Tyreen Mackenzie paced the aisles on the Concorde, walking from one end of the passenger compartment to the other, and then back again. Wolfie and Michelle were in one of the cabins forward of the communications center, though Tyreen was sure they weren't getting any sleep just yet. And she really couldn't blame them; Tyreen herself wasn't quite ready to sleep.
Like everyone else who had been on the raid, her body was still riding an adrenaline high. Unlike most of them, her Arion body reacted somewhat differently. Unfortunately, there wasn't too much she could do about it, she just couldn't see herself taking one of the commandos with her into a cabin.
Here she was, on a plane filled with men, and there was only one man she wanted. However, Jacob Chernow was busy, gathering reports from around the world and also discussing further operations with Shema.
Sighing softly, she returned to her seat, listening to what Shema was telling Chernow as he continued to debrief her.
The car jolted over another pothole and came to a stop outside a shack, which appeared to Raza to be held together with cord and nails. The rain, which had fallen steadily since they had left Mexico City, had stopped, leaving only the humidity. Despite the air conditioner, the inside of the car was like a sauna.
Each time he moved, Raza could feel the dampness of the upholstery against his dark three-piece suit. During the long drive, he had regularly needed to wipe the gold-rimmed glasses he had adopted as a disguise.
The hand-tooled briefcase on the seat beside him glistened in the damp. Inside was his Chilean passport and documents stating he was a member of a Santiago brokerage with business appointments in Chicago and New York. The forged papers were purely for backup. Raza did not expect to encounter any checks on his way into the United States.
The driver, who reeked of fiery jalapeño peppers, turned and displayed a mouthful of badly discolored teeth. "Pilot ees inside, señor."
Beyond the hut, Raza could see the Beech-18 parked on the grass strip. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."
The man shrugged and climbed out of the car. He was used to the ways of his passengers and the cartel paid him well.
Raza watched him waddle toward the hut, scratching his backside. The man was a peasant; he had even broken wind at the table when they stopped at the safe house on the way here. There had been a fax from Nadine waiting, saying that Faruk Kadumi was on his way to New York. He had sent a short acknowledgment.
As the car had passed through a succession of improvised towns and villages, he had begun to wonder why Nadine had mentioned nothing about the success of the London operation. He had tried to call her on the mobile phone the cabal had provided, but there had been only the long continuous sound that indicated the villa's number was out of service. That sometimes happened with sandstorms, but this wasn't the month for sandstorms. Then, minutes ago, he had received a call from the cabal's chief operator in Mexico asking him to contact Ayatollah Muzwaz immediately.
Raza dialed the number in Iran. With the air conditioning off, the atmosphere in the car had become even more cloying.
The familiar wheezy voice was immediately demanding. "You have heard?"
"I have been traveling, O Magnificent One," said Raza.
"Then you do not know what has happened in London and Libya," said the Ayatollah chestily.
Raza felt a sudden pounding in his head. The pain was back, worse than he had ever known it. He closed his eyes; the throbbing was still there. "What has happened?" he finally asked, opening his eyes.
The Ayatollah told him, in that hard, driving voice. He told him about Effendi and Faruk Kadumi, about the death of Saleem Arish and the arrest of all the collectors. Finally, he told him about the destruction in Libya. He spared Raza nothing.
"The Zionists," continued the Ayatollah in the same harsh voice. "They are responsible. Chernow --- he is behind it all. Yet you assured us he would be no threat. We made our plans on your assurance. We believed you. We trusted you."
"He could not have done this alone," choked Raza. "The Colonel must have betrayed us. The Zionists have corrupted him through their allies in the White House. The dog Appleton, he would be the one. He must be dealt with!"
"You were betrayed from within!" continued the cold, implacable voice.
"Within? I do not understand, O Magnificent One. Within?"
The Ayatollah wheezed before continuing. "This woman of yours who was a prisoner in Germany. Our most trusted brother there has told us she has been released. She was seen boarding the Zionist plane to London. Later, she was seen at the airport in Paris. She is working with them. She has betrayed you, we are certain!"
The pounding in his head was making Raza dizzy. The air was unbearably hot, yet the sweat trickling down his body was cold.
"Did she do it for money? Was she bribed or blackmailed?" asked the Ayatollah rhetorically. "In the end, it is of no consequence. She betrayed you!"
Raza wanted to scream. Then the moment passed. When he spoke, his voice was flat. "It is not possible. She is totally loyal to..."
"Do not speak to me about loyalty!" rasped the Ayatollah. "You assured us that everyone you chose would be absolutely loyal, would obey your every order. But look at that imbecile you sent to London!"
"I have already told you, O Magnificent One, that I will deal with him once he has done his work!"
"There is now less than a day left before we must give the signal for the jihad," the pitiless voice continued. "Many of my colleagues feel we cannot risk that after your failure in London. Far from cowing our enemies, you have alerted them. They are now more vigilant than ever. We are all very disappointed in what has happened."
Suddenly, Raza was shouting. "Listen, old man, it is not finished yet! Do not judge me until it is!"
Raza broke the connection and, grabbing his briefcase, he climbed out of the car and ran toward the shack.
Lieutenant Thomas Burke came to a stop outside the door. Taking a final deep breath, he raised his arm and knocked. When the voice bid him enter, he opened the door and stepped inside.
She was sitting on the floor, her long shapely legs tucked under her. She made no effort to get up as he entered and closed the door behind him, instead patting the floor beside her
"The mission went well, I take it?" he asked as he approached.
"I'm back home, aren't I?" she answered, again patting the floor beside her.
He started to sit down beside her. Reaching out and putting an arm around him, she all but pulled him down on her lap, turning her face up to meet his. Keeping her lips on his, she swung him around and laid him down on his back.
Burke's hands were also busy, stroking and caressing her body through the sheer fabric of her dress. Even if they hadn't been, he wouldn't have been able to remove her simple garment; he simply lacked the strength to get his hands inside. However, the material was thin enough almost as not to be there.
Marlen had been anticipating this for quite a while, all during that long flight back to Scotland, alone in the air with the young pilot. The cockpit of the Sea Harrier had been much too cramped for anything, even if he had been free to do anything.
She had thanked him after the return flight, but she needed more. It had, of necessity, been a hurried affair, serving not much more than to take the immediate edge off her needs. Being a Terran and not having had any prior experience with her, he hadn't been able to do any more than that.
This time would be different. Keeping him on his back, she ran her fingers lightly across his chest before beginning work on the buttons. Pulling his shirt open, she again ran her fingers across his broad chest.
Her other hand began working on his pants, unbuckling the belt and opening it up. He had already kicked off his shoes, so it was a simple matter to pull him out of his pants and then his shirt. She then quickly finished undressing him, holding him up with one hand while pulling off his socks and then his shorts with the other.
That still left her fully clothed in her Arion uniform. Even though the material was so thin and sheer, Burke didn't have the strength to remove it.
She normally enjoyed teasing men with her garment, pleading with them to get it off of her. She still wanted to tease him, but not too much. She slowly pulled her top up her body, further teasing him by exposing her torso one inch by one tantalizing inch. He sat up to enjoy the show. Finally, he could see the lower curve of her breasts. She continued to pull up her top until he could see her nipples. He waited a bit longer, until she was covering her own head with her top. Then he went into action.
Balling up his fists, he delivered a rapid series of blows to her breasts. From previous experience, he knew to avoid the nipples, keeping his blows to the softer flesh outside. Even though he was putting as much of his strength as he could given his sitting position, his blows merely made her firm mounds bounce slightly.
A low moan came from inside her top as she stopped her disrobing. Thus encouraged, he continued to rain blows on her breasts, striking them as hard and as fast as he could.
Even though he couldn't see it, she was smiling as she savored the light caresses. Even though his fists weren't striking her with anywhere near the force that the Feydeheen's bullets had, she was enjoying the personal touch. It was just the kind of thing to make her want more.
Finally pulling her top off over her head, she dropped it to the floor behind her. Seeing his next blow coming, she swung her chest to meet it.
His fist smacked into the center of her breast, just barely missing the nipple. Moving quickly, she lightly grabbed his wrist as his arm started to rebound away from the impact with her fleshy mound. Burke was able to open his hand before she pressed it against her breast. His fingers then closed about her mound, squeezing with all of his strength.
Still holding his wrist, she pulled him down on top of her as she reclined on her back.
He brought his other hand to her chest, using both hands to caress and squeeze one breast. No matter how many times he'd done it, Burke knew he'd never tire of the woman with him. He'd certainly never tire of the feel of her large mounds in his hands. So large and full, yet so firm. They stood proudly on her chest as if they refused to acknowledge the presence of gravity, the large nipples at their center pointing straight up like two miniature flagpoles.
Her free hand went to the back of his head, pulling him down to her, meeting his lips with hers and trapping his hands between their bodies. After a few seconds, she let him raise his body enough to free his hands. They went to the outside of her breasts, stroking and caressing them.
Her other hand went to his chest, gently rolling him over and pushing him down on his back. She followed him down, taking her hand from her chest and wrapping it around his neck as she pressed her lips against his. Still kissing him, she rolled over onto her back, pulling him back on top of her.
Breaking off the kiss, Marlen gently pushed Burke's head down her body. His tongue continued to lick her, over the point of her chin, across the curve of her throat, and up the swell of her bosom, until he moved his hand aside as his mouth reached the nipple at the summit.
He kissed her nub and ran his tongue over her nub before taking it into his mouth. She could feel his teeth as he chewed on her. Both hands were now working at the base of the breast. Even though his hands couldn't completely surround her bountiful mound, he continued to fondle it, squeezing as hard as he could.
Naturally, he couldn't give her anywhere near the feeling that the terrorist's guns had down in Libya. But that wasn't his fault; he couldn't help being born Terran. Releasing his head, she lay her arm gently across his back. Her other hand went to her other breast, lightly caressing herself. Putting a finger on either side of the nipple, she gave herself an easy pinch, applying no more than a hundred times the pressure his hands were applying to her on the other side of her chest.
She savored the delicious contrast between his delicate caresses and her own more vigorous ones for about fifteen seconds before gradually increasing the pressure. Soon, she was caressing herself quite a bit harder than the terrorist bullets had. She continued on like this for about half a minute before taking her arm off his back. Sliding her hand under him, she lifted him up. It took almost no time for a Terran man to get ready for her and Burke was no exception; he was fully erect. Holding him over her body, she spread her legs and positioned him between them.
Softening herself and loosening her inner muscles, she let him thrust himself into her. Putting his hands on either side of her head, he began a slow rhythmic thrusting, gradually increasing his pace.
She'd had enough of their slow mutual teasing. It was now past time to get serious. As enthusiastic as he was, she wanted more than what the fit young officer was providing. Still holding his hips, she tightened her grip slightly and lent him some of her own strength and speed.
He managed to get his hands on her breasts, holding on as tightly as he could as she sped up the pace, his big athletic body flopping around as she used him as a huge human dildo.
Carefully tightening her inner muscles, she was able to delay his climax until hers hit. Stopping the motion, she held him on top of her for a minute as he regained his breath.
Then she was kissing him again as she rolled them over, pressing her breasts gently down onto his chest. One hand slid between their bodies, working its way down until it found his flaccid cock.
Her gentle ministrations quickly brought him fully erect again. Holding him down on his back, she rose up over him, pulling her legs up on either side of his body. He was completely trapped, not that he wanted to escape. She held herself steady for a couple of seconds before slowly lowering herself down, impaling herself on his rigid shaft. With her powerful legs providing the impetus, it wasn't long before they were climbing toward their peaks again.
Reaching up, he cupped her breasts as best he could, her large mounds overflowing his hands as she put her hands on the backs of his and pressed them even harder against herself. Her legs continued their powerful rhythmic pumping. Then gently taking hold of his left wrist, she moved his hand to join his right hand at her left breast.
Releasing his hand, her fingers flicked across her right breast. From the way they moved, Burke could tell that her slender fingers were striking her large nipples considerably harder than his large fists had struck her breasts.
Again, she tightened her inner muscles, delaying his release until hers approached, helped along by the delicious contrast between his light caress on one breast and her far more vigorous one on the other.
She wasn't through with him yet. Getting off of him, she lay down beside him, propping herself up on an elbow. Reaching out with her other hand, she lightly stroked his heaving chest. Snuggling closer, she nuzzled his ear before taking his earlobe lightly between her lips.
He reached his far arm across his body, his fingers quickly finding one of her breasts. His thumb played over her nipple before he clamped his forefinger and thumb on it, squeezing as hard as he could.
She countered by moving her hand to one of his own nipples and flicking a finger across it. Even though it was a light flick by her standards, he gasped as her slender finger applied more force to his nipple than his thumb and finger were applying to hers.
Despite two powerful orgasms, he was soon ready for her again. Raising herself up to her knees, she threw one leg over him. Sliding a hand under his butt, she pulled him up into her, again using him as a human dildo. Her other hand went to his back, gently pressing his chest against her breasts.
She took it slower than she had the first two times, anticipating that the Terran male was about to reach his limit and not wanting to rush it, wanting to savor it.
As the Concorde passed over Boston, Jacob Chernow continued to listen to the arguments on screen among the group of advisors around the President of the United States, assembled in the basement Situation Room beneath the White House.
Danny Nagier, Wolfie, and Michelle stood in a tense group behind Chernow's seat, knowing the fate of their mission depended on what was being said in Washington.
The arguments had started while the Concorde had still been five hundred miles out over the Atlantic, and the President had called Chernow to add his congratulations over the thwarting of the biological attack on Britain and the destruction of Raza's base. Throughout the flight from Malta, the gratitude of Britain's Prime Minister had been followed by that of every European leader. Chernow had told them all it was not yet over. The reminder had sparked the disagreement in the Situation Room on what to do next.
The focus of attention for those seated around the conference table was a model of the Harmoos mansion and the surrounding countryside.
Once more, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs had the floor. He had a stevedore's shoulders and a chestful of decorations. Chernow watched him glance into the screen, then turn to the President. "In my view, the military should now take control of the situation. I recommend we air strike against the Harmoos mansion. A couple of missiles down his chimney pots or through the window will do the trick. We showed what was possible over Baghdad. After the strike, we send in Delta Force and kill anybody that's left."
There was silence in the Situation Room.
"This is not Baghdad," the President finally said. "We don't know who else may be in the mansion. And there must always be a risk of a near miss. Baghdad also showed, I recall, there is no such thing as precision bombing."
Ignoring the angry flush of his chief military adviser, the President turned to stare with extraordinary concentration at the collection of toy houses that represented the township of Sweetmont. "There's also the doubt that a missile attack will destroy all the anthrax. I'm told that an explosion could actually spread the stuff."
Chernow watched the President look around the room, his haunting eyes settling briefly on the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, the Director of the CIA, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who sat beside Appleton. The voice was heavy with foreboding. "I don't have to tell you what would happen if a missile were to land on Sweetmont. We could have demonstrations which would make those staged during the Gulf War look like a kids' parade. Every pacifist in Congress would demand my imprisonment. And think of the propaganda we'd be handing our enemies abroad. How could we talk to China and what remains of the Soviet Union about human rights when they could say we're quite prepared to bomb our own people?" The President shook his head. "There is no way I'm going to authorize that kind of force. There's got to be some other way."
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs folded his arms and at back in his chair.
"Mr. President," said the Director of the FBI, "I've got the capability to take out the mansion. My people are trained in antiterror tactics, but before they can go, we get the Civil Defense authorities to carefully evacuate the area. That way, we eliminate civilian casualties..."
"We start that kind of evacuation, and it's a recipe for mass panic," interrupted the Secretary of Defense. "I need hardly remind you that New York's on the doorstep. When these folk from Sweetmont start showing up in Manhattan, they'll create the kind of mass panic we haven't seen since Orson Welles said that the Martians had landed."
Chernow heard the Director of the CIA clear his throat. "We could hold them in protective custody until all this is over," he suggested.
The Secretary of State shook his head wearily. "Do that, and after this is over, we'll have every ambulance-chasing lawyer in town persuading those Sweetmont folks to file suit against the government for wrongful arrest."
The President looked around the table once more. "So, gentlemen, what do we do? Send in the FBI?"
As several heads began to nod, the President looked directly at the Bureau's director. "Your people have no direct experience of dealing with a situation like this, right? Let alone terrorists of this caliber?"
The Director gave a reluctant nod. Once more, there was silence in the Situation Room.
Then, for the first time since the discussion had begun, the President directly addressed Chernow. "Given what you have just heard, Mr. Chernow, how would you deal with the situation?"
Chernow did not hesitate. "With my own people. We have the capability."
"You care to tell us how? And why you are so certain?"
"I prefer not to, Mr. President. There are no absolutes in a matter like this."
Appleton had half-turned to say something to the President, then changed his mind. Silence returned to the Situation Room.
"Very well," the President said at last. "Given what you have achieved, I intend to entrust the safety of this nation to your hands. You will, of course, continue to receive every support you need. Our resources and manpower are yours to command. And our prayers are with you."
"Thank you, Mr. President," replied Chernow.
After the screen had cleared, he sat for a long time staring at it.
Dressed in protective clothing, Matti Talim stood beside the City Center Emergency Room Director in the MICU cubicle, gazing at Miriam Cantwell. She was in an exhausted sleep. Her bed was surrounded by monitoring equipment, machines that went click and ping and provided confirmation that the battle continued. Liquid was being infused into a vein in her arm from a bottle on a stand.
"I called Tel Aviv, like you suggested," said the Director, keeping his voice down around patients from force of habit. "They recommended we double the dose. It looks like it's working. In the past hour, Miriam's vital signs have begun to stabilize."
"She's a fighter, doc. That's the best shot she has."
"You better believe it," said the Director. "You damn well better believe it!"
The Beech swooped low over the Rio Grande. "Welcome to the USA," said the pilot. He was short and wiry, with a face scarred with acne. "Right now, the Border Patrol radars will be trying to track us and pinpoint where we touch down. Adds to the excitement."
Raza stared at him. Another of the world's cowboys.
"No sweat," grinned the pilot. "I do this three times a day. After 'Nam, avoiding the patrol's small beer."
Raza turned and looked out of the window at the river below. Moments later, they passed over the chain-link fence separating the United States from Mexico. On the razor barbs on top of the fence, shreds of clothing were visible, left by Mexicans who had tried to scale the barrier. Minutes later, the aircraft landed on the Texas mesa and taxied to where a limousine waited. The sun reflected off its tinted windows.
The pilot reached over and opened the door on Raza's side of the cockpit. "You'll have to jump for it, mister. The fee doesn't cover valet parking."
Raza tossed his briefcase out of the door and waited until the plane was barely rolling before leaping to the ground. The pilot slammed the door shut and the Beech immediately swung around into the wind and gathered speed. By the time Raza had reached the limo, the plane was in the air.
As soon as he was settled in the back seat, the chauffeur drove over the bumpy ground onto a track. A mile later, the track gave way to a road. After another couple of miles, it merged with a freeway.
Only then did the chauffeur turn and address Raza. "Your ticket is in a wallet in the door. Mr. Harmoos wishes you a pleasant flight."
Jacob Chernow and Matti Talim continued to walk around the high-sided van Swift Renovations had provided. On its side was the logo All Sounds of America Inc.
The van was parked between the Concorde and an El Al 747, which had landed at JFK from Tel Aviv an hour before. That section of the airport had been closed and patrolled by police and Federal agents, while the equipment was unloaded from the 747.
"The FBI have a couple of hundred agents on standby," Talim was saying. "The National Guard have their two best units on full alert. We've even had the Navy offering helicopters. Everybody wants to be able to say they played a part."
Chernow nodded. Being involved would be a powerful plus for more funding later when it came to budget time in Washington. "Helicopters could be useful," he said. "But keep everybody out of the area."
Passing the van's tailgate, Chernow could see Danny Nagier supervising how he wanted the equipment positioned. Half a dozen of the technicians from Matti Talim's apartment were mounting a squat box onto a platform, which could be raised through a panel in the van's roof.
"Our ghetto blaster," said Nagier cheerily, patting the contraption designed to shatter glass or human eardrums with its electronic beam.
"Harmoos still suspects nothing?"
"Absolutely not. Our man on the flight just called in to say Harmoos is spending his time trying to date the flight attendant. He's due to land at La Guardia in an hour."
"Anything new from the border?"
Nagier checked a clipboard. "The border patrol have so far spotted three illegal flights, but each time they got there, there was nothing but tire tracks. Bill Gates has his people spread along the Mexican side. Nothing so far."
"Tell them to keep looking, Danny. That, for sure, is the way he'll come."
Chernow saw Talim returning. "This motel, how is it?" he asked.
Talim grinned. "Better than you'd find on the West Bank --- but only marginally. The sort of place where passing salesmen rent a room for the afternoon if they get lucky with a bored local housewife."
"I take it none of them will be around?"
"No problem," assured Talim. "I booked everything for two days. And got an extra discount. That tells you the sort of place it is. Staff are the usual kind of sweated labor. The manager's a guy called Tom Benton, a real fawner. Nothing known on any of them."
Chernow watched more equipment coming out of the hold and being carried to the van.
"We won't need that second day, Matti," said Chernow. "The sooner we get this over, the sooner you can get back to Miriam."
Before Talim could respond, Chernow had turned toward Tyreen and Shema as they came down the steps from the Concorde. Shema had dark rings under her eyes. For most of the flight from Libya, she had stayed alone in the Prime Minister's cabin. As he'd passed on his way to the flight deck, Chernow had heard her praying for Nadine.
Together, they walked toward the row of cars parked on the tarmac. On each door was stamped the All Sounds logo.
Several of the cars were already filled with Nagier's commandos. During the flight, they had changed into civilian clothes and looked as if they'd stepped out of a Tel Aviv nightclub. Wolfie, dressed in a bright sports shirt and skin-tight Levis, was loading the last of the musical instrument cases into a car trunk. Each case contained a weapon and ammunition.
"How are you doing?" Chernow asked Shema.
"Fine."
He squinted at her. "That I doubt. Okay, maybe."
"She wasn't the sister I remembered. He'd destroyed her. But I'm not ready to talk about it." The words came out in a rush.
They continued to walk in silence.
Then Shema pointed to the logos. "What do they mean?"
Chernow shrugged. "It was the best we could do. We're in the music business. The sort that provides the noise that covers up the lack of talent."
They walked a little further before Shema asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"When we get there, stay close to me. Everywhere I go, you go," said Chernow.
She turned to him. "You know the law of the desert, Jacob. It's the same for Jew or Arab. An eye for an eye. I want the chance to kill Raza."
Chernow held her gaze, then shook his head. "There's more at stake here than personal revenge, Shema. And there are others with prior claims to you. If there is a chance, take it. But act within the rules of our operation. I not only want him dead, I want the menace he threatens destroyed. Eliminating that menace comes above all else."
She looked away so that he could not see her face. Then she nodded.
Lou Panchez sat behind the wheel of one of the cars. He reached across and opened the passenger door as Shema approached. "Want to ride with me? I've got the best selection of Kuwaiti music you ever heard," he said.
Shema gave a little smile. "That's the best offer I've had all day."
Chernow saw Nagier standing on the van's tailgate, holding one hand up and forming a circle with thumb and forefinger. Talim, already behind the wheel of his car, would lead the way.
In convoy, the staff of All Sounds drove across the tarmac and out of the airport. Twenty minutes later, they were on the Connecticut Expressway and heading for the Stay-In-Style Motel.
As the United flight climbed out of Chicago for La Guardia, the attendant offered Raza champagne. He shook his head and closed his eyes. She stuck a red paper flag on the side of his seat, a reminder that her passenger was not to be disturbed.
The terrible rage and consuming hatred that had accompanied Raza's headache on the flight from Texas had gone. He no longer felt that a hydra-headed monster, all with the face of Jacob Chernow, was waiting to ambush him. As the plane climbed over the Illinois plains, he felt purged.
What had happened in Libya was devastating. Everything was destroyed, everyone was dead. The Zionists seldom took prisoners.
He would miss Nadine, of course. But he would find another girl to mold in his image. There were plenty.
And he would find a new base. He had found one after being driven from southern Lebanon, and again after that Satan-lover in Damascus had ordered him out of Syria, and later when Saddam had proved to be a false prophet. Now, Libya's Supreme Leader had proved to be another follower of the American Devil. In time, he would be dealt with. Just as in time another true believer would offer sanctuary. Perhaps it would be provided by the rulers of Yemen or Ethiopia. Or Sudan, or Somalia. There were still plenty of places where shelter could be found, where he could regroup and where men would flock to him. They always had.
What had happened in Britain was a disaster of the greatest magnitude. But to think further about it would be to waste time and energy.
Shema? He would deal with her. But only after he had completed what he had come to do. And whatever she might have the Zionists, he could not have revealed to them what was to happen here in America.
In spite of all the setbacks, he would still succeed. Despite what had happened in Athens and London, the enemy could not be sure how many bottles he had left. Their uncertainty would be his strength. He would strike the way he always had --- with a swiftness, a boldness, a ferocity that had so often in the past left his enemies helpless and terrified.
The prospect made Raza's closed eyes prickle with excitement before he finally fell asleep in the first-class section of the 747.
Chernow's team settled in quickly. Within a couple of hours, they had set up samples of All Sounds' range of amplifiers and synthesizers in the motel's conference room. The equipment looked no different from that of the brand leaders in the field; it had been purchased by the crew chief of Swift Renovations from a wholesaler in Queens.
While the display was being assembled, the chief had adorned the motel's lobby with cardboard mounted photos of groups using All Sounds gear. When the motel staff mentioned they didn't recognize any of them, the chief smiled enigmatically, as if the fault was theirs.
Tom Benton, the motel manager, had quickly tagged All Sounds as a tightfisted company. That would explain why its people only used the bar to buy soft drinks and chose the least expensive items on the menu and never made calls through the switchboard. A number were obviously musicians; they carried their instrument cases wherever they went. And they all seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
The exception was their president, Mr. Alexander. He was a real dynamo: in and out, back and forth from the van that occupied several car spaces in the parking lot. Mr. Alexander always seemed to be engaged in low-voiced conversations. He frequently nodded and said "for sure."
In some way, he reminded Benton of Mr. Harmoos. Mr. Alexander had the same driving urgency, the same ability to seem to be everywhere at once.
A minute ago, he had been in the conference room, beaming benevolently. Now, he was out by the van, talking animatedly to Mr. Skorous, the company's vice-president who wore his eye-patch like a badge of office. With them was Mr. Alexander's assistant. She looked like one of those hauntingly beautiful Arab women Benton had sometimes seen with Mr. Harmoos.
Come to think about it, there was something rather Middle Eastern about most of the All Sounds staff. They had the same reserved, watchful manner he'd seen in many of the Arabs who worked for Mr. Harmoos.
The exception was Mr. Harmoos' assistant, Nuri. Whenever he dropped in, he always had time for a drink and a chat. And he always stood his round and tipped generously. A couple of days ago, Nuri had phoned to ask if there were any groups booked into the motel: a reunion, a conference, any kind of get-together. He'd explained Mr. Harmoos was planning a staff party and didn't want it to clash with any other bookings.
And then there was the other woman. She was the one exception. She spoke with a British accent, and she'd actually had a drink with him at the bar. A vodka martini, if he remembered correctly.
She had hauntingly deep blue eyes, which seemed to bore directly into his soul, as they chatted about the goings-on at the motel. She had asked about the kind of people who came and stayed here, the neighborhood, and so forth, almost as if she was planning to settle down in the area and raise a family.
He'd actually asked her that. She'd laughed that off, saying that she'd have to have a husband before a family.
From there, the conversation had then turned into a mutual flirting, but nothing had come of that; Benton knew better than to try to get one of the guests into bed with him. He briefly wondered whether Mr. Alexander was sleeping with either of the two beautiful young women who worked for him. If Mr. Alexander wasn't sleeping with both of them, Benton would gladly take either one.
A ridiculous thought, really. He knew that the two young women were in a room together, while Mr. Alexander shared a room with the one-eyed Mr. Skorous. Another sign of the outfit's tightfistedness. What company couldn't afford to provide separate rooms for its president and vice-president?
Watching Mr. Alexander and the others climb into their van, Benton picked up the telephone to call Mr. Harmoos' assistant Nuri. By the time the number was ringing, the van had maneuvered out of the parking lot.
Tyreen Mackenzie and Shema followed Danny Nagier and Jacob Chernow through a sliding panel behind the driver's seat into the back of the van. There were half a dozen technicians already there, standing or squatting before the racks of equipment that covered both walls. The electronic beam gun occupied most of the center of the floor.
"This console gives us push-button contact with Washington and Tel Aviv," Nagier explained. "You want the President, you just push twice. We've got a direct line to the Oval Office and his bedroom."
Tyreen saw that stuck over the button to the White House was a paper strip with the words Appleton bypass
Nagier next indicated a small switchboard. "CIA, FBI, National Guard. Again, just pick up a phone. No need to dial. We've got permanent open lines."
He turned and pointed to a row of recorders along one wall. Before them sat technicians with headsets. Several spares hung from the wall hooks. Pinned to the side of the van was a large-scale architect's plan labeled Harmoos Mansion.
"Lou got hold of it," said Nagier. "He sweet-talked the architect into believing he was going to profile him in some trade paper and walked away with all we'll need."
Chernow studied the plan while Nagier continued, "We've got every phone point under surveillance. Our field crew's planted parabolics all around the place, in the cornfields and out back of the repair shop. We can switch from room to room to follow a conversation."
"How about the shutters on the windows?"
Nagier grinned. "Harmoos must have been expecting the Mafia to come calling. Our people reckon they're made of rolled steel. One way to deal with them is this." He stooped and opened a long case on the floor. Inside was an antitank grenade launcher.
"Incoming call on phone three," called a technician.
Chernow glanced at the plan. Phone three was in the kitchen of the Harmoos mansion.
A woman's voice answered.
"Is Mr. Nuri there?" asked Benton.
"He is not available."
"Can you give him a message?"
"What?"
"Just tell him Mr. Benton called and we have a company booking for the next two days. Any time after that will be fine for Mr. Harmoos' party."
The woman hung up without another word.
In the van, Chernow looked at Shema. "Lila," she said.
"For sure." Chernow smiled.
The call from that stupid motel manager had deepened the fury that had been building in Lila since she had arrived at the mansion.
These people were dangerous fools. First, Harmoos had left shortly before she arrived. Then Nuri, the arrogant imbecile he had supposedly left in charge, had dared to tell her that Mr. Harmoos had other interests to attend to. What could be more important than firing the first shots that would plunge the world into the greatest jihad ever visited upon the infidels?
Instead, look at what had happened! The news from first London and now Libya was almost impossible for her to believe --- if he had not heard it from that other imbecile, Faruk Kadumi. He had been about told about the double catastrophe by Raza's man in Algeria when he had changed flights there. Kadumi had arrived in Sweetmont in a state of collapse. After she had questioned him, she had sent him to the basement to help that other craven fool, Ismail. In a few hours, they would have completed filling the vials. Then she would kill them personally --- the way she would also like to kill Nuri. He deserved to die for his sheer stupidity in letting those two men into the mansion. She had made him check. The tire company they had claimed to represent had confirmed the names on the business cards were their employees. But Nuri, in his stupidity, had failed to check the physical description of the company employees against those of the men who had called. When she had told him to phone back, he had refused, giving her a withering mile and saying that would only arouse suspicion.
It would be a pleasure to deal with these people.
But for the moment, they all had a part to play. Composing herself, Lila went to deliver Benton's message to Nuri.
The van continued its leisurely progress along country roads around Sweetmont. In the back, Chernow and Shema listened to the conversation Lila had had after Benton's call. It had been recorded as taking place in the mansion's basement.
She had asked someone how much longer, and the man had replied that it was very dangerous to hurry. Then a second man's voice, supercilious and condescending, had said that the speed of a camel did not always mean a good camel.
Chernow looked at Shema. She quickly shook her head, not recognizing either of the male voices. Then a third man's voice grumbled that the sooner she left, the quicker they could finish.
"Wonderful thing, technology," said Chernow, positively beaming. There had been no mistaking the voice of Faruk Kadumi.
Wolfie recognized Rachid Harmoos as he came off the Eastern flight from Miami. A smile like that only came from a youth spent selling Oriental carpets. And the bowing and scraping of the limo driver only came from someone assured of a hefty tip.
While the driver had hovered at the arrival gate, outside the terminal Michelle stumbled as she'd passed his parked limo. The moment had been long enough for her to clamp a disc-shaped transmitter, the size of a penny, under the limo's trunk.
When the limo had left the airport and headed for the expressway, Lou Panchez eased the Ford Tempo up through the traffic and dropped in a few places behind. Michelle tweaked the receiver to improve reception. From the limo came the voice of Harmoos making small talk with the chauffeur.
When they reached the freeway, Harmoos told the driver to raise the partition window. Wolfie and Michelle heard the sound of a phone dialing.
"Aiwa," said Lila.
"I shall be with you in forty minutes," replied Harmoos in Arabic. "Is all in order?"
She made a guttural, mirthless sound.
"What has happened?"
She told him: about London and Libya; about the visit of the two men from the tire company; and the call from Benton.
"Get me Nuri!"
In the car, they heard the phone in the mansion being put down, then picked up again almost at once.
"Salaam alaikum."
"What's this nonsense with Benton, Nuri?"
"I thought after it is all over, it would be good to take everyone for a celebration..."
"You are a fool, Nuri," interrupted Harmoos. "And I have no room for fools."
Wolfie and Michelle looked at each other and smiled.
Two hours had passed. Raza's deadline was only five hours away.
In the van, Tyreen continued to monitor the operations activity --- but for the moment Chernow stood apart. In the end it always came to this: time. Suppose Raza did not come? So many times in the past, Raza had made the preparations for others to execute. Chernow felt the weight of that possibility bearing down like a physical burden. He knew he had done all he could.
Following a carefully planned route Chernow had given him, the van driver continued to travel down one country road and up another. He frequently checked a large-scale map spread on his knees to make sure he did not take a turning that would bring him closer than three miles to the spot marked as "T." Around the letter, Chernow had outlined on the map the target perimeter of the Harmoos estate.
The tension inside the van had noticeably increased after Chernow had listened over a headset to the platoon being briefed in the motel conference room. Afterward, he had called Tel Aviv and Washington to update Karshov and the President.
Nagier had remained in constant communications with the FBI control van parked five miles to the west of Sweetmont. Assembled there were the Federal agents and the National Guard units.
The panel behind the van driver's seat had been wedged open to allow a technician to use a camera mounted on a tripod and connected to a monitor screen. He was videoing all passing vehicles. On other roads in the area, two more Swift Renovations trucks were performing the same function.
The tapes were fed to the FBI van. There, a team of agents checked the registration of each vehicle while others performed the more difficult task of lifting from the videos faces captured by the camera. These were then turned into still photographs and fed to FBI and CIA computers in Washington. Copies were also sent to Lester Finel in Tel Aviv. So far, none of this investigation had produced any callback to Chernow.
An hour ago, a technician in the van had filmed the limo as it entered the Harmoos estate. Minutes later, he had stopped the camera as Wolfie and Michelle cruised by.
Since then, the traffic had been light, mostly in and out of Sweetmont, until the past few minutes, the cameras had started filming Day-Nite cabs converging on the estate. The entire fleet appeared to be heading there.
Squatting on the floor of the van, Tyreen and Shema continued to follow the fury that had started as soon as Harmoos had appeared at the mansion. Hi rage had begun in the hall, moved to the library, and then swept through the dining room and on into the main lounge. It was like a hurricane, picking up force as Harmoos went from one room to another. Right now, he was back in the library, and sounding like a man possessed.
"Those two men were agents of the Great Satan!" he raved. "And how do you know they didn't plant listening devices? How? You fool, how?"
"I have checked the entire house, Mr. Harmoos," said Nuri nervously.
"Check again, you imbecile!"
In Tyreen's headset, there was a crash of sound so violent that it almost deafened her. In the library, Harmoos swept another shelf of fine leather-bound books to the floor.
"Check every shelf! Every book! Tear up the carpet! Check everywhere!"
"Yes, Mr. Harmoos."
Suddenly, Lila's voice filled Tyreen's headset. "This is a waste of time, Mr. Harmoos! These men were only here for a few minutes. Nuri was a fool to let them in. But they never had the opportunity to leave anything behind, so let's not waste any more time on this nonsense!"
In the van, a bountiful smile wreathed Tyreen's face. She tapped a technician on the leg. "I think we'd all like to hear this, Samuel."
The technician switched the recorder to broadcast as Tyreen and Shema slipped off their headsets.
From the speaker came renewed fury. "Hold your tongue, woman!" roared Harmoos. "You forget to whom you speak!"
The van was filled with the sound of Lila's sudden anger. "I know who I speak to --- a fool. An employer of fools. Only a fool would have chosen another fool like Ismail to do such important work. Be assured, when the time comes, such foolishness will not be forgotten!"
"Ismail," said Tyreen, writing down the name on her notepad. "So that's his name."
Another burst of fury filled the van. "Be quiet, woman!" thundered Harmoos. "Without me, you would have less money for our cause."
Chernow was now on his feet behind the two women, leaning against the side of the van. Turning her head, Tyreen's smile was met by one of his.
"Our cause?" came Lila's withering voice. "What do you mean, our cause?"
They all heard her rage erupt as if it was fired out of the neck of a bottle.
"When did you last come and visit my people? Not your people. Mine! To see how we live. To hear the screams of the victims of the Zionists! When did you last share our pain? Hear the cries of our children every time they hear one of their planes? When did you last even hear a bomb fall? Or have to remember that if you can hear the explosion, you are still alive?"
Lila's voice was like a small storm howling through the house.
"Do you know what it's like to be buried for days wondering if you will be dug out? Have you ever seen children lying dead, all with bullets in their backs from running away from the Zionist guns?"
Tyreen turned her head the other way to look at Shema. She was staring fixedly at the loudspeaker, her jaws clenched tight.
The van continued to echo with Shema's words. Do you know what they did last Christmas? Disguised their bombs as gift parcels. They left them where they know our children would find them. Not your children! Ours! You think your money makes up for that? You think because you contribute, it is everything? Do you have any idea what is is like to be there --- facing them? Do you know that those the Zionists don't murder with the cluster bombs die from dysentery or hunger? A thousand every month in Beirut alone. Even more out in the Beka'a! Do you know anything, you fool?"
There was the sound of a door slamming. There was no way for those in the van to tell whether it was produced by Harmoos or Lila.
Shortly after, a technician announced, "Incoming call."
Tyreen and Shema put their headsets back on. Chernow grabbed one from the wall.
The voice of the woman Matti Talim had already identified as the maid answered.
"Salaam alaikum," a man's voice intoned, and then hung up.
Chernow and Tyreen looked at Shema. She nodded.
Raza drove exactly at the speed limit. The evening was heavy and overcast, like Beirut on a winter's day. From time to time, he checked the map the car rental company at La Guardia had provided with the car. But the signs to the expressway were plentiful and the Sweetmont exit well signposted.
A couple of times, a police siren had made his shoulder muscles tighten. But the cruiser had swept by, going the other way. Just to make sure, he'd tuned the radio to a local all-news station.
Coming off the Sweetmont exit, he continued to listen to a report that there was going to be a Middle East peace conference. He felt the blood rush to his face, an forced himself to stay calm.
There could be no peace until the Zionists were driven into the sea. Saddam's rockets had shown what could be done. A few Scud missiles falling on Tel Aviv had all but reduced the Zionists to quaking terror. Only the American Satan had saved them. It was one more reason to deliver revenge on the Satan and his people. And after he had done so, there would be no more talk of a peace conference.
Raza once more glanced at the map, then made a right turn. A van was coming toward him. Raza gave it a quick glance as it passed.
A mile farther on as he slowed at an intersection to make another right, a car passed with a young couple in front. Another mile beyond the intersection, he turned into the Harmoos estate.
In the van, Chernow was soothing the mortified technician peering into the exposed innards of the video camera. "It could happen to anyone, Benjy."
"But it's the first time it's happened to me, Colonel. I checked the damned thing every half-hour. Then this."
Minutes before, the camera had jammed.
In the back of the van, Danny Nagier was listening through a headset and nodding. He turned and called to Chernow. "Michelle got a quick look. He's wearing spectacles, but his build and skin coloring fit."
Moments later, Matti Talim called in. "Chrysler, blue two-door. Driver turned into the Harmoos spread."
Chernow smiled at the technician. "You see, Benjy, it isn't that bad after all."
Chernow then turned to Nagier and asked him to have the All Sound cars go to the assembly point, and to inform the FBI control van what was happening.
Raza had gone immediately to where Faruk Kadumi and Ismail were at work. He had asked one question: how much longer? Kadumi had said they would be finished in one hour. Without another word, Raza had left and gone to Harmoos' study. Lila, Nuri, and the millionaire were waiting for him.
"Everything, as you will hear, is ready," began Harmoos. "First, let me say I truly regret these delays. But the Ayatollah personally recommended this wretch, Ismail." Harmoos cleared his throat and then continued, his voice soft and silky. "May I also say how deeply I regret your misfortune in Libya. Be assured, I will be only too honored to provide the necessary funding to help you rebuild."
"We will speak of that later," said Raza. "Just tell me what has been prepared."
Harmoos nodded to Nuri, who consulted a clipboard. "Each driver will leave here at two-minute intervals. They will go to all seven airports in the area. Waiting at each airport will be planes from Mr. Harmoos' air charter company. They have all filed flight plans to the designated cities. These are Detroit, Chicago, Houston, Washington DC, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Seattle. Men from Mr. Harmoos' transportation company will be waiting at each arrival point to collect the delivery. At 8:00 AM tomorrow, local time, each delivery will be released at the designated targets. In Detroit, this will be the main Ford assembly plant. In Chicago, the stockyards. In San Francisco, the financial district. In Los Angeles, the delivery will be made in Burbank. In Seattle, our agent there will ensure it is released at the Boeing plant. In Houston, the NASA facility. In each case, we will use the water supply on the air conditioning system..."
"Each target has been carefully chosen to cause the widest possible panic," interrupted Harmoos. "The spread allows for a totally effective against the totems America puts such store on: money, prestige, food, and communications. And Trekfontein showed how effective a simple delivery method can be."
"What about Washington?" asked Raza.
"Ah, Washington," murmured Harmoos. He scratched behind one ear and smiled for the first time since Raza had entered the room. "Please explain, Nuri."
"In Washington, the delivery will take the form of a tiny remote-controlled plane launched in the vicinity of the White House. The guards will no doubt attempt to shoot it down. By their very action, they will bring destruction to the Great Satan and those around him. Their bullets will hit the bottle and the liquid will be dispersed over a wide area."
"If they don't shoot?" asked Raza.
Nuri glanced at the clipboard. "Then the plane will crash against the Oval Office window. At this time of year, they are always open. The President is a fresh air fanatic. The result will be the same."
"New York?" demanded Raza.
"I will go there personally," said Lila. "Two vials dropped from the observation platform of the Empire State Building will create a dramatic effect."
Raza frowned. "I understand there are always guards on the platform to watch for suicide attempts. They could stop you."
Lila shook her head. "There's a ticker-tape parade through the city to thank the rescue services for their work on the bombed hotels. Everybody will be releasing balloons. The bottles will be tied to two. Time fuses will allow them to explode five hundred feet above the street. There'll be several hundred thousand people below. The result will be most gratifying."
Raza nodded and turned to Nuri.
"And I will drive overnight to Boston," added Nuri. "A couple of vials should take care of the students at Harvard."
"You see," smiled Harmoos, "everything is taken care of." He gave his ear a vigorous scratching.
In the van, they all heard Raza's low sigh of satisfaction. Then Chernow sat down before a console and began to punch buttons and peak softly and urgently into the phone. By the time he had finished, the parking lot around the FBI control van had almost emptied. Across the country, Federal agents and the National Guard were joining SWAT teams moving to every designated target.
Chernow began to prowl behind the technicians, like some impresario taking snatches of discordant conversations and shaping them in his mind into a whole that only he could see.
From the basement: "... will all this really make any difference?" asked Ismail.
"It will show the friends of the Zionists the price they must pay. Now, get on with your work," answered Kadumi brusquely.
From then on, only the sound of clinking glass came from the basement.
A parabolic picked up an exchange between Harmoos and Nuri.
"I heard them talking before they went to her room," Nuri said. "She still blames you for not being here."
"Let her," responded Harmoos. "My offer of money will concentrate his mind on what really matters. He is a pragmatist. He understands the rules. He will, of course, appease Lila because he needs her."
"He already has. He has agreed she can kill Ismail."
"But I hope not here. The wretch must first be driven to some other place."
"She also asked to deal with Faruk Kadumi, Mr. Harmoos."
"And?"
"Raza said no. He said he must deal with him personally."
And, from Lila's bedroom, had come the sounds of their lovemaking, followed by Raza telling her he wanted to sleep for an hour.
In the van, Chernow continued to listen, his face now composed in an unsmiling hunter's stare.
Standing behind him, Tyreen put her hand on his shoulder. "We go in tonight?"
He put his hand over hers, squeezing tight. "It looks like it, for sure."
Her hand tightened slightly on his shoulder. "I'll spread the word."
"Tell them to get some rest," he told her, releasing her hand. "I want everybody fresh, for sure."
By dusk, the All Sounds cars were parked around the van sheltering behind a clump of trees.
Chernow continued to talk by phone to the FBI control van. He gave a final order. "Have those refrigeration trucks moved right up to your roadblocks. Make sure everyone understands that when the time comes, it's work strictly for the Fort Detrick people."
Across the crowded van, Danny Nagier called out that Wolfie was still reporting all was quiet.
Wolfie and Michelle were on the far side of the trees, looking out across one of the estate's cornfields. On the far side was the mansion. They had a mobile phone and their crossbows and a pannier of bolts between them. Each also had an Uzi.
On the edge of another ripening field, Lou Panchez squatted, keeping surveillance on the repair shop. Beside him was a PT-92 9mm automatic with a double-stacked magazine.
Fifteen minutes after taking up position, Panchez called in that the fleet of cabs outside the garage was moving. A minute later, Wolfie reported they had begun to appear at the back of the mansion.
Chernow looked around the van. "Everybody set?"
There was a chorus of affirmation.
Nagier opened a smaller box beside the grenade launcher. Inside were phosphorous shells, which on impact would produce a temperature of five thousand degrees.
"Where's Shema?" asked Chernow suddenly.
"She went out, said she wanted some air," said Nagier.
Chernow pushed his way through the opening behind the driver's seat. Outside, the commandos were opening their instrument cases and checking slide releases, peering into chambers, and then rejacking slides to chamber rounds.
"Did you see Shema?"
The leader nodded to the trees. "Guess she went for a pee."
"Help me find her," said Chernow tersely.
Michelle was waiting on the far side of the tree line.
"Seen Shema?" asked Chernow.
Michelle shook her head, as did Wolfie behind her.
"Call Lou," Chernow told her. "Maybe she's with him."
Panchez said he hadn't seen her.
"Maybe she's flipped." Nagier was behind Chernow's back.
Chernow turned.
"She could have changed her mind," Nagier continued. "Old ways die hard."
Chernow looked out over the cornfield toward the mansion. He remembered what she had said about the law of the desert. "What are you saying, Danny?"
"She's not one of us, Jacob. She could have gone back to where, deep down in her mind, she never left." Nagier's voice had a raw edge.
Chernow continued to stare at the mansion. "So what do you propose, Danny?" he asked as if he was genuinely interested in hearing.
"We go after her. When we find her, we kill her before she tells Raza everything she knows."
Chernow spoke quietly to the cornfield. "Go back to your men, Danny. Just continue with what you were doing."
When Nagier had gone, Chernow turned around. Tyreen Mackenzie had come up, standing behind Wolfie and Michelle. The expression on her face told him she knew she had lost track of Shema.
"Go after her and bring her back," he told Tyreen. "But remember, she's still one of us until I say otherwise."
He watched her slip into the corn, then he ran back to the van, Wolfie and Michelle following at his heels.
In the kitchen, Nuri came to the end of briefing the cab drivers. "This is a chance for each of you to strike a blow against our enemies. But remember, you will drive carefully and obey all traffic regulations. When you reach the airports, you will be stopped by security before you are allowed onto the tarmac."
Nuri began to move among them, distributing sets of papers. "These are your clearances. They state that you are delivering urgent medical supplies."
He nodded to a pile of sealed steel boxes on the floor. Each was painted with a bold red cross. "If anyone asks to see inside, you will point to the warning on each box that exposure outside a sterile laboratory will contaminate the contents. The warning carries the stamp of the appropriate public health authority, so there will be no problem."
One by one, the drivers picked up their boxes and left the kitchen. As each did so, Nuri reminded them that Allah the Great and Good could protect them.
Moving almost silently yet with surprising speed, Shema reached the far side of the cornfield. She paused to get her bearings. Beyond was a wide sward of lawn. Then came a pathway. There were several ground-floor windows open and lights blazed in the rooms.
She felt calm and certain, the way she had always felt on a mission. Nothing would cloud her judgement or make her turn back. She was still a soldier, with a soldier's instincts to engage the enemy immediately and destroy him. Chernow was right. A Feydeheen did not fear death. And now, it mattered even less.
Crouching there, she remembered kneeling over Nadine, remembered the look in her sister's eyes --- half-crazed and filled with blind hatred. Shema remembered all the others she had seen who had looked like that. The monster who could create such evil was indeed a destroyer.
Once more, the guard, Kalashnikov in hand, came around the corner of the mansion and strolled along the path. She counted. As she reached twenty, he disappeared around the back of the mansion. She began to count. Again at twenty, a new guard appeared from the front. It took him twenty seconds to walk out of sight. The same as last time.
Checking both her throwing knives were secure in the waistband of her Levis, Shema sprinted across the grass to a window. The room inside was empty. She rolled over the sill and dropped lightly on to the carpet.
From the cornfield, Tyreen lowered her Walther PPK. She reported to Chernow where Shema had gone. Then she continued to creep toward the mansion.
In the basement, Ismail turned to Lila. Behind him, the lid of the freezer chest was open. The table was littered with empty bottles that had contained the saline to mix with the Anthrax-B-C. The two bottles of Grecian Nights stood a little apart.
"I have been proud to serve the cause," he said. He wiped his hands on his trousers.
Lila had developed an unearthly composure. There was always this time of total disconnection beforehand.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.
"Why do you think?" She could hear her voice suddenly tense with action.
A shattering thought struck Ismail. He could see death in Lila's face. "I would like to see Mr. Harmoos," he said, his voice unnaturally loud.
"Stay still," commanded Lila. She had casually reached inside her jacket and drawn out her gun, heavy and black, with a bulbous nose.
Ismail felt the room closing in on him, as if everything had suddenly been absorbed by that unwavering nose with its black hole pointing at him. "Why?" he whispered. "Why?"
Lila fired three shots in quick succession. One passed through Ismail's forehead at the hairline, scattering pieces of brain. The second removed his left eye. The third entered his mouth. For a moment, he remained upright as if impervious to the bullets. Then he sagged to the stone floor, his head hitting hard and sending the blood splattering.
Stepping back quickly to avoid the mess, Lila put the gun back in her pocket, turned, and left the basement.
Shema had reached the door of the room when she heard the unmistakable sound of a body falling. She opened the door a fraction and looked quickly into the hall. There were several doors, all closed except one, which was ajar. She saw a staircase leading down and, coming up, the sound of footsteps. Shema ran to stand behind the half-open door.
Some sixth sense, perhaps no more than an animal's instinct for survival, made Lila pause as she reached the top of the staircase. She peered into the hall. Everything looked exactly as it had when she had gone down to the basement. Yet, she was certain there was something. Someone. Slowly, she reached for her gun, and then hurled herself through the doorway.
Shema was already moving, a diving, coordinated movement that had carried her several feet by the time Lila fired. The bullet smashed into the doorframe.
In that moment, Lila recognized Shema. She paused, stunned, able to neither accept nor understand. In the next moment, Shema's knife buried itself in Lila' neck.
As Shema moved back from the body, a door farther down the hall opened. Raza stood there.
In the van, Chernow listened to Lou Panchez.
"We're close to the back. No sign of Shema or Tyreen. The third cab's rolling."
Danny Nagier relayed the news to the FBI control van.
"Tell Chernow we got the first two. No sweat," the agent-in-charge replied. "We just pincered them out. The Fort Detrick people have transferred the boxes to their biohazard truck. It's going to be..."
In the van, they all clearly heard a new voice cutting in on the transmission. "This is Mahmoud! Trouble! Men with guns..."
"Take him out!" came the crisp voice of the FBI agent. "Just take him out now!"
Over the speakers came the sound of shots, followed by silence.
The agent-in-charge was back on the line. "We have one dead cab driver. He was so close, he was on our waveband."
"The box?"
"Secured."
Chernow turned to Nagier. "Think they heard?"
"I'll call Wolfie."
Wolfie was already calling the van. "Some sort of panic in the house. A couple of guard are checking around outside," came his whisper. "Shuttering's going down on the windows. All the cabs are beginning to roll at once."
Chernow spoke into his throat mike to the leader of the commandos. "Get your men up fast. Matti, you and Lou a well. Watch out for Tyreen. She's at the back of the target."
Outside, Chernow heard the sound of running, then cars starting. The commandos would attack on two fronts. Half would sweep up the main drive, taking out the guard posts, the barn, and the workshop. The others would continue on to the mansion itself.
"And everybody," continued Chernow. "Shema's in the house. Get her out of there --- alive. Understood?"
Nuri could hear armed men in the mansion, shooting while they rushed into position, as he ran along the edge of the cornfield, his Kalashnikov ready to give covering fire to the guard who was moving deeper into the corn. Suddenly, the man was no longer there.
Wolfie's bolt had penetrated the guard's brain behind his ear.
Nuri stopped, peering into the darkness. "Majid," he called. "Majid, where are you?"
"Here, come," Michelle answered in Arabic.
Nuri whirled at the voice, rifle raised. As he did so, Wolfie shot a bolt into his chest. A he pitched forward, Nuri's reflexes caused his fingers to tighten on the trigger of his rifle. The magazine began to empty itself into the ground.
At that moment, a long burst of gunfire came from the one upper window of the mansion that had not been shuttered. Bullets raked the cornfield.
They caught Wolfie as he was crouching back into the corn.
Michelle heard him make a small disapproving sound, as if he was annoyed with himself. Even before she had rolled to his side, she knew he was dead. She grabbed his mobile. "One down! One down!" she called urgently into the phone.
"On our way!" responded Chernow in Hebrew.
Michelle began to wriggle closer to the murderous fire from the mansion. They would not expect that.
Raza turned away from the window from which the two men continued to pour crossfire into the field. It was the maid's room. She stood by the door, guarding Shema with a pistol.
Raza continued to pace around the room, oblivious to the gunfire. He took in the single bed, radiator full on, even though it was summer, the bookshelf of paperback romances. He looked at everything except Shema.
There was firing now around the house.
"Why did you do it?" he asked in a calm voice, as if he was inquiring the time.
"You betrayed us," said Shema. "You promised our people so much! And we believed you! When you said that to build a new world, the old one must first be destroyed, we believed you! When you said from suffering would come a better life, we believed you! Because of you, Nadine had to die! You killed her long before I had to. You killed all those people at the camp long before the planes and guns did! You have killed so many people with your warped philosophy and monstrous actions. You are not just mad, Raza. You are evil!"
He was standing now at the side of the window, peering out. There were lights on the far side of the field.
The men at the window leaned out, looking for targets. Suddenly, one of them fell back into the room, a crossbow bolt in his head.
"Get that shutter closed!" ordered Raza.
The other guard tried to lower the steel shutter with the hand crank. "It's jammed," he cried.
Raza leaped to the window and yanked at the shutter. It fell a little way before another bolt struck it.
He turned back into the room and glared at Shema. "The Zionists," he said. "Is that what they told you? Or was it the Germans and the others who came to see you in prison? Did they fill your head with such poison?"
He turned from the window and walked over to her. Slowly, he reached out his right hand and touched her cheek. She stared at him defiantly. He looked at his fingers for a moment. Then with a speed and savagery that caused the maid to gasp, he yanked Shema to her feet and dragged her to the window. He spun her around so that she faced the cornfield.
"Chernow!" he screamed. "Here's your Zionist whore!"
Raza held Shema by her hair, forcing her to lift her head and expose her neck. With one furious blow, he snapped the top of her spinal column. As her head fell forward, he pitched her through the window.
As he stood in the opening behind the van driver, sweeping the mansion with his night-vision binoculars, Jacob Chernow saw Shema fall, legs and arms flailing, her head at an impossible angle. He saw her hit the ground. As the shutter finally dropped into place, his van plunged on through the corn.
Pressing buttons on a console, Danny Nagier opened the roof and began to raise the electronic beam gun on its expanding steel frame. A seat like that on a tractor unfolded. Nagier lowered himself onto it and pressed another button. The frame continued to extend until Nagier and the gun protruded over the top of the van. He pressed a switch on the gun's control box. The gun gave a whirring sound and began to traverse.
Immediately there was the sound of glass in the mansion's windows shattering. In moments, the gun had taken out every pane. Nagier increased the strength of the beam. It bombarded the shutters, creating an ear-piercing sound for anybody behind them.
The van continued to plow through the corn. Chernow could hear the firefight intensifying on the far side of the mansion. He climbed back down into the van, grasped the launcher, and fitted a grenade. Hoisting the weapon on his shoulder, he clambered up the frame. He fired. The grenade exploded against the side of the mansion. A technician handed up a second grenade. Chernow fired again. The grenade blew a hole in the mansion's roof. He let off two more rounds, but the bumpy ground made it impossible to aim accurately.
Below, a technician continued to report progress. "... have cleared the workshop and barn and have joined up with the others. Talim and Panchez are meeting opposition from the back of the mansion. The FBI and National Guard want to know when they can move."
"They got all those taxis secured?"
"Checking, Colonel." The technician spoke into his throat mike, then called up to Chernow, "All secured, Colonel. The biohazard truck is already on its way to Fort Detrick."
"Okay. Move them up," ordered Chernow, then made a grab for the frame as the van suddenly slowed.
Chernow saw Michelle rise out of the corn and jump onto the runningboard, holding the wing mirror for support. She directed the driver to where Wolfie lay. As the driver and a couple of technicians carried his body into the van, Chernow fired another shot and blew out a ground-floor shutter. He had his way in.
The van rolled forward once more.
Matti Talim and Lou Panchez had worked their way around to the kitchen door. The commandos were around the far side and front of the building, pouring fire through several windows, the shutters of which they had removed with lumps of gelignite stuck to the window frames and fitted with short-delay fuses thrust into the explosive.
Crouching by the door, they nodded at each other, then kicked open the door, firing as they dived inside.
As they did so, one of Harmoos' men rolled a hand grenade across the floor from the shelter of the adjoining laundry room.
Matti Talim and Lou Panchez died instantly, without ever knowing what had killed them.
Crouching beneath the ground-floor window, Chernow heard the dull crumping sound from the rear of the house. He tossed a stun grenade through the window. There was a blinding flash and a concussive bang. Uzi in hand, he rolled over the window ledge and into the room.
It was an office, with an English-style desk and filing cabinets. The explosion had blown open drawers. Papers were scattered everywhere. A body lay on the floor.
As Michelle scrambled over the window to join Chernow, the gunfire continued unabated. They crawled toward the door, pushing the body before them. At the door, they shoved the body into the hall.
Immediately a burst of gunfire came from across the hall. The body twitched.
Chernow's fingers moved gently around the trigger of his Uzi. The gun recoiled slightly as it fired. Across the hall, the Arab's face seemed to catch fire as the features disappeared.
In a crouching run, Chernow and Michelle burst into the hall.
The sound of firing was even louder.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chernow saw a hand raised. He turned and fired, hurling himself through the door behind the body of the Arab he had just shot. Moments later, behind him the hall filled with a blinding light. Then a terrible sound, followed by destruction and darkness.
He waited a few seconds for the grenade's shock to expand and expend, then ran back into the hall.
Michelle had shared the full force of the blast with the grenade thrower. His head was close to where hers should have been.
A door down the hall opened and a massive figure stood there, empty hands raised. "Do not shoot," implored Rachid Harmoos.
The front door blew open behind him, and Nagier charged through, firing.
Harmoos began to spin and spread his hands under the impact of the bullets. Then he crashed to the carpet.
More commandos poured through the doorway.
From the kitchen, Tyreen Mackenzie emerged, face grim. "Matti and Lou are back there, what's left of them," she said. "And somebody went out the door. Stepped through their blood. The footsteps are clear."
"Upstairs!" Chernow ordered Nagier.
The commandos followed the major up the mansion's main staircase. The sound of firing resumed as they cleared the bedrooms, one by one.
Chernow and Tyreen moved toward a closed door at the end of the hall.
Tyreen grabbed a Kalashnikov from a dead Arab slumped in the hall and removed the magazine. Chernow turned the doorknob and Tyreen hurled the rifle into the room, toward the ceiling. Then in a concerted rush, they dived through the door.
A ragged fusillade flew above them and out of the doorway.
Chernow adjusted to the room's light. It was a large drawing room, a mishmash of incompatible tastes: stuffed sofas and armchairs, European period furniture and velour curtains and Oriental rugs. The shooting had come from near a credenza against the far wall.
Tyreen began to crawl further into the room.
From behind a sofa, Faruk Kadumi rose slowly in the half-darkness, hands above his head, a terrified look on his face. "I wish to surrender," he whimpered.
Chernow and Tyreen rose to their feet, their guns trained on him.
"Where's Raza?" demanded Chernow.
"He has gone. Moments ago."
"The kitchen!" shouted Tyreen.
Chernow bundled Kadumi across the room toward a commando. "Hold him. If he even thinks of moving, shoot him."
Nagier was coming down the stairs with the maid. "We're secured, Jacob."
In the distance came the sound of sirens.
"Everybody except Danny stay near the house," ordered Chernow. He ran to the kitchen, Nagier at his heels. Talim and Panchez lay just inside the back door. Still running, Chernow and Nagier reached the van.
"Set up that beam gun and work the field," said Chernow.
Nagier climbed up on the roof and began to traverse the gun.
Standing on the van's front bumper, Chernow swept the corn with his night-vision binoculars. Nothing. Above him, the beam gun continued to traverse. Then he saw that something was moving toward the trees. He jumped into the van and ordered out the driver and technicians. Then he drove into the corn.
Halfway across the corn, there was a bone-shattering jar. A tire had blown.
Chernow climbed into the back, grabbed the grenade launcher, and fitted a phosphorous shell. He stuck another in a pocket and took to the field on foot.
On the roof, Nagier was cursing fluently. The beam gun's traverse had jammed.
In the corn, there was no sound except the rustle of his own progress. Chernow paused again to listen. The silence was total.
He was halfway between the van and the trees when the shots rang out behind him. He turned in time to see Nagier falling from his perch on the roof.
Then the van was lumbering at an awkward angle toward him, smoke rising from its good tire protesting at the uneven distribution of weight.
Chernow knelt in the corn, bringing the launcher to shoulder level. The van was picking up speed, its headlights cutting a swath through the stalks, the noise of the protesting tires louder.
Chernow stood up slowly, the lights catching his body.
The van had stopped about a hundred yards away, its engine smoking, lights still blazing. Someone was up on the roof.
"Chernow!" screamed Raza. "I still have enough anthrax to destroy you!"
The figure was standing, his hands moving.
"Nemesis," murmured Chernow, as he fired the launcher. "Thanks be to God."
The van erupted in a fireball. Chernow fitted the second shell and fired again. There was another huge flash, then a roar as the corn ignited. Nothing --- not even the last of the Anthrax-B-C --- would survive the inferno. The threat was finally over.
Chernow dropped the launcher and raced forward.
To one side of the van, there was movement.
A girl emerged from the corn. She reached Danny Nagier, hoisted him across her shoulders, and began to run toward the trees.
It was all Chernow could do to keep up with Tyreen, despite her burden.
Overhead, a helicopter hovered. It came low, making no effort to intervene, but following Tyreen and Chernow until they had reached the safety of the trees.
Behind them, the field was burning furiously around the remains of the van.
"You're going to be okay, Danny," said Chernow as Tyreen laid Nagier on the ground. "Everything is going to be okay."
Given what had happened, the world learned remarkably little. It was a tribute, of sorts, to the skill of government and Intelligence agencies at hiding the truth.
The destruction of the mansion and the death of Mr. Harmoos were put down to one of those tragic accidents. A number of newspapers carried in their obituaries revelation of his secret passions for fireworks. The mansion, it seemed, had been a veritable arsenal of rockets and other pyrotechnic delights --- which explained what sounded like gunfire that had accompanied its destruction when a box of rockets ignited. The ensuing fire had quickly spread to the adjoining corn.
As well as Mr. Harmoos, among others who died was Dr. Faruk Kadumi. Some of the wilder television reports speculated the disgraced surgeon was visiting Mr. Harmoos to discuss an operation that might have solved the millionaire's constant battle to find a guaranteed cure for his obesity. In all, twenty-seven people had died in the conflagration, all of them Arabs.
National Guardsmen, who happened to be in the area, returning from a field maneuver --- never actually identified --- had done their best to help put out the fire. Nevertheless, it had also destroyed one of Mr. Harmoos' more modest ventures --- the Day-Nite Cab Company. All the cabs had been at the mansion for the drivers' annual dinner with their employer. After the vehicles had been totally destroyed, facing an uncertain future, the drivers had opted to return to the land of their birthplace, Lebanon. The government had assisted them with passage. No one had actually checked whether or not they had arrived.
A week after the disaster, the Harmoos empire had been sold off to a private company called Swift Renovations. All efforts by the media to learn more about the company or its plans had met with polite refusals.
The day after the mansion fire, the Concorde had left New York. On board were eleven coffins.
A month later, the aircraft returned to New York to bring a high-ranking Israeli delegation --- headed by the Prime Minister --- to the United Nations to discuss plans for the forthcoming Middle East peace conference. When the plane left, it carried an extra passenger. Dr. Miriam Cantwell had been offered, and accepted, the post of Director of Surgery at the Jerusalem hospital where Matti Talim had once worked. She had by then made a complete recovery.
The plane arrived on the night Israeli television carried two stories that shared the same top billing on other news programs around the world.
In Washington, the Supreme Leader of Libya was filmed being escorted into the White House by the President's National Security Adviser.
In Teheran, Ayatollah Muzwaz issued a short statement welcoming the peace conference on the Middle East. He added that he hoped his words would put an end to rumors that the mullahs had ever intended to wage holy war.
Jacob Chernow saw both items on Danny Nagier's hospital bedside television. Nagier was to be discharged in the morning, once more passed for active duty.
"It's a funny old world," shrugged Nagier, turning away from the screen.
"For sure," said Chernow, coming to his feet. "For sure."
"It sure is," agreed Tyreen, reaching for his hand and taking it in hers. She had flown in from London earlier that morning. She had spent much of the month shuttling between London and Tel Aviv, liaising between MI6 and Mossad in the aftermath of the incident.
"Still wrapping up loose ends?" he asked, once they were out of Nagier's room. When she nodded in reply, he continued, "When are you going back to London again?"
"Not till next week," she answered, turning her face toward him and smiling. "I still have some unfinished business here."
"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Something I should know about?"
"For sure," she answered, squeezing his hand lightly.
It wasn't long before they were back at Chernow's apartment.
It would be well into the next day before either of them emerged, almost all of the time having been spent in the bedroom. And as soon as they'd had a relaxing meal, it was right back to the apartment and the bedroom.
Not that either of them had any complaints about how they had spent the time.