Even so, she proceeded slowly. She was in no hurry to learn what had prompted Baker’s anxiety. Bracing herself, she entered the living room. It was the smell that told her something was wrong. A sharp ferrous scent that prized at her nostrils and threatened to turn her stomach. She was reminded of her youth and of bitter cold mornings hunting in the Smoky Mountains. When field dressing a deer, the first action is to empty the carcass of internal organs. She had been taught to insert the knife below the throat and cut all the way to the groin. Thepressure with which the intestines and stomach and liver burst from the ruptured cavity had amazed her. Accompanying the exposed organs was the sharp ferrous scent of blood and offal and all the nasty things living creatures kept inside of them.
Eliza smelled that now. She noted the look of horror on Baker’s face. She told herself to be ready. This was bad. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the two individuals, man and woman—Rosenfeld and his wife?—seated on the couch. Both were bound hand and foot and gagged. Both had been shot in the head, the woman through the left eye, the man in the forehead; both shots had left powder burns. The man’s belly had been cut open and his intestines—oily, gray, and coiled—had spread onto his arms and lap.
Eliza swung her head away, gagging. When she opened her eyes and somehow focused them, she was looking at a polished wooden table crowded with framed photographs. She immediately recognized one of the men. It was Itmar Ben-Gold, Israeli minister of defense, whom she’d met numerous times while at the State Department. Shaking Ben-Gold’s hand was a slight, pleasant-looking man with a halo of frizzy gray hair. It was the same frizzy gray hair that belonged to the dead man seated just feet from her.
“This wasn’t Mac,” said Baker.
“Then who?” It was difficult for Eliza to speak, let alone think. “Who, Don? We know he was here. We know he believed Rosenfeld could help him find Ava Attal. Who else would do this?”
Baker didn’t respond.
“Look at the pictures,” said Eliza, pointing the table. “Rosenfeld was tied into the Israeli government. There’s the prime minister. There’s Rabin. There’s Sharon. This is about this weekend. Put two and two together. Ava Attal on the run. The dead Saudis. Now this. There’s a reason Mac came to Paris this weekend. He’s going to disrupt the conference. Don’t tell me it’s coincidence.”
“What does Mac care about the peace conference?” asked Baker. “It has to be her.”
“Ava Attal did this?” demanded Eliza. “Tied them up. Tortured them. Police didn’t see her running from the apartment at four a.m. They spotted Mac Dekker.”
“Eliza, no.”
“Tell me if I’m wrong, Don, but isn’t this what he did in Iraq? Hunt down the bad guys, interrogate them, kill them. That was his job, right? Know what he said to me once? ‘Sooner or later, we always get ’em.’”
“You said you didn’t know him,” Baker retorted angrily.
“I lied,” said Eliza. “So sue me.”
“What the hell? When? Where?”
“Iraq. A million years ago. It’s none of your business. What does it matter, anyway?”
“If it didn’t matter, you would have told me in the first place,” said Baker. “Is that why you jumped on the red flag?”
“Of course not,” said Eliza. “There was no other choice, not this weekend. Not with what’s at stake.”
“You never gave him a chance.”
“The person at my desk doesn’t have that luxury.”
“Maybe,” said Baker. “Maybe not. I just wonder what else there is you’re not telling me.”
“You know all you need to,” said Eliza. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”
Baker looked away, lips pursed, shaking his head. “What if she’s doing the same thing we are?” he asked. “Ava Attal.”
“What’s that?” asked Eliza. “Trying to stop a bad guy from ruining the conference?”
“Yes, exactly that,” said Baker.
“Doesn’t play,” said Eliza. “If she knew something was up, all she had to do was go to her own people. Why keep silent? You’ve got it ass backwards, Don. She’s the one we’re after. Her and Mac.”
Baker gave her a look that let her know how he felt. Any other day, she’d have canned him for it. He shrugged violently. “You want to call the police?”
“No,” said Eliza, regaining her senses. “We can’t be tied up here all day answering questions. Like McGee said, best not to involve ourselves in police matters.”
But Baker wasn’t listening. Something had caught his attention.
“Don?”
“Check this out.” He kneeled to pick up a cell phone lying next to the sofa leg.
