Emerald (28 page)

When Levi called, Servette filled him in on the death of Tam and the whereabouts of the emerald. Levi pondered the news and told Servette that Bruno had never said a word to either he, David or Miriam about an emerald - - - he now considered that strange. Levi asked Servette why had Bruno been holding out.

“I had believed him to be pursuing “The Dagger” case quite aggressively at the time, Levi, but now I, too, am beginning to wonder. Let’s keep a lid on this and I’ll have Max and Josef do some snooping on our own for a while.”

“Sounds right to me. Keep in touch.”

As Levi hung up, David hobbled into his office on crutches.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

“If I stay in bed any longer, I’ll mold. I need to keep busy and I think that will help me heal more than vegetating at home. Give me something to do!”

“David, I don’t think that’s a good idea, but since you’re here, what are your thoughts about Chief Beinschmidt?”

David told him about his experience with the Chief’s secretary. He didn’t trust the Chief, David opined. Levi agreed, saying there appeared to be more to Bruno than either of them knew.

“There doesn’t seem to be any urgency with him in tracking down “The Dagger,” even though it seems certain to me that he is the one who killed Marvin and Herzog. Do you think the Chief knew that they worked for us?”

“I don’t see how he could. They had been sayanians in Munich working for a private security company for several years before they were hired as police. Their papers and background documents we prepared for them were flawless, and they were two of our best. We were very lucky that they were able to penetrate the Munich Police Department.”

“It seems to me that our Chief is only telling us what he wants to tell us, and I wonder why.”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Piet?”

“I guess I should. I don’t know anyone else to ask.”

David changed the subject asking Levi if he could come back to work.

“No! You know what the doctor said.”

“I’m getting so bored being laid up. Isn’t there something I can do, Levi?”

“Well, if you think you’re up to it, you can read and summarize a lot of information I need processed on the general political situation in Europe. It just came in from the Rome Bureau and I don’t have the time to get into it right now. It’s all filed in that large file over there on that corner table and I haven’t got the time read the whole damn stack. Condense it down to a few pages for me and that will be very helpful. Take it down to that vacant office a couple of doors down the hall and don’t bother me until it’s finished. Now get out of here and leave me alone. I’ll have someone take the file down for you, gimpy. However, for heavens sake take it easy! Then later on, if you feel up to it, you can do some work down in ‘The Hole’ with Malcolm. Sitting at a computer shouldn’t be so hard for you. After that we’ll see.”

“How thrilling,” Grumbled David, as he limped out of Levi’s office. “But, you’re majesty; I’ll get right on your Italian file. Thanks, I think, Levi.”

“Have any more communiqués come from Miriam?” Levi asked.

“Levi, No. I haven’t heard from her, and I don’t want to. We are not partners any more and we certainly can never work together again, remember that!”

Levi waved David out of his office and under his breath said, “I can’t figure you two out. What happened in Munich between you?”

David glared at Levi, and icily left the office without saying a word.

They had been his pride and joy, the best team he ever had, and he hated to see them split up like this. Maybe time will heal and change things.

After Levi’s job proposal, Miriam was up and back into her old strenuous exercise routine. She was distressed that her once taunt body was getting soft. Well, she knew how to work out that softness, and all the motivation she needed was a new job and getting back to work. After an hour of hard calisthenics, she took a long hot shower and turned her attention to the large packet that had arrived by currier from Levi. Inside were all the facts on where she was going, what she would be doing as Main Communications Director, the MCD they called it, at the Rome headquarters. She would be privy to all communiqués coming and going at that Mossad unit. She would have to track all information relayed via satellite, routing each to its correct target. The Rome branch was second only to Tel Aviv, to which she also would have complete access. She would have a new state-of-the-art computer at her disposal and a crew of seven working under her. They would be tracking terrorists’ movements around the world.

It was a desk job she knew; however she figured she could turn it into fieldwork again once Levi saw how motivated she was. She suddenly realized that she was thinking of her job first again. That was the best part of it. She’d never have time to think of David again. Now she might finally heal. It felt good to think about something else! The sun was just going down and she decided to put on her best clothes, took the elevator down to the hotel lobby and asked the desk clerk for a nice place to get some dinner- - -something expensive, for a change, she decided, after all “The Office” could afford it. Only eight more days and she would be off to Rome.

As she left the hotel, she noticed, unlike for many days, the world was in color. The soft, lavender, net of evening was just beginning to invade the day. The restaurant the desk clerk had recommended was just two blocks away and as she walked along the streetlights popped on and introduced the beginning evening. She walked along, her step lighter, feeling better than she had in many weeks.

After a luscious dinner of jager schnitzel with spatzle and mushroom cream sauce and almost a whole bottle of Riesling from the Mosel-Saar-River valley, Miriam lingered at the table thinking of something else she could do for the first time in over in any weeks. Why not go back to the Cobra Club, just to relax she justified, with people her own age. Maybe even dance, and forget about everyone and everything in the past.

As she entered, the Cobra Club, as usual, was rocking with jagged music and psychedelic, pulsing lights. Those lights seemed to turn the large room filled with the fog thick, cigarette smoke, into a stage set from outer space.

Maneuvering carefully through the noisy throng, the laughing, shouting, drinking men and women, she wondered if she should sit at the bar or try to get a table. She quickly ruled out the bar because there weren’t any empty stools and she certainly wasn’t interested in being a pickup. Looking around she didn’t see any vacant tables so she circled the small tables on the periphery of the packed dance floor until she came upon a couple arguing heatedly. Miriam paused nearby to see if they were mad enough at each other that they would pack up and leave. When they did, he slipped into one of the chairs seconds after the girl rose, even before the girl reached over to pick up her purse lying on the table. The girl glared angrily at Miriam, said something under her breath and pointed at her with an arm covered with tattoos. The black jacketed, bald man with her grabbed her arm and jerked her toward the nearest exit. Miriam shook her head and sat with her back against the wall, which seemed to offer a sense of stability against the deafening vibrations of the place. Now, if only she could get a drink.

Before she could find a waitress, a pimply, skinny, obviously drunk young man, with long hair and glazed eyes, weaved his way to her table, leaned on it, and in a slurred voice, asked her to dance. She turned away from his foul breath and said no rather loudly, and the drunk, without even a frown, staggered on to the next table. Another man standing nearby also unsuccessfully tried his chances, after Miriam turned down pimple-face. Then a tall, athletic, black man stepped up and also was declined. If this keeps up I either need to leave right now or I need a drink fast, thought Miriam. I feel really strange being here alone, this really isn’t my style, yet, here I am. She strained her head looking about, trying to catch the eye of one of the overworked waitresses carrying a fistful of empty beer steins. The waitresses nodded and just kept pushing through the crowd.
Why have a table if you can’t get a drink
, she wondered, getting exasperated. She was ready to leave.

Suddenly a large salt-rimmed Margarita glass was placed on her table by a man who proceeded to sit at her table.

“I knew you needed one. I just hope you drink Margaritas. My name is Hank Westheim, and I know you didn’t invite me, but I saw you sitting there getting hit on by half the jerks in this place and you didn’t even have a drink to chase away the advances or even a hope for one in this madhouse. Do you mind?”

Thanks for the rescue. I’m Miriam.” She sipped at the short straws protruding from the slushy drink.

“Hey, this is quite good! I figured the drinks would be pretty well watered down in a place like this.”

“No. That’s one of the things they’re famous for - - - as well as the soft music, he said with a throaty laugh. Would you like to dance?”

“No thanks. I just want to enjoy the quiet, elegant atmosphere,” she chuckled.

“That’s all right. I like to people watch too. How about you? Are you a people watcher also?”

“Well there certainly are all types to watch in this place, aren’t there?”

They stared out at the crowded dance floor watching the gyrations of crazily-clad dancers moving in frenetic fury to the heavy metal beat and penetrating, throbbing lights. Over the din, they commented on various peoples’ dress weird hairstyles and dancing techniques, almost competing to see who could find the most outlandish. Miriam and Hank began sneaking looks at each other across the table, laughing or nodding and pointing- - -acknowledging each other’s presence despite the difficulty of communicating over the noise.

Hank had to yell a new invitation to dance over the screaming music. She reluctantly nodded in the affirmative, and took his hand as he led her to a small gap in the dancing melee. Seconds later, they were just another gyrating pair moving to the incessant beat. Miriam suddenly had a smile on her face, just moving to the music, thinking of nothing else.

Directly into his ear, she almost shouted, “What do you call this music, Hank; it’s pretty hard to dance to.”

“It’s called Krautrock. This band is Tangerine Dream, and if I’m not mistaken this is from their Zeist album. Yes, it is hard to dance to. I think most people just get on the dance floor and try not to make too much of a fool of themselves.”

“Hank, that’s just what I’m doing. Let’s go back to the table, please.”

Back at the table, after another round of drinks, Hank reached over and put his hand on hers and asked if she’d like to go somewhere to get something to eat, in a quieter place, he added. Hesitantly, more to free herself from the smoke and blasting music, she accepted, and rose to leave, their table getting gobbled up quickly, almost before they left. Taking her arm, Hank guided her through the frenetic throng on the dance floor and out the front door.

Outside, with the pounding beat and the synthesizers still echoing in her ears, Miriam tried to shake the throbbing beat and declined his offer to take her to a restaurant he knew would be open at this hour in his car, and said she would follow him in hers. She had no idea where they were going and after three drinks she did not care, but thought she would follow to have a vehicle of escape should she need it. She knew those drinks had loosened her up a bit, but not enough to turn off her powers of caution. She wasn’t a fool for going with him - - - or was she, she wondered.