The Brotherhood of the Rose (15 page)

When he entered, he heard an accordion. Candlelight glowed off polished oak. Silverware clinked amid muted conversations. He scanned the busy room, smelling garlic and butter. Peering past a waiter carrying a tray, he concentrated on the corners in the rear. As he expected, she sat with her back to a wall, facing the front but near an exit through the kitchen. Her waiter had taken the other place settings. Good, Saul thought, she planned to eat alone.

The Maitre d' came over. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"I'm with Miss Bernstein. In that corner." Smiling, Saul passed him, crossing the room. His smile dissolved as he stopped before the table. "Erika."

She glanced up, confused. Abruptly her brow contorted in alarm.

He pulled out a chair and sat beside her. "It isn't polite to stare. Keep your fingers on the edge of the table. Away from the knife and fork, please."

"You!"

"And please don't raise your voice."

"Are you crazy coming here? Everybody's hunting you."

"That's what I want to talk to you about." Saul studied her face-the smooth dark cheeks, the deep brown eyes and full lips. He fought the urge to draw his finger across her skin. "You keep getting lovelier."

Erika shook her head, incredulous. "How long has it been? Ten years? Now out of nowhere you suddenly show up --in the worst kind of trouble-and that's all you can say?" ,"You'd prefer to hear you're getting uglier?" "For Christ's sake--2' That's no way for a nice Jewish girl to talk."

She raised a hand in dismay. He stiffened. "Please keep your fingers on the edge of the table," he repeated.

She obeyed, breathing deeply. "This can't be coincidence. You didn't just happen to choose this place."

"I followed you from your apartment."

"Why? You could have come up."

"To find a roommate or someone waiting in case I tried to get in touch with you?" He shook his head. "I figured neutral ground was better. Why are they after me?"

She frowned in surprise. "You actually don't know? Because of.Bangkok. Chris violated the sanction." Her voice was low but tense. The noises from the nearby kitchen kept the other customers from hearing her. "But Bangkok was after. What's that got to do with me?"

"After what? You don't make sense."

"Just tell me."

"Chris killed a Russian. The KGB issued a contract against him. Because of the rules of the sanction, the other networks have to help."

"I know all that. But what's it got to do with me? Atlantic City happened before Bangkok."

"What are you talking about? Five days ago, we received a message from your agency-a revision of the contract. Chris had been seen in Colorado. You were helping him, the message said. The CIA declared you a rogue and asked for you to be killed with Chris."

Saul murmured, "Eliot."

"For God's sake, would you tell me what-?"

Nervous, she glanced at sudden stares from nearby customers. "We can't talk here."

"Then where?"

In the dark, Saul gazed through the window toward the distant lights of the Washington Monument. "Nice location."

"Ten blocks from our embassy," Erika said behind him.

He didn't give a damn about the view. His reason for staring out the window was to test her. On guard, he waited for her to try to kill him. When she didn't, he closed the draperies and turned on a corner lamp, angling it so he and Erika would cast no shadows on the drapes.

He nodded in approval of the living room, its furniture simple, carefully chosen, elegant. He'd already searched the bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. As she'd promised, he'd found no roommate, no one waiting for him. "Microphones?"

"I checked this morning."

"This is tonight." He turned on the television, not because he wanted its noise to muffle their conversation, instead because he needed a constant sound for a test. He'd seen a portable radio in the kitchen. Now he got it and turned it on, switching to the FM band. He divided the room into quadrants, checking each section for bugs by slowly moving the radio's dial. A hidden microphone was normally tuned to an FM number not used by a station in the area. All an eavesdropper had to do was wait in a nearby safe location, adjust a radio to the. FM number he'd chosen, and listen to whatever was said near the mike he'd planted. Similarly, Saul could use a radio to pick up the same transmission. As he moved the dial, if he heard the noise from the television come from the radio-often as squawky feedback-he'd know the room was bugged. In this case, no matter which FM station he tried, he didn't pick up the laugh track from the sit com. He scanned the ceiling, the walls, the furniture, the floor. Satisfied, he turned the TV and radio off. The room seemed unnaturally still. "The sanction?" he said as if their conversation in the restaurant hadn't been interrupted. "That's the only reason your people are after me?

Because I'm helping Christ"

"What other reason could there be?" Erika raised her eyebrows, troubled. "We hate to help the Russians, but the sanction has to be maintained. Abelard's the cardinal rule. If it's destroyed, we sink toward chaos."

"Then if you had the chance, you'd kill me? A fellow Jew, a former lover?"

Erika didn't answer. She took off her jacket. The two top buttons of her blouse were open, spread by the swell of her breasts. "You gave me the chance a few minutes ago when you looked out the window. I didn't take it."

"Because you knew I did it deliberately-to see how you'd react."

She grinned.

The gleam of amusement in her eyes made him grin in return He felt as attracted to her as he'd been ten years ago, wanting to ask how she was, what had happened to her since he'd last seen her.

But he had to deny himself. He couldn't trust anyone except his brother. "For what it's worth, Chris is out there. If you killed me.. "I assumed you'd have backup. He'd come after me to get revenge. I'd be foolish to try unless I had you both together."

"On the other hand, maybe you'd feel lucky. I don't have time for this. I need answers. Eliot's hunting me, but not because of Chris. That's merely Eliot's excuse. Hell, he asked Chris to find me-after Chris had already violated the sanction

"That's insane."

"Of course." Saul gestured with frustration. "If the Russians knew Eliot had asked Chris for help instead of killing him, they'd put out another contract. Eliot risked his life to try to find me."

"Why?"

"To kill me."

"You expect me to believe this? Eliot's like a father to YOU."

Saul rubbed his aching forehead. "Something's more important than his relationship with me, more important than the sanction, so important he has to get rid of me. But dannit, I don't know what. That's why I came to you."

"How would I--?"

"Atlantic City. Before Chris violated the sanction. Even then, the Mossad came after me. I have to assume your people were helping Eliot."

"Impossible!"

"It's not! It happened!"

Erika's eyes flashed. "If we helped Eliot, I'd know about it. A lot of things have changed since the last time I saw you. I'm supposed to be a clerk in our embassy, but I'm a colonel in the'mossad now. I control our intelligence teams on the eastern seaboard. Unless I approved it, none of our people would have tried to kill you.". "Then whoever ordered it lied to you and covered it up. Someone in the Mossad works for Eliot."

Erika continued glaring. "I can't accept it! If what you say is true-2' She shuddered, raising her hands. "Just wait a minute. This is senseless. I'm arguing with you when I don't even know the details. Tell me about it. Exactly what happened."

Saul slumped in a chair. "Ten days ago, Eliot asked me to do a job. The Paradigm Foundation."

Erika's eyes widened. "Andrew Sage's group. The president's friend. That was you? The president's blaming us."

"But why?"

"The Paradigm Foundation worked for the president. A group of American billionaires who negotiated with the Arabs to get cheaper oil if the State Department abandoned its loyalty to Israel. The president thinks we protected our interests by destroying the foundation."

"And stopping the negotiations," Saul said. "For once, the president's being logical."

"Go on. What happened?"

"You mean I've finally got your attention? You see the point? If you help me, you'll be helping yourselves."

"You mentioned Atlantic City."

"After the job, Eliot sent me there to drop out of sight."

"Absurd. That's no place to hide."

"Damn right it isn't. But I always do what Eliot tells me. I don't argue. Someone from the Mossad tried to kill me in a casino. I called Eliot for protection. He sent me to a hotel where a Mossad team set up another trap. Only Eliot knew where I was going. The team must have worked for Eliot."

"I tell you it's impossible!"

"Because you didn't know about it? You're being naive."

"Because of something else. Whoever helped Eliot was also helping whoever wanted Sage's group destroyed. We'd never be stupid enough to kill the president's friend, no matter how badly we wanted those negotiations stopped. We'd be the first country the president accused, exactly what's happened. The hit didn't help us-it hurt us! What Mossad team would turn against Israel?"

"Maybe they didn't know why Eliot wanted me killed. Maybe they didn't know the connection between me and the hit."

"I still don't understand what makes you sure they were Mossad."

"You figure it out. They used the heels of their palms in hand-to-hand combat. They used Berettas and Uzis. They walked with that flat-footed, half-crouched stance for balance. No one else is taught to do that. They even made silencers the way your people do."

She stared in disbelief.

Chris crept up the stairs, his rubber-soled shoes touching the concrete softly. Close to the wall, out of sight from anyone peering past the railing down the stairwell, he approached each landing. Fluorescent lights hummed as he listened for other sounds above him. Checking all five levels, he found no one, then came down one level to open a fire door, studying the fourth floor hall. Numbered apartments flanked both sides. Directly to his right, he saw an elevator, pushed its button, and waited. A light above its door showed 5, then 4. A bell rang as the door slid open. With his hand on the Mauser beneath his jacket, he discovered no one.

Good, he thought. As much as possible, the building was secure, though he didn't like the flimsy locks on the outside doors or the absence of a guard in the lobby. He debated whether he should have continued to watch the building from the street. The problem had been that from his vantage he couldn't see the back, nor could he determine if someone entering the building belonged here or was hunting Saul. Besides, he couldn't know if trouble was already inside. He had to assume that agents from various networks-especially from Eliot-were watching the people he and Saul would likely ask for help, and Erika certainly qualified as their friend, though they hadn't seen her since '73. It was possible no one knew how close the friendship was, but since they needed her help, Chris believed in being thorough. Now that he'd checked the building, he felt more confident, knowing that Erika's apartment-on the left, halfway down the hall-was protected. A hunter couldn't reach the fourth floor, by either the elevator or the stairs, without his knowing it. He went back to the stairwell, left its door slightly open, and listened for the elevator's bell or footsteps below him.

Earlier, he'd smiled from a roof near Saul, recognizing Erika's figure as she left her apartment to walk down the street, enjoying the memory of the first time he'd met her, when he and Saul had gone for special training to Israel in 1966. Then as now her elegance deceived. A veteran of the Israeli Six-Day War in '67 and the October War in '73, she was as capable indeed as deadly-as any man. Ironic, he thought. In America strong women were considered threats whereas in Israel they were treasured, since their nation's survival left no room for sexual prejudice.

The creak of a door coming open below him troubled him. He turned to the rail, seeing shadows at the bottom of the stairs. As the door snicked shut down there, he took advantage of its echo to shift to the level above him, drawing his Mauser, easing to his stomach on the chilly concrete.

The shadows might belong to people who lived in the building and preferred climbing the stairs for exercise instead of using the elevator. If they came all the way up, they'd panic at the sight of his Mauser. He'd have to run.

The lights hummed, almost obscuring the gentle brush of footsteps climbing higher.

Second floor, he thought. No, third. They're stopping. He almost relaxed, then corrected his guess.

The fourth, directly below him. The footsteps paused. He clutched the Mauser, staring at the distorted silhouettes projecting up.

He aimed. Were they tenants? They seemed to inch higher. In a moment, he'd see their faces. He pressed his finger on the trigger, braced for an instant's judgment.

The shadows stopped. The door creaked open down there, then shut.

He rose to a crouch and pointed the Mauser down the stairs. Seeing no one, he hurried down. Cautious, he opened the door and squinted out.