Dante's Equation Part 56

The mouth closed. Anatoli's bony fingers crept under the boards and onto the windowsill. Denton looked down at the poor, gnarled things and took off a glove, covering them with his own.

"Denton . . ." Anatoli's eyes were confused.

"Yes. Shhh! We must whisper."

"Ishe with you? Did he come back with you?"

Anatoli's confusion had melted into a mad fanaticism, his face eager. Denton felt a surge of disappointment and covered it with a smile. "No, Reb Kobinski did not come. But he, uh, sent us back to take care of a few things."

"What things? What did the master say?"

Dang, this was dumb.

"Um, he's afraid that some of his work has gotten out. We have to make sure that isn't the case."

"But . . . I dug up all of the master's work and burned it. I did just as he said!" Anatoli's eyes watered with tears.

"Shhhhh!" Denton soothed. "I know. I know you burned it." But Anatoli had not burned it, thank G.o.d. Denton was selfishly glad that he hadn't. "Listen to me, Anatoli. We need to know about the men who are holding you. Do they know about Reb Kobinski? Have they talked about him?"

Anatoli looked upset by the question, befuddled. For a moment, Denton thought this was all hopeless. Anatoli's eyes were like windows into a chaotic whirlwind. But a struggle went on in those eyes and slowly they cleared. Denton could see in the tension clutching that fragile body, knew that Anatoli was fighting hard for this moment of clarity. Denton could have kissed him in grat.i.tude.

"I don't think . . . No, they have never mentioned Reb Kobinski. And I have not spoken his name."

"That's good," Denton said with relief. "Anatoli, that's very good."

"They asked about Dr. Talcott and Nate Andros and . . . and Rabbi Handalman. They did not ask about you."

"That's good, Anatoli; that's just fine. What did they say about what happened in the clearing that night?'

A shudder went through Anatoli as the battle for sanity lost ground in his eyes. "Lights, noise. They keep asking. They ask if I saw . . . if Dr. Talcott had something in her hand,did something. I . . . pretend to be crazy." Anatoli smiled a sad, tremulous smile, as if to say,Who's kidding who ?

"Have you overheard their conversations? Do you know-"

There was only a few seconds' warning. Anatoli stiffened and shoved Denton's hands away. He dropped down onto the bed just as the door to the hall opened. There was no time to run back to the safety of the trees. Denton could only duck down under the window and flatten himself against the side of the house. He looked down and saw his long knees poking out, visible to anyone who might look out the window. He swiveled to tuck them against the wall.

"What the f.u.c.k?" he heard a masculine voice inside the room-annoyed.

"What're you trying to do, old man?" came a deeper voice-both men were in the room. "Suicide by hypothermia? It's f.u.c.king ten degrees out there."

Denton heard the sound of someone trying to close the window . . . and apparently not succeeding. He froze, waiting.

He should have shut the d.a.m.n window. Was opening the window even possible from inside the room with those two-by-fours in place? Were the DoD agents figuring that out right about now?

As if confirming his worst fears, he heard one of the men say, very low, "Go check outside."

Denton felt a moment of panic. He very nearly jumped to his feet and took off across the backyard, even though he knew that the men at the window would see him for sure. But he held his ground, trying to think of another option. Then he heard Anatoli's voice, thin and wavery: "Can I have some tea?"

"Let go," came the younger man's voice, quick, impatient.

"But I need some tea!"

And then an exclamation of utter disgust. "Oh, Jesus H. Christ!"

Denton couldn't figure out what had happened at first, only that Anatoli was trying to divert the men-and apparently succeeding.

"Davis! G.o.dd.a.m.n it! Pick him up and get him to the bathroom, would ya?"

A smell wafted through the window and hit Denton's nose-acrid and pungent.

Denton grinned, chalking up a couple of points for the old fox. He crept along the side of the wall and around the house where he could make a dash for the trees.

Nate bought a ticket at the gate and entered the large fenced grounds of the Holocaust museum. It was a crisp winter day and the sun was s.h.i.+ning. He stood there looking over the original barracks and parade ground, the bare earth frosty in the cold and cleared of anything green. Everything was silent and still. It was a mausoleum that hinted at horrors only because of what oneknew had happened here. Otherwise, it was just a bunch of c.r.a.ppy-looking old barracks.

But he did know. And the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Jesus, the human race was justweird to preserve stuff like this.

The man Nate was following, Mr. Smith, was playing tourist. It wasn't difficult to keep an eye on him as he strolled around the grounds and in and out of barracks. It was a low-key kind of day and there were probably fewer than a dozen tourists around. Nate didn't seem to attract any more attention from Mr. Smith than the rest of them.

Smith headed into a long building that was the museum proper, and after a couple of minutes Nate idled in after him. He was wearing an old parka and a woolen hat. He tried to keep his face mostly averted, afraid that if Smith got a good look at him he would be recognized. The Mossad guy Nate had conked over the head in Seattle might have described him, and if they'd dug into Jill's background they might have his picture and his name.

Mr. Smith strolled among the exhibits, giving Nate time to think. Normally, he would have been quite interested in the exhibits, but today he had other things on his mind.

Jill. d.a.m.n her for what she was putting him through. He had never been in love before. It was crazy how it opened a hole inside you. All he could think about was wanting a lifetime with her, some place of their own, cozy evenings of talk and hugging, work they both cared about, nights of exploring each other's bodies with unselfconscious enthusiasm.

It was insane. No wonder so few philosophers tackled the whole mating instinct-it was completely irrational. But man, when it grabbed you . . . Knowing she was out there, in danger, and not going after her was like holding his hand on a chopping block. It was exactly that hard.

The thing that really worried him was that despite Jill's claim that Farris wouldn't hurt her, he was pretty sure she would have gone, danger or no, that she was willing to risk her life because she thought everything was her fault. She'd had that Pa.s.sover lamb look in her eye. And all he could do was wait to hear if she was alive or dead or what.

d.a.m.n, he'd lost sight of Smith. Nate hurried through the museum, but the man was gone. He went outside just in time to see Smith disappear around some buildings on the far side of the camp. Nate ran to catch up. From the side of the crematorium he watched Smith look around and then climb through a hole in the fence.

Nate was pretty sure Smith was going to Anatoli's house. He took his time following, circling around, approaching from the north. The woods beyond the fence were not entirely familiar. He'd only been through them a couple of times and he was no Daniel Boone. But through luck or instinct he reached Anatoli's house the way he'd intended.

He found Denton crouched behind a large group of boulders about where they'd agreed to meet. He had his mittened hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. His face was red from the cold. Nate crouched down beside him and peeked over the boulders through the trees. Smith was there all right. He was four or five hundred yards away at the edge of the woods closest to the camp, watching the house through binoculars. Denton nodded, acknowledging the man's presence.

"Did you talk to Anatoli?" Nate asked in a low voice.

Denton nodded and filled him in. "How do they know about Handalman?" Denton whispered.

"Probably because he and I traveled with Jill."

"Oh, right. That's good. So the DoD probably doesn't know about the ma.n.u.script."

"Let's hope."

They crouched there in the cold woods and waited. Hannah had been sure the Mossad agents were going to try to get into the house today, and Mr. Smith's presence indicated something was going down.

It didn't take long for his partner to show up. The woman Nate and Denton had seen with Mr. Smith at the inn soon came walking down the road, hobbling on a broken boot heel. She looked like a refugee from a fas.h.i.+on ad, with a faux leopard coat, tight black leggings, and high black boots. Her hair was as tall as a souffle and her makeup was discernible at ninety paces.

"Hooker du jour," Denton whispered.

Nate agreed, though he thought she was just tasteful enough to appeal to a couple of alpha males.

"Bet her car broke down," Denton suggested, clearly enjoying this. "And she'll need to use their phone." He used Hannah's binocs on the woman.

Nate thought that likely. He was worried about what the woman had in the large black leather purse she had looped over her shoulder. Although Hannah had been sure thekatsa and Mr. Smith had been discussing getting into the house, she hadn't managed to hear them say what they planned to do there. Nate hoped they weren't going to bug the place. If they did, they might overhear information about his and Jill's work, and that would be bad.

The woman disappeared around the front of the house. Denton handed the binoculars to Nate for a turn. Nate poked his head up over the boulder to see what Mr. Smith was up to. He was still just inside the edge of the woods, his own binoculars trained on the house. Nate turned in that direction himself.

For a long while he saw nothing in the windows. So long, he became convinced either she wasn't going to be allowed inside the house or whatever business she had would be conducted in front rooms, a possibility he and Denton had discussed. But just as he was about to suggest they move around to the front of the house, a movement in the kitchen window caught his eye.

Thekatsa breezed into the small room, still limping. Hinkle hulked in after her. She appeared to be trying to chat him up, talking gaily, but Hinkle only went to the phone on the wall and picked up the receiver, handed it to her as if to say,Do it and be gone .

She had to be playing the part of a dimwit, because she ignored the obvious message and continued to chat on.

Nate's eyes were glued to her, watching for some clue that she was going to put some tiny auditory device on the receiver or anywhere else in the room. Fortunately, Hinkle seemed to be watching her just as closely. Nate almost cheered.

When the woman finally got on the phone, she did a slow turn. Her hands were animated, as if she was in conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. But something in her face, particularly as her circuit turned her away from Hinkle, indicated she was studying her surroundings quite closely.

As she faced the window, her eyes looked up and straight through the gla.s.s. For a pulse, Nate thought she was looking at him, but then he realized that she was looking at Mr. Smith, though she probably could not actually see him from there. The hand that wasn't holding the phone came in front of her, where Hinkle couldn't see it, and she pointed, hard, to her left.

Nate swung the binocs and saw she was pointing to the tiny dining room table. On the table was a large black bag, like an attache case. Nate's toes curled.

"They have their papers in a briefcase," he said, low, to Denton. "She's spotted it."

Denton put a hand on Nate's shoulder and squeezed in rea.s.surance.

The woman hung up the phone, putting a vapid look back on her face before turning to Hinkle. She started chatting again, but Hinkle took her elbow to escort her out.

She hung back, tugging at her purse. For a moment, Nate thought she was going to bring out a gun. But what she brought out of that voluminous s.p.a.ce was a bottle of liquor.

She tried to press it on Hinkle. He shook his head. She tried harder, leaning into him. When Hinkle still wouldn't take it she placed it on the kitchen counter and allowed him to lead her from the room. A few minutes later they heard the almost inaudible sound of a door closing and thekatsa , still limping, started back down the road.

"d.a.m.n!" Nate said. He turned the binocs back to the kitchen window, willing Hinkle to reappear and toss that thing out the window. He didn't. The bottle sat there. "s.h.i.+t!"

"What is it?" Denton whispered.

Nate realized he'd been hogging the binoculars and Denton hadn't been able to see a thing. He turned them long enough to see Mr. Smith slip back into the woods, toward the hole in the fence and the Holocaust museum, then handed them back.

"He's going. It must be over. She used the phone, just like you said. And then she left him a bottle. Looks like vodka or gin."

Denton didn't look too concerned.

"Don't you see, that would be the perfect way to get a bug in the house!" Nate insisted.

Denton raised the binocs to look at the kitchen. Nate squinted. As far as he could see, there was still no one there.

Denton spoke calmly: "Why put a bug on a bottle of liquor? It's likely to be thrown out in a day or two, whether they drink it or not."

He had a point.

"But why else would she give them liquor?" Nate asked.

Denton lowered the binoculars. "Let's hope Aharon and Hannah find out."

Aharon could not believe he was going into the Mossad'sactual rooms . Well, leave it to Hannah. The woman single-handedly could have brought the Roman Empire to its knees.

He looked around the hall once more-still nothing, not a peep-and put the key into the keyhole. Hannah had gotten the key, filched it from behind the reception desk as easily as if thievery had been mother's milk to her. Aharon shook his head, but he had to admit, he was impressed. The door swung inward.

Could the Mossad have hidden cameras in the room? Infrared sensors? b.o.o.by traps? Naturally. That's why Aharon had insisted on being the one to go into the room while Hannah watched downstairs to make sure their quarry didn't return. But now that he'd won that particular battle and was here, it did not seem such a victory.

Thievery had not been mother's milk to Aharon and he wasn't sure where to begin.

He saw nothing of the b.o.o.by trap ilk, no cameras. He went through the suitcases, trying to put everything back exactly the way he found it, but feeling clumsy about it. Rummaging through ladies' underwear! And beardless rummaging at that. It was not to be believed.

In a drawer of the bureau under a pile of men's pants Aharon found files. This was what he had come for, and though he wanted nothing more than to get out of this room as quickly as possible, he took out the files and sat with them on the floor.

There were half a dozen legal-sized manila folders with elastic bands to hold them closed. The one on top was his.

Aharon hissed in a breath and, fascinated, read someone else's account of him. A photograph of him-a good one, taken outdoors, was in the front of the file. It had been taken without his knowing, apparently in Jerusalem. He was a.s.sessed as "fanatically Orthodox."

Aharon looked at the picture of the man he had been and felt a strange tightening sensation behind the eyes. Looking at the photo, he would say that was a hard man, a man who believed he had all the answers, a man who, in fact, knew very little.

He put his own file down and flipped through the others. There was a file each on Dr. Talcott, Nate, and Denton. There was not a file, thankfully, on his wife. The last file was Anatoli's.

Aharon knew that Anatoli had been going under a pseudonym for some time. In Poland he used the name Solkeski, not Nikiel. What frightened Aharon when he opened the file was the first image-a blown-up eight-by-ten photograph of Anatoli's arm. There was a swatch of skin showing where his black wool coat sleeve had been raised, raised by the heavy, meaty hand that had a grip on the arm.

The photograph must have been taken when the DoD agents were escorting Anatoli somewhere, Aharon thought. And it must have been taken with a telephoto lens. The numbers on Anatoli's arm were as plain as day.

Aharon flipped the picture forward. Sure enough, there, on the biographical form was a photograph of Anatoli, at least twenty years old, and his real name. The file was thick, including printouts of some of the "pages of testimony" from Yad Vashem that mentioned Kobinski and Anatoli and camp records as well.

Aharon went to stroke his beard and found empty air. He clucked his tongue thoughtfully and rocked a little, the file in his lap.

The Mossad-Norowitz-knew who Anatoli was, that he was Kobinski's closest ally and disciple. Aharon thought about the man who had wiped corned beef juice from his fingers to look at the code binder, the man who had called him so frequently in the last few months.

Rabbi, have you found any more of Kobinski's ma.n.u.script?

What would Norowitz do to get his hands on Anatoli? What would henot do? But the DoD had Anatoli, at least for the moment. Then again, they'd also had Jill and that had not stopped the Mossad from attempting to kidnap her.

A beep startled Aharon from his cogitation. He scrambled to his feet, running to the window, heart hammering. Then he realized that the sound had not come from outside but from a device on the bureau that looked like an oversize portable phone. It beeped again.

He went over to it and picked it up. It was probably a satellite phone; it was the size of a large old-fas.h.i.+oned receiver, not like the modern cell phones at all. Underneath the b.u.t.tons for dialing was a two-inch LED screen. There was a message on the screen. Its arrival must have been the source of the beep. It was in Hebrew, something Aharon supposed was encryption enough in most parts of the world. It said: TONIGHT'S PLAN APPROVED. G.o.dSPEED.

"Yaakov called the name of the place: Peniel/Face of G.o.d, for: I have seen G.o.d, face to face and my life has been saved."