the Plan (1995) (43 page)

Misha Bach had her hands clasped in her lap and was leaning forward toward Cole, almost as if she was afraid she might miss a word.

"How can I help?"

"Did you know he made a deal with the U
. S
. Justice Department before the trial and, as a result of that deal, twenty-five F-4 Phantom jets were delivered to the Israeli Air Force?"

She shook her head. "I know
. H
e went to Washington before the trial, but he never told me much about his cases."

"I need proof of that historic arrangement or my editor won't publish that part of the story."

"I don't know how I could help you . . ."

"There was a metal Haliburton suitcase and I think inside that case was physical corroboration of the deal. It was left in Gavriel's possession after the trial. . . ."

"What does the suitcase look like?"

"It's metal, about twice the size of a briefcase." He demonstrated with his hands. "Silver-colored, silver handle . . ."

"Why, that's in the storage room over the carport at m
y h
ouse in Herzelia Pituah. It's been there foryears."

"It is?" Kaz said, astonished by the revelation. With grudging respect, he thought The slimy little fuck is gonna pull this of
Cole was elated. "I know this is a lot to ask, but could we get in there and have a look?"

"Oh, no problem. The garage key is under the third flowerpot on the left side of the house."

"You don't mind if we just walk in?"

"Well, there's nothing to take. Just old suitcases and boxes up there, some sports equipment." She smiled at Cole.

"Mrs. Bach, you're gonna be so proud when you read this story. I'm gonna tell the world what a hero Gavriel Bach was. In my opinion, he may have saved the very State of Israel." He gushed insincerity like a broken sewer line.

Ryan thought he saw the Ghost as they were leaving the apartment on Ben Yehuda Street. He glimpsed a man, with dark glasses and a red baseball cap, duck into a souvenir shop. He was about the same size and shape as Jerry Paradise and there was something about his quick movements that reminded Ryan of the fight on the dock in Avalon. Ryan grabbed Lucinda's hand and pulled her close to him.

"What is it?" Kaz said.

"Across the street. I think I saw the guy who came aboard my boat."

Kaz saw nothing but said, "Okay, the three of you get moving. I'll check it out."

"Bad idea," Ryan said. "You don't even know what he looks like." Ryan was reaching under his arm for the Desert Eagle. He yanked it out of the quick-draw holster and held it by his leg.

"Okay," Kaz muttered. "Cole, you take Lucinda and wait for us at the Jaffa Gate. Get a car; make it one of those Mercedes taxis. There's thousands of 'em and they're har
d t
o follow. Get rid of the driver and have the motor running."

"How 'm I gonna do that?"

"I don't know. Lay some of your more pathetic bullshit on him. Move it! And watch out, there may be more than one guy on us."

Finally, Cole moved away with Lucinda.

Ryan and Kaz watched to make sure nobody followed, then looked across the street.

"Which shop?" Kaz asked.

`Third one down."

"Put the cannon away. This ain't Dodge City. Pull it just before we move in. I'll go in first and head left. Once I'm inside, you come in behind me. Move fast, go to the opposite wall of the store. Stay low; he'll shoot for your kill zone, around your chest, so don't move at a normal height. . . . The lower the better. If he hits you, you want the slug to go through your lung or shoulder and miss the important stuff."

"Shit, what about my head?"

"It's a small target."

A shot of adrenaline hit Ryan's heart like cold piss. They crossed the street to the shop. Kaz was still wearing the Uzi on a sling on his back, but he had one hand on the stock so he could rotate it up. and let a stream of lead fly in seconds.

Kaz moved through the door, fast, low, and sideways. He hit the wall inside on the left. The Uzi was up and trained on the shop.

With his heart pounding and his mouth dry, Ryan went in after him, staying low and moving sideways fast. Before he made the right wall, his bad leg buckled. He went down split seconds before two shots exploded, blowing holes in the wall where his head would have been. Kaz fired the Uzi in an arc across the small shop. Hasidic souvenirs turned to dust. The spent brass spewed out of the eject port and chimed as they bounced on the tile floor. The smell of cordite filled the air. They heard the back door sla m s hut, footsteps pounding in the alley. Ryan struggled to his feet and started in pursuit, but Kaz yelled, "No! Clear the fire zone first. Could be another one in here."

They raced through the cluttered shop, carefully checking aisles. They found the bearded shopkeeper cowering behind the counter. When they were sure there was no second shooter, they moved out the back door and looked down the deserted alley.

"Let's get outta here. We don't need this guy, we need what's in the suitcase," Kaz said, and they headed toward the Jaffa Gate. Ryan was limping badly and his back felt big and unprotected.

At the gate, they found Cole in a loud argument with an Israeli cabdriver. They were yelling at one another in two different languages. Lucinda was standing nearby, watching the commotion in disbelief.

Kaz moved up and pointed the Uzi at the cabbie. "Get the fuck outta here, shithead."

The man moved back glaring at them, as Cole got behind the wheel. Ryan and Lucinda sat in the back. Kaz piled in the passenger seat and laid the still-hot barrel of the Uzi on the dash.

"Go, man! Boil some eggs!'" Kaz yelled.

Cole put the taxi in gear and squealed out of the ancient gate, scattering chickens, Arab shopkeepers, and IDF soldiers as Cole leaned on the horn. Finally, they hit a two-lane road and sped back toward Tel Aviv.

Chapter
60.

THE SUBURB OF HERZELIA PITUAH WAS ON THE COAST. IT was the Malibu of Tel Aviv. Corporation presidents and high-ranking diplomats owned or rented villas there. Gaviel Bach's house, a sixties A-line, was well situated at the end of a land spit, a quarter of a mile beyond the main cluster of houses, screened off by a row of ficus trees. A pool in the back overlooked the Mediterranean.

The long driveway was shielded by a six-foot-high concrete wall. The ex-TV producer, ex-Mafia sister, ex-IR, and ex-fed parked their stolen cab in front of the two-car garage and got out.

"Rummage around in the glove compartment and pop the trunk," Kaz said to Cole.

"why?"

"Everybody over twelve is strapped down over here. That cabbie had to have some kinda weapon with him. I want the gun. We need all the firepower we can get."

They found a Russian-made Tokarev TT-33 and a box of seven-millimeter cartridges for a German Mauser. Kaz pulled out the nine-shot clip and turned it over in his hand; then he chambered the slide and dry-fired it.

"Piece of Russian junk. Used to be a nine-millimeter
,
but you can't get Russian cartridges anymore, so somebody rechambered it. Good luck." He handed it to Cole, who held it like a steaming turd between his thumb and index finger.

"I don't want this."

"I'll take it," Lucinda said, taking the gun, slipping it quickly into her purse.

Cole found the garage key under the flowerpot, right where Misha said it would be. He put it in the keyhole, and the electric door hummed, then opened. The room above the empty carport was long and narrow, about ten feet by four. At one end a series of shelves were stuffed with sporting equipment and old luggage.

On the second shelf, wedged in against the wall, was the Haliburton suitcase. Cole grabbed it and pulled it down.

"Feels light," he said as he popped the latches. They all gathered around and looked inside. It was empty.

"Maybe it's not the same case," Lucinda said.

"No, that's it," Cole said. "These things were very big with agency spooks in the Justice Department during the seventies. It's an odd size, bigger than a briefcase, smaller than a suitcase."

They stood in the small room, looking into the empty case as if the answer were somehow still miraculously inside. Finally, Ryan reached down and closed it. They had come so far. It didn't seem possible that this was the end.

"'Whattayou wanna do?" Cole asked.

"Let's take a look around inside," Ryan suggested.

"You think those tapes are lying around in some desk drawer? Come on, this shit is twenty-six years old," Cole said.

"Can't hurt to look," Kaz said.

They walked around the side of the house. Kaz checked the window frames for alarm tape but didn't find any. "Lemme have a credit card," Cole said.

Ryan handed over his MileagePlus card and Cole moved toward a door that appeared to lead to a pantry. Cole sli
d t
he card in beside the door handle and finally popped the lock, then handed the card back to Ryan, smiling. "Thanks for the press pass." They opened the door and went into the house. The last to enter was Ryan, carrying the empty Haliburton suitcase.

Silvio Candrate tracked Mickey Alo down at a business meeting in a Trenton hotel. Mickey had been trying to set up distribution and supply mutes for Hawaiian ice, which was a designer drug and the brain wreck of choice with the trendy club crowd in Manhattan. Silvio's call got to him at ten A . M
. The sound of a screaming pneumatic wrench and clattering lug bolts provided background for the conversation.

"Mickey," he said "our friend in Israel called me. He thinks you should know that something strange is going on. I got a number you should call if you got a secure line. He's standing by this number for ten minutes."

"Ginune it."

Mickey went to a pay phone in the lobby of the hotel. He jammed in a coin and dialed the number. The operator came on and told him it was eight dollars for three minutes. He always carried ten dollars in quarters in his briefcase. He stuffed the coins into the slot and waited. After the second ring, the Ghost was on the line.

"Hello." His voice seemed surprisingly close.

"Whatta ya got?"

"We secure?"

"More or less; it's a pay phone."

"I found out who everybody is. The two late entries include a guy named Cole Harris, an ex-newsman . . ." "Never heard of him."

"The other guy's an ex-fed named Solomon Kazorowski."

"Fuck! When's that labonza gonna leave me alone?" "You know this guy?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's been walking around in my asshole with a government searchlight for twenty years.

He got fired for busting everybody's balls. What's he doing over there?"

"I don't know. That's why I called. They're looking into something to do with a guy named Gavriel Bich. Ever heard of him?"

"No"

They met with an old woman, Bach's widow. I followed 'em to a house in a pricey suburb. They're inside now. I got an Israeli with me says Gavriel Bach was a big shot, ended up as a Supreme Court judge. I just figured before I closed this off, I'd check in with you, see if you got any last-minute instructions. I'm on a package rate. I'll do 'em all. Cost you nothing but the fallout."

"Just a minute, let me think." Mickey held the phone against his chest; something was buzzing around in his head. Bach's name was familiar but he couldn't place it. He put the phone to his ear again. "Tell me more about this judge . . ."

"I'm gonna put the Israeli on." The Ghost handed the phone to Yossi Rot. "He wants to know about Bach."

"He was very big here," Yossi said in his soft voice. "He was a Supreme Court justice. Made the news when he died, maybe six years ago."

"Before that ... ?"

"I don't know . . . prosecutor, I think."

Mickey slapped the buzzing thought down. "Put the other guy on." After a second, the Ghost was back on the line.

"If I remember, this Gavriel Bach tried the case against Meyer Lansky back in '71. He kept Meyer out of Israel, but what could that have to do with anything?"

"You want me to ignore it? I can just hit these people and get outta here."

Mickey wondered what they were after, but decided too much time had already passed. The presidential election was just three weeks away. It didn't matter what they were looking for. And if they died halfway around the world, it would remain a mystery.

"End it," he finally said, not giving a second's thought to the fact that he was ordering his sister's death.

The Ghost hung up the cell phone and moved back to the blue Mitsubishi. He looked at Frydek, Yossi, and Akmad Jarrar, who was leaning against the rear bumper. Inside the trunk was enough C-4 to blow the entire dock at Jaffa.

"Okay, Yossi, I want you to get up the driveway and put a physics package under that taxi. . . . Use a radio detonator in the C-four. When I hit the switch, I wanna shoot that fucking cab into space."

Yossi nodded, opened the trunk, and grabbed a satchel. Then he jumped over the wall at the foot of the property and, after picking a sheltered route, moved toward the house.