Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (155 page)

Schmarya had chosen it specifically because it was so public
and obvious a place; he suspected, correctly, that no one in
his right mind would expect murky business to be conducted
so out in the open. The few people who might possibly have
recognized the secretive man he was with would no doubt
think that the two of them had run into each other by chance
on the street and had decided to sit down and enjoy a cup of
coffee together before parting again.

Chaim Golan was the head of the Mossad, Israel's world-
envied secret service.

An unassuming man, Golan could have been mistaken for
anyone's favourite grandfather: behind his dark sunglasses his
twinkling eyes were bright blue, the laugh lines around them
ran deep and crinkled constantly, and his eyebrows were
snowy white. He had a merry Karl Malden bulb of a sunburned
nose, and unruly thick white hair. Few people would have
suspected the ice water that ran in his veins, or the streak
of stubborn toughness that lay just underneath his twinkling countenance. For behind the façade he was all raw guts and
pure steel.

Now Chaim Golan's eyes, hidden behind black glasses,
twinkled and crinkled in deceptive grandfatherly humour.
'Look at them,' he said gruffly. He gestured at the crowds
passing by—the euphoric shoppers, sweethearts walking hand
in hand, friends who had run into each other and were stopping
to chat. 'Like children they go about. Without a care in the
world. Like this was Paris or Rome, they act. Always showing
off their purchases, always seeing stars in each other's eyes.'
He shook his head slowly. 'Do they have any idea, these
merrymakers, that at this very instant a bomb could go off and
blow them all away? Poof! Like that.' He had stopped smiling,
but his naturally curved lips seemed unaware of that.

'Of course they know that.' Schmarya nodded. 'It's always
there, in the back of their thoughts, hidden just below their
laughter. That is why they are so carefree—because they know
this moment of joy might be their last.'

Golan turned to Schmarya and looked over his glasses with
respect. 'The trouble with the two of us,' he said, 'is we're jaded.' He sighed deeply. 'Both of us, we have lived through
too much. Seen more tragedy than any human being ought to
be exposed to.'

'And yet, neither you nor I am prepared when something happens.' Schmarya frowned and was silent for a moment. 'When it does, we are as surprised and shocked as the rest of
them.'

'True, true.' Golan nodded, patted his pockets, and came
up with a cigar. He stuck it in his mouth, and patted himself down for matches. 'Now, to the subject on your mind. So far,
we have dug up nothing. It is as if she disappeared into thin air,
your Daliah.' He smiled slightly. 'But we both know better.'

Schmarya grunted. 'The borders?'

'As far as we know, no one has tried to take her across.
That does not rule out the possibility, of course, that she could
have been smuggled across one of them before we doubled
our manpower and cracked down on every outgoing vehicle.'
He found his matches, scratched one, and lit his cigar.

'Any word on the street?'

Again Golan shook his head. 'None.'

'Then what about word from our informers across the bor
ders? You did approach them, didn't you?'

Golan looked disgusted. 'Of course we did. But so far . . .
bupkes.'
He pointed with his cigar. 'I can tell you one thing.
Amateurs these people aren't, that's for sure. A bloodhound
couldn't sniff the trail they've left.'

'Nothing? Not even about the murdered airline employee?'

'Bupkes.
The trouble with crimes committed in public ter
minals like the airport is that potential witnesses have all flown
the coop before we could track them down to question.'

Schmarya frowned and toyed with his coffee cup. It was half-empty, and had grown cold. He heaved a noisy sigh. 'So
what do we do?' he asked at last.

'Time. These things take time.' Golan nodded compassion
ately. 'With no clues, unless we hear from the kidnappers it
will be virtually impossible to find her. We can trace her only
if they contact us. Otherwise . .
.'He
shrugged expressively,
not needing to put the unspoken into words.

Schmarya felt a sudden surge of helpless anger. 'This is
my granddaughter we're talking about!' he said forcefully.
'Israel's most famous celebrity!'

'Believe me, my friend, I understand the way you feel,'
Golan commiserated. 'The more the victim is loved, like your
Dahliah, the more the family suffers. For their sake, the best
thing you can do is make a show of a strong front. Also,
my friend, remember that the lack of communication isn't
necessarily all bad.'

'Not all bad!' Schmarya exclaimed so explosively that the
people at the surrounding tables turned to stare. Shocked at his own outburst, he dropped his voice to a near-whisper. 'I
want to kill whoever it is that's responsible for this!' he hissed.
'I could murder them in cold blood!'

'So why am I here?'

Schmarya frowned and toyed with the cup. His fingers were
trembling so badly that he nearly knocked it over. He looked
up, his eyes sunken with pain. There has got to be some way
we can push them into playing their hand!'

'Well, my friend,' Golan asked conversationally, 'how are
you at press conferences these days?'

Schmarya was glum. 'I'm okay, but my daughter's terrific.
A pro.'

'That's it, then. You just be there, and Tamara, let her do
all the talking.'

Schmarya swallowed. 'A press conference? You think that
could maybe smoke them out?'

'It might encourage them to make a move; then again, it might not. Who can predict? Obviously they are in no hurry
to get in touch with you, otherwise they would have leaked
word of what they've done. To the press, somebody. But if
you announce what happened . . .' He nodded. 'Yes, why
not? After all, so far no one has claimed responsibility, and
this might get them to do so. Also, it will encourage anyone
to come forward who might have seen something.'

'What do we say?'

Golan puckered his merry lips and considered. 'Whatever
comes from the heart.'

'And then we wait.'

'And then we wait.' Golan sat back, his expression decep
tively cheerful. 'Remember, at least we have every reason to
hope that she is still very much unharmed and very much alive.
And that, my friend, is more than the families of most kidnap
victims can say. I keep asking myself,
why
did they kidnap
her? These crimes are not done for the thrill. There has to be
a reason.'

Schmarya nodded bitterly. 'Day and night, I have been ask
ing myself that same question.'

'And?'

Schmarya shrugged. 'I've come to the conclusion that they'll
want a special ransom. And not money, either, I'm afraid.'

'That could be.' Golan sat back, and puffed on his cigar.
'That is sound reasoning, I think. Especially since . . .' He cleared his throat. 'Since there's you and Dani to consider.'

Schmarya looked up sharply. 'What are you trying to get
at?'

Golan shrugged. 'Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree,
and then again, maybe not. But it could very well be that they
plan to use her as some sort of leverage against one of you. Maybe both of you. Need I remind you that you and Dani
hold important, highly sensitive posts within the government?
That you're both at the highest decision-making level in the
cabinet?'

Schmarya stared at him. The very same fears had gnawed at him, only he had been afraid to voice them aloud, as if that
might have given them extra credence somehow. But now that
Chaim had brought it up, he could no longer avoid the issue.
'So, keeping that in mind, how do you suggest we proceed?

'The only way we can, under the circumstances. Everything
we have been doing, we continue to do. We turn the country
upside down. Leave no stone unturned.' Golan sighed. 'We
wait. We hope. We pray.'

'And what do we do when the kidnappers get in touch?'

Golan looked surprised. 'Why, we do what we always do in
these cases. You know the procedure. We try to stall them.
We negotiate. Try to bring the price down, if there is one, and
meanwhile search high and low for her. Try to free her before
their demands can be met—or at any rate, before we have to
tell them they can't be met.'

'Yes, Chaim, but what if . . .' Schmarya paused and tight
ened his lips. 'What if she isn't being held here, in Israel?'

Golan put his finger on the nose piece of his glasses and slid
them down an inch. He stared at Schmarya narrowly. 'If
you're asking me what we do if she's held outside Israel, the
answer, which already you know, is that we can't mount a
rescue attempt without prior government approval.' He stared
over his glasses. 'Lawfully, at least. You know that as well as
I, so why ask?'

'Chaim.' Schmarya quickly glanced over both his shoulders,
then sat forward and hunched over the tiny table. His voice dropped to a murmur. 'Look, what I’m saying is completely
off the record, all right?' He waited for Golan's nod, and then
continued. 'We both know that there are certain men in our
armed forces who willingly go beyond the call of duty. Israelis
who don't listen to all the dissenting voices and the namby-
pambies our government's become filled with. You know the
men of whom I speak.'

Golan slid the glasses back up and neither nodded, nor
shook his head, nor spoke.

'All I’m asking is, should the situation come down to it, can
I count on you to help mount a rescue attempt? By at least
getting me in touch with the men who would be willing to do
it. Unofficially, of course.'