'Zion, the name of the kibbutz.'
'Zion?'
'Historically, a citadel that was the nucleus of Jerusalem. Also, the ideal nation or society envisioned by Judaism.'
'Good choice by nationalist extremists.'
This time Jacob succeeded in finding his pipe. He was clenching it between his teeth.
'I wouldn't recommend stopping to fill that thing,' Lang said.
'Why not?'
'Because there's a truck right behind us. I'd guess Zwelk wants to know why we're spraying his private road.'
Jacob leaned forward, the better to see the rearview mirror. 'And he's blinking his lights. Think he wants us to stop.'
Lang withdrew the SIG Sauer from its holster and slipped it beneath the seat. 'You aren't going to outrun 'em. May as well stop and see what they want.'
Looking in the passenger-side mirror, Lang saw two bearded men, one on each side, approach the truck. From the way they held the Uzi machine guns, he would have guessed they knew how to use them. This close to Palestinian territory, it would be unusual if they had not been armed. The one on the right stopped a few feet short and wide of the passenger door, a position where Lang would have to fully turn in his seat to make a hostile move. It was a maneuver taught in every police academy in the world.
The other man was speaking with Jacob in what Lang assumed was Hebrew. The tone was even, perhaps friendly. Finally Jacob shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes heavenward, the universal Jewish gesture that could mean anything from sudden enlightenment to total frustration. The man on the other side of the driver's door laughed, shook his head, and started back to his own truck.
'What the hell did you say to him?' Lang wanted to know.
'He wanted to know what we were doing here. I told him we had been assigned to oil down the dirt access roads along Road Four Seventy-seven all the way to the Gaza Strip.'
'But we came here on Four Seventy-seven. We turned off a mile or so back.'
'That, basically, was what the chap said. He thanked us for slicking down the kibbutz's road.' He turned to Lang. 'Think I convinced him I'd made a mistake?'
Lang watched the two men in the truck behind. Through the streaked windshield he could see one was talking into a cell phone. 'I sure as hell hope so.'
FIFTY-FIVE
Near Kibbutz Zion
Seventeen Minutes Later
'You're sure, then, that's her?' Jacob asked from his seat in the sand on the shady side of a hill.
Lang took the binoculars from his eyes. The morning sun was heating the metal quickly enough to make them uncomfortable to hold to his eyes. 'Pretty damn sure.'
He could hear Jacob tapping the pipe against the heel of his shoe. ''Pretty sure'? Bravo! That's bloody swell! We go charging into this kibbutz, fight our way through the rotters to where you saw this woman, and presto! We find out you made a sodding mistake. Almost worth trying just to hear your apology.'
Lang had the glasses to his eyes again. 'You're the one who suggested we come out here after seeing a satellite photo of a redhead. Besides, that's why I'm roasting in the sun-trying to make sure we don't screw up.'
He heard the sound of a striking match. And then, 'You never explained what made you think that lot trying to kill you were Jews. Almost any country might be interested in the powers described in that old manuscript.'
The superconductive abilities aren't what they're after.'
Lang took the binoculars down again long enough to use a sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face. 'As I think I mentioned, I'd bet something very much like that was the basis for the Star Wars defense program President Reagan suggested twenty-five years ago.'
'If not the weapons capability, then what?'
'For what the Book of Jereb says.'
Jacob briefly pondered that. Then, 'What does it have to say that's worth killing people for, other than the secret of the Ark, which you're telling me is no sodding secret after all?'
'It's…'
'It's what?'
Lang had put the glasses to his eyes again. 'That's her! She's walking between two men, carrying what looks like… looks like… a towel. Yeah, that's it. She's got a towel and what could be a change of clothes.' He reached backward, motioning. 'Here, come see for yourself.'
'To what end?' Jacob growled. 'I've never seen the bird, wouldn't recognize her if she was standing on the balcony at Buckingham Palace.'
In his excitement Lang had forgotten. 'Of course you wouldn't. Take my word for it, though; that's her.'
Jacob's breath whistled through closed lips as he checked his watch. 'I make it nearly nine hours before sunset, a long time in the heat.'
Lang was still staring through the binoculars. 'We can't very well drive back in daylight. Someone'd get suspicious if they saw us there again.'
Jacob got to his feet, dusting himself off. 'There's a little town, Sderot, about two kilometers the other way, a place we can at least get something cool to drink while we wait. And I've got a bit of tinkering yet to do.'
Lang didn't ask; he was well aware of what Jacob's tinkering usually involved.
FIFTY-SIX
Central Police Station
Ibn Gabrel andAriozroy Streets
Tel Aviv
An Hour Later
Captain Kel Zaltov paced around the long table rather than sitting at it. His shirt was showing sweat stains at the armpits despite the frosty chill of overefficient air-conditioning. 'I still don't understand why we have to cooperate with some neo-Nazi cop from Austria,' he complained. 'We owe those krauts nothing; and, far as I can tell, this goy Reilly has done nothing. Besides, he has the blessing of King Solomon Street,' he added as an afterthought.
The other man in the room looked as though he might have just stepped from the pages of GQ or Esquire. His dark suit was tailored, his white shirt unwrinkled, and his toe caps shined to a military luster. 'I'm not here on behalf on our friends on King Solomon Street,' he replied calmly. He intertwined his fingers, resting his hands on the table. 'My authority is higher than that.'
Zaltov scowled. 'I'm a policeman, not a diplomat or politician.'
He spit the last word as though it had a bad taste.
That, thought the man in the suit, was one thing they both could agree upon.
The policeman was notorious for his distrust, if not downright hatred, of anything Germanic or Russian. During the decade between 1935 and 1945, each of those two World War II combatants had exterminated the larger part of his family: first the Stalinist purges, then the Nazi pogrom. It was amazing that a man could be so angry over the murders of relatives he had never known. But then, these Jews of Eastern European descent tended to hold grudges for centuries rather than generations. Zaltov was still probably pissed off at the Romans for destroying the temple in Jerusalem in, what, a.d . 70?
