The Hunted Read online

  "It's very popular for wedding pictures," Tali said, "with the trees and the flowers."

  "And the dog walkers. They're having a convention over there, all the dogs, and the owners sitting around on the grass." Mel turned to look at Tali , who was standing between the two beds with th e telephone in her hand. "You going to call the manager?"

  "I'm thinking the concierge would be the person for something like this."

  "I don't care who you call."

  She began to dial the number.

  "What time's the Marine coming?"

  Tali pressed the button down to break the connection. "He said in about an hour and a half."

  "You know this guy pretty well, uh?"

  "No, I've seen him only sometimes."

  "Three years you've been dealing with him, you don't go out together?"

  "There was another Marine before him we used.

  The first one went home. This one, David, I believe it's the third time only he receive it."

  "What do you give him?"

  "A thousand lira."

  "Lira?"

  "Israeli pounds."

  "That's what, about a hundred and a half?" Mel said. "To hand over a package. The Marine kno w what it is?"

  "Oh yes. Mr. Rosen said, 'Let him look. Show him what it is.' The first one, I believe he though t maybe the money was to buy hashish. I told hi m no, I wouldn't do something like that, against th e law."

  "What about the Marine?" Mel said. "What if he gets ideas?"

  "No, Mr. Rosen trusts him. He said, 'How is he going to steal it? We know who he is. He works fo r the embassy.' "

  "Does the Marine know who Rosen is?"

  "No, I wouldn't tell him that."

  "Have they met?"

  Tali shook her head. "Mr. Rosen didn't think it was necessary."

  "Or a good idea," Mel said. "You going to call the manager?"

  "Yes, right now," Tali said. She dialed the concierge, waited, said, "Shalom," and bega n speaking in Hebrew.

  Mel Bandy watched her. "Tell him what you want. You don't have to explain anything."

  Tali was listening now and nodding, saying, "Ken . . . ken," then gesturing with her hand as she began speaking again in a stream of Hebrew.

  "You don't ask him, you tell him," Mel said. He came over from the window and took the phon e out of her hand.

  "This is Mr. Bandy in 824. I want a couple of men up here to move some furniture around. I wan t a bed moved out and I want a couch brought in . . . a sofa, and a small office refrigerator. . . . No, I sai d furniture. I want some furniture moved. You understand? One of the beds, the double bed in here, I want it taken out. . . . No, out. I want to get rid o f it. It takes up too much room. And I want a couch , a sofa, brought in. . . . Jesus Christ," Mel said. He handed the phone to Tali. "Tell them what w e want."

  Late afternoon; they were the only ones in the embassy cafeteria: MSgt. Cox stirring two sugars and cream in a fresh cup of coffee; GSgt. Davis with a Heineken, sipping it out of the bottle and trying t o explain where he was, which Cox would never understand.

  They had already gone through his being nervous, Sgt. Cox saying that if short time scared him , then he had no business stepping down. What wa s the date of his relacdu orders? Twenty April.

  That's all? Shit, Sgt. Cox said, Davis was so short he'd fart and get sand in his face. From today , twenty-seven and a wake-up and he'd be out of th e Corps with his DD214. That kind of talk.

  Well, Sgt. Cox supposed Davis knew what he was going to do when he got out.

  "I don't have any plans, no. But I feel right now it's time. I know, I put in four more years, at least I g et some retirement. . . ."

  "Some? You get half pay the rest of your life,"

  Sgt. Cox said. "Twelve more years, seventy-five percent for life."

  "I know, but if I stay in any longer--this is how I f eel--it'll be too late to do anything else."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. But I don't want to be a bank guard. That's the way I feel about it."

  "What do you have to be a bank guard for?"

  "I mean right now. That's what I feel like."

  Sgt. Cox didn't understand that. He squinted at Davis, thinking. "What's your MOS, Administration? You can probably get into I and I."

  "Shit no, I've got an oh-three MOS," Davis said.

  "Oh-three sixty-nine, Infantry Unit Leader."

  "I didn't know that." Sgt. Cox paused, giving it more thought. "Well, the way I see it, Davis, yo u maintain pretty good. Passable service record o n MSG duty. Re-up and I'll recommend you to th e RSO in Karachi. They'll give you a choice of embassies, depending on openings. I hear Seoul's pretty good duty."

  Jesus Christ, Korea. Davis was shaking his head.

  "No, that's what I'm talking about. Sitting at a guard post, or sitting out at the Marine House shining my shoes, getting ready to sit at the post. You know what I'm saying? What the fuck are we doin g here? We're bank guards."

  Sgt. Cox was squinting at him again, irritated.

  "What do we do anywhere? It's what we do."

  "That's what I'm saying," Davis said.

  "You don't like it, then get back into your MOS.

  You picked it."

  "Or get out," Davis said. "See, basically, I'm an infantryman. . . ."

  "We all are," Sgt. Cox said. "You're no different."

  "Okay, but I'm just speaking for myself, the way I see it. I'm an infantryman without a job. But I w ouldn't want the fucking job again if it was t o open up. So what am I doing waiting around?"

  Sgt. Cox wasn't squinting now, but continued to stare at him. "I think you got a problem, Davis.

  Finding out where you belong."

  Davis almost smiled, relieved. He wanted to, but he didn't. "I probably make it sound more complicated than it is."

  "I'll agree with you there," Sgt. Cox said. "We talk about something, it seems like a fairly simpl e issue, then you start telling me how you feel.

  What's that got to do with it?"

  "Well, I'm gonna go away and think about it."

  Davis did grin then. "I don't know. I'm liable to come back and ship over again, but I got to be certain what I want to do."

  Sgt. Cox hesitated, but decided not to get in any deeper. "You have transportation?"

  "I was gonna rent a car, but Raymond Garcia's letting me use his."

  "Going hot-rodding, huh? Scare the shit out of the Israelites?"

  "No, I'm gonna take it easy," Davis said.

  "Maybe go down into the Sinai and shoot some birds. Get off by myself and think. I haven't mad e any real plans."

  "Maybe that's your trouble," Sgt. Cox said.

  The previous night in the Hilton bar, Kamal Rashad had been talking to a couple of Canadia n U. N. soldiers stationed at Ismailiya on the Canal.

  Couple of assholes from Guelph, Ontario, sitting at the bar drinking their Maccabees, not knowing shi t about anything.

  That's what Rashad thought Davis was--walking into the Pal Hotel lobby with his haircut and hi s canvas bag and carrying a brown-paper packag e the size of a shoe box--a U. N. soldier.

  Going over to the house phones at the end of the desk, Davis passed close to the spot where Rasha d was sitting. Rashad saw the USMC and insignia o n the olive-green canvas bag. Man had to be something like that with his haircut and suntans: a soldier or a man who worked construction. Rashad was watching the entrance and the pair of elevator s that served the new wing of the hotel. He didn't look over at the Marine again until he heard th e Marine say to the operator, "Mr. Bandy--can yo u give me his room number, please? I forgot it."

  You never knew, did you? Rashad watched the Marine now. He could've raised his voice a littl e and said, "Eight two four." He heard the Marin e say, "Thank you," and watched him dial the number.

  After a moment the Marine said, "It's me. I'm down in the lobby."

  Yeah, it's you, Rashad was thinking. But who are you? He waited until the Marine crossed
to the elevators, then went to the same house phone and dialed 518.

  Teddy Cass answered. Rashad said, "Man look like a soldier boy went up to their room. Had a overnight bag and a package with him." Tedd y Cass told him to hang on. When Teddy came bac k to the phone he said, "Val wants you to stay awake.

  The guy comes down, follow him. You got it?"

  "If I can remember all that," Rashad said.

  It looked like somebody was moving, all the furniture strung along the hall on the eighth floor. The doors of both 823 and 824 were open. Davi s stepped aside as two hotel employees came ou t carrying parts of a bed. He saw Tali inside 823 an d went in when the hallway was clear. She smiled a t him as if he were an old friend.

  Davis smiled back, handing her the brown-paper package with his name and address on it. "What's going on?"

  She gave him a tired little shrug. "I don't know.

  He wants more room for something."

  "Who does?"

  "Mr. Bandy. I told you, the lawyer who came from the States. He's in there." She nodded towar d the open connecting doors.

  Davis coul d hea r him: "You brin g th e couch? . . . I said I wanted a couch. It goes righ t there against the wall. . . . Hey, and another chai r like this one. And the refrigerator. I'm supposed t o have a refrigerator. . . . TALI!"

  "He's going to have a heart attack," Davis said.

  "I hope so," Tali said.

  Mel appeared in the connecting doorway. He was in his socks, his silver-gray tie pulled down, hi s appearance rumpled, coming apart.

  "The hell you doing?"

  "Trying to stay out of the way," Tali said. "Mr.

  Bandy, this is Sergeant Davis."

  Mel only glanced at him and nodded, more interested in the package. "That's it, huh?" He came in, taking the package out of Tali's hands, and move d past the double beds to the coffee table by the windows. "Give me a knife or something and get the sergeant a drink. Sarge, what do you like?"

  "It doesn't matter. Anything."

  Mel was grimacing, pulling at the cord tied around the package. "Tali!"

  "I'm here."

  "You call room service?"

  "They should be here soon. You want something else?"

  "Fucking string--see if one of those guys has something to cut it with."

  As Tali turned to go, Davis stopped her. He dug a clasp knife from his pants pocket, pried open th e blade as he stepped over to where Mel was sitting , and cut the cord from the package.

  "Never mind!" Mel called out.

  Davis looked at Tali, who gave him the little shrug again. They watched as Mel tore the pape r from a light metal box, opened it on his lap, and began taking out packets of U. S. currency, twenty of them, placing them on the coffee table and squaring them off evenly into two stacks.

  "You ever see this much money before?" He glanced up at Davis.

  "More 'n that," Davis said.

  "Where?"

  "Parris Island. On payday."

  "That doesn't count," Mel said, looking at the currency again. "How much would you say i s there?"

  "I don't know. The other times, Tali said it was a hundred thousand. But that looks like more."

  "How much more?"

  "Probably two hundred thousand."

  "On the nose," Mel said.

  Tali was frowning. "Why is it more this time?"

  But Mel was already talking. "Doesn't look like that much, does it? But they're all hundred-dolla r bills. You ever wonder about it? Where it goes?"

  "Not too much," Davis said. He was wasting time while the guy played with him, showing off.

  He said to Tali, "Did you want to pay me now? I've got to get going."

  "Yes, let me get my purse." Tali went into the adjoining room.

  Mel was still watching him. "Where you going?"

  "I've got some leave coming," Davis said, "and I'm getting out pretty soon, for good. So I thought I b etter take it."

  "How long you been in?"

  "Sixteen years."

  "Jesus," Mel said.

  "That's about the way I feel," Davis said. He was going to be paid and get out, so he didn't min d talking a little now. The man asked him where h e was going, if he'd be staying right around here.

  Davis said the country wasn't that big. Anywhere you went, you were still around, you might say. Tal i came in with her purse and handed him an Israel i thousand-pound note.

  "I wanted to mention," Davis said, "I'm borrowing a car from a friend of mine, Sergeant Raymond Garcia. He's the NCO in charge at the consulate i n Jerusalem. I've been thinking he'd probably be willing to take over for me, have the package mailed to him. The only thing, he's in Jerusalem. I didn't know if that would make a difference."

  He looked from Tali to the heavyset, rumpled guy in the chair, Mr. Bandy, not sure who was goin g to make the decision. Neither of them said anything.

  "He's driving over this evening. I'm supposed to meet him at Norman's. He's got a girlfriend her e he'll probably stay with and she'll drive him back."

  Davis waited.

  Tali nodded finally and said, "Yes, I could speak with him."

  "Or hold up on it for the time being," Mel said.

  "Sarge, why don't you let us think about it. What I w ould like you to do, if it's not too much trouble"- p ulling himself, with an effort, out of the chair a s he asked the favor--"is stay with Tali while sh e takes the money downstairs to the hotel safe.

  Would you do that for us?"

  Davis said it wouldn't be any trouble at all. He waited while the guy stacked the money in th e metal box, then took it out again and sent Tali t o get his attache case from the next room. He too k time to glance at some papers while he emptied th e attache case and threw the papers on the bed. Th e guy didn't seem very organized. Didn't give a shit a t all about other people, Davis decided. A roomservice waiter came with a bottle of Scotch and ice while they were still there, but the guy didn't offer a drink now. He'd forgotten about it. He didn't eve n say anything as they walked out.

  In the elevator, Davis waited until the door closed.

  "What's the matter?"

  Tali shook her head. "I don't know. Something is going on. Something strange, but I don't kno w what it is." She was tense, holding the attache cas e at her side.

  "And you can't tell me what's wrong."

  "I don't see how I can."

  "Come to Norman's with me and have a drink."

  "I would like to, but I have to go back."

  "You work for that guy? Mr. Bandy?"

  "In a way I do, I suppose."

  "Upstairs, you looked at the money, you said, 'Why is there more this time?' He didn't answe r you."

  "I don't think he heard me. Or didn't choose to tell me. He doesn't have to."

  "What's Mr. Bandy do? Can I ask you that?"

  "He's a lawyer."

  "In Tel Aviv with two hundred thousand dollars and you don't know why," Davis said, "and you'r e not sure if you work for him, but you have to ge t back upstairs."

  The elevator door opened. Walking out into the lobby he stopped her, taking her gently by the arm.

  "Why don't you put the money in the safe and come with me to Norman's? Or don't come wit h me, but get out of whatever you're in. Okay?"

  She shook her head, looking past him, avoiding his eyes. "I can't do that."

  "Why?"

  "Really, it isn't something to worry about. It isn't even my business to know. You understand? So how can I tell you anything?"

  "I'm worried about you," Davis said. "I hardly even know you and I'm worried."

  "Don't, please. I'm sorry."

  "I'll be at Norman's," Davis said. "If I'm not there later, leave word where you are. Okay?"

  He liked the way she was looking at him now.

  He thought for a moment she might change her mind and come with him. But she said, "Than k you, David," and walked off toward the desk wit h the attache case. He watched her, still hearing he r voice, realizing it was
the first time she had eve r said his name.

  Rashad was sitting next to Valenzuela. They had a good view of Davis and the girl. Teddy Cass wa s across the lobby, looking at a display case containing handmade leather goods.

  "Look at him looking at her ass," Rashad said.

  "He saying, 'I wouldn't mind me some of that.'

  Man, I wouldn't either."

  "That's the briefcase Bandy had on the plane,"

  Valenzuela said. "What'd you say the guy was carrying?"

  "Yeah, he doesn't have them now," Rashad said.

  "Left them upstairs. A brown-paper package and a bag say Marines on it, U-S-M-C. Don't he look lik e one?"

  "He's leaving," Valenzuela said. "Get on him."

  Rashad stood up. He waited until Davis was outside before following him. Valenzuela crossed the lobby to where Teddy Cass was looking at himsel f in the glass case, reflected among the sandals an d handbags.

  "See anything you like?"

  "They're made out of camel hide, all this stuff here."

  "No shit," Valenzuela said. "You through, we'll go up and talk to the lawyer."

  MEL BANDY TOOK HIS SHOWER in 823. It would be his bedroom. When they got 824 fixed up with a couc h and refrigerator, it would be his sitting room, wit h a single bed in there in case he wanted the gir l handy. He didn't like a girl living in the same roo m with him or using his bathroom.

  He had a Scotch with him in the steamy bathroom and sipped it while he dried off and shaved, standing naked in front of the wall mirror. He could use some sun. Drop about twenty-fiv e pounds right out of the middle, where he coul d grab a handful. He'd always tended to be a littl e heavy. But at thirty-eight, he told himself, he wasn't in any worse shape than half the guys at the Southfield Athletic Club. Slimmed down, though, or able to hold it in, it made your pecker look longer. He wondered if Rosie was making it with the Israel i girl. He wondered if the Israeli girl was an up-todate-thinking-today girl about sex. So you didn't have to go through a lot of shit and waste time.

  Fucking jet lag. He'd get in bed. She'd come in.

  He'd play it from there. "You must be worn out, all the running around. Why don't you come take a little nappy?"

  Mel walked out of the bathroom naked.