the Hunted (1977) (18 page)

He told her about visiting Jerusalem the firs
t time, with Zohar, and Zohar showing him wher e his tank--and the tank of his good friend who wa s now the Hertz manager in Jerusalem--had bee n surrounded by Jordanians during the Six Days'

War . . . showing him an archway that was like
a stone tunnel in a gate and asking Davis if h e thought a tank would fit through it--with the Jordanians firing rockets at them--because if the tank became stuck in there . . . but they had to try it an d they did get through, barely, scraping the walls. Zohar showed him, in the side of a stucco house, an S-curve of bullet marks he had put there with hi s Uzi, firing out of the turret of his tank. He ha d brought his wife and three children here severa l times on outings. Davis said if he were married an d had a family it would be like taking them to D a Nang and Lon Thien. He couldn't imagine it.

Tali said, "You're not married?"

"I almost was a couple of times," Davis said. "I
w as sort of engaged. But I'd get sent somewher e and by the time I'd get back I wouldn't be engage d anymore."

"When I was eighteen I was in love with a
n American who was going to dentist school," Tal i said. "Do you know Atlanta? That's where he live.

I visit him there, but"--she shrugged--"we writ
e to each other for a while, but then we don't writ e anymore."

"I don't think you have to worry," Davis said.

"About what?"

"About meeting somebody and getting married."

"I don't know--I think I like to be an air hostes
s again and travel places."

"Maybe, while I'm still here," Davis said, "yo
u could show me Israel. I haven't seen too much."

"Maybe. I don't know."

He wondered if she understood what he meant:
t raveling with him, staying at hotels with him.

They were on Yafo, in the middle of the mornin
g traffic, when Tali saw Mati and told Davis to sto p quick. He couldn't, though, for another half block.

When he was able to pull to the curb, Tali jumpe
d out, ran across the street through the traffic, an d was gone. Davis waited, looking around. About te n minutes passed before he saw her again, recrossin g the street with Mati now, scowling, yelling a t him--that thin, nice-looking little girl--giving hi m hell in Hebrew as they approached the car an d Davis leaned over to open the door.

"Mati and I have to have a talk," Tali said.

"Well, get in."

She pushed Mati into the back seat, got in front
, and sat half turned, staring at him. "He says h e drove them to the King David," Tali said, "but Mr.

Rosen wasn't in his room. He says he was wit
h them yesterday, they took him, when you wer e shooting at them."

"How many, three? Three men?"

Mati nodded.

"Where are they?"

"He says he doesn't know. They told him to g
o back to Tel Aviv. They kept Mr. Rosen's car." Sh e began railing at Mati again in Hebrew, Mati sittin g quietly with the holstered automatic and the claymore mines on the seat next to him, not aware of them, staring back at Tali. He ducked aside then a s she tried to hit him with her fist. Davis caught he r arm.

"Take it easy. Let's find out what happened."

"He's an idiot!" Tali said. "He thinks they onl
y want to talk to Mr. Rosen." She lashed out at hi m again in Hebrew and this time Mati yelled back a t her.

"Where did they go when they left him?" Davi
s said. "Where were they?"

They spoke again in Hebrew before Tali said
, "At the hotel. He went with the black one to a cafe , then the black one left."

"The other two," Davis said, "they waited at th
e hotel?"

"They were in the parking lot by the car," Tal
i said. She spoke to Mati again in Hebrew. Mati sai d something to her. "He says they wanted to change a tire. He raised the car for them. . . ."

"Which car?"

"The one he drove," Tali said. "But he says ther
e was nothing wrong with the tire."

Davis had the Camaro in gear, cranking th
e wheel away from the curb.

"Parked next to Mr. Rosen's new car, the blac
k one," Tali said.

Davis knew that before she told him.

"The Laromme's the best hotel in Eilat," Rose
n said. "It's big and flashy and you can get lost looking for the discotheque, but it's a lot of fun--if you don't get taken. A lot of good-looking young Israel i guys prey on tourist ladies, you know. It's lik e Rome."

"It's like anywhere," Edie said. "There was on
e at the Dan, I told him I was old enough to be hi s mother. Do you know what he said?"

"Just a second." Rosen stepped over to the desk
, handed the clerk his key, and spoke to him for a moment. The clerk laughed. Rosen came back smiling at Edie and put his hand out to let her go first through the revolving door.

"What'd he say? The Israeli kid."

"He said . . ."

By now Rosen was talking to the doorman
, handing him a lira, and the doorman was laughing.

"I'm sorry, go on."

Walking from the porte cochere down the circular drive to the street, Edie said the young Israeli's reply wasn't that much really. He'd only said h e was in love with her and it didn't matter how ol d she was. Rosen said he didn't care how old she wa s either. What was age? What did it have to do wit h how you felt? Edie said, "Careful. I have your passport, you know. With your date of birth on it."

Rosen said, "Oh . . . that's right."

Eight thirty-five. They'd get to the Hilton an
d have time for a cup of coffee.

"I have to change," Edie said.

"Then we'll have it while you change. I'll hel
p you dress," Rosen said. "I'll help you undress first."

"You know, you're very sexy for a man you
r age," Edie said.

"Tourist ladies who stay at the Hilton like tha
t kind of talk," Rosen said. "It excites them and thei r thing gets moist and tingles. You're not really a Hilton lady, though. Did I explain that to you? Th e difference between the Hilton ladies and the Kin g David ladies?"

"No, but I can imagine what you're going t
o say."

She waited again as he stopped to talk to th
e parking lot attendant and press something into hi s hand. When he joined her again, taking her ar m and squeezing it, she said, "I'll bet you over-tip."

"Of course," Rosen said.

They could hear boys playing basketball in the yar
d of the YMCA--voices in Hebrew, the sound of th e ball hitting the backboard--beyond a wall o f bushes and a high chain-link fence. The gray Mercedes was parked next to the fence, on Lincoln Street.

They'd hear it all right, Teddy Cass said. Shit, i
t would break windows in the Y.

But they wouldn't hear it if it didn't go off
, Valenzuela said.

They had picked up Rashad on Agron Street an
d crept through the area in the Mercedes, studyin g side streets and through routes that Valenzuela ha d marked on his map. They had been here now a little more than forty minutes . . . almost forty-five minutes when they saw Rashad coming towar d them from the front of the YMCA.

"Just leaving the hotel," Rashad said. "Going t
o the parking lot."

"Alone?" Valenzuela said.

"Has a woman with him."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about that,"

Valenzuela said.

The King David parking lot attendant was alway
s glad to see Mr. Rosen. Especially with a woman.

When Mr. Rosen was alone, he gave him five lira.

But when he was with a woman, he gave him te
n lira. It couldn't be to impress the woman; sh e couldn't see the notes. So it must be because Mr.

Rosen felt good and was happy. Why shouldn't h
e be happy? With money and two cars. One o f the cars was gone now, taken by the Americans; bu t the new black one should be enough for him. H
e watched Mr. Rosen open the door for the woma n and come around to his side to get in.

The sound the parking lot attendant heard a
t that moment was like a racing car streaking dow n David Ha-Melekh past the hotel, a roar of power, a screeching sound that made him grit his teeth waiting for the crash. But the sound that came was the engine roar again, higher, much louder, here, a green car power-sliding through the gate into th e yard, raising a wave of dust and throwing gravel a t him as the car swerved and came to a stop broadside. A man wearing a cap was out of the car almost as it stopped sliding.

"Rosen!"

Rosen took his hand from the ignition, lookin
g out the side window at the Marine coming towar d him and now Tali, behind him, getting out of th e Camaro, and someone else. He didn't recogniz e Mati right away.

"That's the guy I was telling you about," Rose
n said.

"My God," Edie said, "he makes an entrance."

Rosen grinned at the Marine. "What're you, ou
t hot-rodding?"

Davis said, "Don't touch the ignition. You bette
r get out of the car. Both of you."

"Jesus Christ," Rosen said. Rosen knew. H
e didn't have to ask questions. "Edie, come on."

"What is it?"

"We have to get out of here."

"Take the parking guy with you," Davis said. H
e waved to Tali and Mati to move back.

"You know what to do?" Rosen asked him. H
e was out of the car now.

"If I recognize it," Davis said. "Go all the wa
y out to the street."

He didn't wait for them to leave. Getting dow
n on his back, inching under the car, he heard th e lady with Rosen asking him what was going on.

The lady would have found out if Rosen ha
d turned the key and the car had exploded beneat h them. There were two fist-sized packs of C4 plasti c wedged between the undercarriage and one of th e frame cross members--one pack would have don e the job--like hunks of white modeling clay, wit h wires and blasting caps attached. Davis pulled th e caps out of the plastic material and put them in hi s pocket before he cut the wires with his clasp knif e and pulled the hunks of plastic free.

They were outside the gate on the side street
, watching him as he came out from under the car.

He tossed the hunks of plastic in the back seat o
f the Camaro, got behind the wheel, and drove toward them, seeing them walking into the lot again, stepping out of the way. Rosen hurried toward him.

"Get in," Davis said. "We've got to move."

"Wait a minute--what was it?" Rosen wa
s frowning. It was happening too fast for him. H
e wasn't used to reacting, not asking questions.

"We don't have time to talk. Get in," Davis said.

"I don't have anything with me. . . ."

The good-looking lady with Rosen was saying
, "Will somebody tell me what's going on? What wa s under the car?"

"Wait a minute," Rosen said, his hands hitting th
e pockets of the light jacket he was wearing. "I don'
t have any money with me . . . my sunglasses . . ."

With his beard and hair and blue choker beads, hi
s indecision seemed out of character, weakness showing through.

Tali knew what was going on, her eyes on Davis
, staring at him. Mati was a little behind her, alert o r asleep, it was hard to tell.

"--Or my clothes. I've got to pack something."

"Mr. Rosen," Davis said, "forget about you
r clothes. Just get in the car."

Tali said, "What way are you going?"

"South. Stay here till we call you."

"To Beersheba?"

"At least. If we ever get out of here."

Rosen was in the car now, slamming the door.

The lady, through the window, looked bewildered.

Tali was calm.

"Or Eilat," Davis said. "Maybe you can driv
e down tomorrow, bring him some clothes."

"Where?"

"I don't know. The Laromme, I guess. We gott
a go."

Rosen was leaning close to Davis to look out hi
s side window. "Edie--talk to the girl, Tali. Listen , I'm gonna meet you, so be there. Okay?" And hi s parting words: "Edie--don't forget my passport!"

Tali watched the Camaro turn out of the lot, th
e lime-green screamer revving with a howl, and tur n again, with a sound of squealing rubber, south ont o David Ha-Melekh. She could still hear the car going through its gears, winding up, when it was out of sight . . . and then the gray Mercedes shot pas t the lot, streaking in the same direction.