He looked surprised. “Then you don’t know.”
Confused, Razak’s face scrunched up.
“They’ve already found it,” Taheem added.
“What?”
Sipping his tea, Barton listened in silent astonishment, trying to ignore a series of bullet holes that ran a neat line across the cafe’s cinderblock facade.
“I heard that a Palestinian fisherman caught some things in his nets three days ago, a few kilometers off the coast. Pieces from a helicopter— seat cushions, flotation vests...and the head of a dead pilot wearing an Israeli flight helmet.”
Shocked, Razak was speechless. “How can it be that no one knows this?” At a minimum, he was sure that Al-Jazeera would have taken a shot at the story—facts or no facts.
Taheem scanned the area before answering. “Rumor has it that the Shin Bet killed the fisherman before he spoke to the media. But not before he had told his brother—a dear friend of mine who will remain nameless, for obvious reasons.”
“But why was the helicopter in pieces?”
“The night of the theft, many heard it flying low over the rooftops and watched it go out over the sea. Minutes later, some even had a chance to see what looked like an explosion out over the horizon.”
Suddenly feeling helpless, Razak knew that Taheem’s story confirmed his lingering fear that both the ossuary and the helicopter were long gone. He exchanged an uneasy glance with Barton.
“There’s more,” Taheem said. “As you know, when the Israelis pulled out of Gaza, they had given the Palestinian Authority control over the southern border crossing into Egypt. Since then, many weapons and explosives have flooded into Gaza. Many have found their way over the fence.”
Razak was confused. “I thought the fences were equipped with sensors and electrical charges that could detonate explosives?” Effective deterrents that had largely thwarted most suicide bombers from getting into Israel, he remembered.
“Let me explain.”
Barton could see that Taheem was beginning to sweat more. “Not long before the theft in Jerusalem took place, a helicopter was flying along the border fence.” Pointing west, the Palestinian subtly traced the air with his finger, out over the city. “A routine occurrence,” Taheem admitted. “However, some say that it hovered for a few minutes, just over the fence...into Gaza. A bold move for an Israeli helicopter, one might think, since such an easy target might attract a rocket-propelled grenade.” His voice cracked and he took a sip of tea. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Anyway, I was told that some cargo was hoisted up from the ground and loaded onto the helicopter.”
A look of alarm widened Razak’s eyes. Of course! The only way to circumvent the checkpoints was to avoid them all together.
Taheem leaned in closer. “I was also told that someone inside Jerusalem coordinated the whole thing.”
“But—”
Before the words escaped Razak’s mouth, Taheem’s face suddenly exploded outward, spewing blood and fleshy chunks onto the wall, instantly followed by something ricocheting off the wall. Instinctively, Razak catapulted out of his chair and onto the ground, pulling Barton out of the chair and down beside him as Taheem’s lifeless torso teetered forward and landed hard on the tabletop.
A few nearby pedestrians screamed and scurried away.
“Jesus!” Barton yelled, shaking in fear. “What on earth was that!”
The silent shot had been so precise, Razak knew instantly. “Sniper.”
A second round hammered into the thick wooden tabletop, barely piercing through just above Razak’s head. Both he and Barton flinched. A third snapped off the pavement in front of them, almost grazing Barton’s arm.
“We’ve got to get out of here right now.” Razak’s head spun down the street toward the car. “We’re going to have to make a run for it.”
Barton’s breathing was heavy, sweat dripping from his chin. He nodded. “Okay.”
Scrambling to remove the car key from his pocket, Razak said, “We’ll split up and meet at the car. Run fast and low through the crowd.” He pointed along the sidewalk where most of the pedestrians had yet to figure out that shots had been fired. “I’m heading for the opposite side. It’s our only chance. Go!”
Both men sprung out from beneath the table, racing off in opposite directions. Razak barely missed being run down by a dilapidated Ford hatchback as he darted across the street.
Barton did his best to avoid running into the pedestrians, feeling remorseful as he strategically kept them in the sniper’s line of fire. Fully anticipating being taken down by the gunman, he was surprised when he came nearer to the Mercedes without registering another shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Razak cutting swiftly through the throngs across the street.
The Mercedes’s lights blinked as Razak remotely disengaged the door locks.
Barton scrambled to open the car door. Diving inside the Mercedes and pulling the door shut, he glanced over to see the young Palestinian boy holding the driver’s door open as if he were a valet. A split second later, Razak weaved deftly through the traffic and spilled into the car. He thrust the key into the ignition as the boy closed the door behind him. Razak waved the clueless kid away just as the sniper managed a clean shot through the boy’s temple, toppling him onto the sidewalk.
Now the pedestrians had figured out what was happening and pandemonium broke out—people running off in all directions.
Throwing the gearshift into drive, Razak slammed his foot on the accelerator.
