The Terrorist's Holiday

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Yeah. Oh, listen, Chief,” Barry said, turning back again. “I’ll be taking those days for Passover after all.”

  “Baker, you team up with Thompson then.”

  “But I don’t want to be taken off this case, Chief.”

  “Oh, of course not, Wintraub,” Petersen said with excessive dramatic gesture, “we’ll just hold a moratorium on crime until Passover ends.”

  “At least you can count on those thieves and murderers who are religious Jews,” Barry said quickly.

  Petersen’s face froze. “Huh?”

  “Don’t forget that call, Chief,” Barry said and marched out. Baker followed behind him, laughing.

  “Hey, hold up. Where we goin’ so fast?”

  “Up to see Rabbi Kaufman. You heard the chief.”

  “You goin’ to let me go in with you this time, Jew boy?”

  “Yeah,” Barry said. “See what you think.”

  Kaufman’s wife greeted the detectives at the door. She was a thin woman with a quiet smile. She moved gracefully and spoke with her eyes. The look of peace in her face was the look of peace that comes after everything was over—the battles and the burials. Mentally, she had taken herself into all the avenues of the future, Barry thought. This was a woman who had come to grips with the possibilities her husband’s work held early on. She was a woman of great strength or great emotional fatigue.

  “This is Lieutenant Baker,” Barry said as they stepped into the living room. Kaufman stood up and shook Baker’s hand.

  “You both looked worried.”

  “That’s what comes of working with a man like Wintraub,” Baker said. He smiled at Barry.

  “Your illegal alien is gone,” Barry said as he sat down. Baker took the easy chair to the right. Kaufman sat on the couch.

  “To some other part of the city?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Somewhere on East Ninety-Third, perhaps?” Kaufman said, smiling.

  “How did you …” Barry looked at Baker. He shrugged. “You had us followed.”

  “A little insurance for our investment of trust. Don’t be offended.”

  “Then you people have been staking out the Mandel apartment as well, I’d venture to guess.”

  “We have. Tell me about East Ninety-Third.”

  Barry related the story of the Lost and Found advertisement and the brochure they found in the empty apartment. Kaufman listened intently. His wife brought in some coffee and then left.

  “What does all this mean to you?” Barry asked.

  “I don’t know. If I follow along with your suspicions, I run into contradictions.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Daniel Goldstein’s murder is obviously an event on a much smaller scale politically than an attempt on the life of Chaim Eban. People sent to get Eban would have to be of high caliber and efficiency. Some of their best. Why would one or two of their best take the time and the risk to kill a member of the JDL and bring on a police investigation just when they’re planning to do something as big as get Chaim Eban?”

  “See?” Baker said. “I knew you were way off base with this.”

  “On the other hand,” Kaufman said, “perhaps there are more terrorists involved here than we think. Maybe the Goldstein killing was meant to be some sort of diversion. How many people lived in the Mandel apartment, three?”

  “You knew that before I did, I think,” Barry said.

  “Yes. All right,” Kaufman said, leaning forward. “I’m beginning to worry about this situation a lot more. Let me be straightforward. As far as we know, the superintendent of the building on East Ninety-Third is no one. He was also telling the truth about the apartment.”

  “Wait a minute,” Baker said. “You might have followed us to East Ninety-Third, but how did you know about the apartment?”

  “We went back in the evening, suggesting I should say,” Kaufman said, smiling, “that we were affiliated with the New York Police and asked some questions. Sort of a follow-up.”

  “That’s impersonating a police officer,” Baker said.

  “Go on,” Barry said with impatience.

  “Well, now when I hear what you know, I wonder why they would go there too. What comes to mind is a meeting of some sort. Someone had to know that place was available. It was planned out in advance, right? We can assume that from the newspaper advertisement.”

  “And?”

  “My first thought is someone in that building. It’s a twelve-story building. You know how many tenants there are. It’s going to take some time to look into that suspicion, time we might not now have, if your theory is correct. You called the Israeli ambassador, I assume?”

  “My chief is calling the Office of Security. It’s part of the State Department. They’re responsible for the security of visiting dignitaries.”

  “But the Israelis will bring their own security. This Office of Security won’t anticipate great dangers for Chaim Eban in a Catskill resort, especially one attended by thousands of Jews there to raise money for Israel.”

  “Perhaps they won’t let him go up.”

  “On the basis of what you’ve got?” Kaufman said, eyebrows raised. “This is a very important rally. Israel is in desperate need for funds, especially now. Do you know what it costs a day to keep Israel protected? No, he’ll go for sure.”

  “Well, we can’t do anything else with the little information we’ve gotten so far.”

  “You don’t even have real information. You’ve just got a theory,” Baker said.

  “Nevertheless,” Kaufman replied, “it’s good that you let everyone concerned know what you’ve come upon and what you think. There is, perhaps, one other party we should contact. I am friendly with the Obermans.”

  “Obermans?”

  “The family that owns the New Prospect Hotel. I’ve stayed there on occasion. In my less militant days,” Kaufman said, smiling. “If I call the son now, will you talk to him? He is a young man. David Oberman. He took over for his retired father.”

  “Well, I don’t …”

  “I’m sure he would appreciate hearing it from you directly. I have, as you well know by now, a certain reputation. He might not take me seriously.”

  “What could I say?”

  “Just what you’ve told me and your superiors. The New Prospect has a security force of its own, and there is the welfare of the guests, too.”

  Barry looked to Baker. He smirked but didn’t offer any resistance. “Might as well spread the paranoia,” he said.

  Kaufman turned quickly. “When you run into one of these people, Lieutenant Baker, you will grow paranoid instantly. They have a way of making you realize your own frailty.”

  “Okay,” Baker said, putting up his hands. “I’ll stay out of this.”

  Kaufman got up and went to the phone. David Oberman had to be paged and picked up the receiver down in the indoor pool. He was teaching Lisa Sue the backstroke.

  “What is it?” he snapped at the concierge when he picked up. He always wanted to prevent the hotel business from coming between him and his kids. When he set off time for them, it was as important as anything else.

  “There’s a Rabbi Kaufman calling from New York, Mr. Oberman. He insists it’s urgent.”

  “Kaufman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay,” he said, “put him on.” He waved at Tony Atwel, the lifeguard, indicating he should entertain Lisa Sue. The six-foot-four former Mr. America sprang up out of his seat and sliced through the water to come up right beside her.

  “David. I’m glad I caught you. There’s a New York City detective in my apartment right now and he has some information that should be of interest to you. When he is finished, I’ll get back on for some small talk.”

  “Okay, Rabbi,” David said and turned completely, putting his finger
in his other ear to keep out all noise.

  “Mr. Oberman, my name is Barry Wintraub. I’m a homicide detective,” Barry began. “We had a murder here of a JDL member and during the course of my investigation …”

  13

  Nessim sat quietly on the bed and watched Clea brush her hair. She sat at a small vanity table and stroked her long strands with smooth even motions. They had both said little after they had retired to their room. Nessim knew she hesitated to ask specific questions, but she was anxious for him to tell her the significant details. Yusuf had shut himself in his room, still sulking.

  “You mind being used in this plan?” Nessim began.

  “No,” she said.

  She turned, her naked shoulders gleaming in the lamplight. She had a sculptured neckline. He loved to run his fingers down the side of it and trace the roundness of her shoulders and then move slowly, exploring her breasts.

  “It will be a great event for the movement. Perhaps greater than anything we can do in the Middle East. It’s why they sent me here. My opportunity.”

  “Will it be … Will we be in great danger?”

  “No. I will set up an antipersonnel device that will take out Chaim Eban,” he said. Instinctively, he knew he couldn’t tell her that he would be creating an explosion that would destroy as many as three thousand people. “I have become expert in different kinds of detonation,” he added.

  “Don’t try to explain any details to me,” she said. “I’m hopelessly stupid when it comes to scientific data.”

  “Don’t use the excuse you’re a woman,” he said. “One of our most effective front fighters is a woman.”

  “Will I have to do anything specific?”

  “Just look beautiful and be Jewish.”

  “Jewish?”

  “We are going as two Jews celebrating Passover up there.”

  “Oh. That won’t really be so difficult. I’ve celebrated Jewish Passover with people in the Middle East,” she said, turning back to the mirror. There was a knock on their door.

  “Yes?”

  “El Yacoub has arrived,” Hamid said. “We’ll be in the study.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “We’ll need a much better wardrobe if we are to go to a hotel,” she said.

  “I know. We’ll be shopping tomorrow and we’ll get what we need. It’ll all be arranged.”

  “I can’t help being very nervous about it. I wish I had your coolness.”

  “You will,” he said. “You’ll see. Don’t worry.” He walked behind her and touched her shoulders and stroked her hair. She leaned her head back against him and closed her eyes. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you in a while.”

  El Yacoub, Hamid, and Tandem sat around a collection of drawings, photographs, and diagrams spread out on the desk in the study. Hamid made a place for Nessim as he approached.

  “You are comfortable here?” El Yacoub asked.

  “Very.”

  “Good. Let’s get down to it.”

  “The materials?”

  “It’s all in the garage,” Tandem said.

  “It’s the new plastique, the stuff that was used at the Belgium airport last month.”

  Nessim nodded, pleased. The source of and the acquisition of the plastique was one of the tightest-kept secrets of the organization, but Nessim knew that the improved material had come from Red China. It was somehow historically right that the Chinese would be in the forefront of explosives. They were said to have invented gunpowder.

  “All right,” Nessim said. “Show me what we have.”

  Tandem pulled out two large photographs and put them side by side. They were both blown-up views of the cement piers in which the steel girders that held up the ceiling structure of the dining room were set.

  “About four by eight?”

  “Yes,” Tandem said. Nessim lifted the photographs and studied them.

  “They’ll go like pieces of cheesecake. How many?”

  “We’ve got a V structure here,” Tandem said. “There are five down this side and five down the other,” he said pulling out the construction plans for the hotel. “And the one at the bottom. As you can see, there are five floors above the dining room.”

  “That’s a lot of weight,” Hamid said. Tandem smiled.

  “A lot of weight? Think of it, besides the building materials, we are talking about plumbing—sewage pipes, fixtures, and don’t forget the electrical wiring. There will be fires everywhere. Those who escape the crush might very well get burned to death.”

  “Many will fall through this floor, of course,” Nessim said.

  “The boiler should blow,” Tandem said, pointing to its location on the floor plans. “That’ll take the side of this section of the main building out.”

  “You realize,” Nessim said, going over the diagrams, “that we will not just be dropping a ceiling and floor in a dining room. The way this hotel is built, the twenty stories of the adjoining part of this building will topple over too.”

  “They’ll be buried in a mountain of rubble. It’ll look like Berlin after the war,” Tandem said.

  “Incredible,” Hamid said. “Just by taking out these supports.”

  “They’re going out simultaneously,” Nessim said. “It would be as if someone scooped your feet out from under you. All your weight comes down instantly. And if someone is leaning on you, as the main structure leans on these five stories of the hotel, he would fall along with you and over you.”

  “I want you to do one more thing,” El Yacoub said. He lit a thin cigar and sat back. “These Israelis have a knack for getting themselves out of the most impossible situations. I don’t want to take any chances of not killing Chaim Eban.”

  “Yes?”

  “Plant some plastique under his table in the dining room, to go off with everything else.”

  “A backup.”

  “Yes. Will there be any problem?”

  “No,” Nessim said. He lowered the photographs. “There is one thing. I want my brother in on this. I’ll need him and I can trust him.”

  “How do you mean? Helping to make up the packets and the detonators?”

  “No. In the hotel. To plant the stuff.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “We couldn’t take the chance. What would be his cover? He’d have to go in himself, as a single.”

  “There are some singles during the holiday,” Tandem said, “but most are families, couples, parents and children. That sort of thing. Of course, the rally will bring in all types.”

  “What about with Clea and me?”

  “I don’t like it,” El Yacoub said. “He’s impulsive. To have him there days before …” He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “I have an idea,” Tandem said. “Why don’t I bring Yusuf to the hotel the night you plant the stuff. I can sneak him in all right and …”

  “I don’t like that,” Nessim said. He was hoping to keep Tandem out of the project once they left Monroe.

  “It sounds like the best idea,” El Yacoub said. “This way he needs no cover, presents no danger. He can go in and get out. He’ll be there to help, if that’s what you want—although, personally, I don’t like having someone as inexperienced in on this.”

  “He’ll be with me. I have taught him a great deal.”

  “I know and that’s why I would agree to Tandem’s suggestion.”

  Nessim saw that El Yacoub was determined about this.

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly, happy he could get something for his brother, “but it might be dangerous for Mr. Tandem to be seen around the hotel after all these years. It would attract some interest.”

  “Oh, I won’t hafta go in with him. I’ll take him to the garbage-truck entrance and explain how he shou
ld go about meeting you. It’ll be easy.”

  “And, of course,” El Yacoub said, “Tandem and Hamid will be waiting at a side entrance to take you and Clea out before the explosion.” There was a look in the Claw’s eyes. Nessim caught something of a message.

  “It’s our opinion,” Hamid said quickly, taking the attention away from El Yacoub and Nessim, “that there will be such turmoil no one will know who got out and who got crushed or burned to death.”

  “It will be difficult in many cases. I’d better take these photographs and diagrams with me,” Nessim said, gathering the material up. “I’ll have to study every free moment.”

  “And if you have any questions about the hotel, just ask me,” Tandem said.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s me who should be thanking you,” Tandem said. Nessim didn’t look at him.

  “Clea and I will have to gather up a wardrobe for the hotel,” Nessim said.

  “Yes,” El Yacoub said. “Hamid will make all your financial arrangements. Tandem will take you two around to shops tomorrow at your convenience.”

  “Gladly,” Tandem said. He was smiling wider now.

  He’s stupid, Nessim thought. He’s drunk on revenge. Such a man makes errors.

  “Okay,” Nessim said. “Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked El Yacoub.

  “No, but Hamid knows where to find me if you need me.”

  “Good night then,” Nessim said. El Yacoub stood up and stuck out his hand. Nessim took it, but El Yacoub simply held on without shaking.

  “You know what this project means to the cause. It will have worldwide repercussions. All of us will be watching and waiting.”

  “Yes,” Nessim said. The old man’s eyes were burning through him. His blood rushed to his face.

  “Now and forever,” El Yacoub whispered.

  “Now and forever,” Nessim said. Hot tears had come to the corners of his eyes.

  He stopped at Yusuf’s door on the way back to his room and knocked softly. A moment passed and Yusuf opened it. He was still dressed.

  “I thought you might be sleeping.”

  “What for?” Yusuf said and backed away.