Legends

Taletbek indicated he did.

“Have you made pilgrimage to Mecca?”

Rabbani, his face contorted with pain, nodded again.

“Say your prayers, then. You are about to meet the one true God.”

The old man shut his eyes and murmured: “Ash’hadu an la illahu ila Allah wa’ash’hadu anna Muhammadan rasulu Allah.”

From the inside of his boot, the leader of the team of killers drew a razor sharp dagger with a groove along its thin blade and a yellowing camel bone handle. He stepped to one side of the old man and probed the soft wrinkles of skin on his thin neck looking for a vein.

“For the last time, where is Samat?”

“Samat who?”

The leader found the vein and slowly imbedded the blade into Taletbek’s neck until only the hilt remained visible. Blood spurted, staining the killer’s orange jumpsuit before he could leap out of the way. The old man breathed in liquidy gasps, each shallower than the previous one, until his head plunged forward and his weight sagged under the cord, pulling his arms out of the shoulder sockets.

Martin dialed Stella’s number in Crown Heights from the booth and listened to the phone ringing on the other end. It dawned on him that he was looking forward to hearing her voice—there was no denying that she had gotten under his skin. “That really you, Martin?” she exclaimed before he could finish a sentence. “Goddamn, I’m glad to hear from you. Missed you, believe it or not.”

“Missed you, too,” he said before he knew what he would say. In the strained silence, he imagined her tongue flicking over the chip in her front tooth.

She cleared her throat. “What do you say we get the business part of the conversation out of the way first. Yes, there was an autopsy. For obvious reasons, it was done by a CIA doctor. The FBI man who Kastner dealt with when he needed something sent it to me, along with a covering letter. In it he said the police found no evidence of a break-in. The doctor who performed the autopsy concluded that Kastner’d died of a heart attack.”

Martin was thinking out loud. “Maybe you should get a second opinion.”

“Too late for another autopsy.”

“What does that mean, too late?”

“When nobody claimed Kastner’s body, the CIA had him cremated. All they gave me was his ashes. I walked halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge and screamed out the punch line from one of those old anti-Soviet jokes that Kastner particularly liked—’Be careful what you struggle for because you may get it’—and scattered the ashes in the river.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hate when you say Uh-huh because I’m never sure what you mean by it.”

“I don’t mean anything. I’m just buying time for my brain to work things out. Did you get to talk to Xing in the Chinese restaurant?”

“Yes. He was very suspicious until I convinced him I was a friend of yours. He was annoyed you hadn’t come back for the funeral of the Chinese girl your bees killed.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said you were busy detecting and he seemed to settle for that. The girl—”

“Her name was Minh.”

“Minh died in great pain, Martin. The police who investigated it decided her death was an accident.”

Martin offered up a short laugh. “The honey exploded by accident.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Did you find out what she was wearing when the bees attacked her?”

“The Daily News story said she was wearing a white jumpsuit with the sleeves and legs rolled up. A pith helmet with mosquito netting attached to it was found near her body.” A police cruiser with a screaming siren tore past Martin, drowning out all conversation. When it quieted down Martin could hear Stella saying, “Oh, I see.”

“What do you see?”

“The rolled up sleeves and legs—it was your jump suit, wasn’t it? Do you think … could it be that someone … oh, dear.” Stella lowered her voice. “I’m frightened, Martin.”

“Me, too, I’m frightened. Seems as if I’m always frightened.”

“Did your trip work out for you?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Not right now.”

“Want me to fly over and meet up with you? Two heads are better than one, remember. Two hearts, also.” He could almost hear the slight gasp of embarrassment. “No strings attached, Martin, it goes without saying.”

“Why do things that go without saying get said?”

“To avoid confusion. Hey, you want to hear a good Russian joke?”

“Save it for when we meet again.”

“I’ll settle for that.”

“For what?”

She said it very quietly. “For our meeting again.”

Another police car could be heard coming down Golders Green, its siren wailing. Martin said quickly, “Bye.”

“Yeah. Bye. Take care of yourself.”

“Uh-huh.”

The police car was almost abreast of Martin and Stella had to shout to be heard. “There you go again.”