The Twisted Wire by Richard Falkirk

Author:Richard Falkirk [Lambert, Derek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-12-04T17:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Raquel said: ‘Why don’t you leave Israel, Thomas?’

Bartlett said: ‘Why?’

‘Why? You ask me why? Because someone is trying to kill you – that’s why.’

They were walking up Allenby Street. It was nearly 1 p.m. and the exuberance in the streets was beginning to wane. At this time of day, Bartlett thought, you became more aware of the beggars and the vendors of cheap sunglasses and toy hammers that squeaked when you struck anyone with them. He liked to stop at the bookshops with their windows brazenly filled with books about Israel. The books were glossy and exotic and expensive.

Bartlett said: ‘When do you think I should leave?’

‘Today,’ Raquel said.

‘You seem very anxious to get rid of me.’

‘I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘I seem to have managed to take care of myself so far’

‘You have managed?’ She appealed to the lunchtime crowds. ‘He says he has managed. I ask you, what have you done?’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Except of course to hold that terrorist.’ Her voice softened a little more. ‘You were very brave then, Thomas.’

Because he didn’t know what to reply Bartlett stopped outside a furnishing shop. He caught sight of his face in a mirror. His face was quite tanned, the effect marred by the skin beginning to peel off his nose.

Raquel said: ‘But really you have just been very lucky. It would be much better if you left.’

‘Not a chance,’ Bartlett said.

‘You are a very foolish man.’

‘Perhaps. But you must be a very foolish girl consorting with me. Who knows – a gunman might have his sights on us right now.’

Instinctively Raquel looked around. On one side of the road was the Great Synagogue, on the other Barclays Bank. She said: ‘I do not think they are trying to kill me.’

‘No,’ Bartlett said. ‘But they could be very bad shots, Perhaps that bullet in the Dead Sea was meant for me.’

They went into a snack bar and ordered pizzas. Bartlett said: ‘It’s difficult to believe that it’s Sunday. I suppose that the answer is to be a Moslem working in the United States or British Embassies in Israel. That way you might get Friday, Saturday and Sunday off.’

‘You are trying to evade the point,’ Raquel said.

‘Which was?’

‘Why don’t you leave here today?’

‘Because I came here to attend a geological conference. Because I intend to be present at that conference. Because I do not like cowardly people trying to intimidate me.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Get yourself killed.’

He chewed on his cheese and pastry and anchovies. ‘You seem very anxious to get rid of me. I rather thought you liked having me around.’

‘I do.’ She touched his arm. ‘You know I do. But do I want you dead?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘No one’s going to kill me.’

‘They’ve been having a damn good try. Are you sure it isn’t your wife?’

He stopped chewing. ‘Why should it be?’

She smiled. ‘No reason. Just an Israeli joke.’

‘She’s not particularly devoted to me. But I don’t think she would go to that extreme.

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