by Sanctuary
“Can we go up and watch?” Decker said.
“No,” Kreisman said. “The lounge is relatively small and has lots of furniture. I don’t want to distract the dogs.”
Decker nodded, realizing how much credibility he had lost. He wondered how he had got sidetracked from Yalom to Milligan. Everything had happened so damn fast. From a visit with Tziril and Moshe Yalom to Menkovitz and Milligan at the Bursa. From Milligan in Hebron to a bomb in Gil Yalom’s yeshiva.
Gil. He did find Gil and that would certainly help the Yalom case. At least, the trip wasn’t a failure. Today, maybe the boy would talk.
Suddenly, Decker’s ears perked up. The ambient noise in the Bursa dramatically changed. The dogs were barking. Loud, loud barks. He and Kreisman exchanged glances. The buzz of Kreisman’s walkie-talkie. The look on his face as he listened to rapid-fire speech emanating from the box.
“Where’d they find it?” Decker asked.
Kreisman waved him off as he spoke back to the bomb-squad leader. Finally, he signed off and began shouting orders in Hebrew. To Decker, he said, “You got some explaining to do, buddy. But for now you’re out of here. My men will take you and your wife to the station house. You wait for me there.”
“Where did they find it?” Decker asked again.
Kreisman glared at him. “Sure you don’t know the answer?”
“No, I don’t know,” Decker said. “I wasn’t even in the lounge. Ask Mr. Yalom. He’s the one who took me around the Bursa.”
To his men, Kreisman said, “Get him out of here.” He realized he was speaking English, then switched to Hebrew.
In a flash, Decker was surrounded. Slowly, he was guided—even shoved—out of the building. Conversation was flying a mile a minute. If only he could understand. Pushed forward by cops, aware that at this point he had no control over his destiny, he decided to roll with the punches. Eventually, someone would tell him what was going on…maybe.
He strained to hear words that sounded familiar. He finally recognized one and it was a doozy.
Televizion.
It didn’t take a genius to extrapolate. Since it was too early for the invasion of TV news cameras, there had to be only one other logical reason why cops would be talking about the boob tube.
The dogs were searching a lounge. They must have found the bomb in a television set.
Though Decker’s case was far from over—Dov was still missing—he couldn’t help but feel victorious! He slammed his fist into his empty palm and whispered, yes!
36
This time Decker passed up the smoke. He sat next to Rina, across from Kreisman, and kept a flat expression while being questioned. Kreisman asked about his case, about Gil and Dov Yalom, about Arik Yalom’s schemes and how they dovetailed with Milligan’s investments. Then Kreisman zeroed in on Milligan. He asked about Rina’s excursion into Hebron, asked her to repeat the conversation she had overheard word for word. He asked about Donald—the mystery man. The lull came after an hour and a half of interviewing. Decker took advantage to formulate his own questions.
“When was the bomb scheduled to go off?”
Kreisman pretended not to hear. The two men had formed a cold truce, but as yet no trust.
“Look, Sgan Nitzav,” Decker said, “I’m working on a case. You’re working on a case. I’m gathering information just like you. How about a little interdepartmental cooperation?”
Kreisman scratched his head. “Let’s go back to the bomb at the yeshiva.”
Rina was about to interject something. Decker patted her hand and said, “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s go over it one more time.”
Rina couldn’t help it. “Why?” She launched into Hebrew. Kreisman answered her back. It was interesting to Decker’s ear. When they spoke English, their tone of voice and manner were distinctly American. Talking in Hebrew, they had both become Israelis—the pauses, the inflections, and the gesticulations of the hands.
Abruptly, Rina folded her hands across her chest. “Okay, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”
Kreisman said, “A very good idea.”
Decker was about to speak, but Rina stopped him with a gentle squeeze on the leg.
Kreisman said, “Detective, you said your wife told you to stop this guy whom you didn’t know at all.”
“Yes.”
“So you took off after him and you didn’t know why.”
“Rina told me he didn’t belong. That was reason enough.”
“But you didn’t know why she suspected him.”
“No.”
“In other words, you blindly listened to your wife.”
“She knows the nuances of this country, of the religion. I don’t. I didn’t listen to her because she was my wife. I listened to her as one listens to an expert witness.”
Kreisman stared at him. Decker stared back, waiting for the pissing contest to be over. He understood Kreisman’s suspicions. On the other hand, based on Decker’s information, a bomb in the Bursa had been discovered. He knew that was worth a lot.
Kreisman went on, “So you caught up with this guy.”
“I caught up with the suspect, yes.”
“And he just suddenly blurted out there was a bomb in the yeshiva.”
Decker paused. “After a little physical prodding, yes.”
“And then you just let him go?”
“Not at all. I handed him over to someone in the crowd, emphasizing the importance of detaining him until the police arrived. He had a firm grasp on him as I handed him over. But the bomber must have been limber and strong. He escaped.”
“Why didn’t you stay with the suspect and have other people go and help out at the yeshiva?”
Decker said, “It was a judgment call. I cared more about the boys than about apprehending the suspect.” He bit his mustache. “Did someone call my captain in Los Angeles?”
“Yes.”
“So you know I’m—”
“We’ve been told that you were sent over here to find Gil and Dov Yalom. They’re wanted for questioning in the deaths of their parents—Arik and Dalia Yalom. That’s all good and fine. But it doesn’t explain drek about your fatal attraction for bombs.”
“Nonfatal attraction. No one died.”
Kreisman glared at him.
Decker said, “You want to know how I think Milligan got a bomb through security?”
Kreisman studied Decker’s face. “Are you telling me firsthand knowledge or is this conjecture?”
“Conjecture.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Fair enough. Do you want my opinion?”
“I want your opinion,” Rina piped in.
Kreisman glared at her. “You’re trying my patience, Mrs. Decker.”
“You have no patience,” Rina shot back. “Why don’t you open your mind a little?”
“You want to visit our jails, g’veret?”
“I’ve been in worse places—”
“Rina…” Decker interrupted.
“All right, I won’t say another word.”
Kreisman exhaled, then broke into a smile. “Only in this country. What would happen to her if she spoke that way to your captain?”
Decker shrugged. “You want my take on the bomb?”
“Go on.”
“Milligan couldn’t bring an assembled bomb inside the Bursa,” Decker said. “Security is too tight.”
“Is this going to get better?”
“Can I just get the thought out?”
“Hurry up.”
“Milligan brought in the explosive bit by bit. Every time she visited the Bursa, she toted in another piece of the bomb. Yalom told me it was rare to see her on the floor itself. Mostly she went to offices or to the trader’s lounge where it was quieter to conduct business.”
Decker noticed Kreisman was suddenly listening.
“What do people do in the business lounge? They talk. They relax. They read the papers. They catch a little T
V. And you know how lounge TVs work. They’re communal. So nobody would have looked twice if Milligan got up and adjusted the color or changed the channel.”
The room was quiet.
Decker said, “Every time she made an adjustment, she dropped off a part of the bomb in back of the TV set. Yesterday, when she was at the Bursa, I’m betting the TV broke down. So no one thought it was odd when some guy with credentials and a toolbox suddenly showed up to repair it.”
“Security checks people out,” Kreisman said.
“Security takes your passport, checks out your business there, and maybe they run your name inside a computer to make sure you’re not a terrorist or a felon. So if your name comes up clean because you’re using falsified credentials, how are they going to check that out on the spot?”
“Someone would have checked this guy out at the door.”
“I’m sure someone did. So what did they see? A repairman with his toolbox. I’m sure they went through the toolbox and all they saw was tools. So what’s the big deal? If the TV was broken, then a repairman and his tools had legitimate business in the Bursa.”
Kreisman’s face darkened. “Pretending he was fixing the TV, he assembled the bomb on the spot.”
Decker said, “He probably wasn’t even pretending. I’m sure he knew about the workings of a TV set. He also knew bombs as well. How was the bomb rigged?”
Kreisman pursed his lips. “It was set to detonate as soon as someone turned on the TV.”
“So the repairman hooked the detonator up to the power switch on the television set.”
Kreisman nodded. “A basic device. Nothing fancy. One that could be assembled in maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”
“How powerful was the bomb?” Decker said.
“It wouldn’t have ripped the building from the foundation,” Kreisman stated. “But potentially it could have done bad damage on the trading floor. The back of the TV was packed with plastiques.”
“Not to mention the psychological damage it would have done,” Rina said. “It’s demoralizing when the impenetrable becomes penetrable.”
Kreisman nodded. “I can’t believe Milligan got past security.”
“She brought in the pieces, bit by bit,” Decker said. “Besides, she was a trusted and respected person in the business.” He turned to Kreisman. “Are you bringing her in?”
Kreisman bit his lip, then sighed.
“You can’t find her,” Decker said.
“We’ve checked every goddamn hotel in the country.”
“What about Ibri and Gamal?” Rina said. “Can’t you bring them in for questioning?”
Kreisman ran his hand down his face.
Rina said, “You can’t find them either?”
“They’re probably in Jordan,” Kreisman said. “But since we don’t have common extradition laws, we’re going to have to get them by other means.”
“Do you think Milligan’s in Jordan?”
Kreisman shrugged.
“Has anyone taken responsibility for the bomb?” Rina asked.
“You mean a terrorist group?” Kreisman shook his head. “Why would anyone acknowledge the bomb? We caught it, ergo, we won, they lost. Their mission was a failure. As a matter of fact, if I were Hamas or the PLO or some other terrorist group, and I’d paid Milligan a bundle of money to pull this stunt off, I’d be pretty damn pissed off at her. If Milligan’s involved, she’s not only running from us, but from whoever hired her as well.”
Kreisman rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
“I can understand why any of the terrorist groups would do this. If they succeed, they have everything to gain. And not much to lose, if they fail. But I can’t understand why Kate Milligan would do it. Risk everything she had—which was a shitload—to be even more obscenely rich. And don’t tell me greed. She might be greedy, but we all know she isn’t stupid.”
“Money’s a powerful motivator,” Rina said.
“She had money,” Kreisman said.
“Maybe she wanted power,” Decker said. “Maybe Milligan was tired of being passed over when she felt she deserved to be number one. VerHauten is a male-dominated, family business. She knew she couldn’t ever be CEO no matter how hard she worked. She wanted it all.”
“So she did all this to get back at VerHauten?” Kreisman shook his head. “That’s stupid.”
Rina said, “Well, we exhausted money and power as catalysts. She’s not an Arab, so she probably didn’t do it for revenge. That leaves only one other prime motivator.”
No one spoke.
Rina smiled. “Maybe she did it for love, gentlemen. Maybe she was in love with a radical Arab terrorist and did it for him. They’ve used women in terrorist acts before.”
Decker suddenly sat up. “I don’t think she was in love with an Arab. I think she was in love with a black.”
“Black?” Rina said. “Why do you say that?”
“Not American black. A South African black. Wasn’t Mandela a big supporter of the PLO when he was in prison?”
Rina said, “I think he still is, although I know he’s more moderate now. He’s met with Israeli officials.”
“I’m not painting Mandela as a villain,” Decker said. “I’m just saying, when Mandela was in prison, the South African blacks and the Palestinians allied themselves together as exiled, displaced people. Israel was often compared to South Africa—”
“That’s not a fair assessment,” Kreisman interrupted.
“I’m reporting the news, Sgan Nitzav, not making a value judgment,” Decker said. “My partner in America and I had discussed the possibility that Arik Yalom had been blackmailing Kate Milligan. Why else would Milligan deal directly with someone as small as Yalom?”
“Go on,” Rina said.
“What could Yalom have had on her that would have screwed her up with VerHauten?” Decker asked. “We figured maybe she had an affair with a black. Maybe the guy was a Black Muslim to boot. Having an affair with someone like that would have been highly frowned upon in a bastion of white conservatism like VerHauten.”
Kreisman said, “I don’t think VerHauten would have dismissed her services as long as she was doing a good job. Business is business.”
Rina said, “Maybe while working for VerHauten, Milligan came to some sort of an epiphany. She met a black man, fell deeply in love, and was suddenly full of rage that she couldn’t openly love him.”
Decker said, “And opportunity reared its head. Here was a way to get rich and get even with VerHauten—the white power structure of South Africa. Not only that, Israel, another oppressor country, would get screwed as well.”
“Do you have a name for this mysterious black man?” Kreisman asked.
“No,” Decker said. “Just throwing out ideas. Retrospectively dissecting Milligan’s mind.”
“A nice theory,” Kreisman said. “Find a name to go along with it and you might give us something to work with.”
Rina blurted out, “Donald.”
Decker looked at her.
“And why not?” Rina said.
Decker said, “Didn’t Milligan say that Donald was working for her? That he was her underling?”
“Peter,” Rina chided. “Where is it written that the woman can’t have the upper hand in a love relationship?”
“Women always have the upper hand in a love relationship,” Kreisman said, dryly.
“Well, not always,” Rina said.
There was a pause. Then Kreisman and Decker said in unison, “Always.”
37
Without thinking, Rina leaned against the heavy glass door, butting it open with her shoulder.
“What are you doing? I’ll get that.” Decker held open the door. “Chivalry isn’t totally dead.”
He stepped aside and let Rina enter the hotel lobby first. It was filled with casually dressed tourists, bellhops, management personnel, and lots of kids garbed in bathing wear. Wearily, Rina trudged up to the front desk and checked for messages. Nothin
g. She slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her arm around Peter. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m tired of room service,” Decker said. “Let’s just eat downstairs.”
“Fine. Do you want to eat meat or dairy?”
“Up to you.”
“I’ll opt for dairy,” Rina said. “The thought of eating fleisch on three hours of sleep churns my stomach. Besides, I’m in the mood for onion soup.”
Descending a flight of stairs, they walked into a patio restaurant, replete with white wicker tables and chairs shaded by a lattice roof of blooming vines. The sun was out, the air smelled freshly washed. Children and pool noises chirped in the background. They were seated in a cozy corner, the table dressed with white linen and scented roses. A busboy came over, filled their crystal water glasses, and presented them with a basket of crusty olive and onion bread. Decker took a slice and topped it with a generous amount of sweet butter.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Let’s pretend we’re on vacation.” Rina took some bread and picked at the onions. “How about a moratorium on work?”
“Great.” Decker polished off his bread and took another slice.
A raven-haired waitress presented them with menus which they studied for a few minutes. Decker put his down, then said, “How were the kids when you spoke to them?”
“Surprised that we were awake at three in the morning. The family was on its way out to dinner courtesy of my parents.”
“Where?”
“Kosher Kanton. The boys were in the mood for sweet and sour chicken.”
The waitress came, took their orders, and left. Decker said, “How’s the baby?”
“In a great mood. Although Nora told me that Hannah does say ‘Mama’ a lot.”
“Uh-oh.”
“No big deal.” Rina looked up. “We’ve only been away for two days. We should be home soon.”