Authors: Russell Blake
A masked gunman hurled a grenade in a last-ditch effort to cause some real damage, but it fell short and rolled beneath the armored SUV. When it exploded, the force of the blast rocked the vehicle and shattered the windows. More shooting pummeled the vans as the surviving attackers leapt into the backs. The vehicles tore off, trailing oil and sparks, strips of tire flying as they ran on their rims.
The perspiring driver of the lead van cursed and placed a call on his cell phone as he aimed for the alley that was their escape route. Wira answered on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“It failed. They were heavily armed. Professional. The intelligence was wrong.”
“How bad?”
“We lost most of the men. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of here. I hear sirens.”
“Damn.” Wira paused. “Do what you must. Go with Allah.”
The driver disconnected, understanding that he had just been sentenced to death if he couldn’t get to the rendezvous point safely. It didn’t bother him. He’d long been prepared for the eventuality, although he hadn’t expected it to happen that morning. Still, everyone had to die sometime, and today was as good a day as any to go to his reward.
A police cruiser swerved out of a side street and accelerated behind the vans. Its lights blinked and siren blared as it fishtailed and then regained control. An amplified voice boomed over the car’s public address system and ordered the vans to stop. The driver glanced at the pistol on the seat beside him and nodded. He would need to remember to count his shots so he could save the final bullet for himself.
Another cruiser joined the pursuit, and the driver floored the accelerator as the men in the cargo area fired at the police through the open rear doors. He knew it was hopeless, but he would lead them on a merry chase and cause as much damage as possible if today was to be his final one. An officer leaned out of the passenger side of the police car and fired a 12-gauge riot gun with double-aught buckshot as a series of white starbursts dotted the squad car’s windshield. The policeman’s second shot blew out the remaining rear tire, and the van lost control as it tried to make the turn onto a larger boulevard, flipping over three times before coming to rest in a pool of fuel.
The lead van driver accelerated now that he was on a larger street, and felt a brief glimmer of hope before another cruiser darted from a side street in front of him and blocked his way. He uttered a silent prayer and pointed the wheel squarely at the side of the car, and then he flew through the air as the hood crumpled on impact, ejected headfirst through the vaporized windshield.
The van exploded in a ball of flame, its fuel ignited by an errant spark from the collision. The last thing the driver saw before he hit the pavement was the fire reaching for the heavens, a thing of pure majesty, the embodiment of destruction brought to Singapore by men of vision and determination in an ongoing holy war that would know no end.
Chapter 9
Ramallah, West Bank
The graveyard shift was a kind of penance for Maya under normal circumstances, the tedious hours ticking by in slow motion, but not this night – her mind raced out of control as she tried to engineer an escape from the box she found herself in. As the hours wore on, any confidence she’d been able to muster waned as she played through scenarios in her head where she was able to warn her superiors, bypassing Kevod, and averting disaster.
But even as she imagined ways to do so, she understood that she really didn’t have any evidence other than hearsay – a conversation overheard that she may or may not have interpreted accurately. And even if she was taken at face value and given full benefit of the doubt, what was the crime committed? Discussing ball bearings?
Maya believed that the man in the house was the passenger from the ambulance attack, but what proof did she have? True, his features were similar to those in a grainy photo taken through a dirty windshield, but the reality was that it was a face not unlike that of a substantial number of adult males in the West Bank. With the beard, the resemblance was even fainter, although she was still convinced it was him.
And he was involved in a plot that would cause maximum destruction to “the cockroaches.” Her imagination hadn’t invented that.
When the first rays of dawn marbled the eastern sky with purple and fuchsia veins, she was pacing, nervous energy causing her to grind her teeth, frustrated with her predicament. If her superior wasn’t a pig, she might have had a chance, but as it was, she was sure that any confession would be used to grind her into the dirt. Traffic began arriving, as it had that fateful morning Sarah had lost her life, and she busied herself with routine checks, praying for her final hour to draw to a close so she could try to get some sleep. She couldn’t think clearly running on empty, and she was hoping some rest would afford her the breakthrough that had eluded her during the night.
When her shift was over, she made her way to the women’s barracks, which now felt more like a prison than a refuge. She was sure that Kevod had something to do with her being the only female at the checkpoint, a sort of solitary confinement to punish her for rejecting him. She stripped off her uniform and hung it in her locker, her robe and hijab safely hidden away in one of the bathroom cabinets, and within minutes was lying on her cot, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to embrace her.
Maya’s slumber was restless. She tossed and turned to the distracting lullaby of muffled motors revving and gears grinding out in the line. When she cracked her eyes open five hours after lying down, she felt more fatigued than ever. A headache had started while she dozed that now threatened to blossom into an incapacitating throb.
A tepid shower and three cups of black coffee revived her, and by the time Samuel was back on duty, she felt jittery but alert. The heat of the day was intense when she met him by the rear gate. She still wore her uniform, but kept her disguise rolled up under one arm.
“I’ve got a situation, Samuel,” she said in greeting, worry written across her face.
“Yeah? What is it?”
She told him about her suspicions.
He emitted a low whistle and shook his head. “I’d go to Kevod, or above him. These are people’s lives you’re playing with.”
“I know. But I need more than just a few overheard snatches of conversation. It’s not enough to get anyone to act.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Yes, I can. Anyone I report it to will call Kevod right after I finish, and he’ll tell them I’m a problem case. That’ll ensure the warning goes nowhere.”
“Maybe you can invent a story – you overheard two men talking while working the line?”
She frowned. “How believable does that sound? Two guys discussing their next terrorist strike while within earshot of the IDF?”
He shrugged. “I see your point. Hey, you could leave an anonymous note where Kevod could find it. Or send one to the command center.”
“Which might or might not generate any interest. That’s about as good as a coin toss, and you know it.”
“They treat this sort of thing very seriously.”
“Perhaps. But if this is going down in the next couple of days, we can’t afford any blundering around. And as of right now I have no idea where the bomb is located.”
“I thought you said it was at the house.”
“No, that’s part of the problem. The guy I think killed Sarah lives there, but he was telling the other one he’d be getting ball bearings for him. So it sounds like it’s the other man who’s actually building the bomb, and it didn’t sound like he was doing it at the house.”
Samuel paused. “What are you going to do?”
“See if I can tail him when he leaves after picking up the bearings.”
Samuel blinked in disbelief. “Are you insane?”
“Maybe. But do you have a better idea?”
He stared off into the distance before answering. “Not really. What a crappy situation.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Look, do me a favor. If you need help or anything happens, text or call me. Seriously. If there’s trouble, I’ll make sure the entire IDF shows up.”
Her expression softened. “Thanks, Samuel. You’re a true friend.”
“No, I’m just as crazy as you are. But it would be better if you made it back tonight and filed a formal report. Just come up with a story about how you’ve been sneaking out – I don’t want to get my ass handed to me for helping you.”
“You just offered to lead the cavalry over the hills.”
“That was as a last resort, and it’s deniable – you called me, remember? But I don’t need it memorialized in writing that I assisted you in your little missions.”
Maya glanced around the empty area and nodded before pulling her robe over her head and donning the hijab. She stepped close to him, placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “What’s with the long face? I’ll be back in no time.”
Samuel watched her disappear around a dusty corner, the constant wind blowing long threads of sand over the rough pavement, and muttered under his breath.
“Girl’s lost it. Completely lost it.”
Chapter 10
Prague, Czech Republic
Max strode down the boulevard, streetlamps illuminating his way, his black overcoat and briefcase identifying him as a mid-level businessman returning home after a long day at the office. He paused at an intersection and checked his watch, then turned and walked down the smaller, quiet street, taking his time as he fiddled with his cell phone. Two blocks further he hesitated in front of a large residence whose austere façade served as a memorial to glory days past. After glancing around, he mounted the three steps to the front stoop, clutching the iron railing for support, and depressed the doorbell.
He stood like a penitent before the enameled door for twenty seconds, and then a female voice called from inside.
“Yes?”
“I’m here for my piano class.”
The door swung open, and a tall woman wearing dress slacks and a crème silk blouse studied him for a moment.
“Ah. Just so. Come in,” she said.
He entered the foyer, which was lit by two low-wattage bulbs in antique sconces above a wall decorated with forgettable oil paintings, and his hostess closed the door behind him.
“Was there something special you had in mind?”
“I made an appointment with Esther.”
“I see. Would you be kind enough to open your briefcase? Strictly routine, I assure you.”
Max looked uncomfortable, but nodded. He placed the case on a small side table and thumbed the latches open with a snap. The woman looked inside, her face impassive. She took in the diaper and pacifier without comment and nodded. He closed the case, blushing slightly.
“Very well. This way. Would you like a cocktail? Some other sort of refreshment?” she asked, leading him down the wood-paneled hall. To the right, through a double-width doorway, was a palatial living room with heavy antique furniture and baroque décor. Obviously wealthy men of all persuasions were lounging about, drinking with scantily clad young women, some in lingerie. A swarthy fellow with olive skin cupped his companion’s breast with a playful grin; the fact that he was easily triple her age was apparently not a deterrent in matters of the heart. Two men in their forties wearing silk suits chatted in hushed but distinctively Russian tones at a small round table near the entry. Several lithe hostesses hovered silently near them, swaying slightly to the ambient music. A polished mahogany bar occupied the far end of the room, and a breathtakingly beautiful platinum blonde wearing a bow tie and gold sequined halter top mixed drinks behind it.
“No, thanks. I think I’d just like to visit with Esther.”
“Of course. Right this way,” she said, escorting him up a wide staircase whose beige marble steps were perfectly complemented by the rich dark hardwood banister. He followed quietly, admiring the framed photographs of nineteenth-century Prague, before arriving at the landing. A long corridor with doors on either side stretched to the rear of the house. The woman approached the third on the right and rapped softly. “Esther, dear?” she cooed. “You have a visitor.”
She turned and gave Max a warm smile and then made her way back down the hallway, leaving him to his fate. The door opened, and a stunning brunette in a black silk robe eyed him, a knowing smile on her flawless face. She nodded and stepped back, allowing him to enter the room, which could have been from another planet, so differently from the rest of the house was it appointed. The walls were covered in black latex, the lighting muted red, with the center of attention a king-sized bed that featured a shiny crimson rubber sheet. Above it an elaborate harness fashioned from leather with four chrome rings connecting what looked like stirrups hung from the ceiling, and next to the bed a dizzying array of whips, clamps, sex toys, handcuffs, and bindings were displayed in an open armoire.
“Darling. It’s good to see you,” Esther cooed, pushing the door closed behind her before moving across the room. “I hope you’ve been taking your vitamins.”
“I have. And I’ve been looking forward to this all month. I like the new place,” Max said, studying the accessories on the shelves.
“Yes, well, it’s very discreet. Perfect for our little rendezvous, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
Esther opened her robe and shrugged it off, revealing a leather corset and black thigh boots with five-inch spiked heels. “Are you ready for your session? Have you been a bad boy?”
“Very, very bad. Offensively so,” Max assured her.
She moved an antique coat rack over a few feet and hung the robe on it, and then approached Max, who was sitting on the bed, his expression neutral. Esther mouthed the word “camera” and winked. Max nodded.
“Open the briefcase, and let’s see what you brought, shall we?” she suggested.
“I told you I’ve been bad.”
“No more talking until I give you permission. You will obey me now, or you’ll pay for your disobedience.”
Max opened the case and twisted two hidden levers with practiced fingers, revealing a hidden compartment. He removed two sheets of paper and several black-and-white photographs and handed them to Esther. She took them and read the documents carefully and then studied the photos for a few moments before handing them back.