By the Rivers of Babylon Read Free Page B

head looked out from under them. “Is anything wrong?”
    Laskov cleared his throat. “The
Sharav
is blowing.” He used the Hebrew word. “Spring is here. Peace is coming. What could be wrong?” He took his hand away from the pistol and fumbled for his cigarettes in the drawer. He lit one.
    The sheets next to Laskov stirred again. Miriam Bernstein, the Deputy Minister of Transportation, watched the glowing tip of Laskov’s cigarette as it moved in short, agitated patterns. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” He steadied his hand. He looked down at her. He could make out the curves of her body under the sheets, but her face was half-buried in the pillow. He turned on the night light and threw back the sheets.
    “Teddy.” She sounded mildly annoyed.
    Laskov smiled. “I wanted to see you.”
    “You’ve seen enough.” She grabbed for the sheets, but he kicked them away. “It’s cold,” she said petulantly and curled into a tight ball.
    “It’s warm. Can’t you feel it?”
    She made an exasperated sound and stretched her arms and legs sensuously.
    Laskov looked at her tanned naked body. His hand ran up her leg, over her thick pubic hair, and came to rest over one of her breasts. “What are you smiling at?”
    She rubbed her eyes. “I thought it was a dream. But it wasn’t.”
    “The Conference?” His tone revealed an impatience with this subject.
    “Yes.” She placed her hand over his, breathed in the sweet-smelling air, and closed her eyes. “The miracle has happened. We’ve started a new decade, and now the Israelis and the Arabs are going to sit down together and make peace.”
    “
Talk
peace.”
    “Don’t be skeptical. It’s a bad start.”
    “Better to start skeptical. Then you won’t be disappointed with the outcome.”
    “Give it a chance.”
    He looked down at her. “Of course.”
    She smiled at him. “I have to get up. She yawned and stretched again. “I have a breakfast date.”
    He removed his hand. “With whom?” he asked, against his better judgment.
    “An Arab. Jealous?”
    “No. Just security conscious.”
    She laughed. “Abdel Majid Jabari. My father figure. Know him?”
    Laskov nodded. Jabari was one of the two Israeli-Arab Knesset members who were delegates to the peace mission. “Where?”
    “Michel’s in Lod. I’ll be late. May I get dressed, General?” She smiled.
    Only her mouth smiled, Laskov noticed. Her dark eyes remained expressionless. That full, rich mouth had become quite accomplished at showing the full range of human emotion, while the eyes only stared. The eyes were remarkable because they conveyed absolutely nothing. They were only for seeing things. They were not a window into her soul. The things she must have seen with those eyes, Laskov thought, she wished no one to know.
    He reached out and stroked her long, thick black hair. She was exceptionally pretty, there was no doubt about that, but those eyes . . . He saw her lips turn up at his stroking. “Don’t you ever
smile
?”
    She knew what he meant. She put her face in the pillow and mumbled. “Maybe when I get back from New York. Maybe then.”
    Laskov stopped stroking her hair. Did she mean if the peace mission was a success? Or did she mean if she got good news of her husband, Yosef, an Air Force officer, missing over Syria for three years? He had been in Laskov’s command. Laskov had seen him go down on the radar. He was fairly certain Yosef was dead. Laskov had a feel for these things after so many years as a combat pilot. He decided to confront her. He wanted to know
where he stood before she went to New York. It might be months before he saw her again. “Miriam . . .”
    There was a loud knock on the front door. Laskov swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. He was a solid bearlike man with a face more Slavic than Semitic. Thick, heavy eyebrows met on the bridge of his nose.
    “Teddy. Take your gun.”
    Laskov laughed. “Palestinian terrorists hardly ever