Scorpion's Advance (22 page)

Strauss smiled. He said, 'I am not a hypocrite, Doctor. I am a businessman. If we succeed we will make a great deal of money. We won't be giving the plants away.'

Anderson nodded but didn't comment.

'Doctor, may I extend an invitation to you to visit my laboratories? You may search at will, investigate any culture that you find, ask my staff anything that you like. I will rely on your discretion when it comes to anything that might be commercially advantageous to a competitor to know.'

Thank you,' said Anderson. 'But I think I believe you. You may have disagreed with your father but you are very much Jacob Strauss's son.'

'I am glad to hear you say that,' said Strauss.

'You must have been proud of your father in spite of your differences,' said Anderson.

'I was. I loved him very much. But believe me, Doctor, having a saint for a father is not easy. You are always so much nearer the devil than he is, whatever you do.'

'I think I understand,' said Anderson.

'I'm not sure that you do,' said Strauss. 'As well as having a tremendously high moral sense he was, of course, academically brilliant. There was no area in which I could compete. I got a first class degree from the same university where my father had obtained a double first. I won the Siemens Medal. My father had won it twice in his day.'

'I get the picture. But you have a business brain.'

'Yes, it was the only way that I could escape from his shadow. My father had no interest in commerce at all so there was actually a chance that I could start running in a race where I had a chance of winning instead of coming second from the word "go".'

Anderson nodded. 'And you are obviously very successful.'

'I see nothing wrong in honest business, Doctor.'

Thank you for coming,' said Anderson.

When Mirit returned she looked so tired that Anderson felt embarrassed about what he had to tell her. She plumped herself down on the bed and lay back with her head on the pillow. 'Well, I found out about Comgen,' she said. Anderson opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Mirit
was concentrating on the ceiling. She said, 'Their research labs are in Jerusalem. It's quite a small company employing about twenty people and, as of yesterday, they are solvent and thought to be doing quite well. Dov Strauss is the managing director and . . .'

'I know. He was here,' said Anderson.

'There are two other dir . . . What did you say?'

Anderson told her of Strauss's surprise phone call and subsequent visit.

'Do you mean that I have been . . .'

'I'm afraid so, but never mind, I'll take you out to dinner. I might even pay.'

'Where does that leave us?' asked Mirit as they sipped their coffee.

'Back at square one,' said Anderson, 'unless your people come up with something on the CIA target.'

'There's no chance,' said Mirit. ‘I tried. They wouldn't tell me.'

'Did they know?'

'I don't even know that.'

The unease that Anderson felt at no longer having any clear objective or obvious course of action began to gnaw at him as they left the restaurant and walked down the steps to the marina promenade. The shore was the only place in Tel Aviv where he could find any respite from the humidity. They walked out along the breakwater and sat down on the rocky wall near the harbour light, hoping to catch the slight breeze that flitted over the dark water to set the yachts tinkling as they bobbed at anchor. There was never enough wind to break the surface of the water; it remained smooth and calm, reflecting the lights of the waterfront hotels and bars like a huge oily mirror.

'What did you think of the synagogue today?' asked
Mirit.

'It was an experience,' said Anderson.

Too vague. What kind of experience?'

'Historically interesting, aesthetically unpleasing.'

'Go on.'

'You want the view of an outsider?'

'It's the best one to have.'

To see ourselves as others see us . . .'

'Pardon?'

'Nothing. I was impressed more with the idea of the rituals I was watching than the sight itself. There's nothing inspiring in men of any religion dressing up in funny clothes and genuflecting to unseen deities, but I had to acknowledge that what I was seeing was a continuation of an idea, a belief that has spanned more than three thousand years. Only an arrogant fool could dismiss that without being moved.'

'What did you find "unpleasing"?'

'The music. There wasn't any. I like church music. It has an intrinsic value which I find soothing, reassuring, even inspiring on occasion, but discordant chanting I find hard to take . . . especially in Hebrew! You could do with some music lessons from Rome!'

'And your Scottish psalms?'

'Same thing,' conceded Anderson, 'a monkey with a mouth organ could have written them.'

'Oh dear,' smiled Mirit.

Anderson threw a small pebble into the water and watched the ripples upset the reflections like a spreading earthquake.

'So where do we go from here?' asked Mirit.

'I'm trying not to face that.'

Mirit sensed that something was wrong. She looked on as Anderson picked up another pebble and threw it in. 'I don't understand,' she said softly.

'I've been pretending to myself that I didn't know what to do next. I've been pretending to myself that I am relieved that
Dov Strauss had nothing to do with his father's death when all the time I am disappointed, because if he had been guilty it would all be over now, and I would not have to consider going back to the Jan Kouros Hospice to find out why they bus around a bunch of lepers in the middle of the night. . . ‘Another pebble splashed into the water.

'We have tended to ignore that question,' said
Mirit quietly. 'Not just you.'

'We have to find out,' said Anderson.

'I know. When do we start?'

'Tomorrow.'

They deliberately planned a lazy day, knowing that they would be up for most of the night. After a late rise they drove up to Herzliyya and swam in the sea before eating a picnic lunch on the beach and having a snooze in the shade of a beach umbrella. It seemed important to soak up as much warmth and light as possible before night fell and they had to face what the darkness held for them.

Mirit
stretched out her hand and intertwined her fingers with Anderson's. 'It might have been a one-off event with the truck,' she said, without opening her eyes.

'True,' said Anderson without conviction.

Mirit tried again. 'Or it may have been that the truck had been due much earlier and had broken down on the way. That was why it only got there at midnight.'

'But they still went,' said Anderson.

'What?'

'The lepers. They still got into the truck and went wherever it was they were going.'

Mirit rolled over on to her stomach and supported herself on her elbows. 'And the question is, where?'

'And why,' added Anderson quietly.

'Come swim with me,' said Mirit.

They ran down the sand and plunged headlong into the first breaker to emerge, shaking the water from their ears and eyes.

'Puts a different perspective on things, doesn't it?' gasped Mirit as another wave lifted her up on its crest.

'Sure does,' agreed Anderson, swimming towards her in a lazy crawl.

At three-thirty they showered in fresh water to rinse away the stickiness of the Mediterranean salt, before dressing to drive down to the Arab market to buy two more robes. 'Just in case we have to mingle,' said Mirit.

At nine-thirty they left for the hospice, still undecided as to their best course of action. 'If we drive right up to the hospice someone will see the headlights and raise the alarm. But if we leave the car where we left it last time we
couldn't get back to it in time to follow the truck. What do you think?'

'I think we should gamble on the truck coming straight back down the track from the hospice to join the road,' said Anderson. 'We're going to have to follow without lights and that might not be possible on the rough track; we might hit a boulder or something. But if we hide ourselves somewhere near the main
road turn-off we can follow the truck when it reaches the tarmac.'

'Good thinking,' said
Mirit.

They were in place at the intersection at eleven o'clock. Anderson got out to
stretch his legs on the barren lunar landscape while they waited. He leaned against the back of the car and looked up at the stars in a cloudless sky. Mirit joined him. 'What are you thinking?' she asked.

'I was just thinking how bright the stars were.'

The sound of an engine sent them scurrying round the front of the dune they had hidden the car behind, to take up a position where they could see the road. It was the truck they had seen last time. It slowed as it came to the turn-off, and the driver made three crunching attempts at selecting a lower gear before the truck snorted and started its long climb up to the hospice. Anderson looked at his watch. 'Should get there about midnight, same as last time.'

As the time drew near for the truck's return, Anderson and
Mirit left their car and came round the front of the dune.

'Any minute now,' said
Mirit.

'Look,' said Anderson, pointing to the horizon and a dancing white haze. 'Headlights.'

When they could hear the sound of the truck's engine, Mirit left to get back in the car. Anderson stayed to see the vehicle rumble up to the intersection and turn right. He noted with dismay that it only had one rear light. He ran to join Mirit in the car. 'They turned right. You'll only see one red light; it's the left one.'

Mirit
, having memorized their route round the dune and up on to the road, accepted the information in silence and concentrated till their wheels were on the tarmac. She caught up to within a hundred metres of the one red tail light then held station.

'They're heading towards
Hadera,' she said.

They continued in convoy for fifteen minutes before Anderson said suddenly, 'They're slowing.'

Mirit took her foot off the accelerator and dabbed the brake hesitantly. 'Are you sure?' she said. 'It's difficult to tell.'

Anderson began to have doubts himself when suddenly he was reassured by a swing in the truck's headlight beams. 'Yes. Look, they're turning off the road.'

Mirit said something in Hebrew. Anderson could see her point. If the truck had turned off on to another rough desert track it was going to be very dangerous trying to follow without lights.

'Our only chance is to get close to them,' said
Mirit, 'close enough to benefit from their headlights. There won't be enough light from their one tail light to show us up in their mirrors.'

'If you say so,' said Anderson.

'It's getting close that's the problem,' said Mirit through gritted teeth. 'Starlight may be romantic, but for desert driving . . . ' She swung the car off the road and headed for the single red light that was now some two hundred metres ahead, although an accurate estimate was impossible. The car picked up speed as Mirit took the blind chance. It almost came off. They had closed to around fifty metres and Anderson was considering relaxing his white knuckle grip of his seat, when the left-hand side of the car suddenly dropped a metre and their progress came to a bone-jarring halt. Their seatbelts held them but their heads were flung violently forward on to their chests. The engine revs began to scream. Mirit turned the key and there was silence. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

'I'm OK,' said Anderson, rubbing his neck. 'You?'

'Me too.'

They got out to inspect the damage by torchlight. The left front wheel had gone straight down a pothole deep enough for the far side of it to have impacted the body of the car against the tyre.

'We'll have to bend that away from the wheel before we can move,' said Anderson. Mirit opened up the back of the car and brought out a spade. She handed it to Anderson and held the torch while he tried to insert the blade between the wheel and the bodywork. 'Try turning the steering wheel to the left,' he said, after a first failure. Mirit pulled hard on the wheel but with little effect. 'Again,' said Anderson. The wheels moved very slightly but it was enough to allow him to insert the spade. 'Now we have some leverage,' he said, putting all his weight against the handle to force the twisted body panel away from the wheel. Steady pressure was not working. He changed to violent, intermittent stabs at the handle. The metal began to yield.

'It's moving!' said
Mirit, shining the torch on the working area.

Anderson took five more stabs at the handle then stood back, wiping his brow. He took a closer look at the wheel arch and
said, 'That should do it. Now let’s get out of this damned hole.'

'We'll have to cut away the ground from the back of the hole,' said
Mirit. 'Make it a gentler slope so we can reverse out.' She took the spade from Anderson and started clearing away dirt behind the wheel. Anderson took over after a few minutes and found it progressively harder going. The desert floor was only soft for the first few inches through erosion. Beneath was rock hard. He was breathing heavily when Mirit said, 'I think that might do.' She got into the car and started it up. Anderson put his weight against the front of the car as she engaged reverse gear and slowly let out the clutch. The car began to inch out backwards as the revs rose to an insistent snarl. Anderson spread-eagled himself against the hood and heaved with a final effort as success came within reach. The air all around was filled with the smell of burning material from the clutch's friction plate, but the car was back on level ground.

Anderson let himself fall to the ground and sat there listening to his own breathing, looking up at the heavens.
Mirit got out to join him and ran her fingers through his hair. 'As I see it,' she said, 'we have two choices. One, we go back and try again tomorrow or two, we turn on our lights and find out where the track leads us.'

‘Let's find out,' said Anderson, getting up from the ground. After ten minutes he asked, 'Have you any idea where we are headed?'

Mirit said, 'We were making for Hadera when the truck pulled off to the left, but now the track is winding back to the right again. I would guess at somewhere north-east of Hadera, assuming the truck hasn't already turned off and we missed it.'

They found themselves heading down a steep gully through lines of giant boulders and between towering dunes.
Mirit almost had to slow to a crawl to negotiate the final hairpin bend that brought them to the floor of the canyon.

Anderson suddenly said, 'Stop!'

Mirit brought the car to a halt.

'Up there, look!'

Mirit couldn't see anything. Anderson said, 'Look at the top of the ridge. There's a sort of glow.'

Mirit
saw what he meant. 'Lights maybe? Lights on the other side?'

Anderson nodded. 'I think so. Can we dump the car somewhere and take a look?'

Mirit came off the ascent road and drove fifty metres or so along the base of the canyon. 'Look, there's a gap in the dunes,' she said, 'we won't have to climb up.' They got out and approached the narrow gap. They could now see the source of the lights. They were looking at a long, low building surrounded by a perimeter fence.

'There's the truck,' said
Mirit. Anderson saw it parked by the fence, halfway along and outside a small gate. The driver was leaning on the front fender talking to a man dressed as some sort of security guard. They were smoking.

Mirit
looked at Anderson; he seemed to be staring into space. 'What's the matter?' she asked.

'I know this place,' said Anderson slowly, 'I've been here before. It's the
Kalman Institute. We're at the back of the Kalman Institute . . .’

Mirit
looked again at the shape of the building and regarded it with reference to the lights of Hadera beyond. She said, 'But doesn't that mean that your friends the Freedmans are involved?'