Reluctantly, Fraser continued, committing himself. “We want a fresh look at these people.” He handed Abbott a short list of names.
“You want us to request a new background investigation on these people?”
“I was hoping your office could investigate them,” Fraser answered. “Very discreetly of course, but thoroughly. We’ve got to know if there’s any rot in our woodwork, if there is something, anything, that’s been missed.”
“I can arrange that,” Abbott said. Fraser thanked him and he left the office. Outside, he glanced at the list Fraser had given him. It puzzled him why only two names were written down: Melissa Courtney-Smith and Lieutenant Colonel William G. Carroll. If there was anything about those two that posed a threat to the President, he would find it.
What a strange derangement, Shoshana thought. I’m worse than a teenage girl and not acting my age. I’m twenty-seven and moving around in a daze living from hour to hour, simply happy to be with him.
Matt’s back was to her as he leaned over the rail of the apartment’s balcony, taking in the view. The lights of Haifa were twinkling in the dusk, spreading out as night fell. They were both tired after three days of sightseeing and Shoshana was leaning against the doorjamb studying his back, trying to come to terms with the man. Roaming around Jerusalem with Matt had been a discovery for her. He had dragged her into East Jerusalem, the Arab section, and had charged down narrow passageways, eager to meet the Arabs head-on.
She had protested that it was dangerous, but Matt had ignored her and mingled with the crowds, another tourist spending his money. That constantly changing kaleidoscope of new and old, Western and Arab culture, that mingled and fused in front of them in delightful patterns drew him on. He had finally run down and dragged her protesting into a small restaurant where a friendly owner and his family served an excellent grilled lamb, salad, and homemade bread. The smells of the food, the family speaking Arabic, had triggered a barrage of memories for Shoshana and, for a split second, she was back in Iraq. Then Matt’s voice brought her back to the moment and she had found warmth and protection in his shadow.
“What’s for tomorrow?” Matt asked, breaking her reverie.
“Very little, I hope. My father will be home, I’d like you to meet him.”
He turned. “Oh, oh. This sounds serious when you meet the family.” Then he smiled. “I’d like to meet your father.”
“We can go to the beach …” She hesitated. “It’s the day after tomorrow I want to show you.” He waited for her to continue. “It’s Yom Hazikaron, our Day of Remembrance. At noon Israel comes to a halt and for two minutes, no one moves, and sirens wail. It’s the way we honor our people who were killed in the wars. If you saw it, perhaps you might understand us a little better. Then at dusk it all changes and we start to celebrate our Day of Independence. Haifa turns into one big street party.”
“Sounds good,” he said and turned back to take in the view.
Shoshana! she warned herself. Don’t look at him so much. Don’t touch him. There is so much in him that has changed since we met in Marbella. He is more reserved and confident but there is still that same boyish eagerness. And why do I feel so safe around him?
Then she gave up and moved to him. “Matt,” she whispered. He turned and she walked into his arms. He held her, gently stroking her hair. He felt a slight shudder run through her body.
“What’s wrong?”
She wanted to tell him that falling in love with a gentile, a foreigner, was the ultimate self-indulgence for an Israeli. Instead: “I’m so afraid there’s going to be another war. You don’t read Hebrew … The stories in the newspapers about Syria and Egypt … we’ve seen this so many times before. We are caught in a thousand-year war with no peace. The Arabs will not rest until they have destroyed us.”
“A map is a map, and the one I saw on TV this evening says the Syrian tanks are moving away from your border. And it’s pretty clear that my grandpop is talking to the Egyptians. I think the whole thing was overblown and there’s not going to be any shooting in the near future.”
It was what she wanted to hear and she held him close, content with that for now.
15
“You are pleased with yourself,” Tosh Pontowski said. She was out of bed and sitting in her favorite chair.
Pontowski laid down his read file and sipped his early-morning coffee. “Doesn’t happen often. Let me enjoy it.” His wife knew he wanted to talk. “Looks like the Middle East is settling down. The talks with the Egyptian ambassador are going well and he assures us that the Egyptians are going to cancel the military exercise in the Sinai.” “Is he reliable?” Tosh asked.
“Always has been in the past. Also, the Syrians are pulling back from their forward positions and the Israelis have relaxed their state of alert.” “What about the Russians?”
“The Kremlin Kapers are still in full swing. God only knows what’s going on over there. We are sure of two things. Rokossovsky is in a heap of trouble because their economy is in a shambles. He’s fighting for his life.”
“What’s the second?”
“The old guard led by the army is trying to kick him out and go back to the Brezhnev way of running the country.”
“Zack, I’m worried about those stories in the newspapers …”
“I know, love. There’s nothing the newspapers like better than a scandal to beat the President with about the shoulders and ears. I’ve got an investigation going but so far haven’t found a thing. We’ve even asked the reporters about their sources so we can trace it all down, but they won’t help. Whoever buried the evidence dug a deep hole.”
“If there was any evidence to bury,” Tosh said.
“I hope you’re right. But I’ve got a tingling sensation that tells me it’s out there, just waiting to be thrown on the table and stink.” The phone rang and he picked it up. When he set it down, he rose and paced the room for a few moments. “It’s coming apart …” Tosh waited. Years of living together had given her an intimate knowledge of her husband and she knew the news the unknown caller had relayed was bad, very bad. “The Syrians have stopped their withdrawal.” He kissed her cheek and walked hurriedly from the room.
Matt’s height gave him a slight advantage and he could see over most of the heads around him. He was caught with Shoshana and Avi Tamir in a slow-moving current of humanity that was heading up the narrow path that led up the hill outside Haifa and into the cemetery on top. The distinctive wail of a nearby air raid siren started to build and was joined by other in the distance. It was exactly twelve o’clock. The crowd stopped moving. Matt could see men come to attention and little children fidget beside crying mothers, not understanding what was going on around them. He glanced at Shoshana and Avi, surprised that she was not crying like her father. The strident pitch of the siren wound down to a mournful echo and then died. For a few moments, the crowd was absolutely silent. Then he could hear low sobs and the voices of mothers hushing their children as the crowd started to move again, quietly and slowly.
Shoshana sat on the ground next to her mother’s grave while Tamir pulled at some weeds that had grown around the headstone that had been missed by the Arab gardener who tended the cemetery. Matt waited patiently and Shoshana finally turned to look at him. “I barely remember my mother …”