Spy Dance by Allan Topol

Author:Allan Topol
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2011-07-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

They made the last plane that night from Tel Aviv to London. Actually, the plane left an hour late as a result of Moshe’s phone call to the president of El Al. When the airline executive initially refused to accede to his request, Moshe cajoled, shouted, cursed and ultimately threatened to call the prime minister before the executive gave in. The other passengers grumbled and chafed at the unexplained delay, despite the complimentary drinks being served, while a courier rushed a phony Israeli passport to the airport for David, and a digital cell phone that he could use for secure direct communications with Sagit’s phone.

At Heathrow, they ignored each other and took their own cabs to the west end of London. Sagit checked into the Hyde Park Hotel, still using her Gina Martin passport, while David’s cab dropped him a short distance away at the Four Seasons. As he checked in, using the phony name on the Israeli passport, he kept glancing over his shoulder, across the lobby, expecting another Iranian or one of Madame Blanc’s West African guards to burst through the front entrance.

In the elevator, a different thought took hold. He was playing a powerful hunch in coming to London with Sagit. What if he proved to be wrong? What if they didn’t use Victor or London this time? He grew worried thinking about it.

A long, hot shower relaxed him. He picked up the phone and called Sagit’s cell phone. “Listen, Gina Martin,” he said when she answered. “We haven’t seen each other since Paris, and I heard you were in London. I was wondering if you might like to drop by the Four Seasons for a nightcap?”

“Did something happen?” She asked nervously.

“No,” he said playfully. “I just can’t stand working so closely with you, and not being with you at night. It’s killing me.”

She hit the off button on her phone.

Well, no harm in trying, he thought. He climbed into bed naked, thinking about her. The cool sheets felt good against his weary body, but he still couldn’t sleep.

Half an hour later, his cell phone rang. It was Sagit. “Your theory was right,” she said, a little breathless. “I just got a call from a friend back home.”

“You want to come over and tell me about it in person?”

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly.

“I mean, just to talk business.”

She was still reluctant. Where would it lead with him this time? “Only for a few minutes.”

“That’s all. I promise.”

He put on a heavy terry-cloth bath robe and waited for her.

Her face was aglow with excitement when she arrived. “My friend at El Al just called. They tapped into the computers of all the carriers with Paris-to-London service.”

“And?”

“Victor Foch is on a four p.m. Air France flight tomorrow that goes into Heathrow.”

“Home run,” he said. She looked at him puzzled. “It’s an American expression. Baseball. It means we scored.”

“It also means that we have a lot to do to get ready for his arrival.”

“And a whole day to do it,” he said mischievously.

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