Judith was surprised to find David’s message when she came back to her office after a seminar with three Ph.D. candidate hopefuls, none of whom showed much promise. She wondered immediately if Mr. Hall was familiar with the Jewish concept of chutzpah, then marveled at Yossi Ellerstein’s clairvoyance. She turned the message note over and over in her hands, thinking about it. Six o’clock. His hotel was down in Tel Aviv, and she lived in Jerusalem. If she was going to do it, she had to leave now to get home and change. First, though, there was a second message, this one from the hostel manager down at Masada.
She decided to return the Masada call first.
“Dr. Ressner, Assad Ghanin. This concerns your friend, the American. The site security people confirm no signs of unauthorized activity on the part of your Mr. Hall.”
“He’s not my Mr. Hall,” she said acidly.
“He was under your charge,” the manager responded primly. “Not ours.”
“Now you listen,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“I’ve also checked with the army border patrol district headquarters at Ein Gedi — they’re the ones who supervise the patrols out here — and they said the incident report just says that the American was walking about in the desert at night. So I think this matter is closed, yes?” She could picture the fat little man wiping beads of perspiration off his face. On the other hand, this was good news.
“Very well, Mr. Ghanin. That was our impression all along. I will pass this information to the IAA and to the institute.”
“Okay, Professor. Shalom.”
She hung up and then left a message with the chairman’s office relaying the gist of Ghanin’s report. Your Mr. Hall indeed. Well, they had been down there together, so it was not an unnatural assumption. She had to admit that the man was at least interesting. So: You’re going to start a new life here? Then go have a drink with him. It’s not like he’s propositioning you, and you’re all finished with Herod’s dreadful Masada. He leaves Israel in a week, so what can happen? It would also allow you to make a first move back into the social scene without involving a colleague. If he was contrite, she would spend some time with him. If he was an ass, she could always spend a little time with him, smile sweetly, pour a drink in his lap, and then cut him dead right there at the table. She placed a call to his hotel.
The message light on his bedside phone was blinking when David got back to his room. He had gone downstairs to check out the hotel dining room to see if it might be a suitable place for dinner. It was Judith, saying she would meet him in the lobby bar for a drink at six thirty.
He put the phone down and sat back on the bed. Now he really had mixed feelings. Okay, smart-ass, you called her, and now here she comes. So chances are nobody found anything worth shouting about. So who is doing the surveillance, and why? Just someone being very careful? But who?
On a personal level, he did want to see her again. What man wouldn’t? She was smart, single, and eminently streetable. Still, there was no getting around the fact that it was going to be, once again, under false pretenses. Maybe the thing to do was to shut it off with her after a drink in the bar. Except, of course, there was his need for an archaeological lifeline once he came back out of the cistern. So a quick drink and dinner wasn’t an option, unless she was coming here just to fang him again for the first deception.
He groaned out loud. Damned woman had him going in circles again. Wonderful.
He went back down to the hotel front desk and retrieved his passport and then called the rental car agency on a lobby phone to give them his passport number. They told him to be sure to bring it when he picked up the car, along with his American driver’s license. When he was finished he stopped by the dining room and booked a table for two for seven thirty, in case things worked out. If not, he still had to have dinner somewhere. He went back to his room, belatedly remembered that Judith lived in Jerusalem and not Tel Aviv, called her back, obtained her address, and dispatched Ari and the Mercedes to pick her up.
17
At six fifteen, David was sitting at a table in the lobby bar, facing the door, a glass of white wine in front of him. He had changed into slacks and an open-collared, short-sleeved shirt under a white linen sport jacket.
Judith came in a few minutes later, creating a small stir. She was wearing a blue open-front linen jacket over an ankle-length, gauzelike multilayered white skirt. Underneath the jacket she wore a bronze-colored blouse that looked to David like the top half of a bathing suit. With her hair styled and a hint of makeup, the previously stern and serious college professor had cleaned up extraordinarily well. Judith in war paint was a stunning woman and definitely a female, David thought, remembering only at the last moment to stand up as she approached the table.
“Professor,” he said, holding out a chair. He caught the scent of a tantalizing perfume in the air as she sat down.
“Mr. Hall,” she replied solemnly.
“Oh dear,” he said, sitting down. “So it’s back to Mr. Hall, is it?”
“Are you drinking alone?” she replied, raising her eyebrows at his glass of white wine. He laughed and signaled the waiter. She ordered a white wine by name, and the obviously smitten waiter bustled away.
“I appreciate your sending a car to pick me up. Now tell me: Why did you ask me to come have a drink with you?”
“I wanted to see you again,” he replied evenly. “Why did you accept?”
“I am practicing. Today I agreed to become a normal human being again.”
“Ah, yes, the dreaded Monday meeting. With the committee of ultimatum givers. How did all that go?”
“Quickly. I preempted them. I told them that I would give up the widow’s weeds and rejoin the scintillating fold of academia.”
“And will you?”
“As soon as I figure out precisely how, yes, I probably will. I remembered that handful of pills you mentioned. The thought did not appeal.” The waiter returned with her wine.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. The new you definitely does appeal. You look absolutely smashing.”
He watched her as she considered the compliment. He could see that she was suddenly at a loss for words. It must indeed have been a long time. “I’ve booked a table in the dining room for seven thirty,” he continued. “Can you join me for dinner?”
She turned her head to one side and gave him a speculative look. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Hall.”
He shrugged. “I have to have dinner somewhere. So do you, and you’re thirty miles from Jerusalem. I promise not to duck out to investigate any ruins during dinner.”
She gave him a reproving look. “That was not an intelligent thing you did down there. On any level.”
He understood at once: We were doing pretty well until you pulled your stupid stunt of going up on the mountain at night. If you liked that, he wanted to say, you’ll positively love the next act.
“I admit that wasn’t too bright,” he said. “On any level. It’s just that I tend to be a focused man. I came here to Israel to see and feel Metsadá. For the final defenders, the climax to that story came at night. I needed to experience that.”
“Focused. Another American euphemism?”
He shrugged. “It’s how I achieve things,” he said, looking directly at her. He paused for a second. “Sometimes I focus to the extent that the consideration due to other people gets pushed into the background. Nuclear engineering is an unforgiving business.”