'Nobody is going to believe she was here by her own will.'
Zwelk stepped back, gun arm extended. 'Why not? Neither of you will be alive to contradict it. In any event, I will not be here by the time whoever is in those helicopters arrives. I have known for a long time that my devotion to the purity of the Jewish religion would provoke the authorities and planned accordingly.'
'Reminds me of rats and sinking ships,' Lang said.
Lang took a deep breath as he watched Zwelk's trigger finger tighten.
He could only hope Jacob had known what the hell he was doing.
FIFTY-NINE
Three Kilometers from Kibbutz Zion
At the Same Time
Another few minutes of bouncing around like a cork in rough water and Inspector Rauch would have embarrassed himself by getting sick, loosing his last meal all over the other five men in this infernal device, including the Israeli policeman, Zaltov. The bastard actually seemed to be enjoying the flight. The security man, Gruber, had explained that the cooling of the night air over the sun-warmed desert caused irregular heating and, therefore, the updrafts-thermals, he called them-that had rocked the Bell helicopter. The meteorological information had not made the ride any less terrifying.
For the first time in years, Inspector Rauch thanked God. They were descending, and this ride from hell was about over. He risked a peek through the Plexiglas. The aircraft's spotlight showed what looked like a small village with what might have been a pond in the middle. No, not a lake, but the smashed remains of some kind of huge container in the middle of whatever liquid it had contained. A water tower, he could now see. He could almost hear the desert sand greedily drinking up the available moisture.
And there was a fire; one of the buildings was burning. He could smell smoke.
The light moved to an open space, and the helicopter began a vertical descent that left Rauch's stomach somewhere above. On either side the other two machines were also settling.
Now he was close enough to the ground to see a group of men and women. The men wore hats and were all bearded, with the side curls of Hasidim. Several were pointing upward.
Rauch swallowed hard and spoke for the first time during the trip, asking Zaltov, 'How do we know this man Reilly won't escape before we land?'
The policeman gave what Rauch supposed was a laugh had he been able to hear it over the clatter of rotor blades. 'Escape? Where? This kibbutz is sealed off from the sea by the wall along the Gaza border and is in the middle of the desert. No one in his right mind would want to wander around out there.'
Rauch was tempted to point out that Zaltov's ancestors had, according to their own tradition, done just that. And not just 'wandered.' After forty years of meandering, they had managed to select one of the few places in this area of the world that had no oil under it.
Instead he concentrated on mastering his heaving stomach for a few more minutes.
Rauch was surprised when the helicopter touched down with the lightness of a ballerina. In seconds Gruber was standing at his elbow, shouting orders over the dying whine of turbine engines and slowing rotor blades. The dozen or so uniformed and armed men fanned out, knocking on doors before opening them, while two of their number disappeared into the darkness, presumably to cover any exit. To the Austrian it looked like a military maneuver by well-trained troops. He was a little surprised that none of the residents seemed either surprised or upset that their kibbutz had been invaded. He supposed that, this close to hostile territory, the appearance of friendly forces at any time was welcome.
One of the soldiers had an old man by the arm, gently leading the white-bearded elder toward the place Rauch and Gruber stood. It was clear to Rauch that more respect than coercion was involved. Although the Austrian policeman could not understand the language, the tone indicated polite questioning rather than harsh interrogation. Finally the old man pointed toward one of several bungalow-like buildings just beyond the shrinking perimeter of light from the waning fire.
Gruber pointed to the same place. 'He says he knows of no strangers here other than a red-haired woman who is visiting the chairman of the kibbutz and his wife. That's their house.' The security man took off at a trot. 'Come on!'
Rauch had not taken his second step when he heard shots. They seemed to come from the very house to which he was headed.
SIXTY
The SIG Sauer exploded in Zwelk's hand, sending shrapnellike fragments into his face.
For an instant his eyes protruded from a blood-splattered face as he contemplated the shreds of flesh that had been his hand moments before.
Then he grunted with shock and grabbed for the stump at the end of his arm as though he might stop the geysers of red his ulnar and palmar arteries were pumping.
Lang doubted Zwelk had even begun to feel pain as he heard the first note of a scream from Alicia.
The shock that had frozen the two guards passed. They both lunged for their weapons on the table, but Lang was closer.
Shoving Alicia aside, he dove across the table, sweeping up both weapons. He brought his hands up, the Uzi in each spitting bullets that stitched both men across the chest with ragged red flowers blooming larger and larger until they merged into a single crimson stain.
It had all taken perhaps three seconds, three ticks of a clock. The small room so stank of cordite, blood, and death that Lang nearly gagged. He was deaf from the shots in such close quarters, and his eyes wept from acrid wisps of burned gunpowder.
He dropped the Uzis and turned to pull Alicia to her feet. She looked straight at him without seeing, a catatonic stare of stunned fright.
Holding one Uzi, Lang took her hand in the other, speaking words he himself could not hear. 'Come on, Alicia; we can't stay here.'
On legs as uncertain as those of a newborn colt, she stood and transferred her stare to someplace over Lang's shoulder.
At first he thought he might be hallucinating.
Blocking the doorway was a tall man in his mid- thirties, clean-shaven and with a recent haircut.
Witherspoon.
The would-be FBI man spoke words Lang's ringing ears could only partially hear, but there was no mistaking the Desert Eagle he held in his hand.
With a shove Lang pushed Alicia out of the line of fire, a motion that diverted Witherspoon's eyes just long enough for Lang to raise one of the Uzis.
He felt, rather than heard, the dull click of the hammer on an empty chamber. The damn clip had been half- empty when he grabbed the gun.
Shit.
Witherspoon had heard it. Lowering his weapon, he moved with the grace of a professional fighter. He smashed his Desert Eagle against the side of Lang's head, sending him slipping across the blood-slicked floor. The force of impact with the far wall knocked the second Uzi from his grasp.
Ears ringing both from the gunshots and the blow, Lang did not have to hear all the man's words as he stuck his own weapon into his belt and charged. The murderous gleam in his eye said it all: Witherspoon intended to literally kill Lang with his bare hands.
Before Lang could regain his feet, Witherspoon's heavier weight was pinning him to the floor while large hands sought to choke the life from him.
