right hand to intercept the Palestinian's arm as it slashed down with the blood-streaked blade of the knife. The Israeli hammered his knee up into the terrorist's rib cage as he swung the gripped arm clockwise, forcing Azra towards the floor. Still the Palestinian would not release the knife! Both men parted, crouching, staring at each other, contempt and hatred in both pairs of eyes.
'You want to kill Jews, try to kill me, pig!' cried Yaakov.
'Why not?' replied Azra, thrusting his knife forward to draw out the Israeli. 'You kill Arabs! You killed my mother and father as if you'd pulled the trigger yourself!'
'You killed my two brothers on the Sidon patrols!'
'I may have! I hope so! I was there!'
'You are Azra!'
Like two crazed animals the young men flung themselves at each other with violence incarnate, the taking of life—hated life—their only reason for being on earth. Blood burst out of punctured flesh as ligaments were torn and bones broken amid throated cries of vengeance and loathing. Finally it happened, the ending as volcanic as the initial eruption; sheer, brutal strength was the victor.
The knife was lodged in the terrorist's throat, reversed and forced to its mark by the commando from the Masada Brigade.
Exhausted and drenched in blood, Yaakov pushed himself off the body of his enemy. He looked over at his slain comrade, code Orange, and closed his eyes. 'Shalom,' he whispered. 'Find the peace we all seek, my friend.'
There was no time for mourning, he thought, as his eyes flashed open. The body of his comrade, as well as that of his enemy, had to be moved. He had to be at the source for what came next; he had to reach the others. The killer Azra was dead! They could now fly back to Masqat, they had to. To his father! In pain, Blue limped to the bed and yanked back the bedspread, revealing his dead comrade's Uzi machine pistol. He picked it up, awkwardly strapped it over his shoulder, and went to the door to check the hallway. His father!
In the far shadows of the Wadi Al Ahd, Kendrick knew he could not wait any longer, nor could he risk using a telephone. Conversely, he could not remain in the foliage opposite the Aradous and do nothing!. Time was winding down and the contact from the Mahdi expected to find the puppet Azra, newly crowned prince of terrorists, at the rendezvous. It was so clear now, he realized. He had been found out, either through the events at the airport or through a leak in Masqat—the panicked men from the past he had talked to, men who, unlike Mustapha, refused to see him and might have betrayed him for their own safety, as surely as one of them had killed Musty for the same reason. We cannot be involved! It's madness. Our families are dead! Our children raped, disfigured… dead!
The Mahdi's strategy was obvious. Isolate the American and wait for the terrorist to approach the meeting ground alone. Take the young killer, thus aborting the trap, for there is no trap without the American, only an expendable Palestinian on the loose. Kill him, but first find out what happened in Masqat.
Where was Azra? Thirty-seven minutes had passed since they talked; the Arab called Blue was thirty-two minutes late! Evan looked at his watch for the eleventh time and swore silently, furiously, his unspoken words at once a plea for help and an outburst of anger at the swirling clouds of frustration. He had to move, do something! Find out where Azra was, for without the terrorist there was no trap for the Mahdi, either. The Mahdi's contact would not show himself to someone he did not know, someone he did not recognize. So close! So far in the distance of reality!
Kendrick threw the plastic shopping bag containing his starched clothes from Masqat into the densest interior of the bushes bordering the pavement of the Wadi Al Ahd. He walked across the boulevard towards the employees' entrance, a postured, upright Royal Guard arrogantly on royal business. As he went rapidly down the cobblestone alley towards the service entrance, several of the departing servants bowed obsequiously, obviously hoping not to be stopped and searched for small treasures they had stolen from the hotel, namely, soap, toilet paper and morsels of food scraped from the plates of jet-lagged or drunken Westerners too far gone to eat. Standard procedure; Evan had been there; it was why he had chosen the Aradous Hotel. Again Emmanuel Weingrass. He and the unpredictable Manny had once fled the Aradous by way of the kitchen because a stepbrother of the Emir had heard that Weingrass had promised a stepsister of that royal brother citizenship in the United States if she would sleep with him—a privilege that Manny in no way could provide.
Kendrick passed through the kitchen, reached the south staircase and walked cautiously up the steps to the second floor. He withdrew the gun from under his scarlet jacket and opened the door. The
