Murder in Jerusalem by Batya Gur Page B

well. Better we should finish this business quick.” He removed his wool cap and thrust his fingers into the thinning gray hair plastered to his scalp.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with her?” Benizri asked, alarmed. He breathed deeply and coughed as a cloud of black smoke filled the tunnel.
    â€œShe didn’t feel well,” Shimshi said as Benizri laid the monitor at Azriel’s feet and rushed to look inside the car.
    The minister of labor and social affairs lay crumpled on the backseat of the car. Someone had placed her purse under her head. Her eyes were closed. Benizri squeezed inside the car. “Is she conscious?” he asked.
    â€œShe passed out!” Shimshi called.
    â€œMy ass, she passed out!” shouted one of the two workers standing nearest the car. “She’s just pretending. It’s all a big act.”
    Benizri pressed her wrist; her pulse was faint and irregular. He looked at her ashen face and listened to her labored breathing, then took a look around the car and proceeded to lift her into a sitting position. He removed her black wool jacket and unbuttoned her light blue blouse.
    â€œHey there!” Azriel called to him, alarmed. “What are you doing to her?”
    â€œDon’t worry, I was a combat medic in the army,” Danny Benizri said. In one swift movement he lifted her into his arms and unfastened the hooks of her bra, raising the cups off her chest and exposing her small, white breasts. He was surprised at their erect firmness, and the fact that he was even noticing them suddenly embarrassed him, so that he looked around to see whether anyone else was watching. He slapped her cheeks lightly; she nearly slipped out of his arms, but he held on tightly, and with his foot pushed open the door of the Volvo so that it would not close. “Shimshi,” he shouted, “Shimshi, it’s dangerous what you guys are doing.”
    â€œNot at all,” called back the younger of the two men standing near Shimshi lighting a cigarette. “It’s all a big act. She learned it watching soap operas.”
    â€œShimshi,” Benizri warned, “I’m telling you, I was a medic in the army, I’ve seen things. This is dangerous. You can’t know if she has some kind of medical problem, you can’t take that chance. She could have asthma or an allergy or even diabetes—”
    â€œAsthma. She has asthma attacks,” Azriel said, raising himself to his full height. “I told them, but they won’t listen.”
    Danny Benizri covered her with her wool jacket, climbed out of the car, and stood close to Shimshi. “Listen to what I’m telling you,” he whispered. “This could end badly, it could…she could suffocate, and then you guys are totally screwed. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Get her out of here, fast. If something happens to her, the police will come in here full force, explosives or not, and they’ll be pulling bodies out of here. I’m telling you, it’ll be a disaster.”
    Mauling his wool cap between his fingers, Shimshi glanced toward his cohorts as they walked toward the trucks.
    â€œLet her leave now,” Danny Benizri said. “Get her out of here before you have a disaster on your hands, and I…Get her out of here and keep me here in her place. I’ll be your hostage.”
    â€œI’m not in this alone,” Shimshi whispered, folding his cap. “I can’t make a decision like that on my own, I need to consult with my men.”
    â€œSo consult with them. Quickly,” Benizri said, glancing at the monitor. He saw the director general of the Finance Ministry blinking at the social worker brought into the studio in place of him.
    Shimshi stepped aside and gathered the men around him. Danny Benizri climbed back into the car and placed the minister’s head in his lap.
    â€œGot any water?” he asked Azriel, who quickly opened the