by Stuart Gibbs
The walls of the tunnel were built from massive stone blocks. Despite being in the desert, it was damp down here. Moss grew so thick on the stones that it seemed as though they were padded. The tunnel was six feet tall but extremely narrow; portions were barely wide enough for Charlie to walk through without scraping the walls. Given the quality of the masonry, Charlie suspected it had been built by the Romans, probably as flood control, to shunt water out of the city during the rare big rains. The tunnel was gradually leading downhill, following the gentle slope of the mountain, most likely heading toward an ancient reservoir. Electric lighting had been run along the ceiling, and the moist dirt of the floor had hundreds of footprints heading both ways, indicating that this route was still used on a regular basis.
Two Mossad agents were in the lead, then Milana, two more Mossad, Charlie, and yet two more Mossad. Charlie and Milana had their wrists cinched with zip ties behind their backs.
Charlie had to give the Mossad credit for using this route to get them out of the city. For one thing, it kept them out of sight. They were away from view of the crowds, hidden from any spy satellites the CIA might have trained on Jerusalem, and too far underground to get a homing signal. Furthermore, it was easy to keep prisoners under control in the tunnel. It was too narrow for Milana or Charlie to start a fight—and it would have been futile as well, as the Mossad had them surrounded.
The agent in the lead was a man named Isaac Semel. Semel hadn’t been part of the team that had taken Charlie and Milana at the church, but he had met them at the archaeological site, right before they descended into the tunnel. He looked to be at least twice as old as any of the other agents, but he also seemed twice as tough as any of them, and they showed him great respect.
The Mossad hadn’t told them Semel’s name. Charlie had picked it up from their conversations. She hadn’t let on that she spoke Hebrew, and the Mossad had mistakenly assumed that she couldn’t, given her young age and the fact that she was American. They hadn’t said much, but it was enough. She had learned that cars would meet them outside the city walls to take them to Mossad headquarters, which she figured was a bad sign.
“The CIA is going to be livid when they learn what you’re doing here,” Milana warned Semel.
“The CIA asked us to apprehend you in the first place,” Semel replied. “They think you’re traitors. They won’t care what we do to you.”
Charlie was surprised and concerned by this announcement, but Milana reacted as though she didn’t believe it. “If you were working with the CIA, you’d be taking us right to the US embassy and turning us over to them.”
Semel looked back at Milana and smiled. “That may happen in time. But there are some things I’d like to discuss with you first.”
“We are only here on a training exercise.”
Semel suddenly stopped in the tunnel, took his gun from his shoulder holster, and pointed it at Milana. “Where is Pandora?”
Due to the narrowness of the tunnel, everyone else had to come to a halt behind Semel.
“How long have you known about Pandora?” Milana asked.
Charlie was surprised by the agent’s calm. Her own stomach was tying itself in knots.
“Not until today,” Semel replied. “But then you showed up this morning, obviously here for something Director Carter didn’t trust the regular Jerusalem team to handle. You went directly to the university library of all places, and next thing I know there’s gunplay and a dead European tourist with doctored papers. It’s enough to make a man ask questions. The Mossad is an organization that respects its elders. We still have men around who knew Einstein. Men who’d heard of Pandora. Of course, they all believed it was just a rumor. . . .”
“Turns out it was,” Milana said. “This was a wild-goose chase.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Semel said angrily. “My men are all wired. I heard your friend here say she knew where Pandora was back at the church.” Semel shifted his gaze to Charlie. “So maybe I should be talking to you, Ms. Thorne. If you don’t tell me Pandora’s location, I’ll kill Agent Moon.”
Charlie looked to Milana, but the agent was still turned away from her, facing Semel.
“You’re bluffing,” Charlie said. “You’re not like the terrorists.”
“True. But we are just like the United States: We’ll do whatever it takes to protect ourselves.”
“The United States has always been a friend to Israel,” said Milana. “If we find Pandora, we’ll happily share it with you. . . .”
“You weren’t even going to tell us about it!” Semel snapped. “And now, because of your failures, the terrorists have the advantage. Tell me, if they acquire Pandora, do you really think they’ll attack America? Or might they instead attack the country the entire world wants to get rid of? The country small enough that one nuclear weapon could wipe it from the earth entirely? The Eastern Europeans have always hated my people. They might use Pandora to bargain with the United States—but they’ll use it to destroy Israel.”
Milana lowered her eyes, chastened, then nodded agreement. “You’re right. Playing this alone was a mistake on our part. We should work together from now on.”
Semel sighed, annoyed, as if this statement were even worse than a lie. “Don’t condescend to me. Your government will never share Pandora. They’d kill us before they let us get our hands on it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” Charlie said.
Everyone in the tunnel turned to her, surprised.
Milana locked eyes with her. “Keep your mouth shut, Charlie. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do. Pandora is the stirrup all over again.”
Everyone stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?” Semel asked.
“Do you mind if we keep walking?” Charlie asked. “I’m starting to feel like the walls are closing in on me.” That wasn’t a lie. Between the tight quarters and the desperation to figure out what to do, Charlie could feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. The best plan of action, she figured, was to keep moving ahead. If there were cars waiting for them, the tunnel had to end somewhere.
Semel stared back at her through the dim tunnel, then simply turned around and started walking again. Everyone else followed him. “What’s this about the stirrup?” Semel asked.
“The stirrup was one of the greatest military innovations of all time,” Charlie explained. “It changed the course of history. Up until then people had domesticated horses, but they were useless in battle, because it was almost impossible to use a weapon and stay on the horse. You’d try to hack someone with your sword or stab them with a spear and fall right out of the saddle—and then your enemies would kill you. But then some unknown genius somewhere in central Mongolia invented the stirrup. It was simple, but brilliant. It gave horsemen greater stability, which allowed them to use weapons, and a horseman with a weapon had a major advantage over any schmo without a horse. Suddenly, tiny nations could build cavalries, and cavalries won wars. Any civilization that had the stirrup easily conquered those that didn’t. The Mongols defeated China. Genghis Khan took most of Asia. Attila the Hun brought the Roman Empire to its knees.”
“Your point being . . . ?” Semel asked.
“Throughout history, whenever a civilization has gained a military advantage, their first instinct has never been to share it. Instead, they’ve used it to try to wipe out everyone else. It happened with the longbow, the machine gun, the tank, the nuclear bomb. Whoever invents the next great military advance becomes the most powerful nation on earth. But there has never been anything so simple, so inexpensive—and so available to anyone—as the stirrup. Until now.”
They rounded a curve in the tunnel, and Charlie saw a bright slash of light ahead. The sun, pouring into the darkness. An exit.
“So Pandora is Einstein’s stirrup,” Semel said.
“Exactly,” Charlie agreed. “It could allow men with little training or resources to become great warr
iors. It could allow small civilizations to instantly become powerful ones. Any nation without it will be at the mercy of any nation that has it. And so every nation—even the United States—will kill for it if they have to. And they’ll kill to ensure that only they have it. I doubt the United States would have let me live a day once I gave it to them.”
“That’s not true . . . ,” Milana argued.
“Of course it is,” Semel said dismissively, then looked to Charlie. “So your participation in this endeavor is unwilling?”
“That’s right,” Charlie said. “I have no loyalty to the United States. Or the CIA. However, I am loyal to Agent Moon. If you let her go, I’ll take you right to Pandora. But I’m the only person alive besides John Russo who knows where it is—and if you hurt Moon, so help me, I’d rather let the terrorists blow your country off the map than lift one finger to help you.”
They arrived at the spot in the tunnel where the sun shone in. The wall of the tunnel had collapsed here, creating a hole large enough for a man to walk through. The hole was now blocked by a locked iron gate, which was guarded on the other side by an Israeli soldier.
Through the gate, Charlie could see that another archaeological excavation was underway. A pit two stories deep and as wide as a basketball court had been gouged out of the mountainside and was shored up with metal beams. The gate opened into the bottom of the pit, where the ruins of ancient walls could be seen poking out of the ground. It looked to Charlie as though the excavation had accidentally broken into the tunnel, creating the gaping hole she was looking through.
Ahead of them, the tunnel was impassible, filled with rocks and debris. Between the blockage and the locked gate, the Mossad had Charlie and Milana boxed into a dead end.
Semel looked Charlie squarely in the eye and said, “Now it is you who is bluffing, Ms. Thorne. I suspect you’ve worked far too hard to find Pandora to let the Furies have it over something as petty as chivalry.” He placed the barrel of his gun against Milana’s temple. “Now, you’re not going to make me do anything as childish as count to three, are you?”
Milana tried her best to remain stoic, but Charlie saw fear in her eyes.
Charlie said, “Let her go and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“One . . .”
“I’m serious. Shoot her, and you don’t get so much as a peep out of me.”
“Two . . .”
Sweat beaded on Milana’s brow.
“Three . . .”
“Okay! It’s in Denmark!” Charlie shouted.
Semel turned to Charlie, pleased, although he didn’t lower the gun. “Very good. But I need a little more detail than that.”
“It’s in Copenhagen. Einstein left it with Niels Bohr in 1933 just before he fled to the United States. Bohr hid it in his home there, which is a museum. It’s in the basement, in a safe under the floor, but I know the combination.”
It was all a lie, but Charlie was good at lying to adults. She had done it to her parents all her life. Semel studied her for a few long seconds, then lowered the gun. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked.
Charlie glared at him, then looked to Milana, who sighed with relief.
Semel signaled the soldier outside the tunnel, and the soldier unlocked the gate. Semel led the Mossad and their captives through it into the bottom of the excavation pit. It was a maze of wooden beams, bales of chicken wire, spools of electrical cable. A temporary wooden staircase led up to the surface. Two stories above them, homes were perched right on the edge of the pit—it had been dug smack in the middle of a neighborhood.
It was now late in the afternoon. The archaeologists who had been working at the site had all gone home, but the late-day sunshine was still blinding after so much time in the darkness.
Everyone paused to let their eyes adjust to the light.
Which was why no one was prepared for the attack.
THIRTY-SIX
The first shot caught Semel in the shoulder, spinning him and dropping him to the ground.
The other Mossad agents snapped out their guns and searched desperately for where the bullet had come from.
“Drop your weapons!” a voice called out. “I could have killed Semel if I wanted to. If you don’t comply, the next shot takes him out for good.”
Charlie broke into a huge grin. She recognized the voice.
Dante Garcia was alive—and he’d come to save her.
The Mossad looked far less pleased. They all turned to Semel for instruction.
Semel struggled back to his feet, clutching his wounded arm, doing his best not to give in to the pain. Dante’s shot had been perfect. He had hit Semel in the muscle, which would heal, rather than shattering a bone, which wouldn’t. It still hurt like heck, though. Although Semel had experienced worse.
He nodded to his agents, who obediently dropped their weapons.
Dante’s voice echoed through the excavation site again. “Now cut Charlie’s and Milana’s hands loose.”
Charlie, like the others, was searching the site, wondering where Dante had positioned himself, but she was unable to tell. He was hidden somewhere up in the mess of girders and wooden beams above, and his voice was echoing off the cavern’s sides. Not that Charlie needed to know exactly where Dante was. He was here. He was alive.
Semel nodded to his men once again. Two of them withdrew knives from their belts and sliced through the zip ties that had bound Milana’s and Charlie’s wrists.
Semel shouted back to Dante, “You’re making a mistake, Garcia! There’s nowhere to run. You’ll never get out of Jerusalem, let alone Israel.”
“Now let them go!” Dante yelled. “If any of you so much as even thinks about grabbing a weapon, I open fire. Got it?”
The Mossad agents all nodded, simmering with anger over being in their position.
Milana and Charlie dashed through the site and up the wooden stairs. At the top was a small, hastily constructed area with lockboxes to store equipment. A second iron gate led to the street.
A Mossad Humvee sat just outside the gate. It was outfitted for war, with bulletproof plates on the roof, doors, and undercarriage.
Two more Mossad agents lay unconscious on the ground beside it.
Dante came racing down from the hill above, clutching one of the agent’s guns in his hands.
Charlie ran to meet him and grasped him tightly in a hug. “You’re alive!” she exclaimed.
Dante was caught off guard by her sudden display of emotion. He was relieved to see that she was all right, but he was also worried about the Mossad. So he gave her a quick, perfunctory hug in return, then said, “We have to get out of here. I’m going to need you to drive.”
“Me?” Charlie asked, startled.
“I trust you more to drive than to shoot,” Dante said. “And we’re going to need to shoot. They’ll be coming for us.” He slapped the keys into her hand and ran for the Humvee.
Charlie didn’t ask any more questions. She could already hear Semel and the Mossad on the move in the excavation pit, aware that Dante was no longer aiming a gun at them. Semel was shouting in Hebrew, probably on the phone or a radio with other agents. “I need the backup team at the pit now! The Americans are escaping!”
Dante shot a quick glance at Milana as they ran for the Humvee.
“It’s good to see you’re alive,” she said.
“It’s good to see you too,” he replied.
Charlie leapt into the front seat, brushed the hair back from her eyes, and started the Humvee. Dante climbed into the passenger seat while Milana got in the back. There was another gun waiting for her there, from one of the unconscious Mossad agents, Charlie figured.
“This isn’t going to be pretty,” she warned her brother, then floored the gas. The big car took a moment to respond, and then it leapt forward faster than she’d expected. Charlie flattened a road sign and two bicycles parked beside it before getting the Humvee under control.
Behind them, two mo
re Humvees swerved onto the street and took up the chase. More Mossad agents coming after them.
The part of Jerusalem they were in now was quite different from the part Charlie had seen before. The area between the university and the Old City had been upscale and cosmopolitan, with wide streets and new buildings and fancy restaurants. This area was much poorer, with ramshackle houses piled on top of one another. The narrow, twisting streets were clogged with cheap secondhand cars, stray dogs, and young boys playing barefoot.
Charlie would have had a hard time driving a regular car in such a place, but the Humvee was more like a tank: big, heavy, and too wide for the roads. Charlie knocked the driver’s side mirrors off three cars and shaved the bumpers off two more before she had even gone a block.
The pursuing Humvees paused outside the excavation site just long enough for Semel and some of his agents to leap inside and then took up the chase again.
At that very moment, the Muslim call to prayer began playing over loudspeakers throughout the community, echoing off the hills. The locals instantly stopped what they were doing and responded to the call, prostrating themselves on the sidewalks to pray.
“What happened to you?” Milana asked Dante. “We thought you were . . . well . . .”
“Dead?” Dante asked. “I thought so too. Back at the safe house. But the Furies pulled back and went after you. I tried to follow them, but I lost them—and you.”
A hail of bullets ricocheted off the rear fender. Milana fired back as Charlie slewed around a hairpin turn. The next street had cars parked on both sides; there wasn’t quite enough room for the Humvee to fit between them. Charlie had no choice but to gun the engine and force her way through. The Humvee knocked the cars aside like they were toys, smashing them into the houses built beside the road.
