The security staff had shrunk down to three men—a uniformed guard at the main gate, a guard at the front entrance, and a guard at the entrance used by the hotel staff to get to the help’s quarters across the road. Cooper had relieved Hardik and stayed silently and very uncomfortably in the shadows of the fourth floor, watching the door to Brenda Casewell’s room.
Very little traffic passed now on the highway that ran alongside the hotel grounds. Almost all the lights of the rooms were out, but the floodlights splashed on the sides of the building and kept it from fading completely into the shadows. And of course, the pole lights along the driveways of the hotel remained lit. The main lobby had its big chandeliers dimmed considerably, but the room remained lit all night. A night clerk sat behind the big desk reading a newspaper. He looked up whenever a couple would finally retreat out of the lounge. The emptiness of the room made them conscious of their own voices and they would invariably whisper as they walked to the elevators.
The women looked spent—their hairdos loosened, strands fallen from their molded places. Makeup faded and smeared, eyelids drooped. The vision of the men beside them was clouded by the alcohol they had consumed. Some had cigarettes dangling from their mouths. It was as if they no longer had the strength to hold them securely. Trails of smoke made them cough and squint their nearly closed eyes even more.
Although the window displays remained lit up, the stores were all shut and dark. The corridor leading past them remained highly lit up. Late snackers were coming and going from the hotel luncheonette that stayed open until four thirty in the morning. Their specialty for the wee hours were bagels and cream cheese. The sound of tinkling coffee cups and silverware traveled up the corridor. In fact, the lateness of the hour, the silence in most parts of the hotel, and the emptiness of the large areas all seemed to amplify the noise.
Across the hotel grounds, the old main house was nearly in complete darkness. Two lights remained—the entrance light so the latecomers wouldn’t trip going up the wooden steps to the front door, and a small lamplight in the living room used by Solomon Oberman. He sat by a window, staring out at the hotel. He had always had great difficulty falling asleep. He was so active and energetic during the day that his nerves cooled down slowly, moving on a kind of echo and rebounding through his body. After his wife’s death, his insomnia had grown worse. He didn’t tell his son about it though. He was never one to share his problems with others. He had withstood so much in his life, battled alone so many times, that he didn’t know how to share hardship with someone else, even his own son. Besides, he knew David and Gloria would only want him to see a doctor and a doctor would fill him with some sleeping pills that would leave him groggy and dull the next day.
Solomon had always had a deadly fear of pills anyway, believing in the natural ability of the body to combat its illnesses and problems instead. If his body wished to remain awake long into the night, he’d let it and certainly wouldn’t battle with it. After the late news and some light reading, he’d often come to the window and watch the hotel to see the comings and goings of the late staffers. He liked to count the number of windows still lit in the main building and keep a record, matching the hour with the number of windows. Some guests kept their lights burning all night. He imagined them to be older guests deathly afraid of the darkness, especially in a strange place.
Usually, he would tire by two thirty or three and sink into sleep. He seemed to only need a few hours of night sleep and took an afternoon nap to make up for it. Tonight, because of the beginning of the holidays perhaps, because of all the excitement associated with it, because he remembered sharing so many First Seders with his wife, he sat up even later. It was already three fifteen and he felt no need to turn away from the window.
At three thirty, he decided he’d have to try to go to sleep and forget—pushing his redundant thoughts back into their chambers in his mind. He was about to turn away from the window and do just that when something caught his attention. It was incredible, especially considering the hour of the night. He wouldn’t have been able to see it so well either, if it weren’t for the floodlights over the sides of the building. They were especially designed to illuminate the fire escape, and there, coming down it slowly, was a figure, a man. He reached the end and stopped at the side of the building.
Solomon opened his window completely to get a totally unobstructed view of the incident. The man just stood there for a few moments. Then he approached the basement door. He jerked it open, stood silently looking in, and then disappeared into the building to descend the steps. It was a most peculiar scene, and Solomon could make no sense out of it whatsoever. He knew it would bother him to just forget it so he went to his phone and called the main desk. He recognized Charlie Gordon’s voice.
“Charlie, this is Mr. Oberman.”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie said with apparently little surprise. “I always can recognize your voice, Mr. Oberman. What’s the problem?”
“You know any reason why someone should be coming down the fire escapes tonight?”
“Fire escapes? No, sir. Not unless there’s a fire. How many people are climbing around on them?”
“I just saw one man.”
“No, sir, Mr. Oberman. There’s no reason for that. You sure that’s what you saw?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Solomon said harshly. “I know when I see someone walking down a fire escape.”
“Uh-huh. Well … maybe I’d better leave a note for your son to read tomorrow, huh?”
“I saw this person go into the basement,” Solomon said with tenacious determination. He knew from the sound in Gordon’s voice that the desk clerk wanted to humor him and hang up as soon as he could.
“Basement?”
“That’s right. Through the outside entrance. You tell one of the security men. Who’s on duty in the lobby?”
“Larry Hardik.”
“I don’t remember him, but you tell him to go down there and look around right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No reason for a guest to go sneaking around the hotel this late. I don’t like it. You make sure you tell him that I don’t like it.”
“I’ll tell him. Yes, sir.”
“Yeah.” Solomon hesitated, but he didn’t hang up.
“Okay?”
“Listen, you call me back as soon as he comes up from the basement check,” Solomon said.
“Right, Mr. Oberman. Will do.”
Solomon hung up and went back to the window to watch the outside basement entrance and wait for the return call.
Nessim had left Clea behind reluctantly. Her body was so warm, and she looked so childlike asleep there. Strands of hair lay gently over her cheeks, and her lips were parted slightly. He watched her breathe and moved the hair off her cheeks by running the tips of his fingers down the sides of her face. Then he slipped out of the bed and moved quietly to put on his clothes again. When he stepped into his shoes, she turned over. He waited.
“Nessim?”
“Yes. I’m going out.”
“You’ll be careful.”
“Yes.”
“Will you be long?”
“Not very long. Go back to sleep.”
She didn’t reply, but he knew she was watching him. He moved to the door, opened it slowly, lifted his hand to indicate he was going, and disappeared outside. The click of the door left her in total silence.
Nessim moved on cat’s paws. He opened the side window slowly, taking great pains to avoid any squeaking. Then he stepped out on the fire-escape landing and closed the window almost all the way. He turned and looked out at the hotel grounds. He was surprised by the brightness of the floodlights against the walls of the building. It made him cramp up and cling to whatever shadows he could find. A car went down the driveway away from the hotel. He watched it go to the front entrance and saw the figure of the security gua
rd move in the little booth. The car hesitated and then pulled away. The sound of its engine and tires was heard in reverberations.
There were no other signs of life outside—no human voices, no people walking on the grounds. He started down the fire escape slowly and carefully. It would be terrible to have an accident, slip now and twist an ankle or break a leg. They had placed him perfectly. It was a short distance down this fire escape, and the location of the room on the second floor made it especially easy to get to it. The good planning encouraged him. He would have great success.
When he stepped to the ground, he waited just to be sure no one had seen him. He listened once again for the sounds of life. Now the music from the lounge could be heard. It was soft enough and distant enough. He looked about, spotted the door to the basement, and approached it. When he tried the handle, it didn’t move and he feared the door was locked. He didn’t panic. Instead he turned harder and jerked it. Sure enough, it was just a stubborn doorjamb.
After he opened the door, he stepped back and waited again, listening this time for voices from within. It wouldn’t do to walk down those steps and come upon some hotel staff people at this hour. There’d be great difficulty explaining his presence. A small-watt bulb threw a dim light over the small stairway. He walked inside and closed the door softly behind him. All was perfect so far. This would be the easy entrance and exit tomorrow night.
He descended the stairway slowly, using his memory of the maps and pictures of the hotel he had studied to visualize what he would find. He stood quietly at the bottom of the steps and listened. He could hear the hum of the transformers and the sound of the water heaters in the basement. To his immediate left, perhaps twenty yards away, was the elevator that went up to the lobby and above. It was open and waiting like a sleeping beast of burden to be nudged and directed into use.
There wasn’t an unpleasant odor in the basement, but there was the smell of storage, dampness, and closed-in areas. The plaster walls were unpainted, naked and rough to the touch. A series of dim neon lights ran down the corridor ceiling, spaced out for the most efficient use. Directly across from him was an open area cluttered with old furniture, chairs with broken arms, couches with damaged legs and cushions.
Nessim turned slowly and looked to the right. There were still no signs of people, no sounds of voices or footsteps. The basement appeared sufficiently deserted. It was a good time to prowl. He knew from the floor plan that there were a series of rooms along the way. Some housed electrical equipment and some served as storage areas. The linen area was all the way down the corridor, well past what would be the location for the explosives. As he moved down the corridor, he kept track of what was above him on the main floor of the hotel. He wanted a vertical knowledge of where he was at all times. Plumbing was helpful in outlining and delineating locations. He knew just about where he was under the lobby. When he came to the first steel girder on his left, a surge of excitement moved throughout his body.
Three of the columns were immediately visible. They stood in the cement footings exactly as pictured in the photographs. He looked up slowly, following their ascent into the ceiling of the basement where they disappeared into the body of the building. He approached the one on his left slowly, running his hands over the cold metal, eyeing it like one would contemplate an adversary. Then he moved farther into the belly of the building, locating each girder. Two had to be reached on hands and knees. He thought Yusuf would be better at getting to those, and since they were already quite hidden, placement of the packets wouldn’t be as crucial.
He went back toward the front and studied the girders, imagining how they would kick out when the explosives blew away their footings. Perhaps, for a few seconds, the skeleton structures of the upstairs floors would crack with surprise. The sound of the explosions would stop conversations dead. Everyone would hear the tons of materials collapsing above. That realization alone might kill some of the older people, some of those who had spent a good part of their lives supporting and working for Israel.
He chastised himself for dreaming too much. He was down here now to do work. Specifically, he wanted to mark out the exact locations for the plastique; place each packet with its detonator in such a way as to avoid discovery by a passing staff member or custodian. He took out a black Magic Marker and began drawing small squares on the cement footings.
Nessim had marked off the first one only when he heard the footsteps in the corridor. Someone was approaching from the right, walking slowly, cautiously. He held his breath and waited. The footsteps got louder. He backed against the wall and inched his way farther into the shadows. Suddenly, a security guard appeared in the hallway. He stopped about ten yards in front of Nessim and put his hands on his hips as he stared ahead. Then he turned slowly.
It seemed to Nessim that the man was looking right at him. Nessim worked his hands down to his pockets and quickly searched for the knife he had placed in his pants. The guard looked away, shrugged to himself, and then started back up the hall the way he had come. Apparently he hadn’t seen him; however, Nessim waited until the man’s footsteps could no longer be heard. Then he slipped out of the shadows and listened for a while longer. There were no voices.
What brought a security man down here? Nessim retraced his steps mentally, trying to figure if he had done something to attract any attention. Maybe someone heard the basement door open or close. Maybe the guard was just looking for a friend. Whatever, it made Nessim work with a quicker sense of urgency now. The appearance of a security man also made him think about Yusuf being brought in to help him tomorrow night.
It was, of course, possible for him to do all the work by himself. It was true it would take longer, and the longer he stayed down here planting explosives, the greater the chance of being discovered. However, he wanted Yusuf with him for other reasons besides the efficiency they could accomplish together. Yusuf needed guidance and needed to be part of what he was doing. Yusuf had no one but him. His brother had no other life interest. They were both married to the cause. It struck him as both ironic and perhaps tragic that all he could give Yusuf was the opportunity to vent his hatred and vengeance.
When Nessim was finished, he retreated the way he had come, pausing on the steps to the outside door to look back and contemplate the scene that would occur tomorrow night. At this time the next day, he and Yusuf would be planting the plastique. Then, the following evening, when Chaim Eban sat down to dinner with just about three thousand people, Nessim would stand outside the building in the darkness and trigger the transmitter.
Despite the unexpected appearance of a security man, Nessim felt confident. The planning and all the groundwork had been completed.
All that remained was for him to put the processes into effect, and that was, after all, what he had become an expert at doing. He felt good about it all and turned to go out and back up the fire escape to his room, where he was sure Clea lay awake, waiting and worrying. He’d hold her in his arms, kiss and stroke her hair. They would fall asleep embracing.
“Nothing,” Larry Hardik said, coming back into the lobby. He held his arms out. “There’s no one down there. Who the hell would be down there this time of the night anyway?”
“Beats me. Just tryin’ to humor the old man.”
“Yeah, well, why didn’t they tell me that would be a part of this job? I mighta asked for a little more pay.”
“Sure, sure. Whaddaya complainin’ about. I gotta call him back, don’t I? Maybe I should make up somethin’.” Gordon thought for a moment. “He’s a pretty stubborn old man. When he says he saw somethin’, he says he saw somethin’. We ain’t gonna convince him he didn’t.”
“What’s to make up? At three thirty in the mornin’ somebody’s crawlin’ around fire escapes and goin’ into the basement?”
“I know. I’ll tell him it was some teenage kid foolin’ around with his friends. He’ll believe that. He always complains abou
t what the kids do around the hotel.”
“Do what you want,” Hardik said. “Just leave me out of it.”
“Yeah. You’re a big help.” Gordon picked up the phone and rang Solomon Oberman’s apartment. It took the old man quite a while to answer the phone, and Gordon began thinking he might have gone to sleep.
“Did I wake you, Mr. Oberman?”
“Hell no. I told you to call me, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Er … Seems like we had a bunch of teenagers foolin’ around. You know, one took a dare from his buddies. Somethin’ like that.”
“Teenager? This late at night?”
“Yeah, well, you know how some of these modern parents are, Mr. Oberman,” Gordon said and winked at Hardik.
“Teenager, huh. Hope you scared the shit out of him.”
“We sure did. He won’t be doin’ that anymore. No sir. Lucky you saw it.”
Solomon Oberman sensed something insincere in the desk clerk’s voice, but couldn’t fathom why the man would lie to him. That just didn’t make sense now.
“Yeah. All right. Good,” he said and hung up.
Gordon wiped his face and hung up too.
“He believe ya?” Hardik asked.
“Yeah.”
“You gonna tell David about it?”
“You kiddin’? Forget it,” Gordon said. “He’d only be embarrassed about his father sittin’ up all night starin’ out his window.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Hardik said.
“How many lottery tickets you get today?”
“Twenty. You?”
“Twenty. Maybe we’ll both be lucky. We’re due for some luck around here.”
“You can say that again.”
Gordon repeated it and Hardik laughed.
The laughter seemed to linger as if the building had picked it up and echoed it in jest.
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