monotone conveying hatred. 'You leave that royal house before morning and you are a dead man. Tomorrow you go quietly back to where you came from, where you belong.'
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 14
Emmanuel Weingrass pulled code Grey's radio to his lips and spoke. 'Go ahead and remember to keep the line open. I've got to hear everything!’
'If you'll forgive me, Weingrass,' replied Ben-Ami from the shadows across Government Road. 'I would feel somewhat more secure if our colleague Grey also heard. You and I are not so adept in these situations as those young men.'
'They haven't a brain in their collective head. We have two.'
'This is not shul, Emmanuel, this is what's called the field and it can be very unpleasant.'
'I have every confidence in you, Benny boy, so long as you guarantee these kiddie radios can be heard through steel.'
'They're as clear as any electronic bug ever developed, with the added function of direct transmission. One just pushes the right buttons.'
'One doesn't,' said Weingrass, 'you do. Go on, we'll follow when we hear what this MacDonald-Strickland says.'
'Send code Grey first, please.' Out of the shadows near the marquee of the Tylos Hotel, Ben-Ami joined the bustling crowds around the entrance. People came and went, mostly male, mostly in Western dress, along with a smattering of women exclusively in Western dress. Taxis disgorged passengers, as others filled them, tipping a harried doorman whose sole job was to open and close doors, and every now and then to blow a strident whistle for a lowly, thobed bellhop to carry luggage. Ben-Ami melted into this melee and went inside. Moments later, through the background noise of the lobby, he could be heard dialling; squinting in irritation, Manny held up the radio between himself and the much taller, muscular code Grey. The first words from Room 202 were obscured; then the Mossad agent spoke.
'Shaikh Strickland?'
'Who's this?' The Englishman's cautious whisper was now distinct; Ben-Ami had adjusted the radio.
'I'm downstairs… Anah henah littee gahrah—'
'Bloody damn black fool!' cried MacDonald. 'I don't speak that gibberish! Why are you calling from the lobby?'
'I was testing you, Mr. Strickland,' Ben-Ami broke in quickly. 'A man under stress often gives himself away. You might have asked me where my business trip was taking me, perhaps leading to a subsequent code. Then I would have known you were not the man—'
'Yes, yes, I understand! Thank Christ you're here! It's taken you long enough. I expected you a half-hour ago. You were to say something to me. Say it!'
'Not over the telephone,' answered the Mossad infiltrator firmly. 'Never over the telephone, you should know that.'
'If you think I'm just going to let you into my room—'
'I wouldn't if I were you,' interrupted Ben-Ami once again. 'We know you're armed.'
'You do?'
'Every weapon sold under a counter is known to us.'
'Yes… yes, of course.'
'Open your door with the latch on. If my words are incorrect, kill me.'
'Yes… very well. I'm sure it won't be necessary. But understand me, whoever you are, one misplaced syllable and you're a corpse!'
' I shall practise my English, Shaikh Strickland.'
