by Juliana Maio
“Now,” she said.
He didn’t dare ask if he was her first lover, but he knew that he wanted to be gentle and careful. “Come, let’s go to the bed,” he whispered.
She shook her head, though a shy grin belied her bravado. She did not need a bed.
That’s when he understood how much she wanted to give herself completely to him tonight, that she was ready to overcome her inhibitions and break down every barrier and taboo between them, wanting them to be connected skin to skin, soul to soul. There was so much he didn’t know about this girl, but he knew that there was nothing in the innermost recesses of her heart that would not be given to him tonight. He felt humbled by the vastness of her gift.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Would you mind repeating that?”
“I love you,” he shouted.
She threw her head back and shouted back, “Moi aussi, je t’aime.”
She kissed him savagely and reached for his penis. She rubbed it against her mound, squeezing it harder this time.
“One track mind,” he joked.
He positioned her on top of him, her buttocks in his hands. With their eyes glued to each other, he penetrated her. Just a little. She closed her eyes and sat down further, but she grimaced and bit her lip. Then a smile peeked through and she settled down deeper. They did not move their bodies but softly inhaled each other’s breaths for a long moment. Finally, they were there.
“Maya,” he whispered.
“It’s you,” she whispered back. “You’re the man I’ve been waiting for.” She flipped her hair back and pressed her forehead against his.
He rolled her over so that he could be on top of her, careful not to slip out of her. He grabbed her skirt from the floor and folded it under her head as a pillow. Their limbs were intertwined, fitting perfectly together. He was slow and careful, every thrust counting and bringing them closer until the boundaries between them began to blur and there was no telling where her body ended and his began. Nothing else existed but the two of them. She turned her head, and he saw tears rolling down her cheeks. He stopped moving.
“Maya?” he whispered.
Her hand flew to her face to hide them.
“There are no more secrets between us.” He gently pulled her hand back down.
“It’s you,” she whispered back. “I never thought I would have this.” She smiled through her tears and engaged him in a wet kiss, her body writhing under him. “Come to me,” she said.
He rose on his elbow and began thrusting harder, deeper, faster. Making love with her brought him to such ecstatic heights of sexual and sensual pleasure that it was almost painful. He wanted this to last all night, and he slowed whenever he felt he was approaching the precipice. She was breathing hard and moaning with pleasure, her nails clinging to his back, her head rolling from side to side as if to grab some moments of privacy to regain her strength. Finally, after a long and steady climb, they knew they were at the peak. He held her hands above her head, and with their eyes boring deeply into each other, they released themselves into an endless rollercoaster of waves.
Utterly spent, physically as well as emotionally, but deeply satisfied, he rolled over. A sense of completion, like nothing he’d ever known, washed over him. He had been aroused beyond mercy, her hesitant ways having excited him more than he ever imagined possible. She was panting hard, too, and started to laugh.
“We did it!” she said triumphantly.
He rose up and pulled the bedcover down off the bed and onto the floor to cover them. “Yes we did, my love,” he answered, surprised at how naturally that word fell from his lips. “But I can’t even begin to describe what I just experienced.”
She smiled and snuggled up to him, putting one leg over his as he extended his arm under her head, offering it as a pillow. “I’ll never forget this night,” she said, burying her face in his neck.
“The night is still young,” he said, softly kissing the top of her head.
“I wish it were,” she said, her tone turning sober. “I’m going to have to leave.”
He pushed himself up so he could see her face.
“My family thinks that I went back to help the wounded,” she explained. “I took a shower and started crying hysterically. I called my uncle and made him take me to the hospital. From there I took a cab. I had to see you. I told the taxi to pick me up at four.”
He caressed her cheek. “That means that we have another hour.”
“I was counting on that.” She buried her face into his neck again. “I love your smell.”
“And I love everything about you. Everything. Tell me, do you really have to leave in two days?”
“Less than that,” she responded. “So this time is precious.”
“When am I going to see you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maya, please let me help you,” he said, pushing her away again so that she could read his eyes. “I have lots of friends. What do you need? Money? Papers? Shelter? Anything. Just ask. I’ll move mountains for you.”
“We are okay, thank you.” She smiled.
“Things are very unstable in the Sudan right now. The Italians can easily invade from Ethiopia. Why don’t you go to Port Said like most refugees are doing?”
She rose on her side, one elbow on the floor, the palm of her hand supporting her head. “I can’t tell you any more right now. Please accept that.”
He started to formulate a series of questions in his mind, but as soon as he did, he knew in his heart of hearts that he didn’t need to ask them. She had already answered his most basic question—she loved him. The rest was just logistics, and he knew that no matter what, he would make it happen.
“I’ll write to you as soon as I can,” she said. “But I can’t promise anything.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. The American ambassador will always know how to contact me.”
She nodded and smiled happily.
“Hi, beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her cheek and neck, his eyes memorizing every detail of her face.
“Hi, handsome,” she purred back, lying down next to him again.
“Come,” he said, as he patted the bed and rose to his feet.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She slipped inside the sheets, and lying on her stomach, she ran her hands over them, her head on the pillow. “Mmm,” she sighed. “They feel good. I wish I could spend the whole night with you.”
“If I knew you were coming I would have changed the sheets,” he laughed, joining her under the cover.
“No, I like them. They smell of you,” she said, pressing her body close to his, her hand stroking the back of his neck. “Do you like the way I touch you?” she asked timidly.
“Everything you do is perfect,” he answered, reassuring her and caressing her back with slow, circular, strokes, making his way down to the curvy small of her spine.
She took it as a challenge, and after nibbling gently on his neck, she had him lie on his back while she leaned over him, running her mouth over his chest, circling his nipples with her tongue while her hand stroked his thigh. She slowly kissed his stomach before continuing south. By then he was mercilessly aroused and tried to take her in his arms. “Tsk, tsk.” She was not finished. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable and do anything she didn’t really want to, but Maya had a mind of her own and had a growing confidence in her instincts. She started placing kisses up and down his thighs until the excitement became too much for him, and he scooped her up and spread her on the bed. Holding her arms above her head, he carefully pushed himself inside her. She responded with a cry of pleasure, biting his chest and thrusting her hips toward him. No foreplay this time. Now the lovemaking was desperate and selfish. They alternated between giving and taking, rolling into ever changing positions. Then suddenly, she threw her head back and quivered as she gasped for air, her body soaked in perspiration. She was done. His pleasure w
as now his to take; he could be as selfish as he wanted. Elevating her hips with his hands, he drove at her until he came, with a long, steady moan.
They collapsed, exhausted, but they could not bear to be pulled apart and their sweaty, slippery limbs remained intertwined.
Maya looked at the clock on the night table. It was a quarter to four. Time had passed much too rapidly. She was thirsty, and the time it took for him to fetch her a glass of water seemed insufferably long. When he returned to the bedroom, she was sitting up, looking at the picture of the two of them at the ball. She was lamenting the fact that he had a photo of them, while she had none. He promised to make her a copy and send it to her.
Now, with only a few minutes left, he put his robe back on, while she slipped back into her skirt. They stole kisses in between, unable to let go of each other. He wasn’t sure how it started, but before long they found themselves in a passionate embrace on the bed. They couldn’t possibly make love one more time, but they did. This time it was out of greediness, their bodies demanded it, and somehow they managed to ascend to those same indescribable heights and dive off the cliff together one last time.
He was aching at the thought of separating from her, but she did not let him walk her to the taxi. “It’s already hard enough,” she said.
CHAPTER 42
Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Kesner squeezed them tightly before reopening them, but the same blurry image reappeared—a Jewish Star of David dancing in front of him. It was dangling from the neck of a woman in white, her smiling face hovering above him. An angel?
“I’m Nurse Julia,” the woman spoke softly, aware of his confusion. “You were hurt last night during the air raid at the museum. I believe you suffered a concussion, but you will be fine.”
Kesner tried to raise his head, but his neck was stiff as hell, and his head hurt. Where was he?
“There were no more beds at the Anglo-American Hospital so they transferred you here to the Israelite Hospital,” the nurse explained, her face drifting in and out of focus. She took his hand and checked his pulse. “Good,” she declared. “Do you remember what happened?”
Kesner blinked. It was slowly coming back to him. He had been at the Gone with the Wind soirée. Then he recalled the girl. “Marianna Blumenthal,” he whispered.
“Marianna? Was she your date?” she asked, looking down at his hand and not finding a wedding band. “What is your name, officer?”
“Officer?” For a second Kesner was confused as to which costume he had worn, then remembered it was his Polish uniform. It was a good thing he’d kept his disguises at Café Riche, because … his boat. He closed his eyes and an inexplicable wave of grief billowed inside him as he felt a tear glide down his cheek. “All gone up in smoke,” he said, thinking of his boat and his dream house on the Danube.
“Yes. The fire. A lot of people got caught in the fire outside the museum,” the nurse said. “Where were you when the bombing started?”
Kesner combed his memory. “There was an air raid?” he asked. All he remembered was that the marine at the museum gate would not let him inside and that he was waiting for Marianna Blumenthal to leave at the end of the evening.
“You don’t remember explosions? Or loud whistles from the falling bombs?”
“They bombed the museum?” Kesner sat upright, grimacing as he tried to turn his neck.
“One bomb fell in the museum courtyard. They were targeting the Kasr el-Nil British barracks.”
“Of course,” he said, buttoning his shirt, which they hadn’t bothered removing, while the rest of his uniform lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed. He had sent Rommel the barracks’ plans that Sadat had given him. It was too bad they attacked on the very night Kesner happened to be next door.
“I’m Dr. Franco,” a physician cheerfully introduced himself as he sauntered in and sat down on the bed next to him. “So, what do we have here? He lifted his stethoscope and listened to Kesner’s lungs. “Would you breathe deeply for me?”
“The patient seems confused, Doctor,” the nurse said. “I’m not sure he recalls the air raid.”
“I remember everything. Just some details escape me,” Kesner protested. He now recalled seeing Blumenthal’s sister shaking hands with Léon Guibli. How fortunate. The notorious lawyer could provide a link to the scientist now.
“How many fingers?” the doctor asked, planting his whole hand in front of him. “What’s your name, officer?”
“Five fingers, and my name is Captain Stefan Hanczakowski, third Carpathian Polish Second Corps,” Kesner stated confidently, eager to get going. “I need to leave, Doctor. I must report to my platoon. All I need is an aspirin for my headache and I’ll be fine.” Camouflaging his neck pain, he pushed the cover away and dangled one foot out, ready to go.
“Not so fast, Captain,” the doctor gently pushed him back. “We can contact your superior and I’m sure there won’t be a problem. And definitely no aspirin. We don’t want to risk internal bleeding, especially after a concussion. You may have some damage to the brain.”
Fat chance of that. Kesner made such a fuss that after his reflexes and balance were checked and his blood pressure taken, they let him go.
“You forgot your pistol.” The nurse came running after him and handed him the gun just as he reached the hospital’s revolving door entrance.
That was not like him, and he hoped that the concussion would not cause any more stupid forgetfulness. He placed the pistol in his belt holster and headed directly for the downtown tram to Guibli’s office, which he was familiar with from having personally followed the American spy there. Kesner expected to find him in his office at this time. He intended to extract the information he needed at gunpoint.
To his dismay, a police car was stationed in front of Guibli’s office building and two policemen were standing on the lawyer’s second-floor balcony. He backed away, trying to make sense of the situation, when he saw a man exit the building.
“What’s going on upstairs?” Kesner asked the well-dressed gentleman. “I had an appointment with the lawyer.”
“Good luck!” the man snorted. “His office has been ransacked and someone saw him leave, escorted by two Arabs. His secretary says files were taken.”
Kesner hurried away. Hassan al-Banna had just last week abducted a Jewish lawyer in Alexandria. He was out to destroy a network of prominent lawyers in Egypt who had been facilitating illegal Jewish immigration to the Holy Land, in order to curry favor with the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, who encouraged the development of the Brotherhood’s cells in Palestine. Though Kesner dreaded facing the sheik after the fiasco of yesterday’s ambush and the arrest of so many of his close associates, he had to find him, for Léon Guibli could very likely be his prisoner. He flagged a taxi to take him to his new go-between with the Brotherhood, Dr. Massoud’s assistant. With some luck he might get to see the sheik within twenty-four hours.
“24 Sharia Emad ed Din,” Kesner told the cab driver as he got in.
“I’ll be happy to take you there,” the driver answered, “but we must take a detour. There’s some kind of problem. The whole area is blocked off by British tanks.” He made a wide circle with his finger to emphasize how wide the cordoned area was.
“Tanks?” Kesner repeated, bewildered. “In the heart of the city?”
In the passenger seat of an old Hudson, a blindfolded Kesner was being taken to Hassan al-Banna’s secret hideout. He was smiling though he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. It had been a busy eighteen hours since leaving the hospital. Yes, God was on his side. He was no longer alone, and he had the Brits to thank for this unexpected opportunity to get back into the game. He now had a card to play. Kesner swelled with optimism as he reviewed how best to introduce his companion in the backseat, who was also blindfolded.
The car came to a halt, and everyone got out. Taking his blindfolded passengers by the arm, the driver led them to what must have been a wooden door from the sound of his knocking.
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“Nars.” Victory, the driver pronounced, before the door creaked open and Kesner and his companion were ushered inside.
His blindfold was removed and the sheik appeared in front of him, framed by two strong brethren carrying machine guns. Their skullcaps matched the peeling green paint of the walls. Outside the window the day was breaking.
“Who is this man you have brought with you?” Al-Banna asked in his stirring, resonant voice.
“Someone who wants to help,” Kesner answered and removed the man’s blindfold.
The sheik smiled. “Anwar Sadat! What a delightful surprise.”
“British tanks surrounded the palace last night,” Sadat said coldly. “Ambassador Lampson used military threat to force the king to comply with a list of demands.”
“He demanded that Farouk issue a prohibition against a transportation strike and wants the French Embassy—” Kesner started to explain.
The sheik raised his palm to stop him—he knew all too well what had happened.
“They have trampled on our sovereignty and I’m going to avenge the insult,” Sadat said. “We are ready to cooperate with you. We can lead your men to ammunition dumps and arms depots. We will make the revolution, together.”
Al-Banna opened his arms wide. “Come in, come in, s’aalam alekoum. We have a lot to talk about.” He turned to Kesner. “We are very grateful to you for having brought us such a righteous man. Is there something I can do for you in return?”
Kesner cleared his throat. “There is. I believe you have in your custody a Jew, Léon Guibli. I must talk to him.”
CHAPTER 43
Mickey lay in bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan. He’d been up since five. Maya had bored right into his core. He sniffed the sheets in search of a lingering trace of her scent, which had so intoxicated him twenty-four hours ago. He wanted to bury his nose in her neck and inhale her again. His head swirled with emotions, and he savored the memory of even the most innocent of her gestures, the way she smiled, or the way she tossed her hair or held her chin in the palm of her hand.