Runaway Lightning

By Barry Spillberg

Mark Asher is sent to do an operations audit of Asher Foods, a company controlled and managed by his older brother, Dov Selah. The company's corporate secretary is found murdered in her car and twenty-four hours later, the chief financial officer is found dead in his office. Foul play is suspected. Dov Selah is missing and no one knows if he is a victim or a suspect. Mark promises his young niece that he will find her father and return him to her.

Mark's wife, Shulamit, on maternity leave from her job as a computer security consultant, is asked by her father-in-law, to protect Lightning Lovette, the Britich rock star, from a stalker who has apparently followed the singer from Lonon to Montreal and is now in Boston.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Spillberg
• Release date: Sep 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476331867

Barry Spillberg

I'm on my fifth career (or is it my sixth?). I am one of the last children born in Boston's old West End before they tore it down in the early 1950s to build the Charles River Apartments complex. I grew up in Milton, just over the Neponset River from Boston and went to the Milton Public Schools. I also attended the Hebrew Teachers College in Brookline. My mother wanted me to become a rabbi. I had other plans. I graduated Syracuse University with honors and a major in Zoology. Because my draft lottery number for the Vietnam War was 61, I volunteered for the Air Force and completed AFROTC while in graduate school. In graduate school, at Syracuse, I was working on a doctorate in biophysics. Never finished. Lived in Israel with my wife Ruth in the mid-1970s, on a kibbutz near the Lebanese Border. Our daughter Keren was born at the Nahariya Military Hospital. Upon our return to the States in 1977, I changed careers and became a telecommunications engineer. I worked various corpororate jobs and finally with some friends established the first of two telecom consultancies, FMS Telecommunications. At the same time, I taught Telecommunications Technology at Northeastern University's State-of-the-Art Engineering Program. I retired from telecom in the mid-2000s. Grew bored sitting home, took the teacher certification tetst in science and I now teach biology, chemistry and physics at a high school in suburban Boston. I had always wanted to write. I originally went to Syracuse with the intention of majoring in literature and creative writing. Not liking the program I switched to science. The 64-Bit Waltz is my first novel.

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RUNAWAY LIGHTNING

by BJ Spillberg

Copyright 2012 by Barry Jay Spillberg

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Also available on Smashwords : The 64-Bit Waltz, The Lady in the Rotunda, October Hunt.

CHAPTER I

The doorman was distracted. An elderly woman had tipped her handcart on the lip of the rug under the doorway canopy and spilled groceries all over the sidewalk, apples and oranges running willy nilly, spilled milk mixing with smashed eggs. He saw this as his opportunity and he snuck past, pushing through the double doors into the building foyer without being noticed. It was an old, yet elegant building, the foyer decorated in dark, expensive woods above great sheets of imported Italian marble, swirls of polished pink and white reflecting the light of the huge crystal chandelier.

The building’s single lift was parked on the first floor, its door pushed open. He casually made his way in, glancing at the doorman who was still bent over outside herding together the last of the wayward tomatoes. The solid door with the porthole closed behind him as he pushed the number of her floor. The lift groaned and lurched as it climbed up the building. She lived on the top floor as befitted her status as an angel, living closest to God in his heavens. With a bump and a sigh, the lift reached the top. He pushed the door open.

She was not home. He had seen her leave minutes earlier on the arm of some long-haired moron that was her current paramour, greasy, eyes too close together, a slouching Sloane Ranger, all teeth and vacant smile. Far beneath her, not worthy of her. He would have to do something with this wastrel, this clown of hers if the relationship continued. Luckily, she didn’t seem to keep these boyfriends long. A few weeks, a month and then she discarded them, all used up, like the shallow vessels that they were. He was not jealous, he told himself that quite often. When he was ready, when he revealed himself to her, then she would lose interest in all others. Until then, she settled for the lesser mortals. She did not know any better.

Her door was not alarmed. It was a secure building with a doorman stationed in the front foyer twenty-four hours a day. Examining the door lock, he took the case from his pocket and selected the appropriate pick. He reached into another pocket and pulled out surgical gloves and pulled them onto his hands before working the lock on the door. In the event that the police were called in, he did not want them to track him down. In moments, there was a satisfying click and the door opened. He did not go in right away. He stood in the open doorway and took deep breaths, gathering in the molecules of her odor.

The inside hallway was dark. He carefully felt his way down the polished wood floor until he reached the salon, an epiphany of light from huge windows that looked north towards Hyde Park and Kensington Palace. In the far distance, he could see the late afternoon sunlight bouncing off the gold pate of Prince Albert, in his monument. The salon was decorated in modern kitsch, one wall harboring a huge plasma screen telly, the room devoid of divans or chairs, but full of pillows and rugs. On the opposite wall stood a huge set of speakers flanking a floor to ceiling bookcase containing CDs and DVDs. A stool sat in front of an electronic keyboard. He pulled out his small, digital camera and started to take pictures of this holy of holies. He paid special attention to the framed concert posters on the inner wall.

Her laundry hamper in the bathroom was filled to overflowing. He searched through smelling each item, reveling in the bouquet of her body, selecting specific items of underwear for his collection. He took each selected item, carefully folding it and placing it in individual plastic freezer bags. He stored each bag in the large, inner pocket of his great coat.

Taking the can of red spray paint from his other pocket, he thought for a moment before writing on her mirror. I LOVE YOU, LIGHTNING, he spelled out in large block letters. YOU WILL BE MINE FOREVER! He stood back and admired his handiwork. The dripping paint running down the glass gave the lettering a macabre look.

In her bedroom, he found her unmade bed with its small menagerie of stuffed animals in various repose on her pillows. Without understanding why or questioning his motives, he took his knife and sliced the heads off each animal, piling the heads in a lopsided pyramid in the middle of the crumpled sheets. The stuffing from the bodies, he spread randomly around the room as if a sudden blizzard had barreled through. He stood at the doorway to her room and smiled.

Taking the lift to the basement, he made his way out of the building through the back door that led to the car park out back. He saw no one and thought no one saw him. He felt happy, almost giddy. The sun was beginning to set and the temperature was dropping. He made his way to the tube station at Gloucester Road hands in his coat pressing against the items in his inner pocket.

Mark Asher had long ago realized that his life was controlled by the wants and needs of large dogs and little babies, his schedule was their schedule, their demands were his to fulfill. He found himself this morning, very early in the morning, a good half hour before sunrise, running on the cold streets that circled the lake following and being followed by the long gray-furred rumps of two large dogs. Sheba, a hundred and fifty pounds of fur and tongue waddled in front. She liked to run ahead and then wait for him to catch up, peering over her shoulder impatiently. Her brother, Little Boy, less substantial but still a large dog, tipping the scales at a little over one hundred pounds, ran beside him, content to slow down to Mark’s pace.

It was a cold morning, the temperature in the single digits with a stiff breeze. By this stage of the run, they were only a few minutes from the house, Mark hardly felt the bite of the cold. He knew his nose and cheeks were red but he felt warm. A three mile run did that to him. A town police cruiser pulled up beside him. The officer cranked down his window.

Hey, Mark, the officer called to him, you’re supposed to keep them on a leash.

You try running with them on a leash, Tommy, and see how far you get, Mark replied. Tommy Sterns had been in his sister Magda’s class in school. Six years in the military police, he had recently moved back to town and joined the police force.

But they’re supposed to be leashed.

Yeah, I know, but that’s why we go running this early in the morning. You’ll note that there’s nobody on the street except us and a cop on the dog shift.

Yeah, how about that? Saw your sister, Jenna, down in the Square yesterday. She says she lives here now.

They bought a house down over in the bird streets. Just moved in a couple of weeks ago.

"Uh huh. Your sister, Magda, ever come back to town to visit?

Sure, every now and then.

She still single?

Yeah, still is. You know Katy got married a couple of weeks ago?

Yeah, Jenna told me. Magda’s the old maid, then.

Well, sort of. Still have the baby sisters at home but they won’t be looking for husbands for a good twenty years yet. You want me to tell Magda next time I talk to her that you said hello?

Yeah, thanks, Mark. I doubt if she would remember me though.

Oh, I’m sure she’ll remember. Mark waved and crossed behind the car and took the cut off towards the boat ramp. Sheba trailed back and followed behind her brother. Vaulting over railing that separated the area from the rotary by the pump house, Mark sprinted for home. The dogs liked this part as they nipped and pawed at Mark’s feet prodding him to go faster. Mark stretched out his long legs and raced down the sidewalk. Last winter it had snowed almost every day, from before Thanksgiving all the way through April, there had been a blizzard on Easter Sunday, and the sidewalks had been virtually impassable for six months. This winter, it had hardly snowed at all. There had been the taste of snow right after Thanksgiving and then rain and then no precipitation at all. It was now mid-February and here in the Boston area, they had gotten less snow in this season than Atlanta. It was a different story up in Vermont where it seemed to snow heavily every weekend much to the delight of the dogs and his two older daughters. But with no snow, the sidewalks were clear and he sprinted ahead without the fear of slipping on ice. Near the house, he really turned it on and raced the dogs up the driveway to the back door. He won by a long, outstretched arm.

Who won? his wife, Shulamit, asked as the three of them tromped into the kitchen. She stood in front of the microwave waiting for the device to finish warming a bottle.

I did, Mark said kissing the top of her head. Sheba nuzzled Shuli’s hand. Sheba was, in fact, Shuli’s dog and Shuli knelt down and let Sheba lick her face.

The microwave timer rang. Do you want to give Pearl her bottle?

I probably don’t smell so great.

Neither does she. She took the bottle out and spritzed a little on the inside of her wrist. Just right. Here, she said handing him the bottle, you feed her and I’ll feed our two friends.

Mark took the back stairs leading up from the kitchen to the second floor landing. Passing the closed door of his parents’ room, he found his daughter, Tevet, diapering little Pearl on the changing table in his bedroom. Tevet’s long, black hair was folded into a towel and she stood over her baby sister in a pink bathrobe and fluffy bunny slippers. Tevet and her sister, Rifti, were Afghani war orphans adopted by Mark and his brother, Michael. Tevet was a sophomore in high school, Rifti was a year behind.

I heard a little squeal as I walked by and poked my head in, Tevet said. She was dirty so I changed her. I think she’s hungry.

Mark put his arm around her and squeezed. Yes, and I have the bottle that she so much desires.

May I feed her?

You have time?

Oh, sure. We don’t have to leave for school for another hour and it’s only a ten minute walk. The high school was just a few hundred yards north of the boat ramp.

Well, okay. You give her the bottle and I can take a shower. Mark went over to his dresser and pulled out underwear and retrieved his bathrobe from the hook by the closet door. Tevet scooped little Pearl up in her arms and sat on the edge of the bed. Pearl was ravenous and when the nipple of the bottle came near her mouth, she immediately clamped her mouth around it and started to suck. Tevet made sympathetic clucking sounds and stroked the baby’s cheek.

Mark looked at the two of them for a moment. He sometimes wondered about Tevet, about her reaction to living in America. If her village had not been massacred during a civil war, and her older sister and the woman’s husband not been killed in a deserted oasis by marauders south of Haludi, she would be in Afghanistan still, probably married by now with one or two little ones of her own. Instead, she was here, living a guarded adolescent life, a child of the household and not the mistress of her own. She was always so calm and so level headed, it was hard to tell what she was feeling. Tevet, perhaps sensing Mark’s look of concern, raised her head and smiled at him. He returned the smile and went into the bathroom.

Pearl was named after his maternal grandmother who had passed away last June. Pnina, his grandmother, was a native-born Israeli, a sabra. After the death of his grandfather, Pnina’s husband, his paternal grandmother, Helen, had talked her into leaving the kibbutz where she had lived for fifty years and move in with her in a condominium in Boca Raton, in Southeast Florida, the other Holy Land. Mark and his family were at the kibbutz in Northern Israel visiting Shuli’s parents when the call came from Florida. Pnina had complained of chest pains during a card game and had collapsed suddenly in her chair. She was gone by the time the paramedics reached her. She had wanted to be buried next to her husband in the kibbutz cemetery overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Mark had gone down to Ben Gurion Airport outside Tel Aviv to accompany her body back and had stood over her grave and recited the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. His cousin, Liat, and her new husband, one of Mark’s Academy floor mates, Paddy O’Banyan, had stood there with him.

The custom was to name the next child after the recently departed relative. His cousin, Jessica, had delivered a boy, Charles R. Cross V, Little Chuckie. His cousin Bobby’s wife, Rosario, had also delivered a boy, Jaime Bernardo, named after her late father. Theirs was the first girl to be born after the woman’s death, and so she was named Pearl, which was the direct translation of Pnina from the Hebrew. Mark’s only regret was that his grandmother, a woman that he had not known very well and had not been able to communicate with, had not lived long enough to see her great-granddaughter, hers and her next door neighbors’, the Lowensteins, Shuli’s grandparents.

Breakfast was the usual circus. The thirteen month old twins, Marissa and Amalia, Mark’s baby sisters, sat in their high chairs, each holding a bottle of juice with two hands. They were both happy babies, the blonde, curly-haired Amalia and the dark, straight-haired Marissa. Each put down their bottles and gave Mark a smile as he walked into the kitchen. Mark’s father, Ben, sat between the two girls, slicing up a banana for their cereal. He gave Mark a nod and went back to his work. Mark’s mother, Dafna, stood at the kitchen counter dicing up tomatoes and cucumbers for salad. Tevet sat at the far end of the table reading a book, her breakfast of toast and juice left untouched. Mark closed the book and pointed to her breakfast. Tevet sighed and nodded, picking up a piece of toast.

Shuli will be down in a couple of minutes, Mark said sitting down next to Tevet. She’s grabbing a quick shower. He looked around. So where’s Rifti Tifti? he asked.

I’m coming, Rifti said. She came through the door walking on her hands, her long hair sweeping the floor. Tevet choked back a laugh. The little girls giggled hysterically.

And why are we walking on our hands?

Coach Betty says it improves our balance and strengthens our arms and shoulders so we can do flips better. Rifti had joined the high school gymnastics team in the fall and was a rising star.

That’s nice, dear, Dafna said, but please right yourself and come to the sink and wash your hands.

Yes, ma’am, Rifti said. She rolled over to her feet and straightened up. A year younger than Tevet, Rifti was a few inches taller with a slimmer, less developed figure. She had become fixated on becoming a jet fighter pilot like Mark’s cousin, Liat, and had been told that pilot’s had to possess sufficient physical strength to withstand heavy gravitational forces. The girl gymnastics team underwent rigorous physical conditioning and so she had joined and found that she liked it. To help her prepare, Mark had bought and set up a universal weight training apparatus in the basement of the house. Every evening, Rifti worked out. Shuli, after giving birth, had joined her and the two worked out together, Rifti to build herself up, Shuli to regain her once slim figure.

Ben put the sliced bananas on the girls’ cereal and using both hands started to spoon feed each one. Neither girl was sufficiently coordinated as yet to accurately feed themselves. Mark looked at his father with much interest. I’m always amazed how you do that with two hands.

Ben laughed. Long practice. This is our second set of twins.

You fed Mikey and me like that?

He did not, his mother said sitting down next to Amalia. Your Aunt Naomi fed you and I fed your brother, or your cousin, Shoshi, fed you and your sister, Yael, fed your brother. I wouldn’t let your father spoon feed either one of you. It always landed up on the floor or in your ear or all over your hair. He might have been a marksman in the Air Force but he could never get a spoon of anything down your brother or you.

Baloney, Ben said, revisionist history. I fed you guys plenty, believe me, and if I didn’t feed you guys, how could I do this. At that moment, the spoon of cereal missed Amalia’s mouth and the contents plopped on her bib. Amalia gave her father a hurt look.

I rest my case, Dafna said taking Amalia’s dish and spoon. Here, pretty one, let Mommy feed you. Daddy can concentrate on feeding your sister.

Fine, Ben said shaking his head. He made a face that only Mark and Tevet could see. Tevet put her hand over mouth to keep from laughing. I understand you start your operations audit today.

Over at Asher Foods? Yeah. I’m picking Bobby up and we meet with Dov at 1000 hours. You sure you want us to do this, Pop? I get the impression that Dov isn’t too pleased to have his little brother and cousin looking over his shoulder. It’s not too late to get another couple of guys from the operations analysis group to take it over. We’re just at the beginning.

Uh huh. No, I want my two best people to look at the company. The two of you are a very effective team. This is your fourth operations audit. The first three were right on the money. I expect the same results from the fourth, and, Mark, I don’t want you to pull any punches, family or no.

That you don’t have to worry about, Pop. If Bobby and I do the job, it will be done right. It’s just awkward, that’s all.

I don’t understand, Dafna interrupted. What’s wrong with Asher Foods? Why are you sending Moishe to do an operations audit?

Ben hated discussing business in front of his wife, especially business that concerned family members. It was his fault for opening the door to this line of discussion. He put down Marissa’s spoon. Since we expanded the operations to the west coast two years ago, expenses are up and profits are down. The company is not performing as expected. There has to be a reason. I am sending Mark and Bobby in to find out what that reason is so that it may be corrected. The reason may be in the supply chain, or in the processing plants or it may be poor and incompetent management. I don’t know but we’ll find out.

You’re not going to fire Dov, are you? Dov was one of the four children Ben and Dafna had adopted several months before the twins, Mark and Mike, were born, the children of Ben’s high school girl friend, Becky. Becky, her husband, and their oldest child, the boy, Akiva, had been murdered by a contract killer. It was the contention of both Mark and Mike that Dov was Dafna’s favorite though she denied it.

Ben looked up at the ceiling while shaking his head. No, I’m not going to fire Dov. It’s his company. I just want to get it back on track. Ben said something to his wife in Hebrew. Dafna cocked an eyebrow and responded. A heated discussion ensued. Mark, who spoke very little Hebrew, sighed and returned to eating his hot cereal. The girls took this as a sign to have a discussion of their own in one of the languages that they spoke. Mark excused himself and got up from the table. He met his wife on the front stairs.

What’s wrong? she asked.

Oh, nothing much. There is a UN debate going on at the breakfast table. My parents are having a heated discussion in Hebrew about my brother, Dov, or I think it’s about Dov. His name keeps cropping up in their conversation and it’s about the only word I understand, and the girls are yapping away in Uzbeki or Pashto or whatever.

You start the operations audit on Asher Foods today?

Yeah, that’s what started the discussion.

Do you think it’s going to be bad?

Mark shrugged. I have no idea. If I knew, we wouldn’t need to do the audit. I assume that something’s off but whatever it is, Bobby and I will find it. Mom’s already doing spin control on Dov’s behalf. Ah, please. It’s going to be awkward enough. Don’t need Mom breathing fire on this one.

You’ve done audits before.

Sure but not on one of the core family companies, and I’m Dov’s little brother, don’t forget.

You’re almost a foot taller.

Ah, only eight inches, but close enough. Humph. He shook his head. It’s not that Dov and I are really very close. We’re not and never really have been. I don’t have the tight bond with him that I have with Mikey or even Carl. He’s always hung out with my cousins, Gary and Doron, guys his own age. They’ve been best friends since he came to the kibbutz as a little boy.

Your sisters always call you the big brother, not Dov.

Yeah, Jenna and the rest do. Not Yael and Yona, though I guess I’m closer to them than I am with their brother. I wish Pop would have picked somebody else. He seems dead set on my going in there and cleaning house. He must think that there’s a real rat’s nest over there. Handling really bad shit is what Bobby and I specialize in. We’ve done it enough.

Shuli took him by the arm and steered him back towards the kitchen. Come, finish your breakfast. Your parents will stop talking the moment I enter. They won’t speak Hebrew in front of me, and that’s the only language in common that your parents speak, other than English.

Shuli was right. The conversation between the two stopped the moment they saw Shuli dragging a reluctant Mark into the kitchen. Shuli batted her eyes at them. Oh, please don’t stop on my account.

Ben gave his wife a look and smiled. That’s okay. I think we’ve settled things for the moment, haven’t we, dear?

Dafna said nothing and continued to feed Amalia. Shuli came over and gave her two sisters-in-law kisses on their heads. She took a yogurt from the refrigerator and sat down next to Rifti. Mark sat back down in his chair and finished his cereal.

Oh, Rifti said and thumped her forehead, I was going to ask you. They’ve opened up the Paris trip to French I students.

And the two of you would like to go, I suppose, Shuli responded. Rifti looked at her sister and nodded. Tevet nodded, too. And, I suppose Rachel, Ally, Eitan and Abby are going? These were Asher cousins. There were more nods. When is this suppose to happen?

Third week in March, Tevet said.

That’s not a vacation week, Mark said.

No. For some reason they couldn’t schedule the trip during the April vacation. The French class is getting special permission to go. May we?

Shuli looked at Mark who shrugged. Well, if you don’t slack off on your work and stay caught up, I don’t see why not. Your passports are in order.

Rifti clapped her hands and gave Shuli a kiss. Tevet said something to her. Oh, yeah, Rifti said nodding towards her sister. We were told they need more parental chaperones. Any of you want to come along? She looked at Mark with large brown eyes.

I suppose chaperones have to pay their own way? Mark asked. Rifti nodded. That’s five weeks from now. Mark stroked his chin. We should be pretty much done with the audit by then. He looked at his father. Hey, Boss, can I have the week off?

Ben raised an eyebrow. Paris? You ever been to Paris?

Oh, sure, plenty of times. It’s only a couple of hours by high speed train from Germany where I was stationed.

Well, I suppose, if the audit is done by then.

Thanks, Pop. He turned to his wife. And what about you, dear? You want to come along or do I go by myself?

Pearl’s too young to take on a trip overseas and quite frankly, I have no interest in going to Paris in March. The weather is going to be horrible. Cold and rainy. If you were going to Italy, on the other hand, I could be persuaded assuming the grandparents wouldn’t mind watching a third baby.

That I assume is a ‘no’. Well, he sighed, I guess it’s just me then.

Oh, poor Mark, Rifti said patting his hand, her tone brimming with mock sympathy, no nookie for him in Paris. Tevet eyes bulged and she sat back in her chair, her hand over her mouth. Ben started to laugh. Mark stared at his adopted daughter.

Careful, my sweet, young daughter, he said, his voice very low and soft, you’re treading on very thin ice.

Rifti matched his stare, her head resting on one hand. It was a joke, she said.

Uh huh. Certain topics are not appropriate conversation at the breakfast table between a daughter and her father. Understood? He reached over and poked her in the ribs, a light poke.

Yes, Mark. Rifti eyes twinkled. She did not sound contrite.

Uh huh. How will your cousins feel about my going along? The last time I chaperoned them, certain people landed up on kitchen patrol and the wood pile.

Oh, they’ll be fine. Rachel says you don’t have eyes in the back of your head.

I see. Well, they won’t be my sole responsibility on this trip. He scratched his chin. Who else can I convince into coming along? Magda speaks French.

His father looked at him. You trust your sister, Magda, with a group of teenagers? She’ll be more trouble than all the rest of them combined.

Yeah, that’s true. I’ll have to think about it. Mikey’s in Japan and he’s not going anywhere not with Aviva almost ready to deliver. Carl’s still at school. There has to be somebody. Ah, I know. Aunt Nira. Nira Barkin, the chairman of Romance Languages at MCU, was Rachel’s mother and spoke many languages, French among them. She loves Paris and nobody will step out of line with her around.

You sure? Shuli asked. I seem to remember a story about a field trip to Montreal that ended sort of badly with Aunt Nira lecturing a certain pair of twins about behaving like gentlemen all the way home. Dafna snorted. Yes, I know, Mom. You were there, too.

Mark looked up at the ceiling. Yes, yes, that happened. Fine. No Aunt Nira. He returned to look at his wife. I know this nice little tea shop off the Champs d’Elysees. One can sit there a whole afternoon with a pot of tea and some croissants and watch the world go by. Think I’m going to spend a lot of time there.

Just drinking tea? his father asked.

Well, we can start with tea. His father nodded.

Moishe, you’re not going to go to the museums? his mother asked.

Mark shrugged. Mom, I’ve been to them all, the Louvre, the D’Orsay, the Jeu de Pomme, L’Orangerie, the Petit Palais, the Grande Palais, the Picasso, the Rodin and Les Invalides. I’ve been up and down the Eiffel Tower and the Arc d’Triomphe more times than I can count. After awhile, the best part of Paris is sitting at a bistro or a tea shop and just letting life unfold in front of you.

That sounds pretty boring to me, Shuli commented.

I don’t know, Ben said. Depends on who you’re with and what you do when you’re not sitting around drinking tea. Seems to me that people used to do a lot of sitting and drinking on Dizengoff Street in Tel Aviv and watch the world go by.

I don’t think people do much of that anymore, at least not there.

True, given the situation. I suppose, son, as a chaperone, you’re going to have to go to all these places again.

I figure that, Pop, but most of the museums have places where you can sit and drink tea.

And you’ll have to speak French, Rifti said.

So, I can speak French, not very well, not like Mikey, but I can get by. He smiled at his daughter. I speak French better than you do.

Rifti looked at Shuli and winked. Not for long, she commented in Farsi. Shuli suppressed a smile. Tevet cleared her throat and shook her head.

Mark, ignoring Rifti, brightened. I know who’d like to come. The baby sister. She’s always wanted to go Paris. This will be her chance.

Katrina? She just got back from her honeymoon. Do you think she can take the time off? Or even want to spend the time away from her husband?

I’ll invite the two of them to come along. I’ll pay for them both. Katy can see Paris and Lee and I can sit around and drink tea. Mark nodded. That’s a great idea. I’m sure I can square it with Uncle Gabi to give her the additional time off.

Don’t you think you should ask Katrina first?

Sure, sure, but she won’t turn down a free trip to Paris. What do you girls think? Would you like Aunt Katy as a chaperone?

Sure, Rifti said, I guess. She turned to Shuli and said in Farsi, She’ll get drunk every night and get sick.

That wouldn’t be your problem, Shuli replied.

No, but it would be embarrassing.

I think she’s more careful now that she’s married. She’s not the party girl she once was.

I hope so.

I’ll have Mark talk to her in any event before you go. She won’t cross the line with him there.

Good.

Problems? Mark asked.

No, no, just girl talk, Shuli answered.

Mark stood over Pearl’s crib staring down at his sleeping daughter. He was dressed in a dark blue business suit, with matching shirt and tie. In certain respects, he missed his Class A’s with the badges and ribbons. He could look at himself in the mirror and know exactly who he was and what he had done. Now, he was just another, faceless, business executive in a fine woolen suit and silk tie, unknown and incognito.

Pearl lay on her back covered with a finely embroidered, handmade, knit blanket, a gift from her two older sisters. She lay there with her two little hands, palms up by her head as if she were surrendering to someone in her sleep. Her dark hair, brown not black like her father’s, shot out in all directions, little spikes, though some of the longer strands were beginning to curl. Her eyes were still blue but it was too early to tell what they would eventually become. She breathed quietly. Shuli came up and stood beside him. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

You’re not upset that we don’t do it, are you?

He looked down at her. You just had the baby. I know it takes awhile for women to feel like having sex after giving birth. It takes some time for them to recover from all the changes and stress down there. He returned her kiss. Besides, I would like to think that our relationship is not solely defined by the physical plane. It’s nice but it’s not the main show.

Oh? You love me for my brains?

Yes, and your smile and your sweetness.

She sighed and buried her face in his shoulder. Shuli was a tall girl, nearly six feet in height but Mark was that much taller. They stood holding each other for a few moments. When do you have to pick up Bobby?

He looked at his wristwatch. In a few minutes. We have plenty of time. Sheba, who lay beneath Pearl’s crib, sighed and rolled over onto their feet. Another subtle cry for attention.

Shuli bent down and patted the dog’s large head. Mark was surprised how well Sheba and Little Boy had adjusted to the three babies in the house. They allowed the toddlers to climb all over them, patiently sitting there while they were poked and had their fur pulled, warning the adults when one or the other of the two sisters was about to run into trouble. Sheba was extra solicitous of Pearl, nuzzling the baby when Shuli held the infant in her arms or on her lap as if it was Sheba’s own. There was no animosity or jealousy expressed or implied.

Perhaps you should take Sheba to Paris.

Humph. The French love dogs though I think Sheba would spend the entire trip in quarantine. Once saw a woman sitting at a café on the Champs d’Elysees with her dog sitting on the chair next to her. She and the dog shared the same cup of ice cream. She would eat a spoonful and then give a spoonful to the dog.

She and the dog ate from the same spoon? Yech. That’s gross.

I don’t know. Is it any more gross than getting one’s face licked at various times by our friend here?

Well, she doesn’t French kiss.

Only because we won’t let her. Right, Sheba? Do you like to French? Sheba wagged her tail.

There was a knock on the door. Ben Asher stuck his head in. Sorry to interrupt, he said. Something just came up on e-mail. Wanted to ask Shuli for a favor.

What is it, Dad?

Just got a message our branch manager in London. Wants to arrange some sort of special security for one the branch’s big clients on her visit to Boston.

Special security as in what? Tour guide? Bodyguard?

Perhaps a little of both.

Uh, Dad, we do corporate computer security, not personal security, and as for being a tour guide, I’d be lousy at it. I don’t know my way around Boston any better than most tourists.

Yes, I know that, Shulamit, and that’s what I told him but he seemed fairly adamant about recruiting you.

Who’s the client?

Lucretia Lovette.

Lucretia Lovette? Shuli looked at her father-in-law for a moment. You mean Lightning Lovette?

The singer? Mark asked.

Ben nodded. The one and only. Seems that she’s being stalked by some crazy lunatic who keeps following her everywhere she goes and hacking her stuffed animals to pieces. It’s scaring the hell out of her. She’s afraid that one of these days he’ll graduate and attack her.

Seems to me to be more a matter for the police than a computer security consultant. Why is she coming to Boston?

She’s stopping here to consult with the bank trust department on her way to New York. Her concert movie is premiering this coming weekend. She’s afraid. Her stalker has been following her all over the world. He ransacked her hotel room in Montreal just three days ago.

Oh, Dad, Shuli sighed. She’s going to need round-the-clock protection with somebody at her side all the time. I can’t do that. I’ve got Pearl to take care of, and there’s nobody to spell me. Rosie is on maternity leave, still, and she doesn’t do that type of security. Katy just got back and she’s up to her ears with her regular job let alone the backlog of consulting work we have, and she isn’t allowed to carry a gun. All that leaves is Mark.

Hey, don’t involve me in this. I’ve got my own little piece of Paradise to take care of and I’ve got to leave right now. He kissed his wife, punched his father in the arm, lightly, and walked out the door.

Pearl started to stir. Shuli picked her up in her arms, perhaps to ward off her father-in-law more than anything else. Ben looked down at his youngest granddaughter and scratched his head. All right, I understand. Can we reach a suitable compromise? What say you go over there this morning? I’m working out of the house today and I’ll watch Pearl personally. You meet with this Ms. Lovette and her manager, assess the situation and then talk to Charlie Gellis, my director of security. You know Charlie, don’t you?

Sure. He’s the one who arranged for our private detective licenses last year.

Right. I’ll have already spoken with Charlie and have him primed to backfill with bodies what you figure is needed. These guys will show up and you can go back on maternity leave.

Shuli looked down at Pearl and sighed. I suppose I can do that, Dad. I don’t understand though why we have to do this. With her money, she could just as easily pick up the phone and get all the security she would want.

It’s part of our client servicing, Shuli. We try to wrap our clients in a cocoon. We have professional shoppers and party planners as well as bankers, lawyers and financial managers. And by providing certain key people with that level of service, we garner more clients who crave that type of service. You remember Mark’s Aunt Sophie?

Aunt Nira’s oldest sister, the television celebrity.

Yes. And I’m sure you’ve heard the story that she was our next door neighbor on the kibbutz when we lived there when the boys were babies.

Oh yeah, and Aunt Naomi and Mom snarl whenever her name is mentioned.

Do they? I’ve never noticed. Humph. Naomi and Sophie roomed together for awhile before Naomi moved in with your Uncle Avi. Anyway, Sophie went back to the States and became a big television star in Angel of Mercy. Didn’t hardly hear from her for years and years. Finally got a phone call from her out of the blue in the late 1970s. She was making all this money and her manager and accountant were stealing from her, and she heard from Nira that I was in the financial management business, and could I help her.

That little phone call opened the doors for us in Hollywood and Southern California. I went to see her personally and we cleaned up her finances – her manager landed up in prison for embezzlement and tax evasion but that’s a whole other story. Sophie praised us to high heaven to all her friends and passing acquaintances and before long the bank had a huge, thriving, growing business servicing the needs of some very well-known and well-heeled clientele.

And you want to do the same in London?

Well, we already have a pretty solid list of clients out of the London branch. Lots of nobility and old school money. What we haven’t been able to break into until very recently is the handling of finances for British pop stars, the new British royalty. Ms. Lovette is our first major client in this area and we want to keep her happy and attract some of her fellow singers and others.

And my serving as her bodyguard keeps her happy?

Yes, but more importantly it shows that the Chairman of the bank is so concerned about the safety of one of his clients, he sends his own daughter-in-law, a former Israeli Army major, to protect this client from harm. Score a lot of Brownie points on that one.

Shuli looked down at her daughter and sighed again. All right, Dad, I suppose a little scouting trip wouldn’t be too much to ask.

Ben kissed her cheek. Thank you, dear. I realize that it is an inconvenience and I appreciate your help. You will be amply rewarded.

Dad, that’s okay. Don’t need to be rewarded. She carried Pearl over to her dresser and opened her jewelry box. You’ve been more than generous all ready. I’ve got more diamond and gold bracelets, necklaces, brooches and earrings than I could ever possibly wear. It was Ben’s habit to give expensive jewelry to his female relatives on special occasions. It kept the jeweler in the town square very happy. Since Pearl’s birth, he had switched from diamonds to pearls. Oysters of the world quivered in fear.

Well then, a nice weekend away for you and Mark on me and we’ll babysit the granddaughter, the girls and the two dogs. He took Pearl from her arms and cradled her. Some place warm with palm trees and blue water.

Shuli sighed. That would be nice. All right. I’ll settle for that. She then walked over to her closet. My next big dilemma. What do I wear? I’m still too big for most of my business clothes and I’m getting too small for the maternity clothes. I hate this. She usually wandered around the house in one of Mark’s t-shirts and maternity pants.

Ben laughed. This too shall pass but I can’t help you there. Perhaps, you should consult with Dafna. She’s a little taller and bigger than you are.

Yes, good idea, Dad. Why don’t you give Pearl a bottle and I’ll go speak with Mom. Come, Sheba. Let’s go raid grandma’s closet. Sheba rolled over and rising to her feet, followed behind Shuli.

Dafna indeed had a blue wool suit that fit Shuli. The pants had an elastic waistband that did the trick and because of Dafna’s broader shoulders, there was enough room under the armpit for Shuli to wear a shoulder holster without ruining the lines of the suit. She stood in the kitchen clearing and slipped in a clip of ammunition into her 9mm handgun. Her mother-in-law stared at her. Shuli shrugged as she slipped the weapon into its holster. If I’m supposed to be a bodyguard, I might as well look the part.

I don’t know, dear. It seems a little incongruous, an automatic with two strands of pearls.

And high heels. I know, Mom, but what can you do? Duty calls. She kissed Dafna on the cheek. If there’s a problem with Pearl, call me on my cell.

There should be no problems. Pearl’s grandfather is very experienced with newborns these days, and I’m home today, too. You just take care of yourself and be careful.

I will, Mom, thanks.

Traffic was its usual heavy self on Route 95 heading up to Route 128, the old highway that circled Boston. It had already taken Shuli fifteen minutes to drive the one exit up to Canton. Bored, she decided to converse with her sister-in-law. She spoke into the microphone on the visor. Call Katrina, office. There was a momentary pause and then the phone started to ring, the cell phone speaker overriding the car radio and being pumped through the front speaker on the driver’s side.

Hello, this is Katrina Asher.

Hey, Katy, it’s Shuli. I’ll be passing by your office in a couple of minutes if this traffic ever gets moving.

Shuli? Hey, what’s up? How come you’re not home tending to the needs of my newest niece?

Your father coerced me into a security assignment. Guess who I’m going to see?

Who? The Queen of England?

Close. Lightning Lovette.

Really? I love Lightning Lovette. Can I come along? Please? Please? I won’t cause any trouble, I promise.

Oh, Katy. Don’t you have your own work to do?

Well, sort of, but I can work from the car on my wireless. I won’t be a bother, I promise. I’ll be your friend forever.

You are my friend. Katy, this may turn out to be a dangerous assignment. Somebody is stalking her and she’s afraid for her life.

So? I can help. I’m 6'4 and bench press more than my own weight. I can take on any stalker. Please, Shuli?"

Shuli recognized the tone in Katy’s voice. She would now start to whine and beg and complain that nobody ever took her any place. Shuli shook her head. Mark’s brother, Carl, might be the youngest, but Katy was the baby. She sighed. Oh, all right, Katrina. You can come but you will behave like a professional. No gawking, no autograph seeking, no drooling from the mouth. Understood?

I don’t drool. Thank you, Shulamit.

You’re welcome, Katrina. I should be at your office in about ten minutes. Be out front. If you’re not there when I come by, I’m leaving without you. Understood? Katrina could be notoriously late.

Yes, Shulamit. I will be there. You needn’t worry.

I’m not worrying. See you in a few.

It took Shuli fifteen minutes to get to the front door of BHC Computing where Katy was the IT Director. There was no Katrina. Call Katrina cell.

I’m coming, I’m coming, Katrina answered without saying hello and hung up.

Five minutes later, a tall, athletic brunette dressed in a long red wool coat came racing through the revolving doors of the lobby carrying a laptop briefcase and climbed into the passenger seat of Shuli’s SUV. Sorry, she said as she slammed the door behind her. Shuli shook her head and drove out of the parking lot and up East Street towards the highway. She carefully maneuvered around the rotary overpass, driving around these rotaries gave her the willies, and continued on East Street into Dedham. Katy plugged her laptop’s power supply into the console power outlet and started typing away at a rapid speed.

Have a shit load of e-mails to return, she commented. I put a return/reply message that I was on my honeymoon on my mail server and I still got over 2,000 e-mails. I’ve been writing responses like a crazy person for the last week. Katy had married Lee Wexler three weeks ago, two days before Shuli gave birth to Pearl. Shuli did not want to imagine what the wedding pictures were going to