Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

“What about Ibri and Gamal?” Rina said. “Can’t you bring them in for questioning?”

Kreisman ran his hand down his face.

Rina said, “You can’t find them either?”

“They’re probably in Jordan,” Kreisman said. “But since we don’t have common extradition laws, we’re going to have to get them by other means.”

“Do you think Milligan’s in Jordan?”

Kreisman shrugged.

“Has anyone taken responsibility for the bomb?” Rina asked.

“You mean a terrorist group?” Kreisman shook his head. “Why would anyone acknowledge the bomb? We caught it, ergo, we won, they lost. Their mission was a failure. As a matter of fact, if I were Hamas or the PLO or some other terrorist group, and I’d paid Milligan a bundle of money to pull this stunt off, I’d be pretty damn pissed off at her. If Milligan’s involved, she’s not only running from us, but from whoever hired her as well.”

Kreisman rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“I can understand why any of the terrorist groups would do this. If they succeed, they have everything to gain. And not much to lose, if they fail. But I can’t understand why Kate Milligan would do it. Risk everything she had-which was a shitload-to be even more obscenely rich. And don’t tell me greed. She might be greedy, but we all know she isn’t stupid.”

“Money’s a powerful motivator,” Rina said.

“She had money,” Kreisman said.

“Maybe she wanted power,” Decker said. “Maybe Milligan was tired of being passed over when she felt she deserved to be number one. VerHauten is a male-dominated, family business. She knew she couldn’t ever be CEO no matter how hard she worked. She wanted it all.”

“So she did all this to get back at VerHauten?” Kreisman shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

Rina said, “Well, we exhausted money and power as catalysts. She’s not an Arab, so she probably didn’t do it for revenge. That leaves only one other prime motivator.”

No one spoke.

Rina smiled. “Maybe she did it for love, gentlemen. Maybe she was in love with a radical Arab terrorist and did it for him. They’ve used women in terrorist acts before.”

Decker suddenly sat up. “I don’t think she was in love with an Arab. I think she was in love with a black.”

“Black?” Rina said. “Why do you say that?”

“Not American black. A South African black. Wasn’t Mandela a big supporter of the PLO when he was in prison?”

Rina said, “I think he still is, although I know he’s more moderate now. He’s met with Israeli officials.”

“I’m not painting Mandela as a villain,” Decker said. “I’m just saying, when Mandela was in prison, the South African blacks and the Palestinians allied themselves together as exiled, displaced people. Israel was often compared to South Africa-”

“That’s not a fair assessment,” Kreisman interrupted.

“I’m reporting the news, Sgan Nitzav, not making a value judgment,” Decker said. “My partner in America and I had discussed the possibility that Arik Yalom had been blackmailing Kate Milligan. Why else would Milligan deal directly with someone as small as Yalom?”

“Go on,” Rina said.

“What could Yalom have had on her that would have screwed her up with VerHauten?” Decker asked. “We figured maybe she had an affair with a black. Maybe the guy was a Black Muslim to boot. Having an affair with someone like that would have been highly frowned upon in a bastion of white conservatism like VerHauten.”

Kreisman said, “I don’t think VerHauten would have dismissed her services as long as she was doing a good job. Business is business.”

Rina said, “Maybe while working for VerHauten, Milligan came to some sort of an epiphany. She met a black man, fell deeply in love, and was suddenly full of rage that she couldn’t openly love him.”

Decker said, “And opportunity reared its head. Here was a way to get rich and get even with VerHauten-the white power structure of South Africa. Not only that, Israel, another oppressor country, would get screwed as well.”

“Do you have a name for this mysterious black man?” Kreisman asked.

“No,” Decker said. “Just throwing out ideas. Retrospectively dissecting Milligan’s mind.”

“A nice theory,” Kreisman said. “Find a name to go along with it and you might give us something to work with.”

Rina blurted out, “Donald.”

Decker looked at her.

“And why not?” Rina said.

Decker said, “Didn’t Milligan say that Donald was working for her? That he was her underling?”

“Peter,” Rina chided. “Where is it written that the woman can’t have the upper hand in a love relationship?”

“Women always have the upper hand in a love relationship,” Kreisman said, dryly.

“Well, not always,” Rina said.

There was a pause. Then Kreisman and Decker said in unison, “Always.”

Without thinking, Rina leaned against the heavy glass door, butting it open with her shoulder.

“What are you doing? I’ll get that.” Decker held open the door. “Chivalry isn’t totally dead.”

He stepped aside and let Rina enter the hotel lobby first. It was filled with casually dressed tourists, bellhops, management personnel, and lots of kids garbed in bathing wear. Wearily, Rina trudged up to the front desk and checked for messages. Nothing. She slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her arm around Peter. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m tired of room service,” Decker said. “Let’s just eat downstairs.”

“Fine. Do you want to eat meat or dairy?”

“Up to you.”

“I’ll opt for dairy,” Rina said. “The thought of eating fleisch on three hours of sleep churns my stomach. Besides, I’m in the mood for onion soup.”

Descending a flight of stairs, they walked into a patio restaurant, replete with white wicker tables and chairs shaded by a lattice roof of blooming vines. The sun was out, the air smelled freshly washed. Children and pool noises chirped in the background. They were seated in a cozy corner, the table dressed with white linen and scented roses. A busboy came over, filled their crystal water glasses, and presented them with a basket of crusty olive and onion bread. Decker took a slice and topped it with a generous amount of sweet butter.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Let’s pretend we’re on vacation.” Rina took some bread and picked at the onions. “How about a moratorium on work?”

“Great.” Decker polished off his bread and took another slice.

A raven-haired waitress presented them with menus which they studied for a few minutes. Decker put his down, then said, “How were the kids when you spoke to them?”

“Surprised that we were awake at three in the morning. The family was on its way out to dinner courtesy of my parents.”

“Where?”

“Kosher Kanton. The boys were in the mood for sweet and sour chicken.”

The waitress came, took their orders, and left. Decker said, “How’s the baby?”

“In a great mood. Although Nora told me that Hannah does say ‘Mama’ a lot.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No big deal.” Rina looked up. “We’ve only been away for two days. We should be home soon.”

“Rina, if you want to go back, I can manage on my own. Lord knows you eased my way. I can take it from here.”

Rina bit her lip. “I would except I can’t get Honey Klein and her kids off my mind.”

“We could look for Honey, too,” Decker said. “Depends how long you want to stay here.”

“I want to go home,” Rina admitted. “I’m exhausted and I miss the kids. But I also want resolution. I’m torn.”

“Well, right now we’re not going anywhere. We don’t have our passports.”