought penetrated her fog. Sorry she’d waited until she was desperate.

  A loud knocking rocked her out of the chair.

  “See who it is.” Jamal waved the gun at the door.

  “Who-o’s...” She cleared her throat. “Who’s there?”

  A female voice asked, “Miss Roberts?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have a telephone call. Can you come, please?”

  She looked at Jamal. He shook his head, motioning to say she was resting. She did as she was told. “Perhaps you could take a message, and I’ll return the call later?”

  “Certainly, I will do that.”

  Jamal looked out the window.

  Adonai, God of my fathers, have mercy.

  She was in Israel. She should pray to her mother’s God, to Adam’s and Tony’s. To Adonai.

  44

  TONY

  Frowning, Tony ended the call. Something had to be very wrong for Rina not to answer. But who could have gotten to her in the time he’d been gone? The white car was here, obviously following him, although how that had happened, he didn’t know. He was sure they’d lost the other car. Was there a third?

  Standing inside the small market, he tried to think how best to get the white car’s driver to take him quickly back to the hotel. And Rina.

  He approached the counter where an old man stood ready to ring him up. He flashed the Arabic newspaper he’d picked up and paid for it. “Do you by any chance have a back exit?” he asked in Arabic. When the man pointed toward the back of the shop, Tony nodded. “Shukran. Thank you.”

  “Afwan.” The old man accepted his thanks and wished him well.

  “And long life and prosperity to you, too.” Tony bowed and grinned and added another bill to the few on the counter.

  “This was for nothing, please.”

  “You keep it. For your grandchildren. A small token to bless me.” Tony knew better than to ignore the niceties if he wanted to go unnoticed. He finally managed to escape the protestations of gratitude and slink out the back alley.

  The driver of the white car watched the store, not the alley at his back. Tony waited at the entrance as the man puffed on his cigarette and flipped through what looked like a magazine, occasionally glancing up to check the door.

  With his shoulder still wrapped, Tony wasn’t worried about removing the sling, and he’d need his right hand. He waited until the driver turned his head to check out a woman in heels and a short skirt and then closed on the passenger door from the man’s blind spot.

  A gun lay tucked under the man’s thigh. Tony jerked open the passenger door, slid into the seat, and grabbed the gun before the fool had time to shift his attention back inside.

  “Now, my friend,” Tony said, aiming the pistol at the other man’s middle. “Let’s take a drive.”

  45

  RINA

  She stared out the glass doors past Jamal as he stepped onto the balcony for a glance at the sidewalk below. The afternoon sun hovered toward the Mediterranean. Horizontal strands of cloud filtered hints of yellow and a few light fingers shot toward earth. Would this be the last time she and Tony would ever see the same sky? She da
bbed at her eyes. She couldn’t think like that. Tony was alive, she was alive, and they weren’t defeated until… well, until they were.

  When Jamal came back into the room, she was desperate to break the silence. “What’s the rest of your name?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I said not.” One eyebrow soared, the other descended in a scowl as he glared at her.

  “I was just trying to make conversation.”

  He continued to stare until his eyebrows normalized into a straight line. Her first opinion of those brows had been right. Her first opinion of the man had been right.

  “Jamal al Faisal.”

  As soon as he spoke his name, fear replaced any need to know. Why hadn’t she remembered that no criminal gave away his name to someone he planned to keep alive? She should have paid more attention to all those fictional heroines.

  The ensuing quiet felt heavier than the last because it gave her too much time to think—and no time to hope. She shot up another prayer.

  Prayer now seemed an excellent idea: she was still alive, and as long as she was alive, there was hope.

  She needed to keep him talking—all the novels said so. Maybe he’d accidentally tell her something she could use, or the talking would give her time to figure a way out and a way to warn Tony. She tried to keep her tone light. “What does the al stand for?”

  “What can it matter to you? You would like to be on a more friendly basis, knowing all about me, about my name? To advance our relationship?” He let his eyes travel down her body, then back again to her chest.

  She crossed her arms to hide her breasts. Maybe talking wasn’t such a good idea. Fiction, after all, was only make-believe. Not real life.

  “You think I wouldn’t dare, Miss Rina Roberts, Miss Rina American pig who bombs our friends, sends money to help our enemies, while you yourself make love to traitors, to spies, to people who help kill my brother, my cousin? You know what the Israeli pigs did to my cousin when they caught him?”