“We think so” Trotter said. “We’d like you to stop him. McGarvey had managed a tight smile and looked back at his old friend. “And what else, John”
“We’re not sure about the stockpile theory. We want you to confirm it”
“How”
“You can start with Dr. Lorraine Abbott”
The Ufi Dan, fight on the beach, was one of Tel Aviv’s largest and best hotels. Crossing the big lobby McGarvey automatically scanned the mostly casually dressed people coming and going, immediately picking out a small, dark complected man in shirtsleeves obviously watching a tall, goodlooking blonde woman seated alone in the cocktail lounge. He had only briefly glanced at the woman, but as he came up to the desk he looked back again. “Sir” the desk clerk asked politely. “McGarvey.
Reservations have been made” The clerk punched his name into the reservations computer, looking up a moment later. “Kirk McGarvey”
“Right. “Yes, sir, we have your reservation. And a package has arrived for you from your embassy. If I may see your passport, sir” McGarvey handed it over. His gun and a few other things had been sent ahead in the diplomatic pouch. “Do you have a Dr. Abbott registered here”
“Yes, sir” McGarvey motioned across the lobby to the open cocktail lounge. “I haven’t seen her in years. Is that her over there? The blonde” The desk clerk gave him an odd look, but then nodded. “Yes, sir, that is Dr. Abbott. If you would just sign here, please” McGarvey had his bag sent up to his room, and with his package in hand angled across the lobby toward the cocktail lounge, passing the man in shirtsleeves, who looked idly up at him. McGarvey stopped. “You know, pal, it’s considered impolite to stare” The man just looked at him, and McGarvey turned and continued across to the lounge and around the railing to Lorraine Abbott’s table. She looked up at him, a questioning expression on her face. “You don’t look like a physicist” he said. Her eyes widened slightly, and her nostrils flared. “Neither do you”
McGarvey laughed. “That’s because I’m not. May I join you”
“I think not” she said, starting to gather her purse and rise. “I bring you greetings from the general” She stopped. “The general” she asked.
“Roland Murphy” It took her just a beat to catch her breath. “Then someone is listening” she said, sitting back. “Yes, they are. May I sit down”
“Of course” she said absently. “I don’t think I caught your name”
“McGarvey. My friends call me Kirk” He reached across the table and they shook hands. “Mine call me Dr. Abbott” she said. “What can I do for you, and the general, Mr. McGarvey”
“First of all, are you aware that you’re being watched” She nodded over her shoulder. “I think his name is Larry. Mossad. They’ve been back there ever since “En Gedi” he finished the sentence for her. “Yes”
she said, looking at him with renewed interest, her right eyebrow raising. “But if you know the significance of that, then you must have come here to tell me something. McGarvey decided that she was a lot like his ex-wife Kathleen; outwardly haughty and self-assured, beautifully coiffed, made up and dressed, which he thought might be nothing more than a cover-up for a slight inferiority complex. Women were not supposed to be physicists. At least not beautiful ones. “Do-you read the newspapers, Doctor? Watch television news” The questions startled her.
She nodded. “Then you are aware of what happened recently in West Germany. The business concerning a terrorist attack on a Pershing missile”
“I think I may have seen something or other” she said vaguely, still not catching his drift. “The missile had been reprogrammed to strike En Gedi” She sucked in her breath, a little color coming to her lightly tanned high cheeks. “Why”
“I was hoping you could tell me that” McGarvey said. He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you think is going on out there” She glanced over his shoulder toward where the Mossad legman had been seated, but he was gone. McGarvey had spotted him leaving a minute ago. “He’s run off to report that you’re having a drink with a so far unidentified man”
McGarvey said. “But I asked you a question”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. McGarvey, or whoever the hell you are. But I think this conversation has gone as far as it’s going to go “The general is waiting for your call, Doctor. But please do it quickly. I think we’re not going to have much time here. She hesitated, obviously torn between wanting to believe he was who he presented himself to be, and reluctance to discuss these highly secret matters so openly. “Let me tell you first” McGarvey said. “We think that the Israelis have hid in or very near their nuclear installation at En Gedi their entire stockpile of battleready nuclear weapons. And we think that the incident our satellite picked up last week may have involved a Soviet penetration of that secret. “oh, Christ” Lorraine Abbott said. “Yes” McGarvey replied. “Oh, Christ”
BOOK TWO
Darkness had settled over the Eastern Mediterranean and with it came the lights of Tel Aviv, a city of 350,000 people, twenty percent of whom were Arabs who lived in an uneasy harmony with their Jewish masters. In a third-floor office of a surprisingly small and unprepossessing building in a courtyard off Hamara Street, Lev Potok sat back from his desk and rubbed his burning eyes. He had been working steadily for the past three hours trying to put everything together in his report to Isser Shamir, director of the Mosad. But the situation wasn’t clear in his own mind, so how could he make anyone else understand? The suicide of Viktor Voronsky in the interrogation cell weighed heavily on his mind. It had been a mistake on his part leaving the obviously distraught Russian alone, even for a few moments. But what in God’s name had motivated the man to such a desperate act? There were forces here, he told himself, that were much greater than any of them had any reason to suspect. Spying and espionage were one thing, but on arrest most spies were professional enough to understand that most likely they would only spend a few months or perhaps a few years behind bars before an exchange was made, and they were repatriated. Voronsky, though, had apparently killed himself so that he would not be broken under interrogation. But who was the master, who had been pulling his strings to such an extent? The Russians he had known were dedicated, but unlike many Arabs they were not fanatics. Lighting a cigarette, he looked at the half-finished page in his typewriter. They had come up with a date barely two weeks from now, but they had no concrete idea what it meant. The Hungarian Embassy was involved, directly or indirectly, but the telephone messages had been cryptic and could have meant anything. Even an upcoming trade agreement. Liebowitz’s speculation that the so-called German failure mentioned on the telephone had something to do with the aborted hijacking of the Pershing missile several days ago was just that-speculation. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to want to come together, almost of their own volition. But it was like building a complicated piece of machinery without blueprints, without even a firm idea what the machine was supposed to do. Someone knocked on his door, and he looked up in irritation as Liebowitz stuck his head inside. “Larry just came up. I think you’d better listen to what he has to say. “What’s she done this time” Potok asked. Larry Saulberg was one of the team assigned to keep a watch on Lorraine Abbott’s movements. So far she hadn’t done much except remain in her hotel, reading the steady stream of NPF documents and reports that had been coming to her out of Washinton twice daily. They had not been able to tamper with the letters for fear they would tip their hand even more than they already had. It was a delicate balance.
“She’s got a gentleman caller”
“Is it that prick-Hayes back again”
“No” Liebowitz said. The man had a flair for the dramatic. Potok pulled the paper out of his typewriter, placed it in a file folder with the rest of his report, and put the entire thing in his desk drawer. He nodded when he was ready, and Liebowitz stood aside. Larry Saulberg was a small, dark, intense man who’d immigrated with his parents from Kenya about fifteen years ago. He had absolutely no sense of humor, but he was like a hound dog with his steadfast devotion to his job. He’d even changed his name to one that sounded more Jewish. “Who is watching her at this moment” Potok asked. “Chaim” the little African said, his obsidian eyes bright. “What have you got for me”
“At seven this evening a man showed up at the hotel where he registered and had his bags sent up to his room. He received a package from the desk, and then went directly to Dr. Abbott who was seated in the lobby
