by [Kamal
“Whatever you say.”
“A young Fatah recruit was given the job. His name was Omar Shaath.”
Ben felt himself quiver, understanding quite clearly now why his relationship with the commander had been doomed from the start.
“Thank you,” he managed.
Al-Asi straightened his tie. “Save your thanks. Just send me a suit when you return to the States.”
Ben drove back to the old police building and sat down at his desk, intending to find a way to contact Mayor Sumaya. Suddenly the phone rang. He snatched up the receiver, expecting Shaath to be on the other end.
“Hello.”
But the voice that responded was not Shaath’s at all. Ben started to feel queasy as he listened without comment, sinking into his chair. He was still holding the receiver against his ear well after the click signaled the connection had been broken.
The people behind all of this had Danielle!
His instructions were to proceed to a rendezvous point in Israel or she would be killed . . . and if he showed up, he would be killed too. He was out of his league here; they knew it and he knew it.
Ben gazed down the hall, ready to call desperately for al-Asi. But the major was gone and, in any event, had done everything he could do. Ben needed to find someone who could do more.
He pounded the switchhook until the dial tone returned, then dialed a number he had committed to memory just three days before.
“Yeah?” a craggy voice answered.
“I need your help, Colonel,” said Ben.
* * * *
Chapter 55
C
olonel FrankBrickland approachedthe checkpointcasually, as if the Israeli soldier glaring through the windshield was his own private guard.
“Keep cool, hoss. This is gonna be the easiest part of the day. Fun don’t start until later.”
In the backseat, Yousef Shifa shifted his huge bulk uneasily.
“And tell King Kong back there to relax.”
“I speak English,” the big man reminded him.
“Just making sure.”
Their car snailed on, the soldier’s outstretched hand signaling it to stop.
“They want to talk,” Ben had told Brickland nearly two hours earlier when the colonel had picked him up outside the old police building. “They gave me a time and place to meet.”
“And if you don’t show, they’ll kill her. I recognize the scenario. No points for originality here.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Where’s the rendezvous set?”
“The amphitheater in Caesarea.”
“Wise choice, one I might’ve made myself. Closed on three sides, the Mediterranean not too far off on the fourth. You must have earned their respect.”
“I don’t find that very comforting.”
“Then try this: it’s your lucky day, hoss. It’s a good thing I stayed in town, after all.”
“What are you really doing here, Colonel?”
“Right now, saving your girlfriend’s ass.”
“And what about for the last week?”
“Story about my son starting to wear a little thin, hoss?” Brickland had asked with a smile.
“As tissue paper.”
“Surprised you bought it for as long as you did.”
“That was the gullible side of me.”
“And what’s this?”
“The pissed-offside.”
“At me?”
“Depends on what brought you to Jericho.”
“A job,” Brickland said succinctly, leaving it at that.
“You’re after the second killer and whoever’s behind him. Something like this is what you were hoping for all along. You used me—and Danielle—to flush them out for you, because you couldn’t do it on your own.”
“Ouch.”
“Who are you working for on this, Colonel? Who’s signing your checks?”
“Cash only in my business, hoss, and right now you’d be best off concerning yourself with what I can do for you at the same time I complete my assignment. You want your girlfriend back; I want who’s got her. I’d say we got more going for us than most marriages.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Thing is, I’m the wild card in all this. We’ve got no reason to think they even know I’m here, never mind on your side.”
“You’re going to help me?”
“Been doing that all along, ‘case you forgot. I’m the one came up with Fasil’s fingerprints for you, started this whole game rolling. Looks like using you wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Everything I tell you, hoss, just like it was in a script. Third person would help the odds, if he’s good.”
“I’ve got someone in mind.”
* * * *
B
rickland had indeed been impressed upon meeting Yousef Shifa, nodding his satisfaction at Shifa’s size and obvious power.
“This is going to be dangerous,” Ben warned, holding nothing back from the big man.
“That is not a problem.”
“We may have to hurt some people,” Brickland added tersely, without missing a beat.
Shifa’s reply had been a smile stretched across his thick face. “That is not a problem either.”
* * * *
W
hen Brickland’s car reached the checkpoint, the guard waved him through after only a cursory look at his papers and paid not even a second glance to his passengers.
“You’re an amazing man, Colonel,” Ben complimented.
“Well, hoss, shit travels a long way, but wherever it lands it smells the same. Now, let’s go over your instructions again.”
“Enter the amphitheater, keeping my hands in plain view, and wait for them to approach.”
Brickland digested the information. “I figure there’ll be two, maybe three snipers zeroed in on you the whole time. Another reason why they chose the amphitheater for a meet.”
“That a problem?”
Brickland smirked. “Sure, for the snipers.” He glanced in the backseat at Shifa. “So how’d the two of you meet up, hoss?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Ben was halfway into the story of how he had found Shifa in the process of breaking up a restaurant, when Brickland began to chuckle and then laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Ben wondered.
“You just gave me an idea.”
* * * *
Chapter 56
B
en enteredthe amphitheaterin Caesareaas instructed,his hands in plain view. He checked his watch casually: fifteen minutes had passed since Brickland and Shifa had exited the car at the entrance to the parking lot on the chance that Danielle’s captors had placed spotters in the area.
“Should I give you time to get into position?” Ben had asked the colonel.
“You won’t have to. They’ll keep you waiting, make you sweat a little, hope you get nervous.”
“How will you know when—”
“Leave that to me and King Kong here,” Brickland interrupted.
And this time Shifa smiled at the use of his new nickname.
Ben looked at the big man one last time. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Why not?” Shifa had said, smiling. “I’ve done it before.”
“And when it’s over, do you remember what to do?”
“Call the editor Jabral. Explain you’ve got a story to tell him if he helps me.”
“Very good.”
Ben replayed that exchange in his head and began pacing about the front of the amphitheater’s circular stone floor. Black folding chairs had been laid out in neat rows before the stage, looking oddly out of place when compared to the ancient tiered seating that rimmed the theater in a semicircle. Especially considering that floor had once been the site of gladiator battles and lion fights.
The
amphitheater was one of the showplaces of Caesarea, itself one of Israel’s greatest archaelogical treasures. Comprised of wondrously restored ruins of the Crusader City, an aqueduct, and the remains of an ancient Jewish settlement, Caesarea sits on the shore of the Mediterranean. Ben could hear the waves from where he was standing, though view of the sea was partially blocked off by fortified walls that had once protected the residents.
He checked his watch again. Ten more minutes had passed. Ben couldn’t resist gazing up at the stone seats that climbed toward light towers utilized for nighttime events, wondering where the snipers Brickland was expecting were posted. A quartet of exit portals were strategically placed amid the seating, leading down into the labyrinthine underbelly of the amphitheater. He couldn’t see the touristy Via Maris restaurant from here, but knew Yousef Shifa would already be inside, waiting for Brickland’s unspoken signal: a bullet through an out-of-the-way window, once the colonel had incapacitated the snipers.
Ben swung back toward the front at the sound of footsteps crunching gravel. Two groups of men approached from opposite sides of the theater, three in each. The group on the right was led by a big man who was holding Danielle leisurely at the elbow, like an old friend.
A chill passed through Ben, as the big man drew closer. He felt as if he were watching the ghost of al-Diib coming for him, then noticed the scar that looked like an exclamation point on the left side of the man’s face when he stopped ten feet away, shoving Danielle even with the center of the stage between them.
“Pull your shirt out, hold it up, and turn around with your hands in the air,” the big man who looked like the Wolf ordered. And Ben realized a number of the others were holding pistols now, low by their hips, concealed from any tourist who might happen by.
“What’s it going to take for you to let the woman go?” Ben asked as he complied with his instructions.
“My orders are to deliver you both.”
“To whom?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Danielle spoke, eyes darting between the big man and Ben. “Someone from the Israeli right wing, no doubt, who cares nothing for peace.”
“It would be difficult to maintain the peace if you don’t eliminate the butchers who are against it.”
“I’m glad you believe in what you’ve done,” Danielle snapped back sarcastically.
“We all believe.”
“Pity Pakad Barnea and I cut your work short,” Ben told him.
“We eliminated one of our primary targets and two members of his cell. We put a stop to Mohammed Fasil’s reign of terror.”
“Then why bother with us now?” Danielle wondered.
“Because you wouldn’t drop it, neither of you.”
“We’ve got our reasons. You may have stopped Fasil, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped the operation he kept coming to Jericho to implement.”
“That is not our concern.”
“It should be,” Ben said, knowing Brickland wasn’t in position yet. “I think terrorists are about to purchase part of Russia’s Cold War stockpile. We’re not talking about rifles and bullets here; we’re talking about nuclear materials. Huge sums of money have already been transferred. It’s a done deal. All that’s left is for Fasil to take delivery or arrange a pickup. I can prove it.”
The big man didn’t respond right away, which gave Ben time to study Danielle’s response to his revelation. Initially it seemed she thought he was bluffing, but now a clear look of shock covered her features.
“You’ll have to prove it to my superiors,” the big man said suddenly.
“Bullshit!” Danielle blared. “You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know how operations like this work? We’ll be killed as soon as you get us where we’re going, maybe even en route. There aren’t any ‘superiors’ waiting.”
“Would you prefer we just kill you here?”
“It’s as good as anyplace.”
Ben watched the big man tense and realized his attention had strayed to a sudden rush of Israeli security personnel toward the Via Maris restaurant. Brickland must have given Yousef Shifa the signal! Ben could almost picture the big man inside breaking the place up, just as he had done on the morning Ben had first met him. Brickland’s strategy was having precisely the effect the colonel had been counting on by drawing Israeli forces away from the amphitheater.
“Drop your weapons,” Ben said suddenly.
The big man looked ready to laugh.
“This is your last chance,” Ben added.
The big man was about to say something when the man on his immediate left collapsed, followed by the man on his right. Ben barreled into Danielle and took her to the rubble-strewn ground, aware now of the soft spits echoing faintly in the wind
The spits increased in frequency as the men twisted in toward the stone seating enclosing them, firing wildly. The Wolf’s near twin had hit the ground and was crawling amid the black chairs, barking orders into a walkie-talkie, to his snipers no doubt. Ben could hear the fear creep into his voice when there was no reply, the snipers having been dispatched by Frank Brickland.
The other figures had scattered now, pistols clacking wildly and inefficiently, carving harmless chunks from the structure of the stone amphitheater.
“Let’s go!” Ben said to Danielle, Brickland’s covering fire slackening slightly as the colonel stayed on the move to keep the enemy from getting a fix on his position.
Ben and Danielle reached the stone seating and bounded up the tiers as bullets coughed stone and rubble around them. They darted into a portal poised over the lower section of seats, ducking when a shower of debris exploded just over their heads. Then they plunged into the cool darkness that made up the guts of the amphitheater and followed a spiraling ramplike path that wound downward. The floor leveled off and the feeling of being trapped in a maze struck them. The light dimmed, precious little able to sneak through the air holes and cracks in the structure.
They slowed at the sound of echoing footsteps. The confines made it impossible to tell where they were coming from. All they could do was continue along and hope they belonged to Brickland.
Danielle passed under the threshold leading into an inner lobby just ahead of Ben. She registered a flash of motion before something got hold of her head and slammed her against the wall. She felt like a rag doll, splayed against it, her grasp on the world lost as Abu Garib’s near twin steadied his gun on Ben.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this hard,” the killer snarled, hesitating long enough to decide which of them to shoot first.
“I’ll say,” Ben heard a familiar voice say from behind him.
The big man spun, swinging his gun around.
God, he’s fast, Ben thought.
But Frank Brickland was faster. He squeezed off six shots to a single one the big man fired errantly skyward. The bullets drove the Israeli backward and tumbled him onto the gravel floor, a cloud of yellow dirt and dust rising in his wake.
Brickland wedged the pistol back into his belt and looked from Danielle to Ben, shaking his head.
“What was that boy thinking ...”
* * * *
Chapter 57
T
hey reached the parking lot together, sprinting. Brickland took point, a fresh clip snapped into his rifle, switch turned to automatic now. Israeli troops, distracted for a time by Shifa’s antics in the restaurant, converged upon them.
“Go! Go! Go!” Brickland ordered, swinging around to open fire on the troops as they reached the car.
His bullets were fired errantly, meant only to hold them back long enough to facilitate their escape.
Danielle lunged into the backseat, while Ben and the colonel hurled themselves into the front through a hail of bullets that dug pockmarks in the car’s frame.
“Stay down!” Brickland ordered, the windows exploding around him.
He gunned the engine and screeched off, just as reinforcements tore into the parking lot. Brickland tore righ
t past them, doing sixty by the time he hit the road and ninety just seconds after that. He didn’t use the brakes until they hurtled into the parking lot of the Dan Caesarea Hotel several miles down the road.
