ABSALOM HAD ONE OF HIS PATENTED “I-TOLD-YOU-SO” SMIRKS pasted on his hide-tanned face when he ran into Baruch at the water cooler. “Azazel’s boys and girls are working through the last file cabinets in the last aisle of the last basement,” he informed him. “There is so much dust down there, two of them began sneezing and had to be let off on sick leave. You realize this is no piece of cake. Roughly half of the male Arabs betrayed by collaborators wound up serving time. Half of the ones who served time were short and heavy. Half of the short heavy males who were betrayed and served time were rabid Islamists.”
“Which leaves the suspect’s bad eyes,” Baruch noted.
“Bad eyes narrowed it down to one hundred and eighty-three, not counting the forty-eight who are known to be out of the Middle East, not counting the thirty-six who are known to be deceased, not counting two who are known to be in a Jordanian insane asylum, not counting whatever Azazel comes up with in the last batch of file cabinets.” Absalom seemed very pleased with himself. “The list is being typed up now.”