Selome stood at the center of the pillared cloister, her body barely illuminated by the moon and stars. She kept her eyes locked with his as he crossed to her slowly.
"I was hoping it would be you," she whispered. "Despite his status as an acolyte, I'm afraid Tedla has taken a fancy to me."
"I was hoping that it was you, too," Mercer replied softly. "I want to say thanks. You were right. I'd never have made it to Ila Babu."
"How are you feeling?"
"Much better, but I'm still as weak as a kitten."
"How weak?" she asked with a huskiness that Mercer recognized immediately. She moved a few paces closer to him, the heat of her body soaking into his skin.
"As weak as a cat." Mercer tried to keep the catch out of his voice. It had been a couple days since he'd seen her, and the sexual tension that they had sparked before their trip to the monastery returned with a fury.
Her arms went around his neck, one knee cocked forward so it slid between his legs. "How weak?"
"How about a tired lion?"
"Better," she smiled. "We'll be leaving the monastery tomorrow, and Tedla is going to be with us every step of the way. Once we contact the government, it'll be a long time before we'll have a moment to ourselves. I'm sorry, but if we are going to make love, it has to be tonight. Now."
"Pretty forward of you."
She placed a slim finger to his lips. "No jokes."
"Selome, I--" His next words were cut off by her hungry kiss. She pressed herself to him, fitting almost perfectly, knees matching knees, hips to hips, chest to chest. He felt her breasts swell and harden against his naked chest, more and more heat pouring against him the longer they kissed.
"I was going to say," Mercer muttered, "I think it would be a good idea if we found a more private place. This is a church, after all."
That dam he'd felt cracking when Selome told him about her involvement with Shin Bet gave way completely. For the first time in months, since the split with Aggie, Mercer gave himself over to another human completely. It was liberating and frightening at the same time, but also very right.
He returned to his room for a shirt and his bedding, and they walked down the narrow path hacked into the cliff. With the moon reflecting off the sandy plain, they could clearly see the cave no more than a quarter mile south. Both were surprised at its proximity to the monastery. Mercer lit a candle and spread the sheets and blankets on the cavern floor. She motioned for him to stretch out and watch as she undressed.
He expected a hint of self-consciousness from Selome, but there was none. She pulled her shirt over her head in one fluid motion, her high breasts bouncing as they came free. Her nipples looked painfully erect, and his body reacted. Her pants fell around her ankles with just the tiniest bit of urging. She kicked out of them and hooked her thumbs iarr a dusky Venus, her body taut and perfect, her skin so flawless and waxy smooth in the candlelight that she looked like marble. Mercer couldn't help but stare at the shallow cleft that rose from the juncture of her thighs, her body's most secret place veiled by only a thin down. His heart pounded and his breath matched the shallow heaving of Selome's chest. Her arousal perfumed the air.
Mercer began shedding his clothes, but Selome dropped to her knees next to him, brushed away his hands, and began working at the buttons and zippers, her fingers stroking each newly exposed section of his body until he was nude and she held him firmly in her palm. She squeezed him every so slightly, and his hips bucked involuntarily. It was only then that she kissed his mouth again.
"You are so beautiful," Mercer said, and Selome smiled.
"So are you."
She would not let him do any of the work that first time, not even sheath himself with one of the condoms Mercer's doctor made him stash in his wallet. For Mercer, it felt incredibly decadent not to have to worry about his partner's pleasure, for her expression told him that her arousal came solely from his enjoyment. For the ten minutes they were joined, they freed each other from the world as Selome rocked her body on his, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Mercer's climax left him dizzy and gasping. Then, in a feat he hadn't been capable of since college, they made love again almost immediately. Mercer had only seconds to put on another condom before Selome drew him on top of her. Her orgasmic screams echoed far outside their intimate cave.
They were so lost in their lovemaking, neither heard the convoy of trucks approaching from the east. Half an hour after the vehicles passed, they were packing up the bedding and adjusting their clothes for the walk back to the monastery when distant machine-gun fire shattered the night. The crashing explosion of sound stripped away the euphoria they had just built and brought them back to the ugliness of reality.
Tel Aviv, Israel
Danny Silver was twenty-three years old, an American by birth who had moved to the Jewish state with his parents when he was sixteen. He liked Israel well enough so long as he stayed in the country's largest city. A few years ago, he'd tried kibbutz life for a summer and found the back-to-nature, communal living to be a bore. He liked the action of Tel Aviv with its late-night discos and cosmopolitan aura. Besides, being a bartender at one of the big hotels on the beach ensured he could get laid almost any night he wanted. American girls on break from college or spending time in Israel to discover their "Jewishness" were invariably fascinated by his stories, especially the ones he made up about his compulsory tour in the army.
But it was a Tuesday night, not yet eight, and the cocktail lounge was slow. His only customers were a group of Israeli businessmen in one corner and two old women from a New Jersey tour group near the bar's entrance. Danny busied himself behind the long bar, polishing glasses that were already spotless and wiping down bottles that didn't need to be cleaned. Sara, the waitress, stood casually at her station, one eye on her customers and the other on a college textbook. Danny really didn't like her. She did nothing to hide her disdain for any Jew not born in Israel.
Screw her,
he thought absently, unable to tannoard in the lobby, sending it to the floor, but the fool didn't stop to right it again. He charged into the bar like a Merkava battle tank, his hard eyes drilling through Danny to the display wall of liquor behind him.
The man resembled a scarecrow, thin and wrinkled. He looked almost comical, but there was nothing funny about his expression. Had the guy been Arab, Danny would have run for his life. But he was white, probably American, and certainly nuts. He rushed straight for the bar, heaving himself onto a stool with an explosive grunt. Hunching his shoulders like a vulture, he glared at Danny until the Israeli sauntered over to ask what he wanted.
"Drink." American, for sure.
"What kind of a drink, sir?"
What an idiot.
"Give me anything with alcohol or so help me Christ, I'll tear you apart and get it myself."
Normally, Danny would have laughed at him, but the customer spoke with such force that he believed the crazy old bastard would have tried it. "Sure thing, sir, anything you say."
Danny poured a measure of brandy into a snifter, but before he could set the drink on the bar, the American lunged for the bottle. The man snapped off the speed pourer with a practiced twist and upended the bottle to his lips. Three swallows vanished in as many seconds before the geezer set the bottle carefully on the bar top.
"Sorry about that, son," Harry White rasped. "But you were taking too damn long. If you knew what I've been through in the past couple weeks, you would've done the same thing."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Danny backed away.
"Tell you what, kid, if you've got any bourbon back there, Jack Daniel's preferably, I promise not to bite. Deal?" The expression of madness was transformed into a smile that was almost grandfatherly.
Danny poured a shot of bourbon and wisely left the bottle on the bar. Stealing a glance at Sara, he saw her watching the whole bizarre exchange with a smirk. She looked as if she expected such repulsive behavior from Americans.
Bitch.
Harry gulped down the bourbon and helped himself to another, pouring until the glass could not hold one more alcohol molecule. When he brought it to his lips, he didn't spill a drop. "You're a lifesaver, my friend. A goddamned lifesaver." The liquor filed the sharper edges off Harry's voice. "Eight or ten more of these and I might feel human again."
"Mr. White?" a female called from the lobby. She was poised at the entrance to the bar with a startled look. Her chest heaved because she had been forced to run into the hotel, chasing after the octogenarian. Wearing a conservative gray suit with an off-the-rack blouse and a ridiculous bow, to Danny she was the picture of a government employee. She trod across the marble lobby floor, her sensible shoes clacking with a horse-like clomp. "Oh, thank God, Mr. White. I was afraid I'd lost you for a second."
Harry nodded at his drink. "A second was all I needed."
The harried young woman was Jessica Michaelson. She worked for the CIA under the cover of a cultural attache and had been assigned the job of minding Harry White until his flight back to the United States. As the lowest-ranking CIA agent at the embassy, she had been saddled with Harry for nearly a week now. While not involved with his debriefing, she had to keep the curmudgeon occupied when he was not in meetings with the more senior officers, including the station ort of what Harry had been through in the past couple of weeks, and even in its sanitized version his experiences were harrowing. But after a week with him, she felt her pity wearing thin and was hoping the terrorists would come and take him away again.
From a portion of the report that Jessica Michaelson had read, Harry's own words from a stenographer's transcript described what had happened to bring him to the care of the CIA:
I'd just escaped the gun fight and was real tired. I smelled like hell and my whiskers were itchin' something fierce. I think I picked up some critters in that cell too. Anyway,
I was walking along, looking for something, anything that I could recognize, but all the signs were written in squiggly letters that looked like they were done by a blind two-year-old. Then I saw one sign I could read, and damned if fate isn't one cruel bitch. It was on a church bulletin board, and it was for an Alcohol Anonymous meeting that was going to start a half hour after curfew had been lifted. I hid out for the night in an alley a couple blocks away. The next morning, I went to the church at the appropriate time, but it was hard to step inside. This being the Holy City and all, I expected lightning to strike me dead at any moment.
Well, I went in and the group looked at me like they'd been expecting me. I sat quiet for a while and listened to the men and women, most of 'em were Americans or British. After twenty minutes of waiting for God's wrath for desecrating the meeting. I stood up and told the group that my name was Harry and with my fingers crossed behind my back told them that I was an alcoholic. I said I'd been sober for a couple of hours now, having come down from a thirty-seven-day binge that started in De Moines, Iowa, and ended in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I told them that most of the details in between were still a bit fuzzy.
I know what I was doing was wrong, you understand. I think AA is one hell of a fine program, and it does some amazing things for folks who want to get their lives back together but I needed help pretty badly and I figured these people, seeing me in the state I was, would have a little pity. They all listened, actually they were hanging on my every word. They seemed to know each other's stories pretty well, and I was laying something entirely new on them. They fell all over themselves offering support and advice. Well anyway, after the meeting, a guy came up, told me his name was Walt Hayes from Missouri, and that he was a reporter for
Newsweek.
Walt said he'd help me figure out how to get home. Said he had some friends at the American embassy. Later that day he took me to the embassy, introduced me to some attache or other, and after I told her the true story, she sicced all you CIA flunkies on me. Hey, how about that drink now?
Interviewer: In just a little while, Mr. White. Tell us again about the woman holding you who you thought was a nurse.
For the rest of the details of Harry's adventure, Jessica had broken a few security protocols and listened to the old man's ramblings when she spent dinners with him at the embassy cafeteria, including his dim recollections about the shoot-out at Dulles Airport and the names of a few of his captors.
Her superiors had acquiesced only partially to Harry's continuous entreaties for alcohol and allowed him a drink after each day's debriefing, saying they wanted him fresh for the next session. But now that Harry was I supposed to do while you're off playing hero?"
"I'm not doing this to prove how tough I am."
That's an understatement.
Mercer's fear made it difficult for him to swallow. "I have to go, and you have to warn the authorities about what's been happening. I want you to head south again. Stay along the cliff and drag our blanket behind you to sweep away your tracks. Find somewhere to hide for the day. If I don't come down looking for you in a couple of hours, it means I probably won't. Wait until sunset before returning to the monastery. I'm willing to bet the Sudanese will be gone by then."