Dark Waters (26 page)

S
taring out at the black, glassy surface of Lake Kinneret, Jordan battled the nerves in her stomach. Night had fallen, and she and Taylor had been sitting in their diving gear at the edge of the water for the better part of an hour. Six meters to their left, a dry stone wall topped with barbed wire marked the southern boundary of the Sapir Pumping Station. To their right was a mango orchard.

“Anything yet?” Ganani’s voice boomed through the earpiece wedged in Jordan’s ear. She reached up and turned down the sound.

“Negative. You?”

“Nothing. Maybe I was right that they wouldn’t do this on the Shabbos.”

“Patience.” Jordan was talking to herself as much as to Ganani. Why hadn’t Brodsky’s men made their move?

Taylor gave her a thumbs-up. He was as convinced as she was that the attack would come tonight. He was keeping his Navy SEAL head in the game.

The sound of youths enjoying the Shabbos at the Karei Deshe Youth Hostel drifted toward them from two hundred meters along the shore. Shabbat meant there was only a skeleton crew of guards on duty at the pump station. The moon was waning, a mere sliver in the sky. It was the perfect night to destroy a nation.

Three underground pumps had to be destroyed in order to incapacitate the pump station. If they damaged one pump, no one would notice the difference. If they damaged two pumps, the aboveground pump would kick in, fulfilling its purpose of covering breakdowns and malfunctions. Two downed pumps would affect the water supply, but Israel would have enough surplus water to survive. If all three underground pumps were destroyed, the nation would be brought to its knees.

One document she’d read had indicated that after a catastrophic failure, it could take as many as five years to get the pump station back up and running. During that time, the nation would be forced to depend on its desalination efforts and on the inadequate number of wells tapping the underground aquifers. Destroying the Sapir Pumping Station would derail the peace talks. Israel would never agree to sign an accord. Anyone who could read a map could see that. The underground aquifers were all located in the occupied territory. Surrendering the occupied territory meant surrendering control of the remaining water to the Palestinians.

What came next is what Jordan figured drove Brodsky and the Neturei Karta. Destroying the pumps meant Israel would be forced to divert water from the Jordan River—an act once perpetrated by their enemy and a precursor to the Six-Day War. This time, it would become the catalyst for reclaiming Eretz Yisrael. Jordan figured, if all went as planned, because of the deaths and the involvement of the Palestinians, including the attack on the U.S. secretary, the PLC would be blamed. Cline’s death raised some questions, but not enough to prevent the allies from throwing in.

Jordan stretched to ward off the bone-deep weariness that threatened to overtake her. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. None of them had. Yet here they were. They knew how to get in, but they had no knowledge of the end game. They had to be prepared for anything.

They were all in position and ready. Haddid, the floater, was parked on approach. Ganani, the sniper, was perched in her nest. Walker, the computer whiz, was hunkered down in front of the computer back at base. And finally, Taylor and Jordan, the SEAL team, waited beside the south wall of the pumping station, ready to move on Walker’s signal.

Jordan tugged at the collar of her wet suit and repositioned the small dive pack on her back. It held the oxygen tank, a wet bag with her gun, and extra ammunition. She stirred the water with the toes of her fins.

“They’re coming,” Haddid said. Jordan froze in position. “I see two SUVs moving up the road.”

Headlights swept the grass one hundred meters behind Jordan and then swung to the left. Ganani confirmed the sighting.

“They’re turning in through the gate,” she said.

“Do you recognize anyone?” Jordan asked.

“Unknown.” Ganani had dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Driver and passengers are still in the cars.”

Jordan heard one of the guards speak, followed by the rattle of chain links. She heard the crunch of gravel and, a few moments later, the slam of car doors.

“They’ve parked near the entrance to the building,” Ganani said. “I count four.”

“We have more traffic,” Haddid said.

Dry grass rustled as Ganani moved position. “It’s Lotner.”

Taylor started to stand as a patrolling guard turned the bend near the water and moved up alongside the south fence. Jordan grabbed Taylor’s arm and yanked him back to the ground.

“Lotner can tell us where Lucy is,” he whispered.

“You can’t help her if you get yourself killed.”

Walker’s voice came through the com. “On my mark.”

Jordan wanted to shout “not yet,” but now she didn’t dare speak. She and Taylor pressed themselves close to the low wall and froze. The guard raised his flashlight, shining the light out across the open grass to the orchard.

“Go,” Walker said.

Jordan started counting seconds in her head. She didn’t dare look at her watch.

The guard standing above them swung the beam back and forth, settling the light on a small mango tree. He was waiting for something. Had he heard them speaking?

“I count three more men, plus Lotner,” Ganani confirmed. “That makes eight.”

“I’m headed your way, Ganani,” said Haddid.

At the shouts of the men at the gate, the guard clicked the light off and hustled away. Jordan continued counting for ten seconds.

“Walker,” she whispered. “Restart the count.”

Forty-five, forty-six.

“Walker!” The stage whisper wasn’t enough to raise him. They couldn’t afford to lose their window. Reaching out, she tugged on Taylor’s sleeve.

“Let’s go.” Jordan marked the time on her watch. “We have less than eight minutes to enter the pipe.”

A gunshot stopped her at the water’s edge. “Who fired?”

“Lotner,” Ganani said. “The guard at the elevators picked up the phone, possibly to confirm his orders. Lotner shot him.”

Jordan heard the retort of a rifle. The guard who had been by the dry wall fence dropped. Had he spotted them? Had Ganani shot him? Jordan didn’t know if he was hit or hiding.

“We have to go now,” she said, splashing into the water up to her knees.

“Do you see Lucy?” Taylor asked.

“No. She’s not here,” Ganani shouted. “Go. Now!”

Shouts from the youth hostel mixed with gunfire and the screams of men. Several of the Karei Deshe Youth Hostel guests started into the grass.

Taylor pulled the com device out of his ear.

“We’re down to seven minutes before we have to enter the pipe,” Jordan said, stuffing her own com device into the wet bag. Tightening the dive weights around her waist, she pulled on her mask and clamped the breathing apparatus into her mouth. Reaching back, she turned on her air.

The water felt cool as she slipped into the lake. The shore dropped off quickly, and she swam as fast as possible toward the pump station. After several meters, she reached the first pipe.

She looked back for Taylor and then checked her watch. Six minutes, forty-five seconds. Keeping her hands on the steel pipe casing, she dove and kicked toward the end of the pipe. The shore dropped off and she swam deeper and deeper. It took her a moment to remember her dive training. Breathe in through the mouth and out through the nose. She felt short of breath and battled an urge to swim for the surface. Treading water, she forced herself to breathe slowly and her heart rate to calm. She needed to keep her wits about her.

Taylor came up behind her. He gestured to make sure she was all right. She gave a thumbs-up, clicked on her dive light, and started moving again.

The pipe seemed to go on forever. She glanced at her watch periodically and felt fear start to grip her. At fifteen seconds, she felt the suction. The current grew stronger, dragging her toward the pipe. Fighting a wave of panic, she yanked her feet free of the rip and moved to the top of the pipe where the pull of the water wasn’t as strong.

Jordan forced herself to calm down. There was no time to indulge her fears. She and Taylor were already behind schedule.
Pressing herself close to the steel to mitigate the strength of the suction, she crept forward until she reached the pipe opening. She motioned for Taylor to free the bolt cutter strapped to his back.

The giant grate covering the mouth of the pump was littered with trash from Lake Kinneret—diapers, bathing suit tops and bottoms, and cups and plates. It looked more like some kind of free-form modern art than a garbage trap. Taylor fit the blade of the cutter on the top wire, and Jordan tapped his shoulder and shook her head. She pointed down to the bottom. Unless they cut the grate loose from below and stripped it away, the suction would simply hold it in place.

Together, they tackled the wires. Taylor cut, and Jordan peeled. It took them a minute to push the grate free of the mouth of the pipe. They were forty-five seconds behind schedule.

Swinging herself into the mouth of the pipe, Jordan trusted that Taylor would follow. The suction grabbed her and dragged her inside. She banged her leg on the outside lip of the pipe and felt a sharp pain slice across her thigh.

The force of the water tumbled her forward. She banged her head, her elbows, and her knees. It was like being tossed around in a water slide. She struggled for position. In order to make maximum time, they needed to swim with the current. She had no idea how far along the pipe she was or how much time had elapsed. She had no idea how far behind her Taylor was. She just put her head down and swam.

A
vibration in the pipe signaled the pump shutoff. The suction stopped in a beat, and the swimming grew harder. Jordan started counting strokes. Her dive light made the water glow green around her. She couldn’t see much. Twenty-five or thirty strokes later, a huge shape loomed ahead of her. The pump.

Jordan stopped swimming and floated forward through the knuckle where the pipe attached to the cistern. Casting her light about, she followed the curve of the round cistern until she spotted the rungs of the ladder. Grabbing a rung, she unclipped her dive weights, kicked off her fins, and started climbing.

About three-quarters of the way up, she reached the water level. She climbed higher and pressed her hands against the hatch cover on top of the cistern. The water lapped at her knees. Her watch cast an eerie glow. They had less than one minute before the generators kicked on.

She pushed against the concrete hatch.

Nothing. The cover was heavy—too heavy. Shrugging out of her pack, she secured it to the top rung of the ladder, turned off the air, spit out the regulator, and yanked off her mask. Climbing higher for better leverage, she tried moving the cistern lid again.

It didn’t budge.

Shining her light back toward the water, she wondered what was taking Taylor so long. It was going to take both of them to open the lid of the cistern. Her leg ached. Blood oozed from a gash in her wetsuit. She remembered the diapers on the grate and couldn’t help but think that she needed a tetanus booster.

Digging the com device out of the wet bag, she put it back in her ear and tried to raise Walker. Her voice ricocheted around the cistern.

No answer.

Muffled voices drifted in from somewhere. Possibly maintenance workers, possibly Brodsky’s men.

Her watch now read thirty seconds.

Suddenly Taylor burst from the pipe into the cistern.

Jordan felt a slight vibration and heard a small hum. The power was coming back on. She waved her arm. He fumbled with his weight belt. The vibration grew. Finally, the belt dropped away and Taylor shot to the surface. She pointed to the hatch.

Together, they pushed against the concrete cover. It lifted slightly, but not enough to flip it off. Taylor climbed higher on the ladder and pressed his back to the lid. The hum grew louder and the sides of the cistern shuddered. Jordan climbed up a step, and they threw all their weight against the lid.

The hatch cover moved as the pump roared to life. Jordan fought the current tugging at her feet and climbed out on top of the cistern. Taylor heaved himself up.

Lying on top of the concrete cylinder, Jordan checked her timepiece again. According to her watch, they still had ten seconds.

A commotion on the main-floor catwalk caused her to look up. Four stories above her, she spotted Lotner leaning over a railing that protected a balcony running along the north wall. He was shouting at his men in Hebrew and pointing. His focus wasn’t on her.

He was shouting instructions on where each one was to go.

Feet pounded on the stairs. The sound echoed off the walls of the underground chamber. Jordan reached back inside the cistern, pulled her gun from the wet bag, and slammed the magazine into place. Taylor shucked his gear and did the same. Jordan signaled him toward the edge of the cistern.

A row of ladder rungs provided a way down on one side, but that was the side where Brodsky’s men were setting up. Jordan lay flat on her stomach and watched to see what would happen. A walkway ran north to south. On the right were the computer and crane controls; on the left were the cisterns. Three Israeli guards lay in a heap in the walkway. They appeared to be dead. Two men with Uzis stood guard at the first cistern. Another straddled the cistern lid, his back to Jordan and Taylor. With an Uzi slung across his back, he attached the crane hook onto the lid of the cistern and signaled to the crane operator to add tension. Then he gestured to someone in the computer room.

Jordan felt the pumps power down again. They had used their trick and manually overridden the generator system.

Footsteps from above indicated that another person was descending the stairs. That made six in the pump room and two upstairs with Lotner.

Jordan lifted her head. The last man down was holding what looked like a twelve-inch round metal canister—a bomb!

Taylor tapped her foot. She wondered if he felt as helpless as she did. From this distance, with the weapons they carried, there was little they could do. If they attracted any attention, Brodsky’s men would have no trouble taking them out.

“Okay.” The man on top of the cistern flashed a sign to the crane operator. He threw the wench switch and powered the lid free. The man with the bomb climbed halfway up the cistern ladder and handed the canister to the man on top. After prying a
small panel off the side of the can, he punched a series of numbers on a keypad inside. Jordan didn’t have a clear view, but she might be able to emulate the sequence, provided she could get close enough to disarm the bomb. The timer beeped once. The charge had been set. Sealing it up, he dropped it into the cistern.

“We’re done. Lower the hatch,” he yelled, circling his hand in the air.

Jordan had no way of knowing how much time had been programmed or if there was any way she and Taylor could stop the blast. At the very least, they needed to stop Brodsky’s men from setting any more bombs.

Jordan pushed herself to her knees. She whispered to Taylor, “I’m going to jump across to the next cistern. You get a bead on the base. When the first man reaches the top, I’ll take him out. You take out the two guards at the bottom.”

Taylor nodded. “After that?”

“I’ll take the crane operator. You take the guy in the computer room.”

“What about the one going for the next bomb?”

“Take him out. Take them all out.”

Jordan looked up at the railing spanning the main level. Lotner and three more guards were somewhere upstairs. So were Ganani and Haddid.

Blocking out the pain in her leg, Jordan concentrated on beating Brodsky’s man to the top of the next cistern. “Ready?”

Taylor nodded. A group had congregated at the bottom of the cistern with the bomb, and they were synchronizing their watches. Jordan waited until the man climbed off the top of the first cistern and jumped to the floor.

As he jumped, she leapt, her toe catching the edge of the cistern. She belly flopped onto the concrete, the sting traveling outward along her nerves. She lay flat and waited to see if anyone had heard.

“What was that?” one of the men shouted.

“It was just me, jumping down.”

She raised her head. Lotner leaned over the catwalk. Their eyes met.

“Idiots, they are on top of the cisterns!” He gestured to someone behind him and then pointed toward Jordan. “
Atsor
!” Stop!

Jordan scrambled to her feet. Racing to the edge of the concrete pillar, she shot the first man she saw. Taylor took out the second. A third man shouldered his rifle and Jordan felled him on the spot.

Taylor scrambled onto the ladder. Gunshots ripped the air. Two men with Uzis strafed the cisterns. Jordan rolled, chased by a smattering of gunfire. She heard Taylor yell.

Rolling off the backside of the cistern, Jordan caught the edge with her fingers. It was a two-story drop. What choice did she have? Sucking in a deep breath, she let herself fall. A jolt of pain shot up her ankle at landing. She moved sideways, forced herself to her feet, and hobbled into the protection of the cistern. Pressing her back to the concrete, she inched her way around to get a view of what was happening. Taylor was on the ground. She didn’t know if he was hurt or just playing dead. A bullet had shattered the glass to the computer room, and a man lay crumpled over the control panel. Taylor had taken the shot. Two men were coming down the hallway. She could hear them talking. It was the man from the crane and the bomb carrier.

Jordan waited for them to get closer. Her 9 mm was no match for an Uzi.

By the way the men talked, she knew they thought she was down. They also didn’t seem worried about Taylor. Either they didn’t know he was there or they thought he was dead.

Jordan waited until they moved into sight and then stepped into the open. She fired one shot. Taylor fired the other. Both men dropped.

There was no time to confer. Lotner knew they were there, and he had three guards up top.

“Surrender now,” Lotner yelled from upstairs, “and I’ll see the girl lives!”

He must think she was stupid. If she surrendered, what would stop him from destroying the pumps and killing them all? She considered the options. Even if Lotner was exposed, their weapons lacked the range to take him out. On the other hand, his men could hit them from this distance with their eyes closed. Where the hell was Ganani?

Think!
Five of his eight men lay on the ground. Their Uzis were in reach—
if
she could get to one of them without getting shot.

Holding her gun in her right hand, she crab-walked toward the bomb carrier.

“Be smart, Jordan. You don’t want Lucy to die.”

She didn’t, but for all she knew, Lucy was already dead. And where was Taylor?

Jordan spotted him moving for the elevators. If she could keep Lotner distracted, maybe he could get to the upper level and take Lotner out. She scooted around the cistern and assessed the situation. Going for the bomb carrier’s gun left her exposed. “I trusted you, Lotner.”

“Your mistake. Now don’t make another. I have no reason to kill Lucy, unless you give me one. Come out where I can see you, and I promise, when this is over, I’ll let the girl go.”

She wished she could blow the condescending smile off of his face. Unfortunately, if she came out blasting, his men would drill her full of holes. Footsteps on the metal stairway signaled that the three remaining men were descending. Headed to take her out, to finish planting the bombs, or both?

She figured his priority was on the explosives. The timer on the first bomb had established the clock, putting Lotner under his
own time pressure. But if she allowed them to plant the rest of the bombs, she sentenced more than seven million people to suffering and war.

“Still there, Jordan? All it takes is a call from me to settle this one way or the other.”

A boot banged against the cistern. A vibration traveled through the concrete. Someone was climbing the ladder on the other side. She needed to act quickly.

One man on the cistern meant another man in the computer room to shut down the pump. That left the last man to operate the crane.

Jordan shoved off the side of the cistern and slid out into the main aisle. Stripping the dead bomb carrier of his Uzi, she aimed the weapon at the man on the ladder and pulled the trigger. He fell, dropping a silver canister, which bounced on the concrete floor and rolled out of sight. The crane operator came out of the cab shooting, and Jordan fired another round. He fell backward off of the crane, his head bouncing off the concrete.

A bullet slammed into the cistern above her head and Jordan ducked for cover. Pressed tightly to the side of the pillar, she looked for the man in the computer room.

Not there.

A pounding resounded from upstairs. “Shabak. Open the doors.”

Finally! The elevator sounded. Taylor had also reached the top floor.

“You have nowhere to go, Lotner!” she yelled. “If you’re smart, you’ll surrender.”

The pounding on the doors had stopped. If Lotner had any intelligence, he was running by now. What happened to him was up to Ganani and Taylor. Her job now was to try to disarm the timer on the bomb. Jordan moved cautiously toward the first cistern.

“Don’t do it, Jordan. Just stay where you are.” Lotner stood on the top rise of the stairs with his finger on the “send” button of his phone.

“Who are you calling, Lotner? Brodsky? Did he send you to do his dirty work so he could keep his hands clean?”

“Shut up.” The detective started descending the steps.

“I’m right, aren’t I? It’s him.” Jordan kept her eyes and ears open. Lotner was likely buying more time for his last man standing. Two could play that game. Right now, Jordan was the threat keeping Lucy alive. Once they took her out, Lucy would be expendable.

Ganani stepped to the railing and leveled her gun at the police detective’s head. “Lotner!”

He looked up and an explosion ripped the air.

The force of the blast threw Jordan backward. Small pieces of concrete, mixed with water, hailed down. It was like being in the fountain at Dizengoff Square. She covered her head with her arms and looked for Lotner. The stairs to the lower level dangled at an odd angle.

“Jordan!” Taylor stood beside Ganani at the railing.

Jordan waded through the debris until she could see them clearly. “Where’s Lotner?”

“Find him,” Taylor shouted.

The floor under Jordan’s feet was slick with water and blood. The room smelled sickly sweet. Her hands were empty. She must have dropped the gun when she’d been thrown by the blast. Searching for the weapon, she spotted movement to her left.

The maintenance tunnels.

Lotner was limping down the tunnel.

“Give it up,” Jordan said, stepping into the open and leveling a rifle his head. “Tell me where Lucy Taylor is.”

He stood beside the gaping hole that was once the first cistern. Water lapped the edges of the broken slabs of concrete, the water level higher now that the remaining hole was clogged with debris. He no longer held a weapon, but he still had his thumb poised to send.

“Press that button and you’re a dead man.”

The elevator kicked into action. Lotner cocked his head to listen. They were down to seconds before Ganani and Taylor joined them.

“I’m a dead man either way.” Lotner punched the button and pitched the phone toward the open cistern.

“He’s in the tunnel,” Jordan yelled, running for the cistern and the phone. The phone landed on a flat slab of concrete, and she could hear the ring. If she could reach it fast enough, disconnect the phone, and get the number he had dialed, maybe she could save Lucy yet.