As Nick pulled out his device and tilted up the screen, the terrorist raised the remote above his head. He wrapped his index finger around its red trigger. “Our game is over, Nick Baron. Checkmate.”
CHAPTER 78
The instant that Kattan said checkmate, four of the windows encircling the dome exploded inward, showering the inner mosque with splintered latticework and tinted glass. The SWARM crashed its way into the chamber and hovered over the terrorist in a tight formation.
Kattan took his finger off the trigger as he ducked in surprise, shielding his face against the debris with his good arm.
The drones did not surprise Nick at all. He had called them. After the chime from the chess app, he had pulled out the SWARM control tablet instead of his phone. With a sweep of his thumb he had brought them in through the windows.
When the drones crashed in, Nick’s left hand was already at his back, wrapped around the grip of a second Sig Sauer—the one Drake had pressed into his hands before braving the mob. His efforts to close the distance had brought him in range for a shot he could not afford to miss.
Nick whipped the gun around to his front and fired two rapid shots, obliterating the remote trigger and taking a large chunk out of Kattan’s good hand.
The terrorist tried to return fire, but Nick dove out of the way, rolled to one knee, and turned his Sig on the mechanical hand holding the submachine gun, firing three more times. The weapon fell to the floor with a piece of Kattan’s prosthetic still attached.
The terrorist rushed him, screaming with fury, and Nick shifted his aim to Kattan’s head, but found that he could not pull the trigger, despite everything he had done. The person running toward him now was just an adolescent boy, enraged by the loss of his father.
Nick rose from his knee, rotated the pistol sideways in his hand, and struck the young man across the temple. Kattan stumbled past and collapsed onto the carpet, out cold.
A moan came from the Foundation Stone. Kurt Baron’s eyes were open.
“Dad!” Ignoring his own pains, Nick leapt onto the rock and knelt at the older Baron’s side. He tore away the gag and cradled his father’s head in his hands. “Dad, you’re alive.”
“Sorry, Son . . . Had to play dead . . . Jerk was never going to shut up if I didn’t.”
“Try not to speak, Dad.” Nick gently laid his father’s head down again. “I’m going to get you some help.”
Nick started to get up, but Kurt weakly grabbed his arm.
“The bomb, Son. It beeped while your friend was ranting. I think . . . it’s active.”
Nick cautiously removed the aluminum cover from the device and found a five-inch touch screen. Ivory-white numbers counted down on a black field. There were twenty-five seconds remaining. Kattan must have activated a timer as a contingency. A square in the bottom right corner read ABORT.
“He left himself a way out, a fail-safe in case I didn’t show.” Nick pressed the button, but the numbers didn’t stop. They shrank to the top center and a gray keyboard and white entry window appeared. A cursor flashed, waiting for the password. Nick glanced over at Kattan. He had just knocked out the only man who could stop the bomb.
The keyboard looked strange. Some letters were missing. Other keys bore letter-number combinations. With sixteen seconds left on the clock, Nick realized he was looking at chess notation. “Checkmate,” he said out loud.
He pulled out his phone and checked Kattan’s last move. He had taken Nick’s bishop with a pawn, but which pawn was it when the game began?
Nick had no choice but to take his best guess. He typed in the move WKPxBKB#, white king’s pawn takes black king’s bishop for checkmate.
He pressed ENTER.
The numbers kept going, less than ten seconds now. Nick winced.
Then green text appeared below the countdown, announcing access granted. Another button appeared next to it. DISABLE?
Nick quickly pressed it. The timer froze. The white numbers read 07.77.
“We did it, Dad.” Nick turned back to his father and smiled, but the older Baron had closed his eyes again. There was an immense amount of blood on the Foundation Stone. Kurt’s lips were blue. He wasn’t moving.
EPILOGUE
Nick.”
Katy called to him.
Her voice was muddled, distant like before. He was afraid to look, afraid he’d see her up on the Temple Mount wall with Kattan again, fire blazing up between them.
“Nick, wake up.”
Nick reluctantly opened his eyes. Katy was not standing on a wall. She was standing right next to him. As his eyes focused, the look of concern on her face brightened into a beautiful smile. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed. “There you are.”
She was holding his hand. With effort, he turned his palm so that their fingers intertwined. “It’s you” was all he could muster.
She nodded and wiped the tear away. “Yes, it’s me.”
Nick gradually took in the room. He was in a hospital bed, half-reclined, a rack of monitors on one side of it, Katy on the other. This was a private room. Luke sat on a little brown couch playing with his favorite car, a Corvette Nick’s dad had given him.
Dad.
Nick tried to sit up. Pain shot through his neck and shoulder, bringing clarity—flashes of memory. He saw IDF soldiers storming the Dome of the Rock. He saw white stones rolling beneath a gurney, a red helicopter up ahead. He heard his own voice shouting that Kattan was dangerous and that he might be carrying a vaccine that could save thousands. He watched them leading the terrorist away in handcuffs, one of the soldiers holding up a clear vial, its contents sparkling in the emerging sun.
Another flash and Nick saw his dad cold and lifeless on the helicopter floor, the Temple Mount drifting away below them, a medic running a tube between their arms, sending Nick’s blood to his dad. Then he saw a surgery room and a doctor holding a syringe to his IV port. He protested, but the doctor plunged it in anyway.
After that, there was only darkness.
Nick’s head fell back onto his pillow.
“Slow down, baby, you’re okay,” said Katy, placing a soft hand on his forehead.
“Where?” he asked.
“You’re at Hadassah Medical Center.”
“I’m still in Jerusalem?”
She nodded.
“And my dad?”
“He’s going to be okay. Better than that, he has several admirers now.”
Nick struggled to push the fog of sedatives to the edge of his mind. “Admirers? I’m not following.”
Katy pulled up a rolling stool and sat down next to her husband. She took his hand again, this time with both of hers, massaging his fingers. “There’s a guy here, I think he’s Mossad—”
“Walker’s contact,” interrupted Nick.
Katy nodded. “I think so. He’s trying to keep people from talking about what happened up there. He’s making everybody sign papers, but there’s one story he can’t stop.”
“It’s hard to stop Dad when he gets going,” said Nick in a flat tone. “He’s claiming he singlehandedly disarmed the nuke, isn’t he?”
She sniffed and giggled, squeezing his hand. “Your dad’s not even conscious yet, silly. The medics who pulled you out of the mosque are the ones telling the story.” Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “They say your dad and a terrorist both bled buckets on the Foundation Stone. They say the blood trails joined as they descended the stone, but then the terrorist’s blood turned and poured onto the floor. He bled out and died. Your dad’s trail continued into the Well of Souls, the hole that used to capture the blood of Jewish sacrifices at the bottom of the stone.”
There were voices in the hall, shadows outside the door. Katy glanced up and waited for them to move off before she continued. “The medics say the blood trail thinned right there, that your dad
stopped bleeding when his blood reached the Well of Souls. The surgeon agrees. He should have bled out, but he didn’t. The doctors are calling it a miracle. Word is spreading around the hospital like wildfire.”
Nick let out a painful chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Faith. It’s contagious. Kattan tried to destroy it, but all he did was fuel the fire. The joke’s on him. Drake would have loved it.”
“You should tell him. He’s dying to see you.”
Nick abruptly sat up, but the pain knocked him back again. “He’s what?”
“He’s dying to see you.” Katy pointed toward the opposite wall. “Drake is two doors down. He can’t talk very well, though. He’s all beat up. The IDF found him in the ruins south of the Temple Mount, limping on a broken leg and dragging a dead man with him. He said the guy was a terrorist that tried to stab him with a poison knife.”
“He’s supposed to be dead.” Nick glowered at the wall. “I’m gonna kill him.” Then he turned to Katy. The fog of the medication was now completely gone. “And you, you’re supposed to be on a flight to Washington. Why are you here?”
Katy straightened and scrunched up her nose. “You think I was going to leave you in Israel just because you told me to?”
“You and Luke could have been killed.”
She relaxed, leaned into him again. “Not with you on the job.”
Nick reached up and pulled his wife to him, kissing her deeply. Not to be left out, Luke toddled over, and Katy scooped him up and set him on the bed with his father. The boy took his daddy’s hand and played with his fingers. Nick looked up into Katy’s hazel eyes. “Do you think maybe one day you can learn to do as you’re told?”
“No,” she said, and kissed him again. “No, I don’t.”
Find out what happened to the imam from the Jamatkhana, Detective Sergeant Mercer, Constable Gale, and others.
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James R. Hannibal, Shadow Maker
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