The Colossus (13 page)

Back at the hotel, they were at Max’s door. It had been a long day. The weight of the day’s events was thick in the air.

“Thanks for dinner,” Max said. She opened the door and stepped inside her room. Julian almost followed, but she started to close the door.

“Good night,” she said, turning away.

“Good night,” he replied. And left for his room.

Max held on to the door, watching him go down the stairs, wondering if playing hard to get had been a good thing to do. She was exhausted. Still, it would have been nice to cuddle with someone who seemed to care. So much. With a sigh, she closed her door and bolted it.

The next morning, Julian knocked on Max’s door. Max let him in just when the phone started ringing. Max answered it.

“Max?” A German-sounding voice said.

“Uncle Ernst?” she said eagerly.

“My name isn’t important. But what I have to say is. Forget this whole thing. You know what happened to Lars, to your father. We have the papers now. From the bank, remember? Leave now, and we will forget you exist.”

“And if I don’t?” Max’s voice rose.

“Oh Maxine,” the voice said almost gently. He pronounced her name Mah-xine like Opa used to do. It was altogether frightening to
hear it said that way by this stranger. “I’m sure you don’t want to find out.” The line clicked dead.

“Who was it?” Julian asked.

Max let the phone fall from her hands. She covered her face with her hands for a while until she found her voice. “Enough,” she said. “We’re going back to Chicago. I’m not getting us both killed over some stupid papers we don’t even have now.” She started throwing her things into her suitcase.

Julian followed her around the room as she gathered her stuff. “What did this person say? For God’s sake, Max, who was it?”

Max continued to mutter, “I hate Lars for putting me through this. I had a good life! A lonely, sometimes pathetic life, but a safe one. Until Lars came into it.” She picked up a skirt and flung it across the room at her suitcase. “And now I’m left with some ancient curse and the mystery of my father’s death. I’m not Sherlock Holmes. No sir.” She collected her toothbrush and toilet bag, “Coming here was a horrible idea.” Holding up the toothbrush in her hand, she began to laugh hysterically.

“When you came along, I thought, ‘Oh, with his help we can do this.’ What an idiot I am.” She gave Julian a harassed look. “We’re ordinary people, you and I. We have no business being here. And so we leave tomorrow.” She tried to close her suitcase, but it was too full. She slammed her fist against it.

Julian began to pace the room.

When the tiny suitcase sprang open for the fifth time, Max began to cry.

Julian watched her for a while. “What did he say exactly? Don’t shut me out now, Max.”

Max’s tone softened. “He said he has the papers. Which means that our thief from yesterday must have been Berliner’s man, too. ‘Go home,’ he said, just like someone told Lars. Yesterday, wasn’t it? Feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was the same fellow, same gang of fellows. Who knows, Julian? My father is dead. Lars is dead. Let’s leave before it’s our turn.”

Julian continued to pace.

Max felt like a volcano about to erupt. Her chest grew warm with rage at the man on the phone. How dare this stranger threaten her when they had managed to come this far? The gall of the man. She kicked her suitcase and tried to hide the searing pain that began running through her toes.

She stormed outside the hotel and looked around.

“Hey!” she shouted, “You…you fuh…fuckkking German…” She hesitated. “
Arschloch
!” she cried, “You Deutsch asshole. Where the hell are you?”

Hans was in his car. He had relayed his threat to Max not long before and now here she was outside the hotel, making a commotion. He rolled down his window. She stumbled on a step. Hans smirked.

“I know you’re watching us!” she screamed.

People avoided her as they walked past the hotel.

“I’m not frightened. Not anymore. I thought I’d hide under my sheets until you went away, but I know you won’t go anywhere.”

Maxine’s friend and an older man in uniform tried to bring her in, politely at first, then by force. But she was resisting them.

“How much time do you have for this, huh?” Maxine shouted. “I have my whole life. So kill me now if you like. Do it. Go ahead.” She put her hands on her hips and growled. “Make my day.”

The two men whisked her in right then.

Hans wondered what he should do. Had Herr Schultz known he might hesitate to kill in cold blood and therefore used someone else—a contract killer perhaps—to finish off Hiram Rosen? Had he thought Hans didn’t have it in him? Was he testing him this time around? But he had also told him to exercise caution. For the sake of the company, he had said. Was he serious, or was it merely a roundabout way to get him riled up enough to kill? Herr Schultz could be very cryptic at times.

If Maxine Rosen died now, the problem was gone forever, wasn’t it? But there were those phone calls she had made. And this boyfriend. Killing her might make him even more determined to retrieve
the papers. The old Jew Ernst Frank had known the family forever. He would be sure to name Berliner if Maxine was killed. And if that happened, Hans might be made the scapegoat.

It was apparent that she had no access to another set of papers, not at the moment anyway. And what she said made sense. He could not tail her forever. There was no need to stick around anymore.

After all, the job was done. Lars was dead. Hiram’s last set of papers was safe with him. He had bugs on everyone’s phones. He could travel at a moment’s notice.

Hans started his car and drove away.

Julian led Max back to her room.

“I’m not sorry,” Max said. “It felt good. Maybe the German even heard it.”

Julian didn’t respond. He closed Max’s door.

“I’m so ashamed that we’re going home empty-handed,” Max said, fingering her bags.

“Don’t be.” Julian put her suitcase by the door.

Max grabbed his arm. “Julian, tell me, why are you here? Why do you make love to me with your eyes, your chocolate-covered Scottish words, your expressions, and your tantalizing little squeezes and touches? Huh? Why did you kiss me that night in Chicago?”

Julian turned away and ran his hands through his large brown curls. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

Max touched his face. “Am I just a summer flirtation?”

Julian took her in his arms. “Would I risk my life for a summer flirtation?”

Max closed her eyes. In a few hours, they would be back in Chicago. She may not see Julian again. And he would have no reason to see her now that her quest had come to a whimper of an end. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.

He brought his face close to hers. His breath felt warm and fragrant against her lips.

And then…it couldn’t be helped. She leaned forward and kissed him. He hesitated at first, but slowly gave in to her lips. Reluctantly, they eased away from each other. Max ran her tongue over her mouth, savoring the sweet, salty taste of Julian.

Max took a deep breath. “James Dean said, ‘live as if you will die today.’” She started to unbutton her blouse. “Since that almost became a reality for me this week, one thing I don’t want to regret is not doing this.”

Julian put his hand on hers, his eyes wide and mortified. “No!” he cried. He kissed her on her mouth, her eyes, her lips, and her forehead. “Not like this. I can resist anything but temptation. You are that, Maxine Rosen. And yet, no, not like this.”

Max closed her eyes. He had quoted Oscar Wilde. She loved Oscar Wilde. It wasn’t fair.

She let out a long, melancholic sigh. He was right. This was no way to start something with this lovely man. A man so darling that setting eyes on him caused an ache in her chest. Saying his name started a lump in her throat. Hearing him speak made her feel like she was sitting on a lush green hill listening to the lilting notes of a flock of bagpipes. Gosh, he had turned her into a total sap!

Julian pulled her close and wrapped his arms tight around her. Max nuzzled her face in his neck and tried to commit to memory the contours of his lean, sinewy body against hers.

“What happens when we go back?” she asked.

Julian pulled away from her.

Max felt a tightening in her chest. “I am the unluckiest girl in the world. I have failed my father and I’m going to lose you the minute we set foot in Chicago.” Not that she ever had him, to be fair.

“You should be proud that you even came this far,” Julian said. “We lost what we came here for, yes, but you took on some rather big guns. Your father would have been proud to know how hard you tried. Don’t forget, he didn’t even want you to be involved in the first place.”

Julian hadn’t said she wouldn’t lose him.

And so, none of his words made her feel better.

The fact that she had failed her father, perhaps even her grandfather, was the bitter pill she was going to have to swallow and live with every single day.

That was the only truth she was leaving with.

Aaron’s flight was indefinitely delayed. He was flying stand-by, thanks to Blondie.

This was the pathetic result of this sojourn. No papers. No pay. He would have to go back to working the rush hour.

This thing, whatever it was, was important enough to attract the German muscle in addition to bumbling Maxine Rosen and her boyfriend. That meant big stakes. Why should he not get a small part of it?

He sat in a nondescript coffee shop with a black coffee and a slice of cake for company. He had tried calling Geoff, but Maggie said he wasn’t available. He had called the number he had been given in case of an emergency and left a message. No one had called back yet. He looked at his cell phone for the millionth time. Nothing. He played with some cake crumbs.

His phone began to ring.

“Aaron here,” he said.

“You have a problem?” a metallic voice responded.

Aaron collected his thoughts. His initial plan had been to inform his unknown employer about his failure. But now that he had had time to reconsider…

Truth was, Blondie or not, the brass ring was too close to let go of so easily. After all, he had been kept alive. That meant he was small potatoes to these people.

Aaron hardened his voice. “I just spent the night in the airport after being held at gunpoint by a German psychopath. That wasn’t part of the deal—”

The voice interrupted, “Do you have the papers?”

“I did, until Mr. Psycho took them.”

“Explain,” the voice said.

“He wanted to know who I was working for.”

The voice chuckled. “I bet he did.”

Aaron was glad the mood was light. “Of course I didn’t tell him, since, well, I have no idea. But I want my promised wages for all my pain and suffering.”

There was silence at the other end. “Where are the papers now?”

“I have no idea.”

“What about the marks?”

“They’re still here, so I’m thinking—”

“Don’t think. They’re going back to Chicago. You go back, too. And listen carefully—if you lost the papers, so did they, right? They won’t give up without a fight. If you want to get paid, we want whatever they get their hands on. Wherever they get it from.”

“Understood. And since the danger factor has gone up several points, I want double.” Aaron bit his tongue. Had he gone too far?

There was a long pause. The man had hung up. Damn.

But the voice said, “Fine. But only if you get us what we’re looking for.”

Aaron put his phone away, got up, and stretched.

He walked around the terminal, unable to decide whether even double the money was worth taking on Blondie once more.

Max’s apartment

Chicago

Max sat at her dining table, pen and pad in front of her. Usually the week’s menus flowed out of her head like water from a tap, but today, every idea was frozen solid.

Pasta
, she wrote, and promptly thought about the pasta primavera she had made for Julian not long ago. She wondered how he was.

They had landed in Chicago the night before and Julian had left her with a long, lingering kiss on her lips.
A goodbye kiss
, Max thought with a growing sense of doom.

Max took a cab home, burdened by the weight of exhaustion, defeat, and loss.

She had slept for twelve straight hours and was up now and trying to work. She ought to call Kim and tell her she was back. She found herself dialing Julian’s number instead. “Please leave a message for Dr. Julian McIntosh,” the message said.

Max hung up.

Julian had said he would be busy catching up on work since he had left some important things half done when she had summoned him to London.

Max called Kim.

“Welcome back!” Kim said. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Not bad,” Max said, not wanting to get into it. “How are things here?”

“Excellent. We are good for this week’s lunches, but I hope you’re working on menus to email out. And we also need to prepare for the Jewish Students Awareness Association presentation.”

“Great,” Max said, trying to work up some enthusiasm.

“Sounds like you’re jet-lagged. How about this? I went berry picking this weekend, and guess what, I have a ton of blueberries I’m going to drop off at your place. That should cheer you up.”

Max smiled. “I’ll make Mama’s blueberry pie, and maybe a compote for next week’s lunches. A blueberry gelato maybe! Can we deliver gelato?”

With a laugh, Kim promised to have the blueberries delivered to Max’s front desk by one of their delivery interns.

Two hours later, Max was scrambling to find her mother’s blueberry pie recipe. She knew she had it written somewhere. She was pretty sure about the proportions and method, but Mama had a few hints that Max didn’t always remember. The recipe wasn’t in any of her myriad notebooks, not even with her precious cuttings.

When she couldn’t find it in the usual places, she opened her mother’s journal. Mama had mentioned the pie there as something she made on special occasions. Maybe she had written the recipe, too.

She carefully began going over every entry.

The entries began to get less and less legible as Mama’s illness grew worse. Max squinted, unable to make out many of the words. She turned to the last entry, planning to work her way backwards. She glanced over it, then turned to the previous one.

Wait a minute, something wasn’t right. She flipped back to the last entry in the book. It was dated November 1982.

How could that be? Mama passed away in September. Max started reading the notes her mother had written that day. There was a list of hospital expenses.
Large bills will follow when I’m gone. Is that all I will leave my family with?
it said in bold letters.

The next line said,
Enjoyed watching Sneakers with Max today
.

Max smiled.
Sneakers
was one of her favorite films. How delicious was Robert Redford in it? She tried to recall the day she and Mama had seen the movie. But it just wouldn’t come to mind. She could remember them watching
My Fair Lady
together. Tons of times. It was their favorite film to watch. But
Sneakers
she had always associated with her father. They had watched it a few times after Mama died.

Hmmm.

Max shook her head. Was she looking for mysteries where none existed? This whole business with Lars and Papa’s research had done her in. A seemingly innocuous—albeit odd—entry in her mother’s book of accounts was sending her into a tizzy for no reason.

Still.

She turned on her computer.

There was that new movie database. What was it? Oh yes, imdb.com. She checked when
Sneakers
was released.

1992.

But that was impossible.

Mama had been gone for ten years by 1992! Was there another famous movie by that name? There wasn’t.

She looked through the other entries in Mama’s book. Nothing stood out. They were all correctly dated and had no noteworthy information. All except this last one. Dated wrongly and with an impossible movie reference.

Max went to her movie collection and pulled out the VHS tape of
Sneakers
. It had been a while since she had seen the movie. At worst, she’d enjoy watching it again. At best, well, maybe it would mean something.

She turned it on and found herself getting lost in the adventures of Robert Redford as Marty Bishop and his motley crew.

The credits started to roll. Usually she never watched the credits of familiar films. This time she did, her heart beating hard, not knowing what to expect, but expecting something anyway.

In the middle of the music acknowledgements, the tape became fuzzy and her father’s face came on screen.

“I knew it!” Max exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. She leaned forward.

“Hey there, Max,” her father said, looking animated and handsome in jeans and a purple rugby T-shirt. He was sitting where she was on the couch. “Looks like you found the entry in your mother’s diary. If I am around, talk to me when you find this. But there’s a chance I may not be. If I’m not, honey, I want you to know that I love you. I also want you to do something for me.”

Max felt her throat grow thick and her eyes sting.

“Tell Ernst that I love him,” her father was saying, his face beaming, his large eyes dark and alert. “And his matzo ball soup. It was awful, but I loved it. And if you see Kevin, ask him if he still likes pea soup. Despite everything, I miss the chap. He meant well. I know this now.”

Papa held up his hands in a peace sign and said, “I’ll love you Max, forever in time.” He leaned forward and switched off the camera.

The tape became fuzzy again, and the credits continued.

How very odd
, Max thought, wiping away her tears.

But instead of being overcome by gloom, Max felt recharged. If she had found this tape before she met Lars, she’d have thought nothing of it. Well, she’d have cried an ocean of tears, but other than that, nothing. She’d have definitely told Uncle Ernst that Papa had loved his matzo ball soup. Uncle Ernst always lamented that he could never make it good enough for Papa.

She dialed his number.

“Uncle Ernst,” she said when he answered. “I just found the strangest tape made by Papa. He asked me to tell you that he loved your matzo ball soup. Do you think it means something other than that? It’s such an ordinary thing to say, but given all that has happened…”

Uncle Ernst let out a gasp. “Oh Max, Max!” he cried. Remember I told you Hiram was supposed to give me a copy of his research in case something happened to him? He told me that this would be his code word if you ever needed it! That he liked matzo ball soup.” He started murmuring something unintelligible.

“Wait a minute, you were supposed to have a copy of the research?”

“Yes, which is why I was surprised that Lars Lindstrom had it. I told you that, didn’t I?” His voice had started shaking.

“I guess you did. I didn’t mean to upset you. Should I come downstairs?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I was just going to the library and later to the store to pick up some fruit. Now, about Hiram, what were you saying?”

“Its all right, dear. You go do what you need to. I’ll call you later.” Max hung up.

She went back to the tape, rewound it, and watched her father’s message once more.

Kevin Forsyth. Pea soup.

Max called her father’s lawyer and got a number for Kevin Forsyth from him.

She dialed. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself.

“Hello,” a female voice said, “Allied Research partners. How may I direct your call?”

“I…well, I need to speak to Kevin Forsyth.”

“He is in India, I’m afraid.”

“It’s urgent; I need to speak to him immediately. My father Hiram Rosen used to be his business partner. Could I call him in India?”

“Please hold for a minute.” Muzak poured into Max’s ears.

Max waited for several minutes with the phone held away from her ear, her excitement growing with every second.

The woman came back on. “I have a cell phone number. He can take your call in India if you call right away.”

Max hung up, suddenly realizing that she had used her home phone to make the call. Could the Berliner people still be listening?

Damn. Uncle Ernst’s phone might be tapped, too.

What a pain.

She made her way to the main apartment office on the third floor. The building manager was a nice enough guy. He might let her use his phone.

Thankfully, he was in. Max told him her phone wasn’t working and that she needed to call someone urgently in India.

He graciously agreed and left her alone.

Max dialed Kevin’s cell. Voice mail. She hesitated. Should she hang up? Quickly she said, “Mr. Forsyth. This is Max, Hiram Rosen’s daughter. He asked me to call and ask you if you still like pea soup. I have a feeling this might be important.” She hung up. There, that was enough information but not too much.

Now what? She returned home and tried to work on her menus but just couldn’t. She watched her father’s video message a few more times.

The ending was odd. The peace sign. Papa was not the sort to do that at all. The various movements of the sixties and seventies had escaped him completely, he had often said proudly. And “forever in time.” He would never say something soppy like that.

Max picked up a pen and paper.

She wrote down
mother’s diary
and
matzo ball soup
and made check marks by them. Next she wrote
pea soup
and
peace
. Finally, she wrote
forever in time
. Her mother’s diary had done its bit, Max suspected. Matzo ball soup had been addressed. And pea soup. Well, when Kevin called, that would be taken care of.

Peace.

With a loud whoop, Max jumped up. She rushed to her desk and picked up her copy of the Gita. Of course.
Peace
had been underlined and Papa had said he hoped she would never have to find out why.

This meant that the key to decoding the papers must have something to do with the Gita.

Max closed her eyes. She needed lunch.

And she craved Julian.

An hour later, she and Julian were huddled with Max’s Gita on the table between them at a
taqueria
just outside the University of Chicago campus.

“So,” she said, biting into a savory beef taco, “what do you think? Kevin hasn’t called back, but the word peace must have something to do with this.” She patted the Gita.

“Maybe your father wants us to find a certain chapter and verse,” Julian said. “That may be a clue.”

“But there are so many.” Max put her hands on her cheeks and leaned forward on her elbows.

Julian nodded. “No more clues anywhere?”

“Forever in time,” Max said. “That might mean something.”

Julian checked his watch. “Speaking of time, I need to get back, I’m afraid.”

Max grabbed his wrist. “Time! A specific time, maybe?”

“It’s possible. But what?”

“No idea,” Max said. “Could I wait with you while you finish your work?”

Julian smiled. “That will not do at all. Come on.” He took her arm. “My work can wait.”

They went back to Max’s apartment.

Julian started looking around.

“What are you looking for, Sherlock?” Max chuckled.

“Clues, Watson,” he said. “I have a feeling this is right under your nose and has been for a while.”

Max glanced up as she closed the door to the apartment. Right above her was the cuckoo clock, frozen at 11:32.

“Julian,” she whispered. “11:32 mean anything to you?”

He went to her. “Your father did this?”

Max nodded. “It was his clock.”

“It must mean something.” He opened the Gita.

Max’s phone rang. “Hello?” she said.

“Kevin Forsyth here,” a deep voice said.

“It’s Kevin,” she whispered to Julian.

“Hi. Let me call you right back,” she told Kevin.

“Okay. On my cell please.”

Max and Julian ran down to the building manager’s office and used his phone to dial Kevin. “I’m going to get evicted when he gets the phone bill,” Max said once the building manager left them.

“Mr. Forsyth, Max here. My phone may not be safe, so I needed to find a different line to call from.”

“What’s this about?” he asked politely.

“Did you get my message?”

“Yes.”

“Does it mean anything to you?”

“It might.”

Boy, he was being cagey. Max spent a few minutes telling him about Lars, the papers, and her fruitless trip to London.

Kevin sighed. “Oh dear,” he said, his voice becoming friendlier. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come to India to see me.”

“I can’t do that,” Max said with a laugh. “I’ll just wait until you get back.”

“I’m here for the next six to eight months.”

“You have the papers?” Max said.

“I do.”

“But father didn’t trust you,” she blurted.

“Your father didn’t want to do business with me, Maxine,” Kevin said. “But he trusted me with his life. Hiram was a painfully honest businessman. I, on the other hand, was more grounded.”

“He said you cheated him,” Max said flatly.

“I doubt he used those words,” Kevin said, completely unruffled. “Let me tell you what happened. Our company had run into trouble with clients not paying on time, and we had cash flow issues as a result. I wanted to deal with the problem by greasing a few palms, using tougher collection methods. But Hiram would have none of it. He and I started arguing about it. Finally, Hiram decided he could not stomach the life of a businessman and walked away. That’s it.”

“I see,” Max said acerbically.

“Look, we were both upset. I lashed out at him, accused him of being a naive fool and of leaving me alone in a burning house of cards. But Hiram didn’t yield. He was disillusioned. I was forced to declare bankruptcy. We didn’t speak for a while after that. Some years later, Hiram called on me. He wanted me to have his research. He was able to get me a copy before I left for Kenya, but he didn’t give me the key and pill samples. Things suddenly started getting more difficult for him. Now I was still in Kenya, so I asked him to wait until I returned
for him to give them to me, but he said he couldn’t risk waiting that long. He had to send them someplace safe. I gave him the address of my PO box in Manhattan, but the package never reached me. Luckily, the research is still safe with me. Hiram asked that I keep it until you called for it.”