Authors: Russell Blake
Because there was one other disturbing thing about the thief, in addition to his fearlessness and apparent skill.
He was Caucasian.
And while there were plenty of burned-out hopheads banging around Thailand in a drug fog, hoping to run out the clock in a foreign land where their poison of choice was inexpensive and they could sustain themselves by preying on fellow tourists, he hadn’t gotten that impression from the intruder. For one thing, the drill wasn’t cheap, and a junkie would have sold it long ago. For another, he hadn’t shown any indication of being impaired – if anything, his reactions had been cat-quick.
Which meant only one thing. He’d been a pro. And if a pro was tailing Matt, there would be more than one – that was just how things worked.
No matter how Matt sliced it, that spelled danger.
He’d had about all he could handle of trouble finding him wherever he went. It was time to disappear and leave a cold trail. And he had a few ideas of how best to accomplish that, especially after dark in the nether reaches of Thailand. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it countless times before.
Chapter 26
Tel Aviv, Israel
The cell door opened and two suited men entered. Ben looked up and cringed inwardly, anticipating another round of interrogation. He was surprised when the heavier of his two captors stopped in front of him and fixed him with a stony gaze.
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we’ve decided we believe your account, and that you acted in good faith when modifying the bombs.”
Ben exhaled a loud sigh of relief. “Thank God. You have no idea how sorry I am that I did any of this.” He paused. “What’s the bad news?”
“You’re going to remain a guest of the Mossad for a while. We might need your expertise if we can locate the device, and we can’t take a chance that you get hit by a bus. So you’ll have to forego your playboy lifestyle for a bit.”
Ben considered the implications. “Are you going to keep me in this damned cell?”
“No, we’ll move you to a more comfortable location. But you’ll be confined to house arrest with guards until the crisis is over.”
“House arrest!”
“It’s better than being charged with treason, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose so,” Ben conceded glumly. “How long do you think this will take?”
“I wish we knew. Hopefully not long. But this isn’t a negotiation. And ironically, you’ll be required to sign all the secrecy documentation you did before – only this time, the genuine article. This can never be spoken about, to anyone.”
Ben nodded. “I understand. Mum’s the word. Not like I’ve been posting it on the internet or anything. So when can I get out of here?”
“How about now?”
Ben’s face broke into a grin for the first time since he’d been taken into custody.
“It’s about frigging time…”
~ ~ ~
Jacob Weinstein was just settling in for the night when the knock at the door echoed through his lavish home. His housekeeper answered it, and a few moments later three men were standing in his bedroom, their expressions more than signaling how much trouble he was in. The lead man was the older agent from the prior meeting. His icy smile sent a chill down Jacob’s spine.
“You were warned. Put your clothes on. You have thirty seconds. After that, we’ll drag you out of here in your underwear. I sort of hope you try me on that,” the agent said, and Jacob knew he was lost.
“This is prepost–” he tried, but the Mossad man cut him off.
“You now have twenty-six seconds,” he said, checking his watch.
“I want to speak to my attorney,” Jacob tried a final time, mustering as much outraged conviction as he could while facing three seasoned Mossad operatives in his silk pajamas.
“Twenty. You’ll have a better time in a cell with the boys in your jammies, I think, so keep talking.”
Jacob didn’t need any further convincing. He threw off the covers and made for the closet. He’d slipped a shirt on and was pulling on a pair of blue suit trousers when the agent snapped his fingers.
“Time. Get him,” the agent ordered, and the other two operatives moved toward him.
“Please. I need shoes,” Jacob pleaded.
“Should have thought of that when you were mouthing off.” The agent’s eyes strayed to the slippers Jacob had been wearing. “Put those on. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”
Jacob was horrified at the prospect of being forced to appear in public wearing his slippers, half dressed, his hair sticking up in all directions, but a glance at the agent silenced any protest forming in his mind. He trudged to his slippers and wedged his feet into them, and then an operative took his arms and held them steady while the other slapped on a set of cuffs, the snick of the locking mechanism as loud as a rifle shot to Jacob’s ear. The reality of the situation couldn’t have been better underscored than by that sound, and Jacob’s heart sank as he realized that all his work, all his money, would be lost in the witch hunt that was to follow.
“I still want my attorney,” he managed, and then froze when the Mossad agent smiled again, this time with what appeared to be genuine merriment.
“Jacob Weinstein, you are charged with treason – a capital offense in times of war, which it will be pretty soon if your bomb goes off. You have no rights, and should have no expectation of anything but death at the receiving end of a firing squad. If it was up to me I’d have you stoned, like the old days, but unfortunately it’s not. Then again, I plan to lobby for an exception, and you never know – given the heinous nature of your crimes, I may just get it. So shut your mouth and stop your whining. You disgust me enough as it is.”
The men led him downstairs while the housekeeper stood with a fourth operative who was taking her into custody – they weren’t taking any chances of Jacob’s plight being communicated to anyone. She would be detained until the crisis was over, with no contact allowed with the outside world.
The team led Jacob to a black van parked by the service entrance and loaded him into the back. The two silent operatives took seats on the bench next to him, with the agent taking one across from him.
“Did you really think you would get away with this? I gave you a chance and you spit in my face. Now we’ll see who’s all high and mighty by the end of the night. I’ve seen battle-hardened true believers cry like newborns after the interrogation team gets through with them – assuming they live through it. You? You’re old and weak and soft. My guess is you’ll be spilling your guts before they’re done with the cattle prod to your genitals, much less the rest of it.”
The man saw the reaction he was looking for in Jacob’s eyes – pure, unadulterated terror. That was good; the desired response. He would break much faster if his mind worked against him, playing the horrific scenarios in his head. It was all part of the drill, but he was enjoying his role, perhaps more than in most cases. That this wealthy industrialist – who had made fortunes more vast than he could imagine – would plot to create a terrorist event that could bring the country to the edge of disaster was more loathsome than a suicide bomber or a rabid cleric spewing hate and intolerance. This man had benefited in every way by his associations and his position, and he had betrayed them all.
The van rolled onto the street and wound its way from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, Jacob turning increasingly white as the journey continued. The prisoner was clearly panicked, which was the whole point to the exercise – they needed him to be pliant when the interrogation began.
Eventually they pulled to a stop outside the darkened warehouse where Ben had been questioned, and the rear doors swung open, held by two somber operatives, their suit jackets bulging from their concealed weapons. One of them muttered into his cuff, and then the men in the van unloaded Jacob and began walking him to the rear entrance.
Gunfire exploded from the gloom; the man holding Jacob’s right arm went down with a groan. Another burst echoed from the between the buildings, and the agent fell forward in an explosion of blood. The other operative holding Jacob released him and drew his pistol. The rapid burp of an automatic weapon shattered the night again, and he fired at it even as he was hit and fell into a heap at Jacob’s feet, blood soaking the white shirt beneath his suit. The two remaining operatives crouched and shot at the assailant, but the incoming fire was too much to overcome, and in seconds they too were lying dead.
Jacob spun around, his eyes searching furiously for the threat, and then a black-clad man came running at him carrying an MTAR-21 assault rifle, a trickle of blood running down his right cheek from where a bullet had grazed him. Jacob froze, waiting for the death shot, and then the man whispered at him.
“Come on. Can you run?”
“What?!”
“
Can. You. Run?
We’re going to be swarmed with operatives any second, so make up your mind.”
As if to highlight their predicament, two men appeared in the building’s doorway, and the black-clad man crouched and emptied his weapon at them, hitting them both with a sustained burst before ejecting the spent magazine and slamming a fresh one in place. His gaze swept the parking area before returning to Jacob.
“Last time I’m going to ask.”
“Yes, I…I think so…”
“Good. Let’s go,” the man said. He tugged Jacob’s arm and sprinted for the shadows behind another of the massive buildings. Jacob hesitated for a second and then followed him, anxious not to be left behind. After a final look at the corpses all over the lot, he ran behind his rescuer, the dim lights behind him fading as he picked up his pace.
“Over here,” the man called, and Jacob saw him standing near a black Mercedes G550 with no plates. “Hurry. We’re out of time. They’ll have helicopters here soon, and then we’re dead.”
Jacob approached the vehicle as the man cranked over the big engine, then leaned over and opened the passenger door for him. “Now. Man, you’re slow. Do you want to be tortured and killed? Move, damn it,” he hissed.
Jacob pulled himself into the seat and then got the door closed – difficult to do with his hands cuffed, but he managed. His rescuer floored the accelerator and they surged forward, cutting across a dirt field, bouncing over ruts, and then slammed through a chain link gate and merged onto an empty access road that paralleled the freeway in the near distance to their left.
“Are you all right?” the driver asked, eyes locked on the road in the darkness, running without lights by the faint glow of the moon.
“Ye…Yes, I think so.” Jacob paused and took in the man’s bleeding profile. “Who are you?”
“A friend. The group hired me to extract you. They got a tip that you were to be taken tonight, but there was no time to warn you. Sorry about that. You’re lucky I made it before they got you inside. Nobody ever walks out of there. Nobody. It would have been impossible to save you then, so this is your lucky night.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“That’s because you didn’t make it into the building. Trust me. You narrowly missed your worst living nightmare in hell. I used to work for them. I know.”
“You’re ex-Mossad?”
“No, I’m a dentist and you’re late for your cleaning. What the hell’s wrong with you? What do you think?”
Jacob jolted as they hit a particularly nasty rut, his mind churning. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace safe. We need to get you out of the country. They’ll be scouring the Earth to find you.”
“But–”
“No buts. Do you want to live? If so, you’ll do exactly as I say. Now stop being an idiot and listen up. First, what did they tell you?”
“Not much. That I was being charged with treason.”
“That’s it? And what did you tell them?” he demanded as he veered left down a drainage ditch.
“Nothing. I told them nothing.”
“Jacob. This is very important. You didn’t tell them anything about the bomb? Not even a little hint to make things easier for you? You can be honest with me. Really. I understand what you have to do when in a crisis situation, more than most. What did you tell them?”
“I told you – nothing.”
“You expect me to believe that? My instructions are very clear – to get you out of this mess, and verify how much you told them so we can take evasive action. But you have to help me, Jacob.”
“How do you know about the bomb?” Jacob asked, suspicious.
“I’m part of the team that’s going to deal with it, you dumb bastard. Now answer my question – did you tell them where it was to be detonated? Or when?”
“No! How the hell could I? I don’t have any idea where it’s going to go off. All I know is that it’ll be soon. How would that help them?” Jacob spat, seething at the man’s tone.
They hit another bad pothole, jarring them both, and the man twisted the wheel to the left again.
“They’re going to be all over us, Jacob, so I need to be able to trust you, and know you aren’t going to crumple on me in the clinch. Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll find out eventually, and if you’re lying to me, there’s no place you’ll be safe. Ever.”
“I swear I’m telling you the truth! How could I tell them what I don’t even know myself?”
“So you say. You must have some suspicion, some clue. What did you tell them, Jacob? Shit. Get down. Duck out of sight,” the driver ordered, his brow furrowing. Jacob obeyed, slouching down into his seat so his head wasn’t above the door panel.
“Can you reach the lever on the right side at the base of the seat? If so, drop the back as far as it’ll go and stay down.”
Jacob strained as the rough terrain jostled the vehicle when the man increased his speed, and his groping, cuffed hands finally found the handle. He reclined with a jolt, almost prone, and the driver nodded, his eyes still on some distant object.
“Last time, Jacob. What did you tell them? Look at you. You aren’t bloodied. Why wouldn’t they have already started on you? Because you talked. Now so help me, you tell me what you said, or I’ll dump you off here and you can take your chances with their dogs and patrols.”
“God damn it! I told you, I didn’t tell them anything! Shit, if I did, it would be pure guesswork. An invention. Nobody knows where the bomb’s going off except for the inner circle of The Council. Didn’t they fill you in?” Jacob snapped.