Dead Heat

by Joel C. Rosenberg

  was how urgently the Bennetts needed to get to the Jordanian capital. What he and Erin did from there was their own business, not his.

  "Very well," the doctor said finally. "I will go along with you, and I will bring two of my best nurses, to make sure she has proper treatment." "No," Bennett said. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

  "Please, Mr. Bennett, I feel an obligation to help you," Dr. Kwamee

  insisted. "Your country has suffered so much. So have you and your dear wife. If I can do anything to ease your suffering, even a little, then I must. Please, just to Amman, then I will say my good-byes."

  Bennett protested again, but it was becoming clear Dr. Kwamee had made up his mind.

  He was not going to be swayed. Bennett was touched, but worried. The man was not only

  an excellent physician. He had a heart of mercy. But that's not what he and Erin needed at the moment. They needed privacy. They needed secrecy. They needed to get themselves

  into the protective custody of the U.S. government as rapidly as possible, before anyone connected to "the voice" figured out which choice they were making.

  Still, Bennett couldn't very well refuse this man's kindness. Erin certainly needed

  excellent medical care on the way, and they couldn't afford to make Dr. Kwamee

  suspicious. So Bennett tried to act as normal as the situation would allow.

  "That's very kind," he replied, shaking the man's hand vigorously. "Thank you so much."

  "It is my pleasure," the doctor said. "Now, go finish packing. I will get the nurses, get Mrs. Bennett into the ambulance, and meet you at the south gate in ten minutes."

  Bennett nodded and thanked the doctor again, but the man wouldn't hear of it.

  "Go quickly, my friend," Dr. Kwamee said. "You said it yourself—we haven't a moment to spare."

  11:06 A.M.-A REFUGEE CAMP IN NORTHERN JORDAN

  Bennett, bags in hand, finally saw the ambulance approaching.

  But as it came to a stop, he also heard Dr. Kwamee shouting, "Mr. Bennett, Mr.

  Bennett, get in quick; you have a phone call."

  "Let me just throw these in the back," Bennett replied, but the doctor jumped out of the driver's side and scooped up the bags away from him.

  "Please, my friend, it's a very important call," he insisted, pointing to the satellite phone sitting on the passenger's seat.

  "What about my wife?" Bennett asked.

  "She'll be fine," Dr. Kwamee insisted, pulling Bennett to him and whispering in his ear. "Please, my friend, it's Prime Minister Doron's office on the line. They say it's urgent. I will take the bags. I will take care of everything. But please, you must hurry."

  Bennett was stunned. "David Doron?" he asked, nearly in shock. "Yes," the doctor said.

  "He's waiting."

  "I'll be right there," Bennett said. He had to see Erin, give her a kiss, let her know everything was going to be all right.

  Despite the doctor's protests, he opened the back of the ambulance and greeted the

  two nurses caring for his wife.

  "She's sleeping right now, Mr. Bennett," one said.

  She looked so peaceful. There was no point waking her up. They'd talk later. There

  was so much to catch up on, so much to tell her. But they had a long flight home.

  Bennett closed the doors, ran around the front of the ambulance, got in, picked up the

  phone, and stared at the caller ID.

  "PMO—secure," it read.

  It was, in fact, directly from the prime minister's office. Doron was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment. He was in the early stages of a highly sensitive

  operation. It was no time for making idle chitchat with the head of the best intelligence agency in the world.

  "Hello?" Bennett said tentatively.

  "Who is this?" asked a brusque Israeli woman at the other end of the line.

  "Jon Bennett," he replied. "Who's this?"

  "Jonathan Meyers Bennett?" the woman asked, ignoring his question.

  "Yes, that's me," he confirmed. "Who am I speaking with?"

  "Please hold for the prime minister," the woman replied simply. "He's just finishing up a call with Secretary-General Lucente. Then he'll be right to you."

  "Thank you," Bennett said. "I'll wait."

  The woman parked him on hold, and he was soon listening to an instrumental version

  of "HaTikva," the Israeli national anthem. Bennett tried to compute how Doron could have tracked him down. He and Erin had left the U.S. in February and intentionally slipped

  into this U.N. camp without telling anyone besides his mother where they were going.

  They didn't want publicity. They didn't want pen pals. They didn't want communication of any kind with the outside world, least of all the political world. They just wanted to disappear and do some good, and yet somehow it seemed everyone knew where they were. How?

  Why? It didn't make any sense.

  Dr. Kwamee slammed the back doors of the ambulance and jumped into the driver's

  seat. He flipped on the flashing lights, mercifully chose not to use the siren, threw the specially equipped vehicle into four-wheel drive, and pulled out of the refugee camp's

  heavily guarded south gate. A moment later, they were driving through the town of Umm

  Qais, also known as Gadara, headed to Route 15—the main north-south artery— which

  would take them straight to Amman.

  As they maneuvered around numerous and often enormous potholes, and the occasional

  charred wreckage of military vehicles that had been destroyed in the war, Bennett feared it was going to take them a lot longer than an hour to reach the airport. At this rate, he thought they'd be lucky to make it there in two. And the truth was he had no idea exactly what he and Erin were doing next.

  Bennett's military liaison, the colonel working for Secretary Trainor, had assured him

  someone would meet them at the CENTCOM regional operations facility set up in one of

  the hangars at the edge of the airfield. But he hadn't said what kind of aircraft they'd be using to leave the country. There was, after all, very little commercial traffic coming in and out of Amman these days. Mostly the runways were jammed night and day with enormous

  military transport planes—C-5 Galaxies, C-17 Globemasters, and C-141 Starlifters chief

  among them—bringing in humanitarian relief supplies for refugee camps in Jordan, as well as for those in Syria and the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon. None of them would be appropriate for their flight back to the States. None of them had the medical facilities aboard to care for Erin. Nevertheless, the colonel insisted they be in the Jordanian capital and at the airfield by noon, and every detail would be worked out by then. Bennett just prayed it was true.

  "HaTikva" was starting again. Bennett was still on hold. He stared out his window at the passing scenery. He and Erin had never had any time for sightseeing over the past six or seven months. They'd had no time for tour guides or history books or even much time

  to rest and relax. They had been working themselves to the bone. Moved by all the

  suffering around them that had come in the wake of the war, they had never felt right

  about taking time for themselves to explore or to learn much about the area they'd been living in, but now Bennett wished they had at least carved out a weekend or two.

  Gadara, after all, had been one of the ten cities built by the Romans that made up the

  Decapolis. Jesus had spent time here, on the eastern banks of the Jordan River, preaching a message of repentance, teaching the love of an almighty God for sinful men, and

  demonstrating that love with power and authority. And it was here, of course, that Jesus had done some of His most dramatic miracles.

  He remembered Erin poking him in the ribs one night in late March or early April. He had already fallen fast asleep after a particularly intense day. She was exhausted too but was still up re
ading the Scriptures, and as so often happened, she had just found a passage she simply couldn't resist sharing with him. This time it was from Matthew chapter 4.

  Jesus went throughout Galilee,

  teaching in their synagogues,

  preaching the good news of the kingdom,

  and healing every disease and

  sickness among the people.

  News about Him spread all over Syria,

  and people brought to Him

  all who were ill with various diseases,

  those suffering severe pain,

  the demon-possessed, those having seizures,

  and the paralyzed, and He healed them.

  Large crowds from Galilee,

  the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea and

  the region across the Jordan followed Him.

  Bennett could still hear every word as she said it, as if she were reading to him right now. He could still see her underlining the passage with her bright yellow highlighter, reading by flashlight under the stars. He could still hear her asking, "The Decapolis—

  did you catch that, Jon? That's right here! That's right where we are!"

  Honestly, he didn't remember answering her the first time. He had probably drifted off, but a few minutes later, she was nudging him again. This time she was reading to him from Matthew chapter 8.

  When He Jesus came to the other side

  into the country of the Gadarenes,

  two men who were demon-possessed

  met Him as they were coming out of the tombs.

  They were so extremely violent

  that no one could pass by that way.

  And they cried out, saying, "What business

  do we have with each other, Son of God?

  Have you come here to torment us before the time?"

  Now there was a herd of many swine

  feeding at a distance from them.

  The demons began to entreat Him, saying,

  "If you are going to cast us out,

  send us into the herd of swine."

  And He said to them, "Go!"

  And they came out and went into the swine,

  and the whole herd rushed down the steep bank

  into the sea and perished in the waters.

  The herdsmen ran away, and went to the city

  and reported everything, including what had happened

  to the demoniacs. And behold, the whole city came out

  to meet Jesus; and when they saw Him,

  they implored Him to leave their region.

  "Gadarenes, Jon—that's Gadara. That's right here," she had whispered again with an almost childlike sense of awe and excitement that gave him goose bumps even now, so many months later. He loved this woman. He loved everything about her, but especially her love for Jesus and her heart of compassion for lost and suffering people.

  And then a thought suddenly struck him from out of the blue, as if it had been

  whispered into his ear by God Himself: had there ever been a time when this part of the world was not a battleground between Jesus and the demons?

  11:20 A.M.-ROUTE IS, HE ADING SOUTH TO AMM AN

  "Jonathan, is that you?"

  Bennett suddenly straightened in his seat. He hadn't heard that voice since January, but just doing so brought back a flood of memories and immense respect.

  "Shalom, Mr. Prime Minister; boker toy. What an honor."

  "Shalom, Jonathan—but please, the honor is all mine," Doron said, his familiar voice kind but urgent. "I'm so sorry to hear about Erin's illness, but I've also heard the good news. Mazel toy, young man. You're going to be a wonderful papa."

  Bennett was startled. No one knew Erin was pregnant. How could Doron?

  "That's very kind," he said, "but how did you know?"

  "You cannot keep secrets from a man who possesses the Ark of the Covenant." Doron laughed. "Look, Jonathan, this is a terrible day, your own personal blessing

  notwithstanding. I cannot even begin to tell you how terrible I feel for you, for your entire country, and for my dear friend Jim MacPherson and his beautiful family."

  "Thank you, sir," Bennett replied. "That means a great deal to me."

  "Jim MacPherson and I had many disagreements, as you know," the prime minister continued. "But I truly did count him my friend, and my wife loved Julie as one of her dearest friends. We absolutely cannot believe they are gone."

  "I can't believe it myself, Mr. Prime Minister," Bennett said. "I keep telling myself it's a nightmare I'll soon wake up from."

  "I wish that were so. The whole thing sickens us, and I am afraid it's about to get worse.

  I am sorry to say that I am calling you with more bad news."

  "What do you mean, sir?" Bennett asked, wondering how in the world this could all get worse. "What now?"

  "Well, first of all, you and Erin are in grave danger."

  "We are? Why?"

  "I know you spoke earlier with President Oaks," Doron said. "And I know all about the operation under way in Bangkok."

  Bennett was stunned, but his surprise quickly turned to anger. Israeli intelligence was monitoring his satellite phone? They were listening in on his calls? But why? And for

  how long?

  "Yes, Jonathan, we've been watching you," Doron said, before Bennett could ask.

  "We've been doing so since you arrived in Jordan."

  "But why, sir?" Bennett asked, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Because you found the Temple treasures," Doron said.

  "So?"

  "So I owe you."

  "Owe me what?" Bennett asked.

  "Anything I can do to keep you alive, my friend," Doron replied. "But I don't get it—

  why would Erin and I be in danger?"

  "Don't be so naive, my friend. The Mossad captured and killed a lot of Legion

  operatives involved in the hunt for the Temple treasures, and those involved in killing my team of archeologists and advisors. And the U.S. just killed Umberto Milano, the Legion's number two. But you know very well that neither we nor the U.S. has this group under

  control. There are more out there—too many more."

  "I'm not following," Bennett admitted.

  "Whoever wants to prevent me from building the Third Temple is still out there; he's not going to stop until I stop, and I'm not going to stop," Doron explained. "Tactically, the operation to halt the Temple construction is being run by the Legion. This much we know.

  What we don't know is who is running them from a strategic standpoint. Who's paying

  them? Who's feeding them intelligence? Who's giving them orders? And what's their

  endgame? Is stopping the Temple all they want? Or is there something larger at work here?

  We've been hunting down leads ever since you decoded the secret of the Copper Scroll,

  but one thing I've always been sure of is this: whoever came after you before, Jonathan, is coming after you again. You can count on it."

  "But why me?" Bennett asked. "I'm out of the game, off the grid. I'm irrelevant."

  "Au contraire, Monsieur Bennett," Doron insisted. "You, my friend, are the missing link."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Whoever is running the Legion thinks you're the link to the treasures," Doron continued. "You're the link to me. You were the link to President MacPherson. Now you're the link to President Oaks. If someone wants to get to me, or to Oaks, all he has to do is kidnap you and Erin, torture you both mercilessly, send a message to me or the president demanding whatever he wants, and what are we supposed to do? Disavow our friendship to

  you? Abandon our loyalty to you? Cut you loose? The State of Israel can't afford to have you fall into the hands of the enemy, Jonathan. You and Erin have become too valuable.

  Maybe the Americans don't see it that way. But we certainly do."

  "Well, I certainly appreciate that," Bennett said. "But with all due respect, Mr. Prime Minister, I really think you might be overstating the threat."r />
  "I'm not. If anything I'm understating it. That's why after you and Erin found the Ark and the Temple treasures, I ordered the Mossad to put a team in Jordan to keep an eye on you 24-7. Look behind you."

  Bennett glanced in the ambulance's side mirror and saw a black Ford Expedition about

  half a kilometer behind them.

  "That's one of yours?" he asked.

  "It is," Doron confirmed.

  "How many men?"

  "In that vehicle?" Doron asked.

  "Yes."

  "Four."

  "All armed?"

  "Heavily."

  "And is that all?" Bennett wanted to know.

  "Hardly."

  "Did you have Mossad agents inside the camp?"

  "Of course."

  "Where?"

  "On the loading docks, in the mess hall, in the infirmary—you name it," Doron explained. "At the end of every day, Avi Zadok personally sends me a report assuring me that you both are okay."

  "I had no idea," Bennett said.

  "That was the point," Doron said. "We didn't want to interfere with your humanitarian work. We just wanted to keep you safe. But I must say, Jonathan, I am more impressed with the depth of your and Erin's faith than ever before."

  "We thought no one was watching," Bennett said.

  "That's what impressed me so much," Doron said.

  Bennett, still trying to process all this, ran his hand through his hair and glanced back again at the SW trailing them. "You actually had agents inside the medical clinic?"

  "Of course."

  "Like who?"

  "For starters, the man who's sitting beside you," Doron replied. Bennett turned to Dr.

  Kwamee. "You?" he asked in disbelief. The man nodded.

  "You're not really from Ghana?"

  "Ethiopia, actually," Kwamee explained.

  "Falasha?" Bennett asked.

  Dr. Kwamee nodded again, saying, "My wife and I escaped to Israel on November

  21, 1984."

  "Operation Moses?" Bennett asked.

  "Yes," Kwamee said. "We were part of the first airlift, and because I was a doctor and spoke English and French and several African dialects, I was quickly recruited by . . .

  well . . . you know who. The rest is history, as they say. We've been working for them—