The rapist is weakest at two points, the words of the instructor rang in her mind. The words were so strong, the woman had been so sure of herself, so in control that Andrea felt new strength. When he takes off your clothes and when he takes off his. If you’re lucky and he takes his off first, take advantage of it.
With one hand, Torres undid his belt and his camouflage trousers fell to his ankles. Andrea could see his erect member, hard and menacing.
Wait until he leans over you.
The mercenary leaned over Andrea, searching for the fastening on her trousers. His rough beard scratched the back of her neck, and that was the signal she needed. She lifted her left arm suddenly, shifting all her weight to her right side. Taken by surprise, Torres let go of Andrea’s right arm and she tumbled to the right. The Colombian tripped on his trousers and fell forward, hitting the ground hard. He tried to get up, but Andrea was on her feet first. She gave him three swift kicks to the stomach, taking care that the soldier didn’t grab her ankle and make her fall. The kicks found their mark and when Torres tried to roll into a ball to protect himself, he left a much more sensitive place open to attack.
Thank you, God. I never get tired of doing this, the youngest and only female of five siblings confessed silently as she pulled back her foot before blasting Torres’s testicles. His scream bounced off the canyon walls.
‘Let’s keep this between us,’ Andrea said. ‘Now we’re even.’
‘I’m gonna get you, you bitch. I’m going to get you so bad you’re going to choke on my dick,’ Torres whined, almost crying.
‘On second thoughts…’ Andrea began. She had reached the edge of the terrace and was about to climb down but she turned quickly and ran a few steps, aiming her foot once more between Torres’s legs. It was useless for him to try to cover up with his hands. This time there was even more force behind the kick and Torres was left gasping for breath, his face red and two big tears running down his cheeks.
‘Now we’re really good and even.’
43
THE EXCAVATION
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Friday, 14 July 2006. 9:43 p.m.
Andrea returned to the camp as fast as she could without running. She didn’t look back nor did she worry about her ripped clothing until she approached the row of tents. She felt a strange kind of shame about what had happened, mixed with the fear that someone would find out about her interfering with the frequency scanner. She attempted to look as normal as possible, despite the fact her T-shirt was hanging off her, and headed over towards the infirmary. Luckily she didn’t run into anyone. As she was about to enter the tent, she ran into Kyra Larsen, who was carrying her belongings out.
‘What’s going on, Kyra?’
The archaeologist gave her a cold look.
‘You didn’t even have the decency to show up at the hesped for Stowe. I guess it doesn’t matter. You didn’t know him. For you he was just a nobody, right? That’s why you didn’t even care that it’s your fault he died.’
Andrea was about to reply that other things had kept her away, but she doubted Kyra would understand so she said nothing.
‘I don’t know what you’re up to,’ Kyra went on, barging past her. ‘You know very well that the doctor wasn’t in her bed that night. She may have fooled everyone else, but not me. I’m going to sleep with the rest of the team. There’s an empty cot, thanks to you.’
Andrea was happy to see her go – she wasn’t in the mood for any more confrontations and in her heart she agreed with every one of Kyra’s words. Guilt had played an important part in her Catholic education, and sins of omission were as persistent and painful as any other.
She went into the tent and saw Dr Harel, who turned away. It was obvious that she had had an argument with Larsen.
‘I’m glad you’re all right. We were worried about you.’
‘Turn around, Doc. I know you’ve been crying.’
Harel faced her, rubbing her reddened eyes.
‘It’s silly really. A simple secretion from tear glands and yet we all feel embarrassed about it.’
‘A lie is more embarrassing.’
Then the doctor noticed Andrea’s ripped clothing, something that Larsen, in her anger, seemed to have overlooked, or hadn’t bothered to comment on.
‘What happened to you?’
‘I fell down the stairs. Don’t change the subject. I know who you are.’
Harel chose each of her words carefully.
‘What do you know?’
‘I know that combat medicine is highly regarded by Mossad, or so it seems. And that your emergency substitution was not as big a coincidence as you told me.’
The doctor frowned, then went over to Andrea, who was rummaging around in her rucksack for something clean to wear.
‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Andrea. I’m only a low-ranking analyst, not a field agent. My government wants to have eyes and ears on every archaeological expedition that’s after the Ark of the Covenant. This is the third one I’ve been on in seven years.’
‘Are you really a doctor? Or is that a lie too?’ Andrea said as she slipped into another T-shirt.
‘I’m a doctor.’
‘And how is it that you get along so well with Fowler? Because I’ve also found out that he’s a CIA agent, in case you didn’t know.’
‘She already knew, and you owe me an explanation,’ Fowler said.
He was standing near the door, frowning but relieved after having looked for Andrea all afternoon.
‘Bullshit,’ Andrea said, pointing her finger at the priest, who stepped back surprised. ‘I almost died from the heat under that platform, and on top of that, one of Dekker’s dogs just tried to rape me. I’m in no mood to talk to the two of you. At least not yet.’
Fowler touched Andrea’s arm, noticing the bruises on her wrists.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Better than ever,’ she said, pushing the hand away. The last thing she wanted was male contact.
‘Ms Otero, did you hear the soldiers’ conversation while you were under the platform?’
‘What the hell were you doing there?’ a shocked Harel interrupted.
‘I sent her. She was helping me break up the frequency scanner so I could call my contact in Washington.’
‘I would have liked to have been informed, Father,’ Harel said.
Fowler lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper.
‘We need information and we’re not going to get it trapped inside this bubble. Or do you think that I don’t know you slip away every night to send text messages to Tel Aviv?’
‘Touché,’ Harel said, pulling a face.
Was that what you were up to, Doc? Andrea wondered, biting her lower lip and trying to work out what to do. Maybe I was wrong and I should trust you after all. I hope so, because there’s no other choice.
‘Fine, Father. I’ll tell you both what I heard…’
44
FOWLER AND HAREL
‘We have to get her out of here,’ whispered the priest.
The shadows of the canyon surrounded them, and the only sounds came from the mess tent, where members of the expedition had begun eating their supper.
‘I don’t see how, Father. I thought of stealing one of the Hummers, but we’d have to get it over that dune. And I don’t think we would get far. What if we told everyone in the group what’s really going on here?’
‘Suppose we could do that and they believed us… what good would it do?’
In the darkness, Harel fought back a moan of rage and impotence.
‘The only thing I can think of is the same answer you gave me yesterday about the mole: wait and see.’
‘There is one way,’ Fowler said. ‘But it’ll be dangerous, and I’ll need your help.’
‘You can count on me, Father. But first explain to me what this Ypsilon protocol is.’
‘It’s a procedure by which a security detail assassinates all the member
s of a group they’re supposed to protect, if the code word comes over the radio. They kill everybody except the person who hired them and anyone he says should be left alone.’
‘I don’t understand how something like that can exist.’
‘Officially it doesn’t. But a few soldiers in mercenary outfits who were in Special Forces, for example, imported the concept from Asian countries.’
Harel stood very still for a moment.
‘Is there any way of knowing who’s included?’
‘No,’ the priest said weakly. ‘And the worst part is that the person who contracts the military detail is always different to the one who is supposed to be in charge.’
‘Then Kayn…’ Harel said, opening her eyes.
‘Exactly, Doctor. Kayn isn’t the one who wants us dead. It’s someone else.’
45
THE EXCAVATION
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Saturday, 15 July 2006. 2:34 a.m.
At first, there was absolute stillness in the infirmary tent. With Kyra Larsen sleeping with the other assistants, the breathing of the remaining two women was the only thing that could be heard.
After a while there was a light scratching. It was the Hawnvëiler zip, the most hermetic and secure in the world. Not even dust could penetrate, but nothing could prevent an intruder’s access once it had been unzipped twenty inches or so.
What followed was a series of faint sounds: stockinged feet on the wood; the pop of a small plastic box being opened; then an even fainter but more menacing sound: that of twenty-four nervous keratin legs scurrying around inside the little box.
Then there followed a discrete silence because the movements were almost inaudible to the human ear: the partly opened end of a sleeping bag being lifted up, the twenty-four little legs landing on the cloth inside, the end of the cloth being returned to its original position, covering the owners of those twenty-four small legs.
For the next seven seconds, breathing once again dominated the silence. The sliding of the stockinged feet leaving the tent was even quieter than before, and the prowler didn’t close the zip when he left. The movement that Andrea made inside the sleeping bag was so brief that it hardly produced a sound. It was, however, enough to provoke the visitors to her sleeping bag into discharging their anger and confusion after being shaken about so much by the prowler before he entered the tent.
The first sting drilled into her and Andrea shattered the silence with her screams.
46
Al Qaeda Training Manual Found By Scotland Yard in a Hideout Pages 131 and following. Translated By WM and SA [1] .
Military studies for the Jihad against tyranny
In the name of Allah, the merciful and the compassionate […]
Chapter 14: Kidnappings and Assassinations Using Rifles and Pistols
It is better to choose a revolver, because even though it has fewer bullets than an automatic pistol, it doesn’t jam and the empty cartridges remain in the cylinder, making it more difficult for investigators.
[…]
Critical parts of the body
The gunman should be familiar with the essential parts on the body or [where] to wound critically in order to aim at these areas on the individual who is to be assassinated. They are:
1. The circle that includes the two eyes, the nose and the mouth is a fatal area, and the gunman should not aim below or to the left or right or he risks having the bullet fail to kill
2. The part of the neck where the arteries and veins meet
3. The heart
4. The stomach
5. The liver
6. The kidneys
7. The spinal column
Principles and Rules for Firing
The biggest mistakes in aiming are due to physical stress or nerves, which can make the hand jump or shake. This can be caused by putting too much pressure on the trigger or by pulling on the trigger instead of squeezing it. This makes the muzzle of the gun shift away from the target.
For that reason, the brothers should follow these rules when aiming and firing:
1. Control yourself when you squeeze the trigger so the gun doesn’t move
2. Squeeze the trigger without too much force and without pulling on it
3. Do not let the sound of the shot affect you and do not concentrate on what it will sound like because that will make your hand shake
4. Your body should be normal, not tense, and your limbs relaxed; but not too relaxed
5. When you fire, line up your right eye with the centre of the target
6. Close your left eye if you fire with your right hand and vice versa
7. Do not take too long in aiming or your nerves may fail you
8. Do not feel regret in squeezing the trigger. You are killing an enemy of your God
47
WASHINGTON SUBURB
Friday, 14 July 2006. 8:34 p.m.
Nazim took a sip of Coke but immediately set it aside. It contained too much sugar, as did all the drinks in restaurants where you could refill your cup as many times as you wanted. The Mayur Kebab shop where he had bought dinner was one such place.
‘You know, I saw a documentary the other day about this guy who only ate hamburgers from McDonald’s for a month.’
‘That’s disgusting.’
Kharouf had his eyes half closed. He had been trying to fall asleep for a while but couldn’t. Ten minutes ago he had given up and tilted the car seat upright again. That Ford was too uncomfortable.
‘They said that his liver turned into pâté.’
‘That could only happen in the United States. The country with the fattest people in the world. You know it uses up to 87 per cent of the world’s resources.’
Nazim didn’t say anything. He had been born an American, but a different kind of American. He hadn’t learned to hate his country, even though his lips said otherwise. To him, Kharouf’s hatred of the United States seemed too all-encompassing. He would prefer to imagine the President kneeling and facing Mecca in the Oval Office than see the White House destroyed by fire. One time he had said something of the sort to Kharouf and Kharouf had shown him a CD containing photos of a small girl. They were photos of a crime scene.
‘The Israeli soldiers raped and killed her in Nablus. There isn’t enough hatred in the world for such a thing.’
Remembering the images made Nazim’s blood boil too, but he tried to keep such thoughts out of his head. In contrast to Kharouf, hatred was not the source of his energy. His motivations were selfish and twisted; they were about getting something for himself. His prize.
Days before, when they had gone into the offices of Netcatch, Nazim had barely been conscious of anything. In a certain way he felt bad because the two minutes they had spent wiping out the kafirun [2] had almost been erased from his head. He had tried to remember what had happened, but it was as if they were somebody else’s memories, like the crazy dreams in the chic-flicks his sister liked, in which the main character sees herself from the outside. Nobody has dreams in which they see themselves from the outside.
‘Kharouf.’
‘Talk to me.’
‘Remember what happened last Tuesday?’
‘Are you talking about the operation?’
‘Right.’
Kharouf looked at him, shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly.
‘Every detail.’
Nazim looked away because he felt ashamed of what he was going to say.
‘I… I don’t remember too much, you know?’
‘You should thank Allah, blessed be his name. The first time I killed someone I couldn’t sleep for a week.’
‘You?’
Nazim opened his eyes wide.
Kharouf tousled the young man’s hair playfully.
‘That’s right, Nazim. You’re a jihadist now and we’re equals. Don’t be so surprised that I went through tough times too. It’s sometimes hard to act as God’s sword. But you have been blessed with being able to forget the
ugly details. The only thing left for you is pride in what you’ve done.’
The young man felt much better than he had in the last few days. He was quiet for a while, saying a prayer of thanks. He felt the sweat trickling down his back but didn’t dare turn on the car’s engine so that he could put on the air-conditioning. The wait began to feel endless.
‘Are you sure he’s in there? I’m beginning to wonder,’ said Nazim, pointing to the wall that surrounded the estate. ‘Don’t you think we should look elsewhere?’
2Disbelievers, according to the Koran.
Kharouf thought for a moment, and then shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to look. How long did we follow him? A month? He only came here once, and was loaded down with packages. He went out with nothing in his hands. That house is empty. For all we know, it could belong to a friend and he was doing him a favour. But it’s the only link we have, and we have you to thank for finding it.’
This was true. On one of the days that Nazim had to follow Watson on his own, the guy had started acting strangely, switching lanes on the highway, and taking a route back home that was completely different to the one he usually took. Nazim had turned up the volume on the radio and imagined he was a character in Grand Theft Auto, the popular video game in which the main character is a criminal who has to carry out missions such as kidnapping, killing, drug dealing and fleecing prostitutes. There was a part of the game in which you had to follow a car that was trying to get away. It was one of his favourite parts, and what he had learned helped him in following Watson.
‘Do you think he knows about us?’
Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition Page 18
