Authors: Russell Blake
Jet struggled to her feet and was approaching the door again when a massive blast hurled her through the air like a rag doll, the wall in front of her disintegrating as a scorching fireball exploded through the windows and doorway. She landed on her back, dazed but still gripping her weapon, and kept her eyes tightly shut until she could turn off her goggles with a shaking hand. Flames poured from the house, distorting the shapes around her with a spectral orange glow, creating a surreal hell in the front yard as an inferno erupted from every aperture, black smoke spewing into the night sky. She turned groggily and glanced at Adam, lying a few yards away, blood trickling from his ears, his gun on the ground where he’d dropped it.
Jet crawled closer and signed to him that she was going to reconnoiter the house perimeter – the total destruction inside a foregone conclusion. She forced herself to her feet and then spun when she sensed motion behind her, nearly sawing Levi in half with her weapon as he sprinted from the front gate, sweeping the area with his rifle.
“Get Adam into the van. I’ll be there in a minute. If more militia show up, take off. I’ll fend for myself,” she hissed, her face black with smeared soot, the tips of her hair singed.
Levi nodded and moved to Adam, who was grimacing in a combination of shock and pain. Jet didn’t wait to confirm that Levi was following her instructions; instead she bolted to the house, this time without bothering to conceal her approach. She ran along one side until she reached the rear section, which was also ablaze, and then, with a glance at the high perimeter wall, crept along the back until she was on the far side of the ruined home.
Fire enveloped the structure, and there was no sign of life – any occupants would have been incinerated. A smoldering beam dropped deep inside the building, a casualty of the flames, and then she heard another big motor revving from down the road to her right – no doubt more militia. She fished her radio from her belt and depressed the transmit button.
“Go, go, go. We’ll rendezvous later by the hotel. I’ll radio in an hour or two,” she ordered, taking in the destruction. The engine noise grew louder, and with a final glance at the gutted home, she shouldered the black nylon strap of her weapon and sprinted for the intersection of the rear and side perimeter walls.
Jet bounded two steps up the rear surface, seeming to defy gravity, and bounced to the side wall. Her hands locked on the top, and then in a move she’d repeated hundreds of times, she pulled herself up and leapt to the second story of the empty construction next door, gripping a concrete window sill until her toes found purchase in a cranny and she hauled herself into the building. She heard the van with Adam and Levi inside tearing off as she prowled across the empty space, her night vision goggles reengaged, and then the sound of men emptying out of a vehicle in front of the blazing compound echoed through the smoke.
Jet moved to the far side of the structure, and after gauging the distance, leapt from one of the windows into space, her feet landing on top of the perimeter wall, her arms flailing to either side as if clutching the air for balance. Then she was running down its length, away from the militia and the dirt road, toward the rear wall, which she knew from her earlier foray backed onto another home on a different street, which would be deserted at that hour, the residents wisely staying indoors lest they become collateral damage in the nocturnal skirmish.
When she reached the next lot, she repeated her high-wire act, and fifteen seconds later dropped down onto the empty, dark dirt road. She hesitated for a moment and then took off at a full run into the gloom, the thumping of her boots on the hard-packed soil echoing the slamming pulse in her ringing ears, the black of her clothes blending with the shadows of the inky Libyan night.
Chapter 22
Three hours later Jet was sitting in a sedan near her hotel, studying Adam’s drawn features while Levi’s eyes darted down the squalid street, dawn still several hours away. Jet was on an encrypted cell call with the director – who, as far as she could tell, never slept.
“That’s correct. One confirmed dead, and the rest likely dead in the explosion. The whole house went up. Nothing could have survived,” she reported, finishing her terse summary.
“But no sign of the device?”
“No. And unless the satellite picks up a radiation signature from the ruins, it wasn’t there. Which was always our worst fear.”
The director paused, his breathing heavy as he lit a cigarette. “So where are we?”
“At best, we killed all three of the targets, and the device is hidden somewhere where it will do no harm. Somehow I find that scenario highly unlikely. More probable is that at least one of the targets took off with it and is either en route to, or at, the final destination, wherever that is, preparing to detonate it.”
Jet’s gaze moved to a black SUV that had just turned the corner and was approaching – the only other occupied vehicle on the street. The SUV accelerated past them and she watched in the side mirror as the brake lights flashed at the next intersection, and then it continued on its way to the waterfront.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with you. Tell me again how this all went so wrong,” the director demanded. Jet turned away from Adam and lowered her voice.
“I’ll give you a full report later. Suffice to say that the intel we got was flawed – the neighborhood is very much under militia control, and the locals aren’t friendly.” She didn’t elaborate, and didn’t want to get into a discussion about how the operative the director insisted she use drew fire while she was silently penetrating the compound. She would put it into the report and he could arrive at his own conclusions.
“All right. The men will remain there. I need you back as soon as possible. Hop on the first plane out this morning. We have another lead we’re going to pursue – a technician we’ve been watching who inexplicably came into some serious money. His spending aroused the attention of some of his peers, who in turn put us on to him.”
“Are you going to reel him in?”
“First thing this morning.”
“And what about Weinstein?”
“I want to discuss that with you after we see what we get out of the technician. I’m reluctant to bring Weinstein in, because once we do, we’ve played all our cards, and his disappearance will alert the other members of The Council.”
“True, but we’re rapidly approaching the point where we have no choice. We don’t know when the deadline is, what the target is, or how exactly the bombing will be carried out. That doesn’t leave us a lot of options other than finding the nearest fallout shelter and praying…”
“Thanks for the succinct summary. Just get back here as quickly as you can,” the director snapped.
“It’ll be at least eight hours from the time I board. Everything goes through Europe.”
“Very well. Just let me know when you’re going to arrive,” he replied, and then the phone went dead.
Jet dropped it into her purse and leaned forward to address Levi and Adam.
“You’re to stay in Libya. Adam, get whatever medical attention you need, and await further orders. I’d stay away from hospitals or clinics. If it were me, I’d pull the shrapnel myself and stitch it up. I wouldn’t trust even the most discreet doctor around here, but it’s your call. I’m shipping out at first light.”
The two men nodded, Adam wincing, their part in the drama over.
Jet opened her door and was stepping out when the black SUV rounded the corner behind the car and accelerated toward them. Alarmed, she reached into her robe for her pistol as it slowed, a door mounted searchlight flickering on as it drew alongside her. The rear window slid down and she saw the distinctive cap of one of the new government’s soldiers, the man’s eyes looking her over before he turned and said something to his companions. She relaxed her grip and shut the door, then turned to face the SUV, as any innocent would do, and was rewarded by the window rolling back up and the big truck continuing on its way, the soldiers part of the downtown patrol that secured the area from any insurgents or militia.
She took a deep breath as she moved to the hotel entrance, her nerves still clamoring a protest from the accumulated adrenaline of the night’s adventure. Once in the elevator she glanced at her watch – by the time she had browsed online for flights and booked whatever was most expedient and then showered and packed, it would be time to check out and get to the airport. In her room, any hopes of a few hours of sleep evaporated once she saw the flight schedules. She entered in her passport information to confirm a reservation and then moved to the bathroom, anxious to scrub off the sweat and the soot that remained in her ears. Her nose crinkled at the pungent smell of smoke wafting from her outfit, and she stepped into the shower fully clothed and let the spray play over her so her luggage wouldn’t smell suspicious if customs wanted to go through her bags.
The water took forever to warm up, and she passed the time scrubbing at her pants and shirt, lathering with soap before rinsing off. Finished with her garments, she stripped them off and luxuriated beneath the hot stream as it washed away the grime from the botched assault. Her ears were still ringing from the explosions, and she knew from experience the tinnitus would take a day or two to diminish. Thankfully the shrapnel had missed her, and other than a few scrapes from being bounced around and her impromptu parkour workout, she was intact, if a little sore from the landing on her back.
When she was done, she brushed the water from her moist hair and donned new clothes, then wrung out her wet shirt and pants before dropping them into a plastic bag. With an eye on the table clock she packed her suitcase and soon was ready to go, having left the weapons and gear in the car. As she waited in the lobby for a taxi, the first slivers of dawn began creeping across the sky, and she was painfully aware that with each new day, their time to stop the bomb was decreasing – for all she knew, D-Day was scheduled for that very morning. If only they had an inkling of where it was going to be detonated, at least they could dispatch personnel. This was the worst of all possible outcomes – a dead end at the house, a nuke in the field, and nothing to go on other than the certainty that it would be used.
The cab finally arrived. The bell captain carried her bag to the curb and informed the driver in an officious tone that their guest would like to go to the airport. Jet eased into the rear seat and closed her burning eyes, wondering how this would all end.
At present, not well
, she mused, and then the driver was grinding the gears as they sped down the empty street toward the plane that would carry her north, away from the devastation she’d left in her wake, no closer to her objective than when she’d landed only a few short hours earlier.
Chapter 23
Jerusalem, Israel
Ben stood, scarcely half awake, at the counter of the breakfast bar, his hair matted on one side of his head from sleep, a dusting of stubble on his face. He pulled his robe around him as he sipped steaming coffee from his oversized mug, and considered his plans for the day. Rachel was still slumbering in the bedroom, dozing after a late night of frolicking and boozing, and he knew that she wouldn’t wake for hours – just in time for a late brunch somewhere expensive. It was the price of admission, he understood, and one well worth paying, given how his life had turned around since he’d started his freewheeling new ways.
He strolled to the living room and punched a button on the remote resting on the stylish glass coffee table. The fifty-inch flat panel television on the far wall flickered to life and he flipped through the channels until he got the business news, then collapsed onto one of the black Italian leather sofas as he lowered the volume to a faint hum. His head was pounding from the beginnings of a hangover, but he figured an hour at the gym would banish the worst of it, and then cocktails with Rachel over brunch would deal with any remnants of the prior night’s excesses.
The knock at his door startled him. His condo building was a secure affair, with a twenty-four-hour attendant in the lobby, and nobody could get in without a call to the tenant first. Ben stood, feeling slightly queasy, and carried his cup to the entrance, where he peered through the peephole. Three suited men stood in the hall with serious expressions.
“Yes? Who is it?” he asked, uneasy at the unexpected intrusion.
“Ben Eshel?”
“Who’s asking, and how did you get in?”
“Mossad, Mr. Eshel. Open up. We need to speak with you.” The speaker sounded annoyed, as if unused to being questioned.
“Mossad? What… let’s see some identification,” Ben demanded, mind whirling.
What did the Mossad want with him? Perhaps it had something to do with the devices? Or perhaps they were going to chastise him for spending so freely
…
One of the men held up an identity card, and Ben studied the photograph and official crest. He truthfully didn’t have the faintest idea what ID the Mossad issued, but the man’s demeanor wasn’t friendly, and a part of Ben intuited that it would be a bad idea to stall any longer than necessary.
“Okay. Just a second,” Ben said as he took a final pull on his coffee before twisting the lock open.
The door swung wide as the men pushed their way in, and Ben was taken aback, knocked off balance.
“Wha–”
One of the men punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and the room swayed as he fought for breath; and then everything dimmed and he blacked out.
When Ben came to, he was bound to a chair in a small room. His head felt like someone had played soccer with it, and his mouth was dry to the point he had a hard time swallowing. Some part of his awareness warned him that he wasn’t in his condo any longer, and as his eyes flickered open his heart sank.
“He’s awake,” a voice said from behind him, and footsteps circled as a figure stepped into the light beaming down on him from an overhead bank of lamps.
“So he is,” the figure said.