‘Oblonsky . . . sistema . . . jomkostnogo . . . limita.’
‘Oblonsky limited capacity system. Bingo! Spasibo, spasibo, Kapitan!’ he shouted enthusiastically to the Russian officer, and then turned to his superior. ‘The initials do mean something, General Hooker!’
McBain, still listening to his Russian colleague through his earphones, used the other line to communicate with the special assault team. ‘This is Golf Bravo One, do you read me, Sky Riders?’
‘This is Sky Riders. We’ve got the situation under control. The two commandos inside the factory are dead but the third is still up on the crane. We have one dead and three wounded. And we have the bomb.’
‘Attention, Sky Riders, we have the detonation override code. It must be transmitted to the other teams in Los Angeles and New York. Attention, this requires your full attention. I will be giving you the instructions directly from Moscow, who is on the other line. Repeat, Sky Riders, any error can be fatal. Don’t let the third terrorist out of your sight. He could be very dangerous.’
‘We’ve got a team looking to take him out. Proceed with instructions. We’re ready to roll, Golf Bravo One,’ said the voice on the other end of the line.
Their car arrived at its destination ten minutes later, and while McBain remained on board to continue transmitting the instructions from Moscow, General Hooker and Blake got out and ran towards the building. They instantly found themselves under machine-gun and rifle fire. The entire area was powerfully illuminated by photoelectric cells, but many of the bulbs had been destroyed in the shoot-out.
The captain leading the special assault team immediately dragged them behind cover. The storm continued to rage on and the lot in front of the factory was invaded by angry gusts of wind and freezing rain.
‘Foul weather, isn’t it, sir?’ The officer had to shout to be heard over the noise of the storm and the gunshots.
‘Where’s the bomb?’ asked Hooker.
‘Up there, General,’ replied the officer, pointing to the top floor of the old factory. ‘But the third terrorist is barricaded in the crane booth and he’s got us in his sights.’
Blake tried to shield his eyes from the squalling rain with his hands as he looked up towards the enormous trestle on which the long crane jib swung, pushed by the wind.
The barrel of a machine gun protruded from the booth, spurting fire against the assault team stationed around the building, who immediately responded by attacking the steel girders and walls with their guns. Each burst of fire set off a sort of prolonged, sinister pealing in the entire structure, sending sparks cascading like tiny bolts of lightning in the raging storm.
The gigantic structure started to vibrate and revolve on its axis.
‘Oh, Christ!’ said Blake. ‘He’s rotating the jib. If he positions it crosswise to the wind, he’ll cause the entire structure to come crashing down onto the expressway. Captain, send someone to disengage the clutch, for God’s sake.’
The officer signalled to one of his men, who hurried forward under a rain of bullets to the base of the tower and began to climb up the iron ladder.
At that moment, a window in the crane cabin opened and a man crawled out onto the boom as the jib continued to rotate. He was about twenty-five years old and his face was uncovered. Amazingly agile, he was somehow managing to avoid the bullets that whistled past him. For a moment he looked down and it seemed that he would fall. And suddenly Blake heard a desperate cry behind him. It was Husseini.
He was standing stock still in the pouring rain and yelling, ‘Said! Said!’ He ran across the big lot in front of the building to the tower of steel. He was shouting as loudly as he could, his face streaked with tears and rain. He was shouting at the youth who continued to advance towards the tip of the crane’s jib.
Blake whispered excitedly into Hooker’s ear and the general raised his arm to order a cease-fire, while the leader of the assault team relayed the order to his men as well.
Even the storm seemed to obey that order and the downpour subsided, while the force of the wind lessened.
Husseini’s voice rang out even louder: ‘Said! Said! Ana waliduka! Ana waliduka!’
‘What is he saying?’ asked Hooker.
Blake looked back wide-eyed. ‘He’s saying, “Said! Said! I’m your father! I’m your father!” ’
Hooker watched the rain-drenched man in the middle of the lot and the youth who continued to crawl towards the outer tip of the jig. His weight on the long arm, almost completely crosswise to the force of the wind, made the whole structure shake precariously.
‘Oh, my God,’ muttered Hooker.
The youth on the jib was rising to his feet and the officer who was watching his every move with a pair of binoculars shouted, ‘Watch out! He’s full of explosives! Take him out! Fire! Fire!’
A shot hit him in the leg and the young man staggered.
Husseini swung around, gripping a gun. ‘Stop!’ he yelled, out of his mind. ‘Don’t shoot! Stop or I’ll kill you!’
The officer gestured to his men and, just as Husseini was about to pull the trigger, a shot brought him to his knees. As he fell, he raised his eyes to the sky and saw his son dragging himself to the very tip of the jib, from where he dived into the void, an angel of death making for the river of cars on the highway below. But as soon as he had taken wing a furious fusillade was heard. The boy was caught in mid-air by the special operations snipers and his body simply disintegrated.
His blood fell along with the rain onto the face and shoulders of his dying father.
Blake leapt forward, running towards Husseini through the deserted lot, shouting, ‘Omar! Omar!’ A rivulet of blood dyed the water streaming under his body pink. Blake took him into his arms; he was still breathing. ‘Omar
Husseini opened eyes already dulled by death. He said, ‘You went east. Did you see . . . did you see the columns of Apamea? Did you . . . see them?’
‘Yes,’ said Blake, his eyes glassy. ‘Yes, I did see them, Omar. They were pale in the light of dawn, like virgins awaiting their husbands, and red at dusk, like pillars of fire, my friend . . .’ And he held him close as he died.
THE CRANE groaned and creaked in the wind, which was picking up again, but the special force operator managed to reach the cabin at the top and disengaged the transmission. The jib, now swinging free, rotated slowly on its platform until it came to rest, immobile, in the direction of the wind.
The assault team captain approached General Hooker. ‘The bomb has been disabled, sir, and so have the other two. The operation is concluded.’
‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Hooker. ‘Thank you for a job well done.’ He crossed the lot on foot to where Blake was still kneeling. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘It’s over, son. Come on, let’s take you to a hospital. Someone has to take care of those arms of yours or you’ll lose them.’
Blake got into Hooker’s car and said, ‘Take me to Sarah, please.’
He found her sleeping, sedated and receiving a blood transfusion. He asked if he could sit in the waiting room until she woke up and the doctor on duty agreed to let him do so.
The room was empty. There were sofas along the wall and a TV, turned off, in a corner. On one side, near the window, were a table and lamp.
He sat down, opened his briefcase and began reading. The first human being to read the Breasted papyrus in three thousand and two hundred years.
A nurse came up to him in the middle of the night and said, ‘Mr Blake, she’s awake now. You can talk to her, but you will have to be very brief, as she’s still in a critical condition.’
Blake closed the briefcase and followed her.
Sarah’s left shoulder was bandaged and she had a drip in her right arm.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said. ‘We did it. You were incredible.’
‘I can’t see myself said Sarah, ‘but I’ll bet you look worse than I do.’
Yeah, well, it was a long day. I’m lucky to look like anything.’
> Sarah fell silent for a moment, turning her face towards the pillow and then back towards him. She looked straight into his eyes. ‘We’re the only ones left who know the secret of Ras Udash,’ she said. ‘Maybe it would have been better if I had been blown up with everyone else.’
Blake caressed her forehead. ‘Don’t say that, darling,’ he said. You’re wrong.’
GAD AVNER put on his old combat uniform, buckling up the belt, slipped his Remington calibre thirty-eight into the holster and took the elevator down to the basement, where about a dozen men from the special forces were waiting in a couple of Jeeps. Armed to the hilt, they were dressed in black and their faces were covered by ski masks.
Their commander introduced himself. ‘Lieutenant Nahal, at your command, sir.’
They got into Jeeps with special darkened windows and drove down the deserted streets of the city until they had reached the Antonian Fortress archway.
Ygael Allon was waiting at the entrance to the tunnel and did not seem terribly surprised to see the civil engineer in combat fatigues. He guided the men through the passage to the start of the second section. At the point where the stairs leading under the base of the Temple began, the wall appeared completely solid.
‘The men who did the work were brought here blindfolded after long walks through the city to disorient them,’ said Lieutenant Nahal into Avner’s ear. ‘Once the job was completed, they were brought back to their quarters using the same procedure. As you can see, there’s not the slightest trace on the wall. Besides us, only the Prime Minister himself knows about this passage.’
‘Good work,’ said Avner, ‘and now let’s get on with it. We don’t want to be late for our appointment.’
Fifteen minutes later, they reached the end of the tunnel, where the ramp had been completely cleared.
‘In ancient times, the tunnel led out into the open countryside at this point, behind the siege lines,’ said Allon. ‘Nebuchadnezzar’s camp couldn’t have been far from here, in that direction. Good luck, Mr Cohen.’ And he turned back alone.
The men ascended the ramp until they reached a kind of trapdoor. They opened it and found themselves inside a house already guarded by their fellow soldiers.
Avner, accompanied by a couple of his men, went upstairs, where his technicians had set up a listening post.
‘Their Silkworms are scheduled to be launched in the direction of Beersheba at ten tonight. They’re using mobile launching ramps, sir, and the report of a ramp aimed at Jerusalem has been confirmed. Probably gas. The countdown begins in half an hour,’ said Nahal.
Avner looked at the stopwatch on his wrist. ‘Get the helicopters out and occupy points four, six and eight of the operation plan. We’ll move in exactly seven minutes’ time.’
The men grouped around the exits and Nahal drew closer to Avner. ‘Please allow me to insist, sir. There’s no reason for you to take part in combat. We can handle it. If Abu Ahmid is hiding out in that house, we’ll bring him back here, tied hand and foot.’
‘No,’ said Avner. ‘It’s an old story that has to be settled between the two of us. He was the one who led the ambush in which my son was killed in Lebanon. I want to do this personally, if I may.’
‘But sir, there’s no saying that Abu Ahmid is down there. You could be risking your life in vain at this critical moment.’
‘I’m sure he’s there. The bastard wants to be the first to enter the city deserted by her inhabitants, just like Nebuchadnezzar. He’s there, I can smell him. And you leave him to me, Nahal. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The officer looked at his watch, then raised and lowered his arm. His men sprang silently out of all the exits, sliding along the walls towards their objective.
On the other side of the city, about half a mile from where they were, the sound of helicopters and machine guns could be heard. Their diversionary manoeuvre had commenced with perfect timing.
Nahal’s commando unit was just a few metres from its objective now, a little whitewashed building surrounded on every side by taller buildings which hid it from sight. On the rooftop a powerful radio antenna was being raised as they watched, masked by laundry and rugs hung out all around.
‘Just like you predicted, sir,’ said Nahal. ‘We’re ready for the assault.’
‘Proceed,’ ordered Avner.
Nahal signalled to his men. Four of them slipped up on the guards posted at the front and rear entrances of the house, taking them out with daggers, swiftly and silently.
Avner advanced with Lieutenant Nahal to the windows. Nahal nodded and his men threw a cluster of flash grenades and rushed in, shooting everything in sight with deadly precision.
Nahal moved into the next room and took out a man sitting in front of a radar screen. He saw the mobile ramp reference signals, which were beginning to become stronger.
‘Here they are,’ he shouted. ‘They’re coming out into the open!’ He called headquarters. ‘This is Barak calling Melech Israel. Ramps identified. Launch the fighters. Grid 264 788. I say again, grid 264 788, over.’
‘We read you, Barak. Is the Fox with you?’
Nahal wheeled around and just caught sight of Avner as he disappeared down a hallway. He came to a stop and fired three or four times in quick succession. Nahal shouted to his men, ‘Cover him!’ Into the microphone he reported, ‘The Fox is hunting his prey.’ With that, he took off after his men.
Avner was heading down a second hallway, with a trapdoor at its end. He lunged forward, opened the hatch and descended the small staircase on the other side.
‘No!’ shouted Nahal. ‘Wait!’
But Avner had already disappeared underground. Nahal followed with his men.
Avner stopped for a moment, heard the footsteps of a man escaping and shot in that direction. He ran forward and found himself in an underground chamber, its ceiling supported by a dozen brick columns. There were cases and cases of weapons and ammunition everywhere. At the centre of the room was the base of the large retractable radio antenna.
‘Secure the entire area!’ he ordered and, as the men were combing the room, he ran towards a staircase that led up to the surface. He lifted another trapdoor and found himself outside. Helicopters were hovering low, tasked to eliminate any snipers in the area.
Avner saw a figure running along the wall and he shouted, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’
The man turned, a fraction of a second, and Avner recognized his flashing eyes under the keffiyeh. He took the shot, but the man had already vanished around the corner.
Nahal and his men pulled up short, stopped by a group of women and children, who were milling about in the road.
‘He’s in there someplace, damn it! Surround the block and search the houses one by one!’
The men obeyed but there was no trace of Abu Ahmid.
Lieutenant Nahal turned back to Avner, who was leaning against the corner of the house where – for a single moment – he had seen his enemy face to face.
‘I’m sorry, sir, we haven’t found him anywhere. Are you sure you got a good look? Sure it was him?’
‘Sure as sin. And I wounded him,’ he added, pointing to a spray of blood on the edge of the wall. ‘He’s got my bullet in him. Just a little advance payment, but I’ll settle the account before these things kill me off,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘Have this shack razed to the ground and let’s go home.’
As they gathered at the helicopter pick-up point, Nahal got a call from headquarters. ‘This is Melech Israel here,’ said the easily recognizable voice of General Yehudai. ‘Are you reading me, Barak?’
‘Operation concluded, Melech Israel. Objective destroyed.’
‘Ditto here,’ said the General. ‘The ramps were blown up three minutes ago. Pass me your boss.’
Lieutenant Nahal handed the earphones to Avner. ‘It’s for you, sir.’
‘Avner.’
‘Yehudai here. It’s all over, Avner. The “Gabriel” launch procedure has been
suspended. The Americans have defused the bombs. Reinforcement fighters are taking off from five aircraft carriers in the Mediterranean.’
‘Five, you said? Which are they?’
‘Two are American: the Nimitz and the Enterprise. Three of them are European: the Aragòn, Clemenceau and Garibaldi.’
‘The Garibaldi too? Won’t Ferrario be pleased. Over and out, Melech Israel. I hope you’ll buy me a beer before we call it a night.’
They boarded the helicopter, which rose up over the city. In the west, a hollow roar soon turned into a thunderous explosion and a thousand ribbons of fire streaked across the sky.
Avner turned to Lieutenant Nahal, who was just taking off his ski mask. ‘Any news of Lieutenant Ferrario?’
Nahal hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Lieutenant Ferrario has been reported missing in action, sir.’
‘He’ll make it through,’ replied Avner. ‘He’s too quick for them,’ he added, his gaze wandering off towards the Judaean desert and the barren Moab hills.
Epilogue
GAD AVNER finished his beer at the bar of the King David Hotel, but when he pulled out his wallet, a voice behind him said, ‘Let me get it, sir, if I may.’
Avner turned around and found himself facing Fabrizio Ferrario. He was wearing a finely tailored light blue linen suit and had a beautiful tan.
‘I’m glad you made it through, Ferrario. Leaving for somewhere?’
‘Yes, sir, and I wanted to say goodbye before I left.’
‘Did you remember to bring home those things I told you about?’
Ferrario glanced down at the crotch of his trousers. ‘They were there last time I looked, sir.’
‘Magnificent. Well, then, have a good trip.’
‘Will you come and visit me in Venice?’
‘I’d like that. Who knows. Maybe, one day, once I’ve retired from this damn job.’
‘Otherwise here, in Jerusalem, whenever you need me. Shalom, Mr Avner.’
‘Shalom, my boy. Say hello to your lovely city for me.’
Avner watched him walk off. He thought of all those beautiful girls who were surely waiting for him in Italy and sighed.