“No, not exactly that, either.” Decker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think the bomb was meant for Gil but in an inexact way. If they got him, fine. If not, that’s fine, too.”

“That sounds really strange.”

“Then this other bomb explodes in the middle of Jerusalem’s marketplace. Someone wants all the attention focused here…in Jerusalem.”

“Peter, Jerusalem is hot property now. The Arabs want to grab the city and redivide it. We want to keep it united and open to everyone. After all, it is the capital of our country. These terrorists will resort to anything to get their way.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“There have always been lots of terrorist acts in Jerusalem,” Rina said.

“I guess I’m thinking like a cop and not like the State Department,” Decker said. “From my limited perspective, I see it differently. You get a lot of action focused on one spot, it takes attention away from the other spots.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Meaning, if you have in mind to bomb something, you want all the bomb experts and all the bomb dogs and all the police and all the other personnel as far away from your target spot as possible.”

Rina was quiet. “You think these bombings were nothing more than a diversion tactic?”

“Possibly.”

“Peter, who are the bombers trying to divert?”

“This is going to sound incredibly arrogant.”

“You?”

“Someone knows I’m here, Rina. Someone knows I’m looking for Gil and Dov Yalom. From the minute Moti Bernstein thought you were my partner, I knew that someone had preceded me at the yeshiva.”

“I can explain that,” Rina said. “There are a few boys in Or Torah whose nonreligious parents aren’t happy they’re there. Sometimes the parents will go to extremes to bring the kids back. They send over deprogrammers.”

“Moti thought you and I were deprogrammers?”

“He heard a rumor from somewhere that a man and a woman were out to bring home a boy to deprogram. So naturally, he was leery. When you rattled off pikuach nefesh, he knew you were legit. He figured deprogrammers wouldn’t know that.”

Decker hesitated, then said, “I know it sounds implausible, but just let me talk this out.”

“Go on.”

“Say someone knows I’m here looking for Gil and Dov. So they bomb Gil’s yeshiva to draw my attention to Gil. But they don’t really care if they kill Gil or not. What they want is me locked up in Jerusalem. For good measure, they bomb the open square and bring all the bomb experts to Jerusalem as well. It’s to throw me off track.”

“Throw you off track from what? What are they diverting you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a bit of a rub in your theory,” Rina stated.

Decker smiled. “Look, I’m just talking conjecture. But that’s the way Marge and I solve cases. Throw out this theory or that theory. Hopefully, something clicks. Turn on the news, Rina. The more we learn, the better.”

She turned on the radio. News about the bombings, Rina announced. She listened intently and translated. At first, Decker focused on her words. Then his mind began to wander, his attention drawn elsewhere.

He needed to think this out. He needed to talk this out.

He missed Marge.

34

Digital clocks were a pisser when you were stricken with insomnia. The one on Decker’s nightstand had a malevolent red face that laughed at him in the dark.

Only five more hours until daylight, sucker. Boy, are you going to feel crappy in the morning.

He began to play games with the LCD dial, guessing how the little illuminated lines would configurate in order to form the next numeral. Soon came some mental calculations. Two-twenty-seven A.M. in Israel would translate into three-twenty-seven yesterday afternoon LA time. Although his body ached with fatigue, his brain simply refused to shut down.

At two-fifty-two A.M., he gave up. Quietly, he climbed out of bed and slipped on a robe. Checking through his jacket, he found his notepad and pen, then went into the bathroom. After shutting the door, he turned on the lights, then lowered the toilet seat. He picked up the phone receiver. The ignominy of it all. Conducting business in the john.

Luck hadn’t left him. Marge was in.

“This is weird,” she said. “I was thinking about you.”

“My vibes are very strong.”

“You sound terrible.”

“I had a tough day. You got a minute?”

“Even two.”

Slowly, he related his ordeal, trying to keep the facts straight while looking at his notebook with bleary eyes. He tried to keep his voice even. Nothing clouded an investigation like emotion. Marge gave him the requisite number of uh-huhs, letting him know she was following his train of thought, which was good. Sitting on the can in his bathrobe, his ears ringing, his mind half dead, he wasn’t sure if he was making sense.

When he was done, Marge didn’t speak right away. Then she said, “You sound battle-scarred, Rabbi. Maybe you should take a couple of days off.”

“It’s not on Davidson’s timetable.”

“Pete, even Tug wouldn’t argue. You know, I heard something this morning on the news about a bomb going off. But I was listening with half an ear and bombs are always going off somewhere. I’m freaked out.”

“You’re not allowed. One of us has to remain sane.” He paused. “I know I’m running on empty. So what the hell. Keep going until the engine block cracks. Does any of my stuff help you make headway at your end?”

“I do have some news. Nothing dramatic.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah, thank God is right. You have your pad with you?”

“Yep. Shoot.”

“First, Milligan,” Marge said. “I’ve been looking into her finances. Because if she’s connected to Yalom, it has to be through business. I’ve been asking myself, what could she be after?”

“Cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential that she could sell to VerHauten at a great price.”

“Almost. I think she’s after cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential period.”

“She wants to develop it herself?”

“Why share the profits with VerHauten?”

“Where is she going to get the capital to develop a diamond pipe?”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Marge said. “First, where is she going to find cheap, undeveloped land with diamond potential? I started checking into diamond companies not associated with VerHauten. I called up your ex-father-in-law, Jack Cohen the lawyer, and he referred me to his broker.”

“Barry ‘The Deal’ Orblatt?”

“You know him?”

“Jack’s been investing with him for years.”

“Is he good?”

“Put it this way, Marge. Jack’s still working for a living. Did Orblatt tell you anything?”

“Yes, he did. There are a lot of African diamond companies not controlled by VerHauten. Mind you, none of them are big time. But some of them have turned a profit.”

“Are any of them undervalued?”

“That’s the trouble. The profitable ones are selling shares at market value. Even the ones that look slightly undervalued are still selling much higher than book value. You know what book value is?”

“The total assets remaining if you liquidated the company.”

“You know your finance. Now the real, real, real cheap companies are in fact not undervalued. Because they haven’t produced a damn thing except red ink.”

“So there is no free lunch.”

“Maybe not superficially. But when you dig deeper, some interesting things pop up.”

“Such as?”

“A little birdie dropped Milligan’s tax forms for the last two years in my lap.”

Marge’s contact didn’t sound like a snitch, more like one of her ex-beaus. Quickly, Decker ran through his mental Rolodex of Marge’s formers. “Ah, the birdie who worked at Health Alliance?”

“You’ve got a good memory for birdwatching.”

“What did tweetie pie tell you?”

“You know, Pete, it’s amazing. Feed a computer a Social Security number, it spits back a life history. There is no privacy in the electronic age.”