Lillian Rothberg and the Obermans had a little surprise for the guests. They kept it secret until about an hour after breakfast. Most activities in the hotel didn’t begin until ten—the health club not opening, nor the pool, skating rink, or field house. Many people milled around in the lobby, just outside the dining room door.

Nessim and Clea sat on a love seat that was against the wall just to the right of the main desk. He eyed the doors to the dining room. The packet of plastique and the detonator, all set to be planted, were in his jacket pocket. At this moment he was wondering how he would get the opportunity to do it. Then the Rothberg-Oberman surprise began. It was perfect for him.

A group of the hotel’s regular stage musicians set up in the rear of the lobby, and without any previous announcement or warning, suddenly began to play Israeli and Jewish music. They went right into the hora, and groups of guests formed small circles, laughing and shouting, to dance. It was all designed to get the people into the right mood for Chaim Eban’s arrival. The lobby became a banquet hall. Bellhops joined in. Some of the receptionists were pulled away from their desks to hold hands in the circles. A security guard at the door was scooped up by a passing group. Everyone participated. It became a spontaneous outburst of joy.

“This is my opportunity,” Nessim said to Clea. “You go up to the room or they’ll pull you into the dancing too.”

“Be careful,” she said, touching his arm. He patted her on the hand and got up. She went to the elevator, looking back only once. When she was gone, he made his way gradually and unobtrusively toward the dining room door. Three women, seated on a nearby couch, got up with their arms entwined and began laughing and kicking their way into a circle of people. The end woman reached out for him, but he smiled and backed away.

“No, no, thank you. I have a bad leg.”

She didn’t want to argue. They were off. Relieved, he inched farther toward the door. The attention of just about everyone was turned to the music and the dancing now. Mrs. Adelman came out of her back office, looked over the scene, and then went back to her work. Nessim halted his advance when the doorway to David Oberman’s office opened and a group of people came out. Three men and a woman made their way across the lobby to the elevators and paid little attention to the festivities. One of the men looked very familiar to him. He studied his face a little while longer. He had seen his picture somewhere—in a briefing once. That was it. He was a member of Israeli security. Nessim turned his back and paused. When that group entered the elevator, he waited no longer. He slipped into the dining room.

The tables were all set for lunch. He heard some voices coming out of the kitchen, but other than that, the dining room was apparently deserted. He waited to be sure no one was lingering down the other side, no one who would see him go to his knees at the Oberman-Eban table. Then he hurried across the dining room, stopping at their table. When he was sure it was clear, he went down and crawled underneath. He worked quickly, placing the packet where it was sure to catch its best advantage. Most likely, the table would splinter into hundreds of sharp wooden and plastic projectiles anyway, he thought. If the impact of the explosion didn’t kill Eban, that would. Of course, it would kill everyone else around the table too, and possibly a number of people at nearby tables. All that synchronized with the major explosions and the collapse of the building was sure to get rid of some of the Hezbollah’s worst enemies.

When he was finished, he came up slowly. A busboy had come out of the kitchen and was changing some arrangements at his table, located near the center of the room. Nessim, on all fours, waited and watched. The busboy stepped back and inspected his own work.

When he turned and left the room, Nessim did not wait for another staff member to appear. He shot up quickly and began walking toward the door. He was nearly there when a voice cried out. It was the maître d’. Incredibly, the man had been sitting behind his desk all the time. He was so involved in his work that he hadn’t spotted Nessim until just then and Nessim had not seen him there, crouched over his papers.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Er … no. I’m afraid not. My wife thought she left her shawl here at the table, but apparently …”

“No, no one’s reported any garments left.”

“Yes, well, she probably never brought it down with her.”

The maître d’ just nodded, smiling stupidly. Nessim walked out. The other man looked after him and shook his head. Some of the guests were weirdos all right. Wouldn’t he have known if his wife had worn her shawl into the dining room? Who could figure it? He went back to his work.

“Shirley will stand back,” Barry said, “until we make entry into the room.” Boggs nodded. Trustman just stared at the closed door. Boggs, who had seen the pistol inside, was the most nervous of all. His fingers fidgeted against the weapon in his jacket. He had only shot it half a dozen times on the shooting range. He never really handled a gun before he took the job. The Obermans got him a permit. As head of security, he was the only one to carry a gun. It was the way they wanted it.

Shirley, a half smile on her face, stood back to observe her husband in action. She had seen detectives and policemen make entry into suspects’ apartments and houses on television and she was now going to find out if it was done that way in real life. Barry unbuttoned his jacket and knocked firmly on the door. He stepped back. She was proud of his professional posture. My mother should see him now, she thought.

Brenda Casewell opened the door slowly and looked out. She was clothed in a dress and had her hair pinned up neatly, but she wore no shoes. When Barry was satisfied as to the safety of the situation, he nodded gently to Boggs.

“Yes?” Brenda said. Boggs stepped in front of Barry.

“Mrs. Casewell. I’m Tom Boggs, head of hotel security.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve got a rather sticky situation here,” he went on, taking the deepest, most authoritative voice he could. “An accusation has been made against you.”

“Accusation?”

“Yes. By Mrs. Bagglesdorf.” They had decided to change names, and Shirley took on another character. Boggs turned and pointed to her. Shirley stepped forward.

“That’s her,” she said. She had stuck a wad of Jason’s bubble gum into her mouth and chewed on it rather ostentatiously.

“Huh?” Brenda said.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to come in,” Boggs said and stepped past her. Everyone but Trustman followed. He remained outside, waiting and watching in the hallway.

“What the hell is this?”

“Did you use the ladies’ room in the lobby today?” Boggs asked.

Barry moved so that he stood between Brenda and the closet.

“I did not.”

“This lady says you did.”

“She certainly did,” Shirley said. “I’d remember that face anywhere.” Brenda looked at her. “And those hips.”

“Now just a moment. Who the hell …”

“Mrs. Bagglesdorf claims you took her wallet out of her purse.”

“While I was indisposed in the toilet,” Shirley said. She looked at Barry to see how well she was doing. He nodded.

“What?”

“Since an accusation has been made, we’ll just have to search your room quickly. I’m sorry,” Tom said. He nodded to Barry. Barry opened the closet.

“You can’t do this; I want to see regular police.”

“I am regular police,” Barry said. He took out his wallet and flashed his badge. Brenda’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous. I tell you I never saw this woman and I didn’t go into the ladies’ room.”

“Just a quick search, Mrs. Casewell,” Boggs said.

“She’s afraid because she took it,” Shirley said.

Barry slid the garments toward him on the clothes rack. Brenda started for the closet.

“You have no right …”

Barry had the raincoat in hand. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the revolver. Brenda stopped in her tracks and backed up.

“What’s this?”

“Mrs. Casewell …” Boggs looked at her with exaggerated surprise. “You carry a weapon?”

“I knew she was some kind of thief,” Shirley said, happy to go on in her role. She was really beginning to enjoy it now, although the sight of the pistol did take her breath away for the moment.

“I …”

“Do you carry a permit for this?” Barry said.

Brenda stared at him a moment.

“I have one, but I left it home, in the city. Now listen, this woman …”

“Well, I’m afraid we’ll need to take the gun,” Barry said and dropped it into his pocket. “This is a very serious thing, even more serious than stealing a wallet.”

“I tell you I didn’t steal any wallet. She’s crazy.”

“Now just a moment,” Shirley said. “Who the hell …”

“Hold on,” Barry said, pulling his wife back a little more roughly than she expected. “We’ll just go down to the office and check out your registration of this weapon. I’ll make a New York call. If that’s on the up-and-up, we’ll take care of this other matter later. Until we return, Mrs. Casewell, we would appreciate your remaining in your room.” He looked at Boggs.

“Right,” Boggs said. “That’s standard hotel procedure.”

“What about my wallet?” Shirley said.

Barry looked at her. “We’ll get that back, I promise. Let’s go.” He turned her around bodily.

Shirley glared at Brenda as they left the room.

When they closed the door behind them, they walked quickly to the elevator. Trustman had its door open and waiting. They left Cooper guarding Casewell’s door.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” Barry said. “I think we’ve got her fooled. Let’s hope she starts using that phone.”

When they got down to the office, the switchboard operator had already written information on her pad.

“She’s calling this number,” she said. Mrs. Adelman, now standing behind Barry, looked over his shoulder. “That’s the Monroe, New York, exchange. I know it.”

“You do?”

“I’m familiar with most of the area codes in a hundred-mile vicinity,” she said pedantically. “We have guests coming from all over.”

The switchboard operator, now listening in on Brenda’s call, began to repeat everything she heard.

“Hello. (It’s a woman.)”

“I must speak to Hamid.”

“Hamid? Oh, I don’t remember which one was Hamid, but he’s not here.”

“Who is this?”

“Mrs. Tandem. Beatrice. My husband’s not here either. No one’s here. Is someone supposed to be coming here for lunch?”

Brenda Casewell just hung up.

“We’ll wait a few minutes,” Barry said.

“I know that name,” Mrs. Adelman said. “Tandem.”

“You do?” Barry was beginning to find Mrs. Adelman fascinating.

“Beatrice Tandem’s husband, Paul Tandem, was once head of security at this hotel.”

Brenda Casewell’s phone light went on again.

“Yes? 215? Just a moment.”

“Check it out, please,” Barry asked Mrs. Adelman. She flipped a sheet on her clipboard.

“Mr. and Mrs. Martin Jaffe.”

The switchboard operator raised her hand to indicate contact.

“Hello.”

“I must speak to … to your husband.”

“He’s not here right now. Who is this?”

“Where is he?”

“Who is this?”

“My name’s Brenda. Tell him … tell him I’m in the hotel, but I’m in trouble. Tell him to pass it on. He’ll know.”

“She hung up,” the switchboard operator said.

“Thank you. Boggs,” Barry said, “get up to room 215 and keep your eye on the door. I want to speak to Mr. Oberman and find out some more about this Tandem. If the woman leaves, follow her. We’ll be on the walkie-talkie.”

“Right.”

“Whaddaya think?” Barry said as Trustman and he headed into David’s office.

“I think we’re going to be very grateful to you, Lieutenant Wintraub.”

David stood up as they entered.

“Well?”

“It worked. She made two calls. One to a Tandem in Monroe. Mrs. Adelman said he worked here.”

“Paul Tandem? We had to fire him more than five years ago. He was drinking on the job, and he was pitifully drunk the night his son died.”

“Son died?”

“As stubborn and as pigheaded as his father. He had been very sick for days and kept it to himself because he wanted to finish the holiday and make his money. Walked around with a very high fever, walking pneumonia, they called it. He finally collapsed in the dining room. The staff helped him into the kitchen, but he insisted he’d be all right. Refused to leave. They called me and I called Paul, but he didn’t answer at the booth, so I sent a bellhop to find him. He was drunk and shacked up with a chambermaid in the help’s quarters. To make a long story short, by the time we got him and his son to the hospital, and the kid got attention, he was already in serious trouble. He was critical for a while and then he died. It was just too late. Naturally, I had to let Tandem go. It was a very bitter affair. Doesn’t surprise me that he’s in on any plot to do harm to people in the hotel.”

“Well,” Barry said, “that explains their understanding of this place. It’s time to move in on them and clean this all up. We’re heading to room 215. She contacted a party there. They must be the ones.”

“Jesus, be careful. Should I call the local police?”

“In a while. We’ll have to turn them over once we apprehend them. Raise Boggs on the walkie-talkie.”

David leaned over and pressed the talk button on the one on his desk.

“Boggs.”

“I’m here.”

He handed it to Barry.

“Any activity at the room?”

“Nothing.”

“We’re coming up.” He handed the walkie-talkie back to David. “I’ll have Boggs keep Brenda Casewell in her room until we send for the locals. They can book her on an unlicensed weapon’s charge until we have further information here.”

“Okay. It’s only a matter of hours until Chaim Eban arrives.”

“We’d better move fast,” Trustman said.

The music in the lobby continued as the hotel and its guests went on, oblivious to the frantic activity in their midst.