The Peace Killers

by Ty Patterson

  ‘I got that, ma’am. I get why you need dirt on him, but why me?’

  The ambassador laughed. ‘You, Zeb Carter, are the FBI’s Special Investigator, looking into the Haber family’s suspected money laundering.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Jerusalem

  Five days after Assassinations

  Six days to Announcement

  * * *

  Jaedon Haber was short, stocky and white-haired. His black suit fit him poorly, but he didn’t seem to be one interested in sartorial elegance. He wasn’t a man who stood still. He paced, he waved his hands, he grimaced.

  ‘Ambassador,’ he greeted Alice Monash with a firm shake of the hand, ‘it is an honor to meet you.’ His belligerent voice indicated it was anything but an honor. He ignored Zeb; clearly, anyone who looked like an underling was of no interest to the politician.

  Alice Monash greeted him and began to make small talk. The politician wasn’t interested. He cut her off with a shake of his head.

  ‘You asked to meet me, Ambassador, at short notice. Can we get down to it?’

  ‘We can,’ she said, and just then the door opened to admit Prime Minister Yago Cantor.

  ‘Yago, I didn’t know you would be here.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to be, Jaedon, but when Alice summons, who am I to refuse?’ He shook the ambassador’s hand and cast a quizzical look at Zeb.

  ‘If you’re here to persuade me to support the prime minister,’ Haber snapped, his brows twitching angrily, ‘you have wasted your time, Ambassador. I intend to table a no-confidence motion in—’

  ‘Jaedon, surely we can talk—’ the prime minister interrupted.

  ‘Talk!’ the One Israel leader flared. ‘That’s what has gotten us to this state. If you hadn’t initiated those talks, those Palestinians wouldn’t be dead.’

  ‘You want us to keep fighting with them? With our neighbors? Forever?’

  ‘They’re the ones who are bombing our people.’

  ‘Enough!’ Alice Monash’s voice was steel. Her eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Haber, these negotiations will proceed whether you like them or not. The United States supports them fully. So do the British, the French and numerous other governments.’

  ‘In that case, this government will fall. I have enough support to enable that,’ the party leader said, wagging his finger menacingly.

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Who’s stopping me?’

  ‘I am. Or rather, the FBI. This man,’ the ambassador nodded her head in Zeb’s direction, ‘is investigating your family. They believe you and your uncle are laundering money. You stifled a previous investigation. If you persist—’

  ‘LIES!’ Haber thundered. An aide poked his head into the room and withdrew it hastily when four heads turned in his direction. ‘My uncle runs a clean business. You are misusing your position, Ambassador, with these threats. I will write to the president immediately. I will ask him to remove you from your position.’

  ‘Zeb,’ Meghan whispered. ‘We have found an account in the Caymans. Connected to the Habers. We haven’t checked the money trail in and out of it, but it looks shady.’

  ‘Mr. Haber,’ Zeb uttered his first words since entering the room.

  Everyone fell silent and looked at him.

  ‘This number mean anything to you?’ he recited a ten-digit figure.

  The One Israel party leader blanched. His fingers trembled.

  ‘You and your uncle are signatories to that account. You should have covered your trail better.’

  ‘How did you—’ Haber started to bluster.

  ‘Enough,’ Zeb said coldly. ‘You’re done talking. It’s time to listen to the Ambassador.’

  * * *

  An hour later, Alice Monash and Zeb were alone with the prime minister in another room. Cantor looked weary and yet relieved as he sipped the coffee an aide served them.

  Haber had heard the ambassador out and nodded just once before leaving the room, a broken man.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Alice. One Israel has been a thorn in my side for quite some time. But it isn’t the only one. You need to work your magic with my other coalition partners and then do the same with President Baruti’s.’

  ‘One win at a time, Yago.’ Alice Monash raised her cup in a silent toast.

  ‘How did you wrangle that?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she replied drily, ‘the FBI did.’

  Cantor looked at Zeb, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed on his chest.

  ‘FBI, huh? What’s your name, agent?’

  Zeb straightened and grabbed the card dangling from the lanyard. Rookie mistake. I should have looked at the name the ambassador made out for me.

  ‘Tom,’ Alice Monash spared him his blushes. ‘Special Agent Tom Brown.’

  ‘Tom Brown,’ Cantor’s eyes twinkled. ‘That’s an original name. I have to say, Alice, I haven’t come across any FBI agent looking like him.’

  He’s right. I’m wearing jeans and a jacket.

  ‘Especially one who speaks Hebrew like him. Like a native of Israel.’

  He kept looking at Zeb, his gaze sharpening. ‘Agent Brown … you must know Avichai Levin well.’

  ‘Levin, sir? I don’t know anyone by that name.’

  The prime minister looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded to himself once. ‘Now I know,’ he said mysteriously and turned to the ambassador. ‘When are your next meetings, Alice?’

  ‘Right away. We need to get going.’

  * * *

  It was nearing five pm by the time they headed back to the hotel. They had met two more leaders, and with each of them, the ambassador had been firm. Their parties needed to support the prime minister, or else face the wrath of the United States. Both leaders had caved in without Special Agent Tom Brown needing to speak a word.

  ‘The next one won’t be this easy,’ Alice Monash told Zeb as they turned into the hotel’s drive. ‘We’ll be meeting Omet Zeev, leader of the Jewish Party of Israel. I’ll need you to find anything you can get on him.’

  ‘Ma’am, you didn’t need to come to us for this. There are enough agencies back home to help you.’

  ‘Yeah. But none who will work this fast. And none whom I know so well.’

  Zeb didn’t reply. He knew Clare and Alice Monash were good friends. In any case, Clare has asked me to help her. Directive from the president.

  ‘Wish me luck, Zeb.’ The ambassador stepped out of the vehicle and adjusted her suit jacket. ‘The negotiators are nervous. They follow the news. They know the political situation in both countries is tense.’

  ‘Sweet-talk them, ma’am. If that doesn’t do the job … Special Agent Tom Brown is available.’

  * * *

  ‘Is everyone in place?’ Abdul Masih asked. He was in his ambulance, heading toward the hotel. His lieutenant was next to him, the grenade launcher in the rear.

  ‘Yes, sayidi,’ came a voice over his cell phone. ‘You give the signal and the suicide bombers will drive. The fighters will follow.’

  ‘How many of them?’

  ‘Four in the car. A dozen gunmen.’

  ‘Remember, both teams have to act only on my signal, not before.’

  ‘They will, sayidi.’

  * * *

  Magal parked their car between a Ford and a Peugeot. He stepped out and joined Shiri on the pavement. Both were in disguise. Long hair falling to their shoulders, colorful shirts over jeans, padding in their cheeks and around their waists. They didn’t look anything like lean Mossad operatives.

  The two looked at the hotel. They could see a few armed guards outside, as was the case with all hotels on Emek Refaim. From their earlier surveillance they knew more security would be present inside.

  If the handler’s intel is right.

  ‘It will be,’ Shiri replied, and only then realized he had spoken aloud.

  The two men walked quickly without drawing attention to themselves. They scanned the various vehicles o
n the street, both parked and rolling. No one looked at them.

  An ambulance jostled behind a bus and parked behind another hospital vehicle. A car door opened and slammed shut somewhere, the sound loud.

  ‘He’s there,’ Shiri spoke from the side of his mouth. ‘That man we saw with the ambassador.’

  Magal looked in the direction his partner was discreetly pointing.

  Yes, there he was. The American, if he was that. Leaning against a vehicle, talking to someone inside, hands crossed across his chest, facing the hotel.

  ‘Should we proceed?’ Shiri asked.

  ‘Yes, we should go.’

  * * *

  ‘Go!’ Masih shouted in his cell phone.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Jerusalem

  Five days after Assassinations

  Six days to Announcement

  * * *

  ‘We’re behind you, third car in the line,’ Meghan directed Zeb. She and Beth had rented an SUV and driven to the hotel to meet him there.

  A Range Rover. Good choice. It would be noticeable but was sturdy and would withstand wear. Not that I am expecting any action.

  Beth saluted him from the passenger seat and bent her head back to the screen on her lap. It was always that way. Meghan drove, Beth the passenger.

  ‘You got any kidon work done?’ he leaned in through the window and fist-bumped Meghan.

  ‘Not much,’ she grunted in disappointment. ‘Your last request, to find something on Omet Zeev, took time. We didn’t find much on him. A few bank accounts in a few places. But he has a mistress,’ her eyes danced. ‘In Tel Aviv. He visits her every week.’

  ‘That will be useful,’ Zeb said automatically as he scanned the lines of vehicles. All but the Range Rover seemed to be empty. No, that ambulance there. Movement inside it. He shrugged. An EMS vehicle was of no use if it was unattended. The police will surely have checked it out.

  ‘You’re expecting trouble?’ Beth sensed his unease.

  ‘Nope. But I wish the ambassador stopped coming here. There are too many targets under one roof in there.’

  I don’t like this location. The two hotels have a common carpark, which is okay. It is in the basement, which is good. But the entry and exit are on the same side as the street entrance.

  A dark opening to the right of the negotiators’ hotel was the parking lot’s approach.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Meghan drawled, ‘on the other operatives: Werner cracked all of Meir’s files. It turns out he has location-tracking activated on it and carried the machine with him on missions. He’s clear, too.’

  ‘I’ll still talk to him.’ Zeb was still looking at the hotel, the street, traffic, taking in security arrangements.

  Two men strolled past him, their heads bent, turned away from him. He stifled a smile when he noticed their shirts. It’s not Hawaii. But what do I know about current-day fashion?

  Three armed guards were at each hotel’s entrance. There was thick evening traffic on Emek Refaim. Office workers heading home.

  ‘You’re wearing armor?’

  ‘Always.’ Beth shut down her screen and looked at her sister, who raised her shoulders and shook her head. Zeb’s disquiet was rubbing off on them.

  It was a faint tickle at the base of Zeb’s spine. A premonition. Over the years he had learned to pay attention to it. Often, it turned out to be nothing. But on a few occasions, it had meant the arrival of a hostile presence.

  Can’t spot anything off here. I am jumpy. And tired. Nothing more than that.

  An engine revved in the distance. Some car enthusiast.

  He watched as the car came racing down Emek Refaim, finding gaps in traffic, squeezing through it. French make, dark windows, the windshield reflecting light, preventing him from seeing who was inside. He could make out heads bobbing inside.

  Looks like three or four people.

  He and the twins were to the left of the hotel’s entrance. The car was approaching them, no flashers lighting up. He turned his attention away and leaned against the Range Rover, crossed his arms.

  ‘You want to hear a joke?’ Beth attempted to lighten his mood.

  ‘Go on.’

  The car roared. It overtook a slower moving vehicle, dangerously. Angry honks sounded. Curses flew in the air.

  It didn’t go straight on.

  It turned in to the hotel, tires squealing.

  The security guards straightened. A doorman came running out, hands outstretched. He went down, his body jerking when an assault rifle appeared in the vehicle’s window and chattered.

  Zeb’s breath escaped him in shock. He stood motionless for a moment, watching the car race toward the entrance. The three armed men at the glass doors fired and then went down as more rifles burst from the car and shot at them.

  ‘Follow me.’ He snapped out of his shock, training and experience taking over.

  He knew what the occupants of the car planned. It came out of a Middle Eastern terrorist’s textbook.

  He sprinted toward the hotel on the left, drawing his Glock out.

  ‘Get away,’ he yelled at the men in the flowery shirts and fired at the vehicle.

  The car kept going. It shuddered and rattled as it climbed the steps, but didn’t stop.

  Zeb heard footsteps behind him. Snapped a quick glance behind. The sisters, faces intent, sprinting.

  Screams from the street. Yells and shouts.

  That’s Arabic! He spun on a heel and his gut clenched.

  About a dozen armed men had exploded out of parked cars. They were in long, loose robes, all chanting, turning their weapons to the hotel, firing indiscriminately.

  A car packed with explosives—he was sure of that—behind him, killers facing him.

  Sight was action.

  The sisters fanned out, clearing his firing line. They kept shooting at the car, still running toward the hotel.

  Zeb snapped several shots at the oncoming gunmen. Two fell. Some turned their attention toward him and the sisters, but the majority were firing at the hotel’s glass doors, murderous rage in their eyes.

  Zeb ducked when a round whizzed past. He swerved and ran toward the wall separating the two courtyards. The sisters followed him.

  He leapt across the divider, lost his balance and fell.

  And that saved him. A round smacked into concrete, passing through the air he had occupied. He rolled and kept moving. And then he was up, running toward the dark entrance of the parking lot.

  ‘Why there?’ Meghan yelled.

  ‘That’s where the ambassador, the negotiators will be evacuated.’

  Yells behind him. He took a long step, whirled in the air to look back, saw a few shooters follow, snapped off shots and then he was landing, gathering his balance and dashing toward the cover of the car park.

  It was darker inside. Ceiling lights casting a glow. Several vehicles. All seemed empty.

  Meghan and Beth separated. Took positions. One sister behind a concrete pillar, the other crouching behind a vehicle. Aiming, shooting down the approaching terrorists.

  Zeb moved from vehicle to vehicle, checking that each one was empty. There was a door to the elevators in the distance. It burst open even as he watched. Two armed men burst through. They spotted him, raised their weapons.

  ‘MOSSAD,’ he shouted instinctively in his command voice. ‘You are police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s the situation.’

  A loud whump silenced them all.

  The building shook. The ground trembled. Cars shuddered, their alarms going off. Dust fell from the ceiling. A chunk of concrete loosened and fell on a car.

  Zeb looked back at Meghan. Her eyes were dark, haunted. As was Beth’s.

  They all knew what had happened.

  The car bomb had exploded in the adjacent building.

  A very powerful one. Even this hotel shook.

  ‘Keep watch outside,’ he told the sisters. ‘You,’ he directed the guards. ‘keep that door
open. Stand on either side of it. Any hostile shows, shoot without question.’

  They nodded, accepting his orders without question.

  ‘You have radio contact with the other security personnel?’

  ‘Lost it a few moments back.’

  ‘Go!’

  The officers positioned themselves next to the elevator’s entrance.

  Zeb thought quickly, working out threat vectors and defense positions. The negotiators would be well protected, as would the ambassador. There would be contingency plans for just such an event. Security teams would bring them to the parking lot and exfil would be by armored vehicles.

  Or so I hope.

  He checked his cell phone. No signal.

  ‘Beth, Meghan, you have enough mags?’

  ‘Yeah,’ the younger sister replied, ‘enough to last a war.’

  ‘Injuries?’

  ‘Nah. We can outrun a bullet.’

  ‘You came close, didn’t you? To catching one,’ Meghan asked in concern.

  He didn’t reply. He went to the entrance and peered out. No movement. Three fallen bodies, not far away.

  The cops will be coming soon. IDF teams as well. Those fighters have no chance. What if, he turned cold, they don’t find the negotiators in that hotel? And they won’t. Unless they know about the passage.

  They’ll take hostages, he answered himself. They might shoot indiscriminately.

  Or they might know about that passage. There would be a firefight in any case.

  ‘Cover me,’ he told the sisters and crouched low, running toward the bodies.

  He grabbed their weapons and mags. He was turning back when a head popped over the wall.

  Hostile!

  No time to aim.

  He threw himself down on his back and sprayed rounds. The head disappeared.

  A barrage of fire came from behind him, pinning down the attacker, if he was still alive.