He got up, and with a bear-like tenderness kissed Kate on the cheek. "Take good care of yourself, my dear. I hope we see each other soon."
CHAPTER SIX
We walked around for a long time that night, and finally returned to Allie's. A New England Telephone repair truck was parked two blocks from Tom's house. It looked unoccupied. The state of the telephones around there certainly seemed to warrant calling the phone company, but then again, it might be the truck that was in the center of all the these problems in the first place. It was a good thing we were leaving. We went back a different way.
This time we couldn't see the moon from the window of our bedroom. It was totally dark and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves. It wasn't the same room we'd slept in before. I figured if someone was planning to pay us a surprise visit, we'd hear him coming. The bags with the clothes I'd brought from my apartment and the new ones we'd bought for Kate in Provincetown were ready beside us.
"This time, you won't have to leave your clothes behind."
She laughed, and pressed herself against me in a warm hug. Whenever she did it, all her worries and pressure seemed to be gone. It was a warm, sweet feeling crawling in my bones. There had never been anyone else who gave me that feeling. And if that's what I felt now, when we were being hunted, I wondered what it would be like when it was all over, or if it was just the danger and fear that were holding us together.
"Did Benjamin finally get to meet with the senior handler?" I asked, stroking her belly.
For a moment her fingers stopped their playful wandering along my back. "Oh, yes," she replied softly, "they met many times after that. The whole Benjamin affair became the major interest of a lot of people for a long time. They came from Israel to see him. He just got what he wanted. He was very full of himself and genuinely believed he was saving Israel from another Holocaust."
"What happened then?"
"Then, one day it was all over." Her fingers resumed their flitting over my lower back. "Gadi blew the whole thing sky high."
"Gadi?"This time it was my hand that was suddenly still.
"Gadi Crane, the scientific attaché at the Israeli Consulate in New York."
"Gadi Crane," I groaned.
"You know him?" She sounded surprised, but didn't wait for my answer. "Yes, it was Gadi Crane. Israel must know about it and save what they can."
I knew Gadi very well: short, foul-mouthed, and always dressed to the nines, showering everyone with supercilious graciousness wherever he went. The first time I met him I was still in the army. When I left and came back to the States, I never thought I'd see him again, and I can't say I felt sorry for that. And then, about six months ago, he summoned me to a meeting in New York and offered me a job, going over American professional material for him.
"I know you'll do good work," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Later on, we'll let you meet and work with some people we know in the Boston area. We can't trust the consul for things like this. You'll pass the information on to us, and you'll be doing a great service for your country." He completely ignored the fact that I'd been born in the US, justifiably so in this case, since I wasn't so different from Kate in my irrational love for Israel. I turned him down. I remembered how he'd managed to come out clean when an officer got himself killed trying to defuse a bomb because of wrong information he got from Gadi. He then made sure some other poor soul was kicked out of the army for it. I didn't trust him, and I didn't have the slightest desire to put that intuition to the test. Nor did I have any good reason to go behind the consul's back. However annoying the consul could be, I considered him a harmless individual who could even be rather congenial now and then.
As I expected, Gadi gave me a "you'll be sorry" look, but the only thing he said was, "We'll talk again," and stood up to indicate that our meeting was over. A few days later he left a message on my machine to meet him someplace that night at six. I ignored it, and hadn't heard from him since. I could bet he never imagined that the next time I'd hear his name, I'd be in bed with my arms around a beautiful agent he just burned.
"Gadi Crane..." I repeated out loud, remembering once again the words of the consul: "You're in deep shit."
*
I woke to the sound of tires on the gravel leading up to the house. It was five-thirty in the morning, almost dawn. Through the window, I saw a big, dark Ford Grand Marquis drawing up to the front.
In less than a minute I was on my feet, dressed, and shaking Kate gently. While she got dressed in silence, I threw her another look. These weren't the good guys coming to rescue us. The local sheriff - probably the Bill Tom mentioned - stopped the car at the foot of the walk to the front door. Another squad car pulled up and parked behind him.
"I'm ready," Kate said behind me.
We grabbed our bags and ran in a crouch to the garage. The first light was still dim, casting weird, confusing shadows. The jeep was parked next to a heavy lawn mower. I pushed the mower to the end of the path, blocking the way, while Kate started the motor and quickly put the jeep in reverse. I jumped in, and Kate took off, breaking through the back fence to the other side of the neighborhood. One of the police cars started off at high speed, trying to reverse back onto the main road. Two men got out of the other car. From the passenger seat I could see one of them ring the doorbell and the other run around to the back of the house. The patrol car was now driving on the road parallel to us as we bounced through the fields.
Kate turned right, looking as magnificent and untamed as a tigress fleeing from hunters. Then left, and right again, crossing a dirt road that twisted through the fields. We were drawing further away from the squad car, until eventually we couldn't see it anymore. Within five minutes we found ourselves on a fairly good road travelling west. At this time of the morning, we had the road to ourselves in the clear cold air.
I knew the Americans had sent the sheriff and his deputy after us. They know where we are, I thought. Kate was right: we have to get to the consulate as fast as we can and try to get her out with the help of her "guys." When push came to shove, it seemed the woman was pretty resourceful – a true tigress.
I turned to look out the rear window. There were two cars pretty far behind us, almost on the horizon. We couldn't keep going this way. The jeep didn't get up to speed on the road, and without any license or registration our chances of reaching Boston were pretty slim.
"Turn right here," I instructed. With a squeal of tires, Kate turned off the main road toward a sign reading "Barnstable," using all her strength to keep the jeep upright. Three miles from the turn-off we saw a gas station with a diner and a convenience store next door. We circled the station slowly. Two cars and a large truck were parked outside. The diner was open and a few customers were eating breakfast. We found what we were looking for behind the gas station. A garage for tractors and snow plows, with one of its doors hanging open. There was room for another car inside. It was not quite six o'clock; no one around. I leapt out of the jeep and pulled the garage door open wide. Kate drove inside at a terrifying speed, braking at the last second. We'd accomplished our feat in almost total silence, and I hoped we hadn't drawn the attention of anyone in the diner. I was closing the door when I heard a young voice from inside:
"Hey, mister!"
A young grease monkey with what sounded like a Mexican accent got up from where he'd been stretched out in a corner and strode toward us. I pulled out a fifty dollar bill, debating with myself for a moment. I nearly asked him to drive the jeep around outside, but I resisted the temptation.
"Fill'er up, please, and check the oil and water, but wait for an hour first. Then bring it back to South Eastham." I gave him Allie's address. There was no reason to make things hard for her. He wasn't quick to respond. I held out another twenty.
"No problem, señor,"he agreed cheerfully, shoving the bills into his pocket and going back to his bed in the corner.
We walked over to the diner and went in through the back. We were about to sit
down and order coffee when one of the customers got up and moved toward the door.
"Could you give us a lift?" Kate asked, gazing at him with eyes that were hard to deny. The helpless woman who had clung to me hadn't even bothered to consult me before taking over.
"Where are you heading?"
"Off the Cape, toward Boston."
"You're in luck. You want to get some coffee to go?" Kate looked over at me. I shook my head. "We're in a hurry. We'll get some coffee at the next stop."
"Next stop, Boston. I gotta get these eggs to the market before seven."
The three of us squeezed into the cabin of the truck. As we turned off the Barnstable road onto the highway to Boston, two patrol cars passed us, going in the opposite direction. Kate huddled down in her seat and I bent over, looking for something I'd dropped. The noise inside the truck was deafening.
"Where d’you two come from?" the driver screamed. The police cars may have put some ideas in his head.
"We got a lift from Provincetown."
"In a fish truck?"
I didn't want to take any chances. "No, some lady who was going on to Barnstable."
"It must be the one in the Wagoneer. I take these eggs in twice a week. We've got two farms here. Totally automatic. The feed rolls in on one conveyer belt, the eggs roll out on another, and there's a third for the chicken shit. You ought to come see it some time."
I glanced in the rear view mirror. There wasn't a single car behind us.
"That's the end of the Cape fantasy," Kate remarked softly, for my ears only. "It's a great place to bring up kids." The driver turned the radio to a morning traffic program and concentrated on the road.
"Do you really believe in country life?" I asked.
She looked out of the window at the sand dunes, and then for a long time at the clear open sky. "I meant every word," she finally breathed into my ear. "You promised to stay with me, so you have nothing to worry about – it will happen. I'm sure of it."
I wasn't so sure. The morning's excitement and adrenaline rush were fading, and I was feeling very tired. The young woman beside me, on the other hand, looked wide awake, fresh and cheerful.
"Do you know Rishpon?" she asked, returning to her favorite subject.
"Avihu once lived there," she went on, not waiting for my reply. "I've never been there, but I know almost every house in the village. It's five miles from Herzliya, and it looks very much like a French village on the northern coast. You have to climb down cliffs to get to this exquisite, wild beach.
“Like the ocean beaches of Tacloban? Don't you miss these places where you grew up?”She let out a small sigh. "I told you I grew up on four American Air Force bases. It’s hard to remember because they all looked the same. The Philippines were more humid, but the base looked to me like Hanscom base, where we lived, not very far from here, and then near Seattle, Washington State and back in Tacloban. Nothing like Rishpon.
“My father was a freight inspector for cargo planes, a staff sergeant. He's retired now, lives in Monterrey, California."
"What about your mother?"
"She's with him. Still making sure he doesn't drink too much. They're good people, but we don't have much to talk about when we get together. Where did you grow up?"
"Mostly in Boston, but I've got family in Kfar-Vitkin in Israel. Have you ever heard that name?"
"Wow!" She nearly hit her head on the roof with that cry of joy. "Kfar-Vitkin, that's just between Rishpon and Caesarea. Ever been to Caesarea?"
"Several times." I was surprised.
"Twenty minutes from Rishpon by jeep or motorbike. It's a great place, isn't it? Did you see the program on TV last year, Caesarea-on-the-sea - King Herod's Dream? I bought the video, must have watched it ten times. Every time I play it, I cry." She was a real Israel junkie. "You know why? Not because of the treasures or the king. It's the sun and the sea." She brushed the hair out of her eyes and went on enthusiastically, "For me, it's a reality and a dream all rolled into one. There's inspiration, magic in the air."
"You sure you’re talking about Caesarea? Can see all these things in the video?"
"I feel it. The water is turquoise, and crystal clear. You walk along Herod's pier and you can see the fish in the water, the coral, lost kingdoms from the past..."
"The past wasn't always so glorious."
"I don't care about the past. I'm not looking for those kingdoms. It's the brilliant golden sand that captures my heart. It comes from the Nile. The wind takes it from the sand dunes and then the river carries it all the way to the Mediterranean, and then it’s the sea that brings it back to the shore, to Caesarea. There’s no sand like it anywhere else in the world - soft and smooth, clean and beautiful. The wind carries the salty smell of the sea. It's not good for plants or people, but they love it so much..."
We rode on in silence for a long time. The closer we got to Boston, the more traffic there was on the highway, but no car that I could detect stayed for too long on our tail. The Caesarea of dreams kept gnawing at me.
"What you're dreaming of isn't Caesarea," I said. "Caesarea is a wealthy suburb - just like Beverly Hills, with maids from Thailand and gourmet French food. Once you seethe real people, hen houses or large families, you know you're in the next town over, Or Akiva. That's where new immigrants live. Some of them work as caddies for the golfers at Caesarea."
"Or Akiva, Caesarea, what do I care? It's the same water, the same beach, the same south wind, the same colors."
It was almost seven by the time we reached the southern outskirts of Boston. Our driver pulled into a farmers' market and stopped in front of the gate.
"Last stop, my friends. By the way, that stuff about Caesarea is incredible. The TV program was something special."
*
We had five hours to go until noon, when Kate was expected at the consulate. I called Danny, but there was no answer. I hoped he'd found a friendly bed and hadn't gotten home yet. It was early for Eric, but I had to know what had happened since we left. I dialed. He answered the phone without a hint of annoyance.
"Eric Albott, good morning."
"Good morning, Eric Albott," I replied.
"David, my son. How are you? How's Kate?" He was very gentle and concerned.
"Up to now we've managed pretty well, but I think I'm burning my bridges."
"You haven't burnt your bridge to me yet. How's Kate?" he repeated. Kate hung onto me, making it hard for me to concentrate on our conversation, and pressed her ear to the phone.
"Hi, Eric. I'm fine. How are you? I miss you."
"I miss you too, my dear. I miss you too."
"Has Allie done anything?" I asked.
"I haven't the faintest idea what Allie's been up to," he answered. "The lady has a lot of complex relationships I don't understand and don't want to understand. The day before yesterday I saw her at a reception given by the president of Harvard for the latest Nobel Prize winners. She spent a good part of time with your consul, that is, if he's still yours, and a few other people. I have no idea what they were talking about."
The day before yesterday, a reception...Could Allie have said something there she shouldn't have? Maybe it wasn't the Americans who had called out the sheriff this morning?
I turned to Kate. "I'm not so sure we should go to the consulate today, or any day," I muttered.
"You do whatever you like; I'm going to the consulate."
"And what if it's the consulate people who are chasing us? What if they don't want to get you out, they just want to settle some account with you? What if..."
"David," she answered, "I'm tired of running all the time. Tired of trying to guess what's going on, of hiding. I want to know the truth, and fight it if I have to."
Eric had been listening patiently to our whispered conversation. Now he broke in: "You're right, my dear. You can't go on running forever."
I couldn't fight the two of them. I'll go with her, I decided. Come what may.
"See you, children," Er
ic concluded. "Be very careful. I love you."
His sentimentality embarrassed me. "We love you, too" Kate was more casual than me. She loved the old man.
I wanted to spend the hours until noon at a nearby bar, but Kate proposed we proceed directly to the consulate, "before anyone who's planning to get in our way can take up position."
"Whatever you say," I shrugged.
We descended into the subway and got on the train to Park. The Park Street station was crowded. Eight-thirty in the morning was obviously rush hour: street punks strutting like roosters dressed all in black, the homeless for whom this was home, faceless businessmen, stage actors garishly made up, and scruffy looking characters of all sexes and sorts.
We climbed the stairs to change trains. I crossed to the other side of the staircase to push a path for us through the mob. The noise was unbearable, the air stuffy, and I was impatient to get to the consulate. I looked back at Kate. A second ago she had been right behind me, but now she had vanished.
"Kate!" I called out, frantic. "Kate!"
The crowd pushed me forward up the stairs. I tried to hold onto the railing and stay put. There was no way I could do it. I felt like a character in a nightmare. At the top of the stairs, I stopped and waited. She didn't appear. There was no question about it; she wasn't behind me.
"Kate, Kate!" I screamed into the din.
The passengers who noticed me didn't seem particularly surprised. There are plenty of nuts at the Park Street station, just like at any other subway station in the large cities of the US. I waited a while longer. Maybe she's looking for me and can't find me. Maybe she'll go back to where we got separated. I couldn't see her. I started back down the stairs I had just climbed with such effort.