Fuse of Armageddon (19 page)

“The Israeli prime minister?”

“You’ve seen the background file on Jonathan Silver,” Hamer said. “The PM’s a close, personal friend. Sends a private jet anytime Silver wants to visit Israel. Someone cynical might think it has something to do with the hundreds of millions that Silver has raised for Israel over the last decade or two and all the political clout that Silver has with the evangelical right-wing voters in the United States who influence presidential elections and pressure for pro-Israeli policies. I happen to be cynical, but you make your own decision.”

“Tell him to go away,” Quinn said.

A moment later, Brad Silver pushed open the door without knocking.

15

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 8:17 GMT


We’ve been giving this a lot of thought and prayer,” Ray Klein said in a low voice to Jonathan Silver. Klein had joined Silver near one of the windows that overlooked a narrow cobblestoned alley. “The Lord is directing us to escape.”

“We?” Silver asked. “The group?”

“Me and Abe.” Klein was a big man with a ruddy face. He’d smelled of peppermints on the bus, and Silver suspected the man secretly nipped at a flask. There was a hint of desperation in Klein’s face now, perspiration in tiny drops across his forehead. “Nobody else we’ve talked to in the group seems interested in trying to get out of here.”

“Escape?” Silver heard his own voice shake. “Last night, we were told that if we tried to escape—”

“It’s got to be a bluff,” Klein said. He cast an encouraging glance at Abe Williams, twenty feet away, who was doing a bad job of feigning disinterest. “He’s not going to kill orphans if we try to escape. It’s just a way to control thirty of us because he doesn’t have the manpower to guard us all.”

Abe Williams gave a hesitant smile back at Klein and Silver. Williams was slender—almost gaunt—with thinning gray hair. During the day tours, he’d worn a sweater around his waist like a backward apron, with the arms tied around his thin belly. Silver wondered if Williams was part of the don’t ask, don’t tell brigade, but Williams was a rich man and an excellent donor, so Silver had also decided it would be better not to inquire too closely about the man’s lifestyle preferences.

“What about the rest of us?” Silver coughed nervously. “If you make it, we’ll be punished.”

“I don’t think so,” Klein said. “If he wanted us dead, we’d be dead. That tells me we’re worth something to him alive.” He smiled grimly. “Remember, I spent my whole life in business. I made a fortune by reading my competition and my customers the right way.”

The trucking business, Silver vaguely remembered. Klein was a widower, recently retired.

“I just don’t know,” Silver said. He was tired and afraid and so out of his element that he just wanted to go back to his bunk and sleep.

“We’re Americans,” Klein said, “not Ameri
can’ts
. I told you already; it will be a piece of cake to get out through a window. It’s obvious we’re in the middle of some city. Once we get far enough away from here, we’ll find a cab to take us to the police or to an embassy. That will get the ball rolling. There will be more marines on this place than Iwo Jima.”

Silver couldn’t make a decision.

“Look,” Klein said impatiently, “it’s a chance, a gamble. But it’s better than sitting here with no chance whatsoever.”

“The ransom . . .”

“You think that money will get here in time? And if it does, you really think he’s going to let all of us go? I’m telling you, no way. I read it like this: he’ll keep all of us alive long enough to get what he wants; then it will be some jihad thing where he slaughters all of us to be a hero with his Muslim buddies. Well, let me tell you, I’d rather go out fighting than like a lamb.”

“If you go, he’s going to execute a child,” Silver said, finding some strength. “If you escape, he’ll have to show the rest of us that he’s serious. Otherwise more of us will escape.”

“Thirty of us dead for sure against the maybe that one of these orphans goes.” Klein shook his head. “It sounds cold, but when you force yourself to look at the odds that way, I don’t see much choice. Who’s worth more? Thirty Americans or one Palestinian kid? I mean, you’ve said that Arabs aren’t worth much, and—”

“I just don’t know,” Silver said, regretting again that he’d made those remarks from the pulpit. It was easier to say something nasty about Arabs when you thought of them as a faceless group or a concept, not little kids.

“Yeah,” Klein answered. “That was my bet with Williams—that you wouldn’t have the jam to make a decision one way or another. I got to say it: you learn a lot about someone when they’re put under pressure. And ever since those camel jockeys took over our bus, you haven’t done much that makes you look near as good as you look on television.”

Silver had no answer.

“I’m making the decision for you, then,” Klein said. “We’re going. If you try to stop us, that’s like turning us in. But I don’t think you have the jam for that, either.”

CCTI Headquarters, Tel Aviv • 8:25 GMT


When Brad Silver entered the room, Quinn moved to his window, looking down at the street through a slit in the blinds. Kate remained seated on the leather couch, pretending she wasn’t exhausted.

“You’re Mossad, right?” Brad said to Hamer.

“I’m IDF. Israeli Defense Force.”

“You a flunky? or a decision maker?”

“I’m Major General Jack Hamer. That high enough to suit you?”

“Good. Let’s get this straight,” Brad told Hamer, not even nodding in Kate’s direction. “First thing we do is find a different negotiator.”

Brad Silver wore jeans and a tan cashmere sports coat over a white T-shirt. He was tall, and the resemblance to his father was eerie, down to the sheen of his hair—far too gray for a man his age, somewhere in the late thirties. Dye job, Kate decided instantly. And a bad one. He was trying to look distinguished and failing miserably.

“You’re dictating how the IDF handles a terrorist situation?” Hamer answered with a dangerous quietness.

“I’m dictating media perception. It’s unthinkable that a felon would represent my father and what my father stands for. Jonathan Silver is one of the world’s most famous evangelical Christians, and I’m sure he’d agree with my decision not to let the taint of a murderer affect his reputation.”

“Murderer?” Hamer questioned.

“What’s his name. This Quinn guy. Is that him by the window, ignoring me? Figures.”

Hamer snapped open his cell and dialed a number. Without taking his eyes off Brad, he waited for an answer on the other end.

“Listen, clown, he’s not a felon,” Kate said in the silence, wondering how this jerk already knew that Quinn would be indicted as soon as he arrived in the United States. “Charges haven’t even been filed. Nor is he a murderer until proven so in a court of law. So shut your mouth or I’ll be the first to help him file libel charges.”

“I’d like a coffee, two creams, no sugar,” Brad said, emphasizing a condescending smile. “Please make sure the pot is freshly brewed.”

Kate rose, visualizing Brad curled into a ball on the floor after she’d kicked him square where it would do the most efficient damage. “Do I need permission from anyone here to punch him out? I’m only asking because you guys made it clear that chain of command was important to keep those thirty alive.”

Brad ignored her, speaking to Hamer. “We go to IDF headquarters, and we do this right. I will not have a murderer in charge of this hostage situation.”

Hamer finally spoke, but it was into his cell. “Mr. Prime Minister, regarding the son of your friend, your request was to allow him observation of the situation. As I predicted, he is trying to command it instead.”

Hamer paused, listening to a response.

“If you want to give him that power,” Hamer said, “I will respect your decision and offer a public resignation, effective immediately. I’m sure the voting public will enjoy a chance in the next election to tell you what they think of allowing an American to push around the IDF when it comes to national security.”

The next silence was short as Hamer listened to the reply. He snapped his cell phone shut, walked to the door, and swung it open.

“I guess you didn’t understand how much power my father has, did you?” Brad said, smirking.

Hamer stopped and turned. “This isn’t about power, Mr. Silver. It’s about saving thirty lives.” He paused, then pointed at the hallway. “By the way, you’re also wrong about your father’s power. The prime minister made it clear in very few words that he prefers reelection over catering to you. I’ll explain in politer terms than he used. You have a choice. Remain here as a guest with no privileges or go back to the King David, where I’ll make sure you get updates every half hour.”

Before Brad could reply, Quinn stepped away from the window and spoke. “There are two vans down on the street, one crew setting up a television camera, and a talking head from CNN trading notes with someone I recognize from the
New York Times
. How’d the media get on to you so quick?”

“I’ve got all the major media on speed dial,” Brad answered, “along with about a dozen senators and five governors. That’s something all of you should remember. I wanted the media to know about this because I want as much pressure as possible on both the American and Israeli governments to resolve this.”

“So they’re going to camp down there and wait for you to make reports?” Quinn observed. “Sounds like a bad move.”

“Sounds like you’ve just made your decision to go back to the King David,” Hamer said. “Here’s your next choice: leave on your own or wait for some of my men from the lobby to come up here and put you in handcuffs.”

“Let me do it,” Kate said.

“Actually, it would be better for our team if he stayed,” Quinn said.

“Yeah, he’s a real team player,” Hamer snorted. “Is your sense of judgment going to be this bad all through the negotiating? Is that why the e-mail from the terrorist specified you and no one else? Terrorists want a moron as an opponent?”

“He stays?” Kate asked Quinn. “Are you nuts? He’s cancer. He’s going to second-guess everything you do.”

“Exactly,” Quinn answered. “It could be helpful as we try to make good decisions.”

Brad didn’t take the peace offered by Quinn. “It’s Khaled Safady behind this, right? I heard he killed your family. All you want is revenge. That’s another reason I don’t want you involved. You’ll be making emotional decisions.”

“If it’s him, the best revenge I could get right now is stopping him from killing more people,” Quinn said.

“If?” Brad said. “I saw the tape of your videoconference last night. He made no bones about his identity.”

“How’d he get the tape?” Quinn asked Hamer.

“Cohen, I guess.”

“I deserve to be in on this,” Brad said. “I don’t want a negotiator who already hates the man he’s negotiating with.”

“A masked man without any reliable identification,” Kate broke in. “He could just as easily have said he was the president of the United States.”

“Where’s my coffee?” Brad asked, giving her another smirk.

Quinn spoke to Brad. “You don’t like me; I can live with that. But we don’t have many options here, and how you feel and how I feel doesn’t matter. Getting the job done does. When your father and the other twenty-nine get back alive, then go ahead and push all the speed-dial buttons you want.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Brad told Quinn.

“‘Get me a coffee,’” Kate said, mimicking Brad’s voice, wishing she could drop-kick the smug jerk. “Did that sound patronizing to anyone? Can I handcuff him yet?”

“Kate,” Quinn told her, “let it go. His father’s life is in danger and he’s under stress. Different people handle it different ways.”

Quinn turned back to Brad. “You called them hostages. That’s wrong. A hostage situation happens when the terrorists are trapped and the captives become bargaining chips for the terrorists to escape. This is a kidnapping. We’ve got a lot less leverage because we don’t know where your father and the others are.”

“The vaunted Mossad doesn’t know?” Brad said, glancing at Hamer.

“Nobody is better than the Mossad at this,” Quinn said. “By noon today, the Mossad will probably have an answer for you, but I’d be surprised if they decide it’s important for you to know. Until then, we deal with the situation as it is. Bringing the media in complicates things. Best-case scenario, terms could have been quietly negotiated and dealt with. The key word is
quietly
. The American government has an official policy not to deal with kidnappers for any reason. That just encourages more kidnapping. Unofficially, though, the government has been known to step in. Now that it’s public, we won’t get that help. And if the terrorist decides correctly that media pressure is going to force us to give more, the negotiations could go on for days.”

“Sounds like you’re second-guessing me,” Brad said.

“See?” Kate said, thinking it would be worth splitting the skin of her knuckles on his teeth to wipe out that sneer. “He’s cancer.”

“I’m not second-guessing you,” Quinn answered Brad. “I’m assessing the situation for all of us.” He turned to Kate and Hamer. “In Brad’s defense, it’s almost certain the terrorists would have brought in the media at some point anyway.”

Kate marveled at Quinn’s calm. She had no patience here. She wished she could handle the situation like a cop would—no nonsense.

“Quinn, let me negotiate something here,” she broke in. “You get rid of this guy with the bad dye job, and I’ll let you go to the bathroom unsupervised any time you raise your hand.”

“He’s got to report to you?” There was disbelief in Brad Silver’s voice. “The Mossad does what he tells them, but he’s got to report to you?”

“If I want, he’s got to bring me coffee,” Kate said. “But I won’t ask him because that’s not dignified for either of us. So how ’bout on your way out the door you take the coffeepot, a cup, and as much cream and sugar as you can stick in—”

“Wow,” Brad said. “Vulgarities. Someday when I want trailer trash, I know where to look.”