Doha 12

by Lance Charnes

  “What are you talking about?” Eve hunched behind her tray, arms folded, face dark.

  “Grown-up stuff,” Jake said, temporarily back to English. He tried to put his arm around Eve but she jerked away, as Rinnah would when she was mad. He sighed and switched back to Kaminsky and Hebrew. “How do you know these people?”

  Kaminsky rocked forward and said gently in English, “What upsets you, Eve? Why angry with your papa?”

  Eve peered at him, then dropped her focus to her tray. She murmured, “I wanna go home.”

  “Of course.” He scrunched down further to look into her eyes. “May I tell you a secret, Eve? I too want to go home. I know what you feel, very much. You should be good to your papa, I think, he loves you and wants you to be safe.”

  Jake watched this exchange without quite catching what Kaminsky was up to, other than avoiding his question. The man’s voice and expression had become kindly Uncle Stuart in an instant, and the tension and anger in Eve’s face drained away as Kaminsky smiled at her. She glanced up at Jake, mouth puckered in thought, then silently went to work on her next slider.

  “Your daughter is a beautiful girl,” Kaminsky said to Jake, still in English. Then he switched to Hebrew. “I see so many children in this city, and it gives me such hope for the future. As a father, I’m sure it is the same for you. That’s why I hope you and—” he held out his hand toward Miriam “—the lovely Mrs. Schaffer, of course, will help me protect the beautiful children of New York City such as Eve, and their parents. The innocents. May I explain, please?”

  He’d said all this while switching his focus regularly between Jake and Miriam, fixing all his attention on each in turn. Jake’s brain took a moment to catch up. “Help you with what?” he finally asked.

  Kaminsky leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. “You know a team of homicide bombers is here, in your city, yes?”

  Jake and Miriam exchanged startled looks, then edged closer to Kaminsky to hear him better. “How do you know about that?” Miriam said. “We just told the police.”

  Kaminsky smiled. “I have information about them. Who they are, what they look like, their vehicles.” His eyebrows lifted into an unspoken are you interested now?

  Had a small earthquake cooked off underneath him, Jake couldn’t have been more surprised. If it was true, all that intel needed to get to NYPD sooner than instantly. “How did you get this? Who have you told? That’s got—”

  Kaminsky raised a cautioning hand, leaned back to look out the window, nodded, then resumed his place nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Miriam. “It doesn’t matter where I got it. I have it, and with you, Mr. Eldar—” he tapped Jake’s forearm “—a trained intelligence analyst, and you, Mrs. Schaffer—” his fingertips hovered a few fractions of an inch above her hand without touching “—and Mr. Eldar assures me you are a very capable woman as well as being extremely attractive—”

  “What did you tell him?” Miriam hissed at Jake.

  “All very good, very impressive things,” Kaminsky answered. “This pack of mad dogs intends to attack today, just as they have in Amsterdam and Paris. The three of us together, we can stop a mass murder of your neighbors, your friends, little children such as your beautiful daughter. I know we can do this.”

  Kaminsky’s hands were mobile and expressive even though his elbows were planted on the table. Jake made the mistake of watching those hands; their fluid and near-constant movement was hypnotic, especially as tired as Jake was. He tore his attention away long enough to notice Miriam had locked on Kaminsky’s intense eyes, the color of an overcast blue sky. He nudged her foot with his own. Miriam snapped back her head as if he’d flicked ice water in her face. Jake would have to keep an eye on her; neither of them was tracking too well.

  “What do you want from us, Mr. Kaminsky?” she asked.

  Eve broke in, yanking at Jake’s sleeve. “Daddy, can I have a pencil? I wanna draw.”

  Jake patted his pockets. Kaminsky produced a pen seemingly from out of thin air and extended it to Eve. “Please use this, Eve,” he said in English, “and draw a nice picture, yes?”

  Eve eyed the pen carefully, then slid it from his fingers. She flipped the tray liner on its face and started drawing vigorously.

  “What do you say, Bunny?” Jake asked.

  “Thank you, mister.”

  “You are very welcome, Eve.” Kaminsky stared out the window again for several seconds.

  “What are you looking at?” Jake asked, returning to Hebrew.

  “I’m confirming our friends outside haven’t decided to join us.”

  “Would they?” Miriam asked.

  Kaminsky pursed his lips for a moment. “I think not. There are many people around us, this would not suit them. Mr. Eldar, you ask where I get my information. I imagine you’ve already deduced that Aluma Consultants is not my only employment. I learned of these terrorists the same way I learned of three other groups in the Detroit area with attachments to Hamas or Hezbollah. Those other groups are no longer with us, and good riddance, yes? Of course, I know you would agree. I now must send this fourth group to Paradise to rejoin their colleagues, and for this I want…I need…I implore your help.” He held his palm just a whisper away from Miriam’s shoulder. “And why you, you ask, Mrs. Schaffer? We are all survivors, the only three of the twelve still alive, which makes us like brothers and sisters, we who can bear witness together, yes? You and Mr. Eldar have taken this threat from my shoulders, Mrs. Schaffer, for which I’m grateful.” Kaminsky offered both hands to Jake, as if pleading. “And now we must act one more time, together.” He peered outside again.

  Jake wished Kaminsky would just get to the point. He checked Eve’s drawing: a house, rocky ground, a couple penguins, some rain clouds or something, nothing too unusual. He whispered to her in English, “Whatcha got there, Bunny?”

  Eve didn’t look up. “Stuff.” At least she wasn’t so mad anymore.

  Jake leaned back and sighed. The many loose threads of Kaminsky’s story began to weave themselves together in Jake’s mind. Detroit, the terminated Arabs, the intel on the bombers, the sniper… “You’re Mossad, aren’t you?”

  Kaminsky’s eyes stared back at him, calm and still. Then a bright smile broke over his face. “I knew you’d be a perceptive man, Mr. Eldar, my compliments. Yes, I’m with Mossad.”

  “Mossad isn’t supposed to operate in America.”

  “Do you still believe that?”

  Jake groaned. “Shit. Can’t you knuckleheads follow rules?”

  “We wouldn’t be so successful if we did.”

  Miriam pointed out the window. “You’re with those people out there?”

  “Ah. No.” He laid both hands palms-down on the table, carefully, as if touching something priceless. “We are, you might say, from the same village—ours is a very small service, we all know one another—but not the same neighborhood. Also, I have to admit to you that I am not the most favored in the village because of the help I provided to you. You’ve seen these people before, yes? Yet they did not protect you. They don’t care about you. I lent to you someone very dear to me to help rescue your beautiful daughter from those assassins and this person—a very warm, very committed young woman—did not survive. And because of this, the Institute considers me an embarrassment and a threat.” Again he spread his hands. “I of course don’t blame you for this, it of course is not your fault.”

  Each time Kaminsky said “this isn’t your fault,” Jake felt the guilt dig a little deeper into his chest. Guilt had bought Kaminsky a hearing until now, but Jake was tired of the barrage. “What exactly do you want us to do?”

  Kaminsky smiled and leaned forward again, wrapping the three of them in a cloak of intimacy. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything dangerous, not after everything that’s happened—”

  “Kaminsky. Answer the question.”

  His smile had a dent in it. He pulled back, flicked his gaze between Jake and Miriam. “Of course. I’m not an
analyst like you, Mr. Eldar. I know who these bombers are and what they’re going to do, but not where. I need you to work out the target. And Mrs. Schaffer—” again he came within a finger’s breadth of touching her wrist “—if we find the target we have to go help end this, and for that we’ll need your special talents.”

  “Why don’t you just give this information to those people out there?” Miriam asked.

  Kaminsky turned a full dose of eyes and smile on her. “We sent everything to Tel Aviv. Our friends outside may have it already, but two of them wait for you, so do they have another agenda? I have my suspicions, which I won’t burden you with. Since Elena is here, I know who’s leading their team. We’ll call him ‘Ephraim.’ A good man once, but a bit of a prig.”

  “If you know him, can’t you talk to him?” Miriam asked.

  “I said I know him. I didn’t say I like him, or that he likes me. Please remember I’m not in favor with the Institute because I gave you the help they refused to you. Very simply, I’m certain Ephraim and his people have orders to detain me, and knowing Ephraim, he’d be happy to shoot me or bless me with a heart attack.”

  “They’d kill you?” she asked, unconvinced.

  “Is there anything you know about the Institute that makes you doubt that?”

  The concept of Mossad eating its own didn’t surprise Jake. “Give me your intel and I’ll get it to people who can run with it.”

  “The police, you mean?” Jake nodded. “Of course, I understand perfectly. However, it’s all highly classified and I need to sanitize it, otherwise Tel Aviv will know who let it go and things will not go well for me or anyone with me. Which includes you now, I’m sorry to say.”

  Figures. Jake tried to scrub the weariness from his eyes. “Where is it?”

  “Here.” Kaminsky patted the computer case on the bench beside him. “It’s far too valuable to leave unguarded. It’s my analyst’s—”

  “Let me see it.”

  “It would be so much better if we could go to my hotel—”

  “Now.”

  Again, the dented smile. Kaminsky rested his palms against the edge of the table, watched Jake carefully. He then turned to Miriam. “Mrs. Schaffer, surely you understand—”

  She fixed him with her granite stare. “Mr. Kaminsky, I think it’s time you showed us some proof.”

  The smile faded. “Yes, of course.” He hauled out a battered black laptop, flipped it open, fiddled it to life, then swiveled it on his food tray to face the aisle end of the table. Dozens of folder icons with Hebrew names blanketed the dark-blue screen. “Here, see the proof I have. See my treasure.”

  Jake slipped off his bench to squat at the table’s end, angling the computer so Miriam could see better. He opened folders with names that interested him, skimming the contents to get a flavor for what Kaminsky had. Each new file set off slot-machine jackpot bells in his head. Maps, photos, transcripts, diagrams, briefing slides, cable traffic, all priceless in the right hands.

  Eventually he stopped, took a deep breath, looked up. Kaminsky might be playing them, but he had the goods. Miriam raised a questioning eyebrow. He nodded. This material had to get to NYPD and JTTF. Whatever snake oil Kaminsky was selling, Jake would buy it if he could move this intel.

  Miriam slid off the bench and gestured toward the narrow corridor leading to the restrooms. “Mr. Kaminsky, could you give us a moment?”

  Kaminsky’s eyes questioned her, then Jake. He flashed a dimmer-than-usual smile and said, “Of course, I understand perfectly, this is a decision you want to make carefully.” He quickly packed up the laptop. “I hope you’ll see how important this is, and how important you are to me. I mean to find these murderers and put them down. You too should want this, after all they did to you.” He stood, laid his hand on Jake’s shoulder; Jake resisted the urge to shake it off. “Please help me.” He turned to Miriam, warmed his smile. “We’ll be the perfect team.”

  Once he walked away, Miriam growled, “Now I’ve got a headache.”

  Jake returned to his bench. “Same here. The man can shovel it out.”

  She watched Kaminsky disappear into the men’s room, then settled back onto her bench. “Do you trust him?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “No. Do you believe him?”

  Jake blew out a long breath. “Enough to want to get that stuff to the PD. It’s insane they don’t have it already. If we have to put up with Kaminsky a while to get it, well, it’s worth it.” He hooked a thumb toward the window. “Besides, I trust those people out there even less.”

  “How do you know there even is anyone out there?”

  “He described two of the ones we’ve seen. That’s not random. If we’re going to end up with Mossad, I like the odds better when there’s two of us and only one of them.” He leaned forward, wrapped his fingers around her wrist without thinking about it. “What do you think?”

  Miriam glanced down at his hand, then began stroking his knuckles. “If he’s telling the truth, then we have to tell the police so they can stop the bomber. I don’t understand why he doesn’t go to his own people, but if he won’t and he won’t go to the police…”

  “He probably really is in deep shit with Mossad.” Jake sighed. “We owe him, you know. We got one of his people killed and blew up his operation. He’s in this jam because of us.”

  “I know, he kept reminding us. I’ve got enough guilt now, thanks.”

  Kaminsky reappeared in the narrow restroom corridor. Jake gave Miriam’s wrist a final squeeze, then sat back. “I don’t like it, but I think we have to play along.”

  Miriam heaved out a sigh. “Fine, but don’t be surprised if I gag him.” She glanced toward Eve, frowned, then tapped the table in front of Jake.

  Jake realized he’d focused so hard on Kaminsky that he’d lost track of his daughter. He followed Miriam’s nod toward Eve’s picture. The penguins were now shooting at each other, dead stick figures littered the rocky ground and thunderbolts and fire trailed from the rain clouds. Seeing what lived in Eve’s head twisted his gut into a complicated braid.

  “What does she normally draw?” Miriam asked, still in Hebrew.

  “Penguins, dogs, cats. She got on a zebra kick a while ago, don’t know where that came from. But this.” Oh, God. “This looks like the first-grade version of Guernica.”

  Eve sat, arms folded, staring at her nightmare. Jake carefully wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his side. She resisted, but not hard. After a moment, he heard a tiny sniff and saw a tear dribble down her cheek. A new, fresh stake drilled through his heart.

  “This insanity has got to stop,” Jake finally told Miriam. “I’ve got to put our lives back together again. If I can.”

  Miriam nodded, watching Eve with stricken eyes. She slid the picture off Eve’s tray, examined it, shook her head. “It’s the 23rd. If Rafiq was right—if Kaminsky is—this will all be over tomorrow.” She swallowed. “One way or another.”

  EIGHTY-NINE: Brooklyn, 23 December, 12:05 PM

  “Here they come,” Sasha said.

  Kelila whirled in her seat and switched on the camera. Sasha dropped the left rear window without waiting to be asked. She focused the monster lens on Eldar and his daughter in the lead, then slid the view back to Schaffer. Finally, the mystery man whose face she couldn’t see on the way in.

  Anger lit her face on fire.

  He’d aged in the past few years. Deep lines crossed his strong forehead and spidered out from the corners of his gray-blue eyes. His hair was still that deli-mustard yellow, with less gray than he should have by now. Still, she could see in his face the deceptive gentleness that had drawn her to him in those hard, cold months after Yigal died in Lebanon. That womanizing pig.

  “Something wrong?” Sasha asked.

  “No. Yes.” She clicked off a series of pictures, stopping only when the three targets disappeared behind the police station’s bulk. With every frame, her mind chanted bastard, bastard, bastard. No wond
er he’d seemed familiar.

  Once they were gone, she thumped back into her seat. “They’re back on 30th. Don’t lose them.”

  Sasha cranked the engine to life. “What’s got your knickers in a wad?”

  “Just drive.” She punched her speed-dial button for Raffi.

  “Yes?”

  “Where are you now?” she demanded.

  “On a bridge, coming back into Manhattan. What’s happened? Another bomb?”

  That would almost be easier. Kelila grabbed the dash as Sasha launched them into a squealing U-turn across six lanes of traffic. “Guess who’s with Eldar and Schaffer.”

  “I’m too tired to play guessing games. Who?”

  “Avidor Grossman.”

  Sasha burst out laughing. “Really? He’s still alive? I thought he’d be dead from screwing every woman in the Institute.”

  Kelila slugged his shoulder hard, leading with the knuckle of her middle finger. He yelped and started muttering Russian curses, all of which she understood.

  Raffi spat, “Ben zonah.”

  The more she thought about it, the angrier Kelila became. The man was a walking security risk as well as a threat to women everywhere. “I have a sick feeling he’s Kaminsky.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Follow him. Let me know where you end up so I can meet you. And Kelila? Don’t do anything stupid. You’re entitled, but don’t, all right?”

  “Fine.” Not fine; she’d love to cut off that shit’s balls. “I’m worried about Schaffer now.”

  “Schaffer against Grossman?” Raffi chuckled. “I’d like to see that. Stay on him. This could be our big break.”

  NINETY: Lower Manhattan, 23 December, 12:15 PM

  Gur managed to find a semi-legal stopping point next to the low-slung brick Essex Street Market. He had no good idea where his GPS had taken him and his fingers already hurt from squeezing his phone so hard. He couldn’t drive and deal with Orgad at the same time, not in this mess. “Grossman is Kaminsky? Do you think you could’ve told me that sooner?”