Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (127 page)

They headed to the north, past the city limits to an exclusive
residential suburb. Here, high walls enclosed quiet villas, and
the urban hubbub seemed far away. Birds chirped happily
from hidden gardens.

Karim turned off into a driveway and came to a stop in front
of a pair of tall, imposing gates. They were topped with lethal
spikes which even the elaborate Oriental motif of the wrought
iron could not hide. He honked the horn twice and waited.

An armed sentry in traditional robes and headgear
appeared, Karim signalled, and the gates swung open elec
tronically, and a pair of rust-coloured Dobermans came gal
loping to meet the car. They split up, one taking the left side
of the car, the other the right, and they ran silently beside it
all the way up to the house. The security precautions seemed
to be formidable.

Najib couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. It was a small but beautifully tended estate. To either side of the patterned
tile drive were young palm trees, hedges of cacti, stands of sisal
plants and, sheathing the inside of the walls which completely
surrounded the estate, lush bright cascades of fuschia bougain
villea. The sprinklered lawn was almost blue-green and spar
kled from a recent watering. The drive ended in a circular
sweep around a water fountain in front of a big white stucco villa with large arched windows and a gently sloping tile roof.

Karim stopped the car and got out slowly, allowing the
Dobermans to sniff him. Then he held Najib's door open.
'Come out slowly and stand still so the dogs can smell you,'
he said.

Najib did as he was told; after a moment, the dogs loped
off.

'I will wait here,' Karim said. 'Just knock on the front door
and you will be taken to see our mutual friend.'

Najib nodded and went up to the glossy door. Before he
could lift the brass gazelle's-head knocker, the door swung open. He froze: another guard in robes and headcloth stood
in front of him, a semi-automatic rifle aimed directly at his
midsection.

Without moving his weapon the guard took four steps back
ward and gestured with his head for Najib to come in. Najib
stepped in slowly, cautious to make no sudden moves.

'Close the door,' the guard said. 'Slowly.'

Without taking his eyes off the weapon, Najib reached back
and pushed the door shut. Then, while the guard still covered
him, a second guard, also in traditional dress, patted him down
expertly, checking him thoroughly for weapons. When the
hands felt around his crotch, Najib's eyes narrowed. 'Let's not
get personal,' he growled.

The guard ignored the gibe and continued the search. Fin
ally satisfied that Najib was unarmed, he announced, 'He is
clean.'

To Najib's relief, the semi-automatic was moved aside.

'Take off your shoes,' the guard told him. 'Then follow
me.' Najib did as he was told, noticing that both guards were
barefoot. He left his shoes beside the door and followed the
man through an apricot-silk-draped doorway into an immense
sybaritic living room. Low couches with cylindrical tasselled
cushions made up four separate white-silk seating areas on the
expanse of pink marble flooring. Tufted scatter cushions of
metallic silver fabric shone richly. Floor lamps—eight-foot-tall
silver palms with glowing, opaque globes as their coconuts— provided muted lighting. It was a Spartan room, cool and
luxurious and impersonal. Along two walls, Moorish-arched
windows with diagonal latticed panes looked out on the gar
dens. From somewhere nearby came the luxurious sounds of
a gurgling fountain and the cooing of turtle doves.

Abdullah was lying naked facedown on one of the couches,
his eyes half-shut. Kneeling on the floor beside him, her
breasts and hips draped only by diaphanous pink silk scarves,
was a beautiful young Arab woman.

She saw Najib before Abdullah did. Her expert kneading fingers stopped in mid-massage and Abdullah's eyes opened all the way. He nodded to Najib and then twisted around to
look at the girl. 'Wait outside until I call for you,' he said.

She obeyed at once, rising fluidly and running gracefully
toward an arched doorway leading out to the gardens, her
bare feet slapping softly against the marble.

Najib watched her, feeling an exquisite ache in his loins. He
had forgotten how beautiful Arab girls could be. Then he
turned to Abdullah. His half-uncle was rearranging himself
into a sitting position. 'It looks like you know how to live, half
uncle.'

Abdullah grunted. 'The house belongs to a businessman
who is vacationing in Paris with his family, and the girl comes
with the place.' He shrugged. 'At least the guards are mine.'

Najib made the usual show of respect and Abdullah
motioned him to a facing couch. It was low and soft, and as
he sank back he couldn't help comparing it to the hard high
couches he'd gotten used to in America.

Abdullah clapped his hands once, and a serving girl materia
lized, flat-footed and modest, brass tray in hand. She placed
it on a low table, poured two cups of savoury fresh mint tea,
and handed one to Abdullah and one to Najib. She placed a
flaky golden pastry shaped like a gazelle's horn on each of two plates and handed them each one. Then she hurried away, her
scarves floating.

'This tea is good,' Najib said, sipping from his tiny handleless cup. 'What I missed most in America was the tea and the
pastries.'

Abdullah picked up a gazelle-horn pastry and bit delicately
into it. He smacked his lips. 'These are filled with almond
paste. Try yours.'

'I had better not. Otherwise I will get fat.'

Abdullah finished his pastry without speaking and then
licked his fingers, one by one.

'I gather you have new instructions for me?' Najib asked,
bluntly bringing the subject around to what was foremost in
his mind.

'I have.' Abdullah nodded. 'But first, an update on the sub
ject I believe is closest to your heart.'

'Schmarya Boralevi! The Jew my grandfather nursed back
to health so many years ago—'

'—and who was the leader of the settlement which attacked
us when your sister Iffat was killed.' Abdullah nodded again.

Najib sat up straighter. 'What about him?' he asked softly.

'It seems he has been making quite a name for himself,
and currently holds a high leadership position in the Israeli
Ministry of Defence. Of course, his having helped create the
modern Israeli army in 1948 out of such diverse groups as the Palmach, the Haganah, the Irgun, and the Stern factions has not hindered his career any. Neither have his friendships with
Ben-Gurion, Dayan, and Meir. Many political analysts have
gone so far as to speculate that he is next in line to become
Israel's minister of defence.'

'I see.' Najib paused thoughtfully. 'I take that to mean he
no longer lives at . . . What was the name of that kibbutz?'

'Ein Shmona.' Abdullah shook his head. 'My intelligence
sources report that he spends most of his time in Jerusalem
now. His daughter, the former film star, and his son-in-law
and grandchildren still spend some time there, but even they
live most of the time in Tel Aviv.'

Najib was silent for a moment. 'And Ein Shmona
...
it
is thriving more than ever.' It was a glum statement, not a
question.

Abdullah nodded. 'You would not even recognize it. There
is a population of nearly 60,000 people, and its irrigated farm
lands stretch out in all directions. In fact, it's hard to think of
it any longer as a kibbutz. It has become a full-fledged town.'

'In other words, it will be more difficult than ever for me to
seek vengeance.'

'Have no fear. I have people watching the entire family. Vengeance will avail itself in due time. Suspecting that you
would be anxious to keep track of them, I have been keeping
a current active file on them all.' He picked up three sheets of
single-spaced typed paper from the low table and handed them
to Najib, who quickly scanned the pages on Schmarya
Boralevi, his daughter, and his son-in-law.

His face furrowed in a frown. 'It seems the longer we wait,
the more powerful and untouchable they all become. I should
have avenged myself four years ago.'

'Vengeance is like wine,' said Abdullah, 'it improves with age. For the time being, there are far more important things
to accomplish which your personal vendettas must not get in the way of. When the time comes, it will be so much sweeter.'
He held Najib's gaze. 'Your grades were excellent, and I am pleased. Now that your education is completed, it is time for
you to start your legitimate business. I trust the Harvard busi
ness courses have prepared you well.'

'Yes.'

'Good. Have you decided what kind of business you would
be best suited for?'

'To begin with, I was thinking of starting an import-export
firm, which would be based in New York but have branch
offices in London, Hong Kong, Stuttgart, and here.'

'Excellent!' Abdullah smiled, steepled his fingers, and
placed them against his lips. 'That would certainly open up a
conduit between the capitalist West and our Palestinian
Freedom Army. Also, it will be a way for us to disburse funds to our sympathizers in Europe. There are groups of youths in
Italy and Germany who champion our cause and could use
some help. While you were gone, we trained four Germans
and two Italians in terrorist tactics. Two were women.' He
paused and brought the subject back to the business at hand.
'How much money do you think an import-export firm would
require?'

'I am not sure yet. I will have to do some more calculations
first, but I should know within a week.'