The Last Day (56 page)

Feldman did so, hung up and immediately placed a call to Sullivan. A short time later, he was phone-conferencing with Bollinger, Hunter and Cissy, developing a plan of action. While still going over a few details with Cissy, he heard a knock at his door. Begging Cissy's indulgence, Feldman laid down the phone, rushed over to the door, flipped the latch, shouted, “Come on in!” and dashed back to the phone.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the slender form of a young woman dressed in a full-length trench coat, white beret and matching scarf, her head tilted downward. Signing off, Feldman replaced the receiver and turned to meet his visitor.

When she lifted her head, he gasped.
Anke!
She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed, her fine jaw set in determined anger. She folded her arms and leaned back against the door, closing it.

“Anke,” he whispered, the guilt welling up inside him.

She said nothing, staring at him through steely eyes.

“Please. Come in. Let me take your coat” He approached her, combing his hands through his hair in a haphazard attempt to make himself look more presentable.

She didn't move.

“Anke, I know you're upset with me, and I don't blame you, the way I've neglected you—”

“How understanding of you, Mr. Feldman,” she snapped, and he pulled up short at the unaccustomed sharpness.

He tried again, opening his arms to her, “Sweetheart, I'm not sure what to—”

She wasn't listening and cut him off flat. “I can lose my patience with you, Jon,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I can lose my temper. My mind, even. But the
one thing
I never thought I'd lose is
my respect for you!
If you owed me nothing else, Jon Feldman, you owed me honesty. I would have stood by you through hell itself. But
this!
This is so, so”—she began to cry—”so
cruel
of you.”

Feldman was beside himself. “Anke, I never meant to hurt you.” He moved toward her again, but she held him at bay with a fierce glower, her anger cauterizing her tears.

“Since you seem incapable of the truth, let
me
take the initiative to be straightforward with
you.”
She closed her eyes tightly, as if squeezing out her response. “I know what's going on, Jon. I—I know there's someone else.”

He sat down numbly and heavily on the couch.

“What I don't know,” she continued, “is why you didn't have the decency to be truthful with me. I just can't walk away without knowing that. After all we shared, after all we meant to each other, why didn't you respect me enough to tell me the truth instead of just letting me hang on like that? How could I have misjudged you so badly?” The tears came again.

“Anke,” he pleaded, “I don't know how to explain this. I
do
love you. I want to work things out. In my mind, and with you.”

“You have such an incredible ego,” she flashed at him. “There's nothing left to work out. Do you think you're so irresistible? That I have such little self-esteem that I'll just accept this in you? Honesty isn't something I value lightly, Mr. Feldman. You can't just lose and redeem faith with me so casually!”

Feldman was heartstricken. “But Anke, nothing really happened. It was more of a… spiritual thing. I honestly don't know how to explain it. It was so,
beguiling.”

“Jon, don't make this any worse, and don't insult my intelligence. I know the two of you spent the night together.”

Feldman was more confused than ever. He shook his head, stood up and tentatively approached her. “Anke, please, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm telling you the truth.”

“And you're going to tell me she was never in your hotel room, I suppose?”

“No, Anke, she wasn't Honest.”

Anke lowered her head in despair. “Jon, for your information, I called your room in Rome Monday night— early Tuesday morning, I should say.” She turned away from him and faced out the window. “After watching you battle that cardinal on TV, I couldn't sleep. I—I just had to talk to you. I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you.” She choked with her emotion. “I was so touched by what you tried to do. You were so, so…
gallant.

“I tried to reach you for hours. The international lines were tied up with all the turmoil. And then finally, when I do get through to your room,
Erin
answers the phone! She was whispering, but I recognized her voice. I couldn't say anything, I just hung up.”

Feldman's mind churned, failing to assimilate this puzzling information.

Anke wheeled back on him with accusing eyes. “I called the front desk to make sure I had the right room. The desk clerk told me that both Mr. and
Mrs.
Feldman had checked in. Then I had them switch me to the room they had listed for Erin Cross. There was no answer.”

“You're talking about
Erin?
” It finally sunk into Feldman's head. Taking off his glasses and covering his eyes with his hand, he shook his head. “No Anke, you've got this all wrong.” He collapsed slowly to the couch again. “Please, come here and let me explain everything to you, from the beginning.”

“Why, Jon? So you can spin me more tales and cause me more hurt?”

“No, Anke,” he said sadly, looking her squarely in the eyes. “So I can tell you the whole truth. While you've got a right to be mad at me, it's not for the reasons you think. Please. For everything we've meant to one another, at least hear me out.”

She faltered for a moment, then stiffly took a seat in a chair as far from Feldman as was available. Crossing her arms and legs, she glared distrustfully at him.

“First of all,” Feldman bent toward her, his hands spread imploringly, “let me tell you the whole story about Erin…”

And he started at the beginning, relating the early flirtations and his initial suspicions about the woman. Then he described their trip to Rome. How he purposely declined dinner with Erin after the debate, and went instead to his room to shower and turn in without supper. How in an effort to assuage his frustration over the disastrous telecast he foolishly drank the champagne Erin had sent to his room.

Feldman was exceedingly embarrassed and uncomfortable in recounting the bizarre seduction sequence. He watched Anke drawing herself up in her chair, tucking her legs under her, appalled. When he arrived at the part where Erin confessed how she got a key to his room, Anke began to relax.

“All I can figure,” Feldman explained, “is that you must have called after Erin had entered my room and before she aroused me—” He flinched at the wrong choice of words and hurriedly redressed himself,”—before she woke me. Maybe after drinking all that champagne I was sleeping a little more soundly than usual and she simply got to the phone before I heard it.

“But Anke, I swear, as soon as I recognized her, I made her leave, so help me God! Nothing happened, honest.”

Anke's eyes narrowed at a sudden awareness. “But you just told me Erin was
never
in your room,” she said, suspiciously. “You can't seem to keep your stories straight, Mr. Feldman!”

Feldman sighed and shook his head. “No,” he said heavily. “You're confusing issues. I wasn't referring to Erin.”

Anke, who had been gravitating toward the edge of her chair, came to an abrupt halt and retreated again, dumbstruck. “You mean there's
someone
else other than Erin?” She looked crushed.

Feldman nodded his hanging head.

“Please tell me it isn't Cissy!”

“Christ! No, no, it's not Cissy.”

Anke studied him for a moment. And then her eyes grew increasingly large. Softly and slowly she exclaimed, “Oh my God!” She rose to her feet and looked down at the tortured Feldman. “Don't tell me.” She began to amble slowly around the room without direction. “Oh my God!” she cried repeatedly.

Feldman peered up at her from under heavy brows.

At length, she stopped her pacing, sat down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jon, do you… do you love her?”

He bit his lip and glanced furtively over at Anke, his face contorted with confusion. “I honestly don't know. I feel
something
very strong for her. But it's, it's not like what I feel for you. I mean, it's—God, I don't
know!
I feel very loving and protective of her.”

“And you don't feel that way for
me?
” Anke asked, hurt.

Feldman looked over at her, puzzled, then realized what he'd just said. He scrunched his face. “No, no, that's not what I mean at all.” He shook his head and looked away. “I don't know what I mean anymore. It's not a romantic love I feel for her, I don't think. But—I'm trying to be completely honest with you—I
do
want to be with her. I
do
miss her.”

He turned back to Anke again. “I don't know how to explain any of this. I've never felt this way before. I want to be entirely straight with you because, unlike what you think, I
do
respect you. Very much. I wouldn't hurt you for the world, but of course, I know I have. And I'm truly sorry for that.

“You see, I feel as if I'm tied to you
both.
I miss you
both.
I care about you
both.
I
worry
about you both. I want to be with both of you.

“Yes,” he decided. “I love you
both!”

Anke dropped her hand from his shoulder like a dead weight “This is unbelievable,” she exhaled as she stood again.

She wandered around in small circles once more, mulling it all over, while Feldman stared after her in a hopeless quandary. Finally she stopped and looked down at the despairing man. “Well, Jon, I don't know if this has occurred to you or not, but you simply
can't
have us both. You're just going to have to figure this one out for yourself. I've had all the insanity I can take.” She headed for the door. “I'm leaving.”

Feldman sprang to his feet and grasped her arm from behind. “Anke, please, I don't know what to say, but I've told you the truth.”

She turned around and looked up into his disturbed, gray eyes. “I know that Jon.” She was crying again. With her fingertips, she gently touched his cheek. “I'm not angry with you anymore. And, certainly, I can understand why you feel so drawn to Jeza. She's, she's so… But Jon, I just can't see it bringing you any happiness.” She took her hand away, stretched to kiss him softly on the lips, dropped down from her tiptoes and moved away.

Opening the door latch, she gazed back at him, her face an expression of resigned defeat. “You're a very special person, Jon. I love you. I always will. It was so perfect with you. But this! How do I deal with this?” The emotions came surging back. “How do I compete with a, a
goddess?”

She spun and rushed out the door. Feldman started after her, calling, but she paid him no heed. Fleeing down the stairs and into her car, she was gone.

99

Meeting chambers of the IDF Command Center, UVDA Israeli military airfield, southern Negev 10:37
A.M
., Saturday, April 8, 2000

A
n uncomfortable Intelligence Commander David Lazzlo sat next to a solemn ex-Chief of Staff General Mosha Zerim. The two men were in tense conference with fellow officers of the Israeli Joint High Command, now under the auspices of the newly appointed chief of staff, Senior General Alleza Goene.

The general had taken his good time in arriving at the unpleasant crux of this meeting. Finally putting aside other business, he sat back in his chair and folded his powerful arms across his chest.

“As you know, gentlemen,” Goene addressed his colleagues, “before taking a leave of absence, it was Defense Minister Tamin's last official act to designate me chief of staff. I would like to reemphasize that this action was not intended in any way to slight the irreproachable service of General Zerim.” He nodded casually toward the ex-chief of staff, who held his grave composure.

“The decision was simply a matter of logistics. Given the current state of conditions in Israel, the defense minister felt that my veteran, war-command experience might prove invaluable. As part of Minister Tamin's directive, General Zerim has been reassigned to command the northern divisions.”

Lazzlo stole a sideways glance at the implacable Zerim.

Goene continued, “I am making further reassignments, as well.” He turned to Lazzlo. “Commander, given our current difficulties with security breaches, you will be relinquishing your responsibilities as head of intelligence operations, effective immediately.”

There was a murmur of surprise from the other attendees in the room.

Lazzlo's face flushed red with anger. “You have no authority to remove me from command!” he barked. “Only the defense minister or the Knesset can take such actions.”

A smile of contempt formed on Goene's lips. “I am not removing you from command. But in the absence of an acting defense minister, I do have the authority to redirect your command.”

Lazzlo stopped short, his irate objections dying in his throat.

“From this point forward,” Goene ordered,” General Roth will assume responsibility over intelligence operations. And you, Commander Lazzlo, will now take charge of our defense forces in Jerusalem. As you no doubt recognize, you are being entrusted with the IDF's most sacred responsibility—to protect the Holy City and its sacred shrines from the growing factions of millenarian extremists.”

What the commander no doubt recognized was that Goene was placing him in the middle of the most impossible, incendiary situation to ever confront the Israeli Defense Force.

The general leaned forward and his eyes narrowed. “This will be a rather more challenging assignment in light of the recent Leveque diary revelations, wouldn't you say?” He paused to let his insinuation register, and then stood up, signaling an end to the meeting.

Lazzlo and Zerim left together, engrossed in conversation, marching somberly across the tarmac to the helicopters that would ferry them to their new assignments.

“They have to be on to us, David,” the general decided.

“No,” Lazzlo assured him. “If Tamin felt we were personally responsible for smuggling the diary to the Vatican, we'd be looking at a court-martial, not a mere demotion. Trust me, I was thorough about the leads I planted. They're convinced it was the work of some unknown staffer, caught up with an anti-Jeza sect.”