He thought for a moment, then twisted his face into a grimace.
“Well, a mad plan is better than no plan,” he muttered to himself, then hastily descended the bluff toward the sea.
16
S
OPHIE FELT THE EYES OF THE GUNMAN STARE AT HER incessantly. Stalking back and forth like a hungry tiger, the shorter of the two gunmen aimed his bloodshot eyes at her with nearly every step. She intentionally avoided making eye contact, tending to Sam and Raban or looking away toward the sea. This only served to frustrate the guard, and he finally demanded her attention.
“You,” he said, waving his gun at her. “Stand up.”
Sophie rose slowly to her feet but kept her eyes focused on the ground. The gunman poked his rifle beneath her chin, forcing her to raise her head.
“Leave her alone,” Raban cried in a weakened voice.
The gunman stepped over and thrust a boot at the agent, striking him on the side of the jaw. Raban crumpled over, lying on the sand in an open-eyed daze.
“Coward,” Sophie said, finally looking the Arab in the eye with contempt.
He slowly moved close to her. Easing his rifle up, he gently poked her in the cheek and jaw with the weapon’s muzzle.
“Mahmoud, you like that one?” his partner said, watching the confrontation with amusement. “She is pretty, for a Jew. And even prettier for an antiquities agent,” he added with a laugh.
Mahmoud said nothing, his eyes boring salaciously into Sophie’s. He eased the gun barrel down the side of her neck, then followed the border of her open-collared shirt, pressing the cool metal against her skin. When the barrel reached the top button of her blouse, he held it there, straining against the clasp. When it failed to give, he slowly pulled the barrel to one side, attempting a glimpse of her left breast.
Sophie wanted to knee him in the groin but opted for a quick kick to the shin, hoping it would lessen the likelihood of him killing her. Mahmoud jumped back, grunting in pain as he hopped about on one foot. His partner laughed aloud at the scene, heaping further humiliation on the gunman.
“You have a spirited one there. I think she is too brazen for you,” he taunted.
Mahmoud shook off the blow and marched over to Sophie. He stood so close that she could smell the dank odor of his breath.
“We shall see who is spirited,” he hissed, a rabid glare to his eyes.
He turned to hand his rifle to his partner when the loud whine of a generator erupted down the beach. A few seconds later, a pounding splash of cascading water echoed over the waves. All eyes turned that direction, and a faint silvery arc could be seen shooting over the horizon.
“Mahmoud, go and see what that is,” the partner ordered, his demeanor suddenly serious.
Mahmoud leaned toward Sophie and whispered in her ear, “I shall have fun with you when I return.”
Sophie eyed him with daggers as he turned and marched down the beach, his rifle at the ready. She then collapsed onto the sand, trying to hide her hands that trembled with fright. Trying to calm herself, she thought again of Dirk and wondered whether he might have had anything to do with the commotion.
As the figure of Mahmoud disappeared into the darkness, the other gunman paced nervously in front of the captives. He scanned down either stretch of beach, then stepped around the captives and surveyed the empty seats of the amphitheater with a flashlight. Finding nothing amiss, he resumed his position along the beachfront.
Lying on the sand, Sam rolled to a sitting position, finally regaining his bearings after an earlier blow to the head.
“How are you feeling, Sam?” Sophie asked him.
“Okay,” he answered in a slurred voice. He looked around at his fellow captives, slowly reorienting himself. His gaze shifted toward the gunman, and he raised an unsteady arm in his direction and asked, “Who’s that?”
“One of several terrorists holding us hostage,” Sophie replied bitterly. But she nearly choked on her last words as she glanced toward the guard and realized that wasn’t who Sam was asking about.
A dozen yards behind the Arab, a shadowy figure had emerged from the surf and was making a quick beeline toward the guard. He was tall and thin and carried a blunt object in his arms. Sophie’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest when she recognized the owner of the profile.
It was Dirk.
The gunman stood with his back to the sea, his eyes focused on the area around the amphitheater. Just a turn of the head would expose Dirk’s approach, leaving him quick fodder for the assault rifle. Sophie realized she had to hold the guard’s attention so that Dirk could approach unseen.
“What . . . what is your name?” she stammered.
The gunman gave her a quizzical look, then laughed.
“My name? Ha. You can call me David, the boy shepherd tending to my flock.”
He was proud of his joke and gazed at Sophie with beaming eyes. Sophie tried not to look past him as the shadowy figure moved closer.
“What will you do with the artifacts, David?” she asked, struggling to keep the man engaged.
“Why, turn them into cash, of course,” he replied with a chuckle. It was then that he detected movement behind him, but he turned too late.
The flat blade of a shovel struck him in the side of the head as he turned. The blow stunned him, dropping him to his knees, as he fumbled to train his gun. Dirk quickly reversed his swing, leveling a second blow to the other side of the man’s head, which knocked him down and out.
“Everybody here all right?” Dirk asked, catching his breath as the salt water dripped off his body.
Sophie jumped up and grabbed his arm, relieved at his presence.
“We’re okay, but there’s another gunman who just walked down the beach.”
“I know. I set off the water jet to lure him away.”
As he spoke, they could hear the distant generator sputter to a halt, the cascading waterfall dying with it.
“He’ll be coming right back,” she said in a low tone.
Dirk quickly surveyed the small group of captives. Sam sat with a dazed look in his eye, leaning against the bloodied agent Raban. Dr. Haasis was lying down with his leg wrapped in a shirt bandage, looking as if he was in a state of shock. The remaining students—three women and two men—sat looking at him with hopeless anxiety. Dirk could plainly see that the collected group would be unable to make a speedy escape. He gazed at the sleeping gunman, then turned to Sophie.
“Help me get his jacket off.”
Dirk lifted the man’s torso off the ground while Sophie stripped off his loose black jacket. Holding him under the arms, Dirk dragged the man around to the back side of the captives.
“Bury his legs in the sand, then sit in front of his upper body,” he told the two male students. They quickly shoved sand over his feet and legs, then tried to conceal the rest of his body by sitting cross-legged in front of it.
Dirk yanked off the gunman’s scarf and wrapped it around his head, then slipped into the black jacket. He ran back around to the front of the group and picked up the assault rifle.
“He’s coming,” someone whispered in a frightened voice.
“Sit back down,” Dirk said to Sophie as he checked the weapon. It was a mass-produced AK-74, likely smuggled into the country through Egypt. Dirk was vaguely familiar with the gun, having fired a similar version at a shooting range one time. He felt along the left side of the receiver to ensure that the fire selector switch was on automatic, then pulled back on the charging lever. He quickly raised the weapon and faced the group as if standing guard.
Mahmoud appeared along the beach and trudged up to the captives with an annoyed scowl.
“Someone made a water fountain with a generator,” he muttered. “Shot fifty feet into the sky.”
Dirk kept his back toward the man, waiting for him to step closer. When he felt him draw near, he slowly wheeled around, casually leveling the AK-74 at Mahmoud’s chest.
“You take good care of the girl while I was gone?” the Arab asked. Then he froze.
It dawned on him that his silent partner had suddenly grown taller, was sporting a wet pair of short pants, and gazed bitterly at him through a pair of green eyes. Then there was the Kalashnikov rifle pointed in his direction.
“Drop your weapon,” Dirk ordered.
Sophie repeated the command in Arabic, but it was unnecessary. Mahmoud knew exactly what Dirk meant. The Arab looked at Sophie and the students, then back to Dirk. Amateurs, he thought. His partner, Saheem, might have been duped, but he wouldn’t be.
“Yes, yes,” he said with a nod, extending his weapon toward the ground. But with a sudden move, he dropped to one knee and pulled the rifle stock to his shoulder while taking aim at Dirk.
The AK-74 in Dirk’s hands barked first. Four slugs tore into Mahmoud’s chest, throwing him backward, before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger. A heaving gasp dribbled from his lips, but his dying words were drowned by a frightened scream from one of the students. Sophie jumped to her feet and stepped close to Dirk.
“He was a filthy pig,” she said, eyeing the dead man.
Dirk took a deep breath to calm his pounding pulse, then walked over to Mahmoud and picked up his rifle. Up the hill, the horn on the utility truck suddenly blared, echoing down to the beach.
“A probable call to arms,” Dirk said. “We need to get everyone away from here and out of sight.”
He walked over to the group and called to one of the students, a wiry man with long legs.
“Thomas, we need you to go get us some help. There’s a housing development less than a mile up the beach. Find a phone, and see if you can get some police here pronto. Just be sure to tell them what they’ll be up against.”
The young man stood up and looked hesitantly at his friends, then turned and took off down the beach at a sprint. Dirk quickly scanned the area around them, then stood before the remaining group.
“We need to move before they come looking for their friends. Let’s see if we can get around the back side of the amphitheater, for starters,” he said.
“This one is stirring,” replied one of the students, motioning toward the prone figure of Saheem.
“Leave him be,” Dirk replied. He stepped over to Sophie and handed her one of the assault rifles. “Did you serve in the Israel Defense Forces?” he asked.
“Yes, I did my two years,” she said. Israel’s mandatory military conscription also applied to women. She took the gun without hesitation.
“Can you cover our retreat?” he asked.
“I can try.”
Dirk leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Stay close to us.”
He walked over and helped Dr. Haasis to his feet. The professor’s eyes were dull and his skin pale from the shock of his wound. With help from the other male student, Dirk hauled him across the sand. With the others in tow, he led them over the amphitheater’s stage and toward the far edge of the tiered seats. Sophie followed the group a few paces behind, peering through the darkness for any approaching figures.
Gasping for breath, Dirk muscled the deadweight of Haasis to the rear of the towering structure. Nearby was a storage shed that had been constructed to house concert equipment and was positioned against the side of the theater. Dirk dragged Haasis behind the shed and gently laid him on the ground. The other students and the wounded agents fell in alongside the professor as Sophie brought up the rear.
“We’ll hold up here and wait for the police to arrive,” Dirk said, finding the corner a manageable defensive position.
“Dirk, I see lights coming down the trail,” Sophie reported quietly.
They peered around the side of the shed toward a pair of faint lights that bobbed down the hill. The beams slowly made their way along the beach, accompanied by an occasional shout of a name. One of the beams sprayed upon Saheem, who had managed to stand up but was staggering about in a daze. The dead body of Mahmoud was soon discovered, amplifying a frenzied murmur of voices. One of the lights turned and fanned across the interior of the amphitheater. Dirk wrapped an arm around Sophie and jerked her back from the edge.
“Sorry,” he whispered, relaxing his grip only slightly. “They have night vision goggles.”
Sophie slipped an arm around Dirk’s torso and squeezed back. They clung to each other for a minute before Dirk attempted another peek. To his relief, both light beams were proceeding down the beach and could soon be seen bounding up the hill. A few minutes later, the faint rumble of the utility truck was heard making its way out of the park.
A wail of sirens and flashing lights arrived at the park just ten minutes later. Dirk and Sophie hiked up to the camp as a patrol of armed police with high-beamed flashlights and barking German shepherds burst down the trail. They led the police to the amphitheater, where Haasis and the injured agents were quickly evacuated by ambulance. Dirk noted with curiosity that the body of Mahmoud had disappeared, dragged up the hill by his comrades and carted off with the stolen artifacts.
After extensive questioning by the police, Dirk took a look inside the artifact tent. As he expected, all of the scroll boxes had been removed. What he didn’t expect to find were the storehouse artifacts, which were still scattered about the tables in varying states of analysis and conservation. He exited the tent to find Sophie approaching from the parking lot. Under the overhead lights, he could see her eyes were red, and she appeared to be trembling. Dirk stepped over and grabbed her hand.
“They just took Arie away,” she said, referring to agent Holder. “Shot dead over some stupid artifacts.”
“They were as apt at stealing as they were at killing. They heisted only the scrolls, didn’t even bother with the other artifacts,” he replied, nodding toward the tent.
Sophie’s face seemed to harden. “The phony antiquities agent tipped them off. The young student, Stephanie, thought he was one of the gunmen here tonight.”