“And you are Mossad.”
Ruth’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him from her seat on the bar stool. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you after me?”
“Look, buddy.” She laughed angrily as she grabbed her purse and stood from her stool. “You looked lonely. I was bored so I thought I’d come score a drink off you. Whatever the hell you are talking about I—”
Court grabbed her by the arm, low and with his right hand. He yanked her closer still.
Behind them Aron leapt to his feet and began pushing through the crowd.
Court leaned into Ruth’s ear and barked at her. “Wave your boy off or I will kill him!”
She felt a movement inside her coat, and then she felt her sweater rising at the waist. And then, hidden from view of everyone in the room, she felt a long blade pressing flat against her stomach.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Quickly Ruth turned away from her target and toward Aron Hamlin. She shook her head vigorously back and forth. The twenty-eight-year-old Mossad officer saw her signal and he slowed, but he kept coming. She put a hand up, palm down, raising it and lowering it.
He stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by a crowd who paid no attention to the events going on around them.
Gentry leaned into Ruth’s ear. “I want your right hand on the bar. I will keep your left wrist for now.”
She did not move her right hand fast enough. The blade under her shirt moved, and the sharp edge burned her skin with a single soft stroke.
Her hand shot up to the top of the bar. It shook a little, so she gripped the lacquered edge.
Court said, “I want to talk to you, but I don’t want to talk to him.”
She just nodded. Looked again at Aron and motioned with her head for him to back up farther. He complied slowly.
“And I don’t want to talk to the shooters outside.”
“There… there is no one outside.”
“What about the rest of your team?”
“There is no one else.”
“Bullshit, lady.” He pulled her closer with his right hand and, with his left hand, he touched the sharp tip of the knife against her ribs, right below her bra. She gasped and her lips quivered.
“Okay, okay. There are two more outside. But they aren’t armed. I swear to God.”
“And where are the Townsend guys?”
She fought to keep from succumbing to panic. Court could see something else in her eyes. She had no idea how he knew about her, about Townsend. “I kept them from you. I… I saw you leave the rooming house this morning. Townsend was going to fuck it up, so I didn’t tell them where you went.”
He removed the knife pressing against her stomach, but she assumed it remained just inches away. She did not look down.
He leaned in close again, and he spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the music and the crowd. “Why are you working with the Americans to find me?”
“Because of Ehud Kalb.”
Court cocked his head. “What about him?”
She did not answer at first.
“What — about — him?”
“If you kill me you will never get out of here alive.”
“If you don’t answer me, neither will you.”
A tear dripped down her cheek, but she kept her chin up. “Did you meet with Quds Force operatives in Beirut on Wednesday?”
“Quds? Iranian Revolutionary Guard?”
She nodded.
“Lady, I’ve never met with Quds Force about anything, and I haven’t been to Beirut in years.” He added, “Beirut is fucking dangerous.”
He let go of her wrist now, reached across his body with his right hand, and hefted his beer, then took a drink. He appeared relaxed again, but she knew he was just trying to blend in with his surroundings, despite what was going on between the two of them.
She had not moved, so Gentry motioned to her drink. “Can you take a sip? Is your hand shaking?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Give it a try.”
She reached for her beer, took a small sip and started to put it down, but then brought it back to her mouth and chugged a healthy gulp.
“Your intel is wrong,” Court told her.
“I… I thought so, too. But our source is good.”
“Apparently, your source sucks,” Court said. “I am not after anyone, much less the PM of Israel. I just want to fade away.” He took another sip. “Leave me alone and I will.”
She hesitated. Then said, “There is — there is something else.”
He did not like the sound of this, and he let her know with his tone. “What?”
“They think you were in Nice.”
“Don’t I wish?” he quipped, and he brought his beer bottle back to his mouth. He asked, “When?” and took a long swig.
“Today.”
“Today?” He almost spit out his beer. “What the hell would I be doing in—”
“Assassinating Amir Zarini.”
“The director? He finally got smoked?”
She nodded. “This morning. They are saying you did it.”
“But you said you saw me this morning here in Stockholm.”
She nodded.
“Does the Mossad think I can teleport?”
“I can’t tell them I let you slip away this morning.”
“So you’ll stand by and watch them kill me?”
“Does this look like I’m standing by?”
“I don’t know what you are doing. You sure as shit aren’t here to pick me up.”
She said, “I came in here because I’m trying to decide what the fuck is going on. I’m trying to find some way to exonerate you, because I know you weren’t in Nice.”
He started to reply to this, but then he stopped, leaned close to her ear suddenly, and grabbed her wrist again, startling her. It startled her more when he spoke in the loudest voice of the conversation. “Back him the fuck up!”
Ruth looked to her left. Aron had closed to within ten feet.
She waved him away angrily, and he backed off a few steps.
She had no idea how Gentry knew what was going on behind his back. She said, “He thinks you’re going to hurt me.”
“I won’t unless I have to. To be honest, right now it’s looking iffy.”
“He’ll stand down.” She pointed at him again, then pointed back against the wall. Hamlin backed up farther with his hands up in supplication.
Still no one in the bar had noticed a thing.
She said, “Listen. I’ve read your file. I’ve seen our version, and… and the one from your country. Your agency file has a lot of holes in it. From the start this investigation didn’t feel right. I told them Kalb wasn’t a Gray Man target. They didn’t believe me.”
“You told who?”
“Carmichael, Babbitt, my people.”
“Carmichael,” he said thoughtfully. “That name seems to turn up when things get complicated.” He sipped his beer. “And they still think I was in Beirut?”
“Yeah.”
“And now Nice?”
“Yeah.”
Court just looked off into space a moment, then shook his head. She looked him over closely. He appeared tired, drawn. Defeated. But his eyes narrowed with resolve, as if the heavy thoughts had cleared away for just a moment. “All right. You are going to get your wish tonight.”
“What wish?”
“I’m going to buy you a drink.” His left hand appeared with a one-hundred-kronor bill, and he laid it on the bar between her glass of beer and his bottle. “Are you carrying a weapon?” he asked.
“I have Mace.”
He cocked his head. “Seriously? That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“If I check your purse and find a pistol I’m going to get really grouchy.”
“I don’t carry a gun.”
His eyebrows rose, but he did not respond. Next he said, “I am going to step away from the bar, and you are going to move with me. When I get to the door to the kitchen, I am going to separate from you and slip out. If you come after me, if any of your little helpers come after me, somebody is going to get hurt.” He stopped speaking, but she just looked at him in shock. “Nod your head if you believe what I am telling you.”