“I know it’s all very vague,” said Lutz. “But again, it was how he was talking. He was worked up; as I said, agitated. It was so unlike him. He’s a smooth customer. Very charming. In control of himself.”
Ava laughed softly to lessen the tension. “I’m sure there’s a harmless explanation. Lots of products contain radioactive ingredients.Fluorescent lights, for example. Or watch dials ... the tritium on the hour markers. Or medical imaging equipment.”
“Possibly,” said Lutz, half-heartedly. “He did make a joke about it.”
“What was that?” asked Ava.
“Something about keeping it away from his testicles—‘his nuts,’ he said—because he didn’t want to go sterile before he had children.”
Ava was looking at her phone. By now, she’d brought Tariq al-Sabah up on social media. “A bomb? I doubt it. He appears to be the opposite of a jihadi ... unless they’ve begun tooling around Manhattan in exotic sports cars. Did bin Laden ever try the Cresta Run?”
“You’re discounting what I told you,” retorted Lutz. “Don’t lessen it.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Ava.
“Please believe me, Frau Attal. There was nothing in the least whimsical about his tone. He was deadly serious.”
“I believe you,” said Ava.
“Now I remember,” said Lutz. “The device’s name. What he called it.”
“Go on,” said Ava.
“You see, I didn’t get it at first. I thought he was referencing the Bible, some type of scripture maybe. I mean, everyone knows it.”
“Tell me,” said Ava.
“Samson.”
For a moment, Ava felt nothing. She looked out the window, remarking on the scenic view. From Lutz’s office, she could see down the hillside to the St. Moritzersee, its surface dotted by whitecaps. Despite the cold, a few windsurfers were taking advantage of the strong winds.
Samson.
A coincidence, she argued. It couldn’t be her Samson. Not a chance. How could Tariq al-Sabah know what they’d called it? Besides, it had been so long. Everyone had given up the device for lost. After a time, it had been decided that its theft was hardly the disaster it had at first seemed. The device was inoperable without a transmitter. Even then,and most crucially, one needed a code to detonate the weapon. All codes were held and controlled with religious zeal. One man held the key. The Israeli minister of defense.
But Ava didn’t believe in coincidences. Not in her line of work. If Tariq bin Nayan bin Tariq al-Sabah was speaking to an Iranian named Abbasi about building a transmitter for a radioactive device he called “Samson,” she had no business but to believe it was her Samson. A one-kiloton tactical nuclear weapon that she’d lost on a freezing night on the Golan Heights over a decade ago.
After all, she mused, there was nothing like a little uranium-235 to fry a man’s nuts and guarantee he would never have children.
All this passed through Ava’s mind in a heartbeat. Well, maybe two. She returned her attention to Lutz. “Are you seeing him again soon?” she asked.
“Next week,” said Lutz. “Stem cell infusion. Thursday at eleven.”
“It might be smart for me to come back then,” said Ava. “A follow-up.”
“Oh no, Frau Attal,” said Lutz. “That’s not necessary. It can wait a month.”
“Next week,” said Ava, grimacing, touching her shoulder. “I have a feeling something isn’t knitting properly. Why don’t we schedule an infusion for me? Let’s say Thursday at eleven.”
Lutz needed a moment. “Oh, yes, an infusion. A little soon, but we can make an exception. Thursday. Eleven o’clock. That works.”
He escorted her to the door.
“What will you do?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “You and the people you work for?”
Ava placed her good hand on his shoulder. She stared at him a moment, then shook her head, ever so slightly. It meant: “Don’t ask. Never ask.”
Chapter 31
