Fuse of Armageddon (13 page)

The police ignored him. The driver put the car in gear.

“I never knew it was against the law to turn down a date,” Quinn said as the car moved forward. He watched and decided they were headed toward the highway that would take them to Tel Aviv. “Or are you that desperate?”

“I’m an American cop,” she said. “Your arresting officer.”

“Suddenly dinner doesn’t look like a bad alternative. Too late to say yes?”

“Dinner was my chance to learn what I could while your male ego thought a tourist was making moves on you. The end of the date would have had these same Israeli cops serving you extradition papers back to the United States.”

Quinn was confused—extremely confused. But it wouldn’t help to show this confusion. “Redundant,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re American, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s redundant,” he said.

“What?” She was clearly irritated.

“If you’re an American cop authorized to supervise an extradition, you wouldn’t be taking me anywhere but the United States. No need to point out where the extradition papers are taking me. Hence, redundant.”

“Working overtime to irritate me, aren’t you? Not very intelligent, considering your life is literally going to be in my hands until I get you to Chicago.”

“We’ll fly first-class?” Quinn said. He wasn’t going to give Penner the satisfaction of seeing any concern. He had to get out of this, of course. Rossett was in trouble.

“Coach. They won’t let me ship scum like you in the cargo area.”

“It’s been a while since I faced extradition,” Quinn said. “No. Correction: I’ve never faced it before. At some point do you tell me what I’ve done to deserve this much personal attention?”

“Sure,” she said. “You remember Akim Yazeer.”

A stab of hatred and grief went through Quinn. “I’m familiar with the name.”

“Of course you are. He was part of Red September, the group responsible for the bombing that killed your wife and daughter. That links him directly to Khaled Safady. Let me see. . . . Any redundancies there? No.”

Quinn’s wrists were handcuffed behind his back. He shifted to make himself comfortable. “Convenient that ten minutes ago you pretended it was a surprise to learn what happened to my family.”

“Oscar-caliber acting,” Kate answered. “I actually came close to feeling sorry for you. But then I remembered why I was here.”

“Which makes for a great time to explain the reason for extradition.”

“I’m a cop from Boulder City, Nevada,” she said. “You rented a car in Vegas a little over two months ago.”

Quinn looked straight ahead, watching the turn that confirmed they were headed to the highway. He tried to put the white van out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it, even if the attempt had been set up by Safady.

“The car was returned to the airport just in time for you to fly out and flee the country,” she continued. “Maybe ten or twelve hours before I was called to a murder scene at the Hoover Dam. We found a body in a cube van. Guess who.”

“You tell me.” But Quinn knew.

“Akim Yazeer,” Kate said. “He’d been tortured first. You can pretend you don’t know about it, but there’s been plenty of time since for me to track down your flights in and out of the country. Tracing the call to the station took some work, but I managed that too. You remember that call, right? From a disposable cell phone that you purchased at Wal-Mart? Leaving the number that put me right through to Washington? Wasn’t enough you killed him, but you had to get the information to them.”

“You want justice? Best thing you could do right now is convince these police to search for the white van. Acco’s small enough there’s still a good chance they can get it.”

“Justice your way? I’ve seen it. Don’t like it. It’s why I’m here. Are you interested in knowing about the surveillance video from a casino? You walking out with Akim Yazeer a few hours before his estimated time of death?”

“Could be another explanation.” Quinn closed his eyes. He wanted to think about Rossett, the strange warning call, the kidnapping attempt that had happened shortly after. What did Rossett know? Was Rossett safe?

“Another explanation?” she said, pulling his thoughts back to this situation. “Save your breath. You’re looking at indictment on about fifteen charges. My eyes glaze over when it comes to the legal mumbo jumbo.”

“Enjoying your little monologue of triumph?” Quinn asked.

“Enjoying you in handcuffs and on the way back to the States.”

“I want a lawyer.” He had to find a way to get out of this—find a way to not get on the airplane back to the United States. Rossett needed help.

“Not surprised,” Kate said. “But first things first.”

“What’s first?”

“It’s been two months of hard work to get here, and I want the satisfaction of saying this to your face. You’re under arrest for murder.”

10

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 16:31 GMT


Safady placed his laptop on a desk. He had taken the hostages into the Gaza Strip already and was now in his safe house, an orphanage. It was better than a hospital for protection from Israeli jets and mortar attacks.

Nearly everything was going as planned.

But failure in one area had motivated him to send a text message to his Mossad contact, demanding a meeting via Internet relay chat—an IRC. The screen in front of him remained blank for only a few seconds. Then a “guest” avatar appeared on the screen, and letters flickered onto Safady’s screen, becoming words, then sentences.

Guest:
Why are you contacting me? I met my guarantee that the hostages would cross into Gaza with no Israeli interference.


No identifying name for the contact. Nor for Safady. His fingers darted over the keyboard, firing words onto the screen.

Host:
Question and response first. As I arranged it last time. This is my question: how many Jews died in the Holocaust?


Safady smiled at the computer screen. He could only make assumptions about the Mossad contact. It was someone near the top of the organization, someone who loved Israel as much as Safady hated it. Since Safady especially hated the Mossad as a protector of Jews, he took satisfaction in waiting for the person on the other end of cyberspace to reply.

Guest:
None. It is a hoax that the Jews use to steal land.


Safady laughed in the solitude, imagining how angry it made his Mossad contact to be forced to keyboard that answer.

Now that each had established credentials, the conversation began and continued almost as fast as if they had been speaking to each other. This was much, much safer than a telephone conversation. Safady’s world was reduced to the glow of the laptop monitor and the sound of his fingers on the keyboard.

Host:
The agreement was that I would be given Quinn. Twice you have promised him, and twice he has escaped me. Nothing more happens unless he is delivered.


Guest:
Out of Mossad control. He was arrested.


Host:
Don’t insult me. Why else would I demand this conversation unless I had already known? I want him delivered. Remember, I do have the hostages.


Guest:
I cannot do this. It will reveal involvement on our end.


Host:
Send him in as negotiator.


Guest:
We have already arranged the son as negotiator. No changes in the operation.


Host:
You have no choice. I’ve made it part of my ransom demand. Get me Quinn.


Guest:
You have bigger things to accomplish.


Host:
As do you. And you need me to accomplish them.


Guest:
I will attempt to make arrangements. I have to go now. Here is my identification question for our next communication: When it rains in the park, who is happiest? To identify yourself, answer: A parched pigeon.


Host:
You do not go until I am finished with you. Unless Quinn becomes the negotiator and is delivered when I request, the threats on the videotape will be carried out.


Guest:
I will do what I can.


Host:
Do you want the world to know that you delivered the Americans to me?


No response. But the chat room showed the visitor was still there. Safady waited a few seconds, then keyboarded again.

Host:
I hope you are still watching your screen, you contemptible Jew. Here is my vow before Allah: After all of this is over, I intend to slit your throat. Then I will lap your blood and howl like a dog. I do what I do for the love of Allah. You betray your people for mere gold.


Another few seconds with nothing. Then the visitor exited. Safady knew the Mossad contact had been there long enough to read the final threat.

Safady had full confidence that Quinn would be delivered.

He also had confidence that someday he’d find out who in the Mossad had become his tool and that he would have the glorious opportunity to deliver on his threat.

Ad Duhayr, Egypt • 16:36 GMT


Long after the sirens had finished wailing for the explosion of the semitruck, two farm trucks passed the scene of the burned-out wreck and continued to the commercial dump where the shipping container had been unloaded.

It was near dusk, and the activity at the nearby dump had ended. There would be no witnesses to the planned events over the next half hour.

The trucks were nearly identical in appearance. The back of each was an open flatbed with railing along the sides and a gate at the back. Each truck carried perhaps a dozen Palestinian men and double the number of goats, bleating and milling inside the railing.

The driver of the first truck pulled around and aimed his headlights at the back of the container. The men on the back climbed over the rails, leaving the goats penned. Those men ran to the container, headlights showing dust swirling up around their legs.

The driver of the second truck backed up to the container. Men jumped down and pulled out ramps; others opened the gate and herded goats onto the ground. Another few men kicked aside straw and lifted panels that formed the flooring of the flatbed.

While a few guarded the goats, all the other men began unloading arms from the shipping container and setting them in smuggling compartments that the paneling had hidden. When the compartments were full, the paneling was replaced, straw kicked back in position, and goats herded back up the ramp.

The trucks reversed positions, and the goats and floor paneling were removed from the first truck to make room for the last half of the arms shipment.

While the goats bleated constantly, the men were silent and efficient. When the operation was complete, the last of the goats were herded up the ramp and onto the farm truck. Men began climbing back inside to stand among the goats. To all appearances, when they traveled now, they would be minimum-wage farm workers returning from a long day of labor.

Before either truck moved again, however, the ambush began.

To the men on the trucks, it must have seemed as if the Freedom Crusaders suddenly sprang into existence. One moment there was only barren desert. The next, both trucks were surrounded by the platoon and their machine guns.

Lieutenant Saxon barked out orders in Arabic.

The Palestinians were without weapons and totally surprised by the ambush. Hands on their heads, they complied with Saxon’s orders and allowed themselves to be herded off the truck in the same way that they had herded the goats earlier.

Saxon barked another order.

In twos and threes, the Palestinians slowly fell to their knees, then their bellies.

Half of the platoon stayed on the ground to make sure none of them moved. The other half jumped onto the flatbeds to give themselves a better angle of fire.

They remained poised, their guns pointed downward at the helpless Palestinians, waiting for Saxon to give the command to shoot.

Ben-Gurion International Airport, Tel Aviv • 16:37 GMT