whore, the enemy! Early this morning, before daybreak, she was on her way to meet you!'
'What are you talking about?' Kendrick glanced at Azra and Yosef. 'I've never heard of a Khalehla, either as an enemy or a whore, and before daybreak my friends and I were running for our lives. We had no time for dalliance, I assure you.'
'I tell you he's lying. I was there and I saw her! I saw all of you!'
'You saw us?' asked Evan, eyebrows arched. 'How?'
'I drove off the road—’
'You saw us and you did not help us?' broke in Kendrick angrily. 'And you say you're from the Mahdi?'
'He has a point, Englishman,' said Zaya. 'Why did you not help them?'
'There were things to learn, that's why! And now I have learned them. Khalehla… him!'
'You have extraordinary fantasies, that's what you have, whatever your name is, which I don't know. One, however, we can easily dispose of. We're on our way to Bahrain to meet the Mahdi. We'll take you with us. The great man will undoubtedly be delighted to see you again since you're so important to him.'
'I agree,' said Azra firmly.
'Bahrain?' roared MacDonald. 'How in hell are you going to get there?'
'You mean you don't know?' said Kendrick.
Emmanuel Weingrass, his slender chest heaving in pain from the most recent fit of coughing, stepped out of the car in front of the cemetery at Jabal Sa'ali. He turned to the driver, who held the door, and spoke reverently in an exaggerated British accent. 'I shall pray over my English ancestors, so few do, you know. Come back in an hour.'
'Howar?' asked the man, holding up one finger. 'Iss’a?' he repeated in Arabic, using the word for hour.
'Yes, my Islamic friend. It is a profound pilgrimage I make every year. Can you understand that?'
'Yes, yes, el sallah. Allahoo Akbar!' answered the driver, rapidly nodding his head, saying that he understood prayers and that God was great. He also held money in his hand, more money than he had expected, knowing that even more could be his when he returned in an hour.
'Leave me now,' said Weingrass. 'I wish to be alone—Sibni fihahlee.'
'Yes, yes!' The man closed the door, ran back to his seat, and drove away. Manny permitted himself a brief spasm, one vibrating cough compounding the previous one, and looked around to ascertain his bearings, then started across the cemetery to the stone house that stood in a field several hundred yards away. Ten minutes later he was ushered down to the basement where Israeli intelligence had set up its command post.
'Weingrass,' cried the Mossad officer, 'it's good to see you again!'
'No, it's not. You're never happy to see me or hear me on the telephone. You know nothing about the work you do, you're only an accountant—a miserly one at that.'
'Now, Manny, let's not start—’
'I say we start right away,' interrupted Weingrass, looking over at Ben-Ami and the five members of the Masada unit. 'Do any of you misfits have whisky? I know this zohlah doesn't,' he added, implying that the Mossad man was cheap.
'Not even wine,' replied Ben-Ami. 'It was not included in our provisions.'
'No doubt issued by this one. All right, accountant, tell me everything you know. Where is my son, Evan Kendrick?'
'Here, but that's all we know.'
'That's standard. You were always three days behind the Sabbath.'
'Manny—'
'Calm yourself. You'll have cardiac arrest and I don't want Israel to lose its worst accountant. Who can tell me more?'
‘I can tell you more!' shouted Yaakov, code name
