Free Perfect Hatred by Leighton Gage

Devorah, and his two children, Miriam, eleven, and Aaron, thirteen.
    Hector took the newspaper into the kitchen, where his fiancée was washing breakfast dishes. “Listen to this,” he said.
He sat down and read the article aloud.
“You’re thinking,” Gilda said, when he’d finished, “that the remainder of that plastic explosive might no longer be totally unaccounted for?”
“I am,” he said. “What puzzles me is why they’d cross over into Argentina to do this one. God knows, there are plenty of targets here at home.”
“Maybe this isn’t home for them,” she said. “You told me the stuff was purchased in Paraguay, right? And that bomber you’ve identified was also from Paraguay. Maybe the terrorists live there, not here.”
“Good point,” Hector said.
“Any pictures?”
“One.”
“Show me.”
Gilda dried her hands and Hector handed her the newspaper.
“You know what this reminds me of?” she said, after studying the photograph.
“What?”
“The explosion that killed Isaac Marcus.”
Hector took the paper back and studied the picture. “Yes,” he said. “It does. He was Danusa’s father, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“Most people don’t. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Rabbi Isaac Marcus had been a Brazilian religious superstar. During his lifetime, Isaac’s progressive attitudes had earned him the admiration of most of the younger and more progressive members of his congregation—and a good deal of criticism from the older and more conservative ones.
But it was outside of São Paulo’s small Jewish community, and in matters not directly related to his faith, where Isaac had made the biggest impact. In the time of the dictatorship, he’d been courageous in his criticism of the regime—and had come close to paying the ultimate price for his outspokenness. When democracy returned, he’d become a media darling, a pundit whose opinions were sought-after on every issue, from sex to the politics of the Middle East.
He was an articulate speaker, a man with charisma, fluent in Spanish and English as well as Hebrew and Portuguese. He was often called upon to speak at commencements, fundraisers, even political gatherings. Businessmen, politicians, clergy of other faiths all knew and respected Isaac Marcus. It sent shockwaves throughout Brazil when his synagogue was bombed, and Isaac was killed in the explosion.
“She was his only child,” Hector said, “and very young. She didn’t attend the funeral.”
“Why not?”
“She was living abroad. Is there any more coffee in that pot?”
Gilda took one of the demitasse cups from the drainer, filled it and set it down in front of him. No milk, no sugar, the way he liked it.
“Abroad where?” she said.
“Israel. Her parents sent her to visit a kibbutz the summer she was twelve. She went back the following year, went back every year until she finished university.”
He drained the coffee and handed her the cup. She rinsed it and put it back in the drainer.
“And?”
“And returned to Israel to live after she’d completed her studies.”
“And then?”
“And then she met this guy—”
“ Cherchez l’homme ,” Gilda said.
“It’s cherchez la femme , Gilda.”
“Not in this case.”
“Nobody says cherchez l’homme .”
“I just did. Finish the story.”
“They fell in love. They were going to get married.”
“Sweet!”
“For a while. Then he was killed.”
“Aw.” She pulled a face, took off her apron, and took a seat facing him. “Killed? How?”
“I get the impression it was some kind of undercover work. I also get the impression she did some undercover work herself.”
“Why no more than an impression? Don’t you people investigate the hell out of anyone you’re going to hire?”
“We do. Her records say she served honorably in the Israeli Defense Forces. According to them, it was in the areas of logistics and supply.”
“But you think she might have been doing something else?”
“She’s fluent in