Shoshana watched him work, amazed at how calm he was. Avidar did not strike her as a world-class forger and could have been a merchant in any bazaar in the Middle East, for he was skinny, dark-skinned, and slightly round-shouldered. Only his soft dark brown eyes held the key to the real Avidar. He was an artist.
“When we leave, I’ll have to destroy all this,” he said. “Gad and I have four different sets of identification, so that’s no problem. But I haven’t had a chance to work up a complete set for you.” He returned to his work.
“How much longer before he returns?” she asked, not able to contain her impatience. How to wait in a safe house had not been covered in her training.
“Not long. He’ll call when he’s ready.”
“What is he doing that’s taking so long?”
“That’s not the kind of question you should be asking,” Avidar said. Then he relented. “He’s closing our operation down and has to get in contact with our people here. We can’t leave them high and dry. He’s got to make contact, pass on money, new identification papers, and instructions. It takes time.”
“So you think the Mukhabaret is on to all of us?”
Avidar turned his baleful eyes back to the computer. “If not now, they will be shortly.”
The phone rang, filling the small basement room and making Shoshana’s nerves jangle even more. Neither answered it and after two rings it stopped. Avidar placed his hand over the receiver and waited. When the phone started to ring, he picked it up and said nothing, only listening. Then he hung up. “Habish,” he said. “It’s not good. He’s being followed and had to ditch his car. We’ve got to pick him up near the University. We’ve got to hurry.” They climbed up the stairs and moved a wall panel and wardrobe into place, hiding the door. It was one of the many changes Avidar had made to the house. They walked calmly out the back door and climbed into one of the cars Avidar had found for the team.
The traffic over the Jumhuya Bridge was unusually heavy for that time of night. Avidar mumbled under his breath and merged into the jumble, honking his horn and swearing in Arabic until they were clear and heading for Antar Square. “We make one pass,” Avidar explained. “Habish either makes contact or we go on alone.”
“We can’t just leave him …”
“Yes we can. Our first priority is to get the combo pen out of the damn country. We’ve got to be out of Baghdad tonight. Under the dash, feel around until you can feel the Uzi clipped there.” She nodded when she felt the small machine gun. “Good. Be ready to use it.”
They turned down a narrow street that led off Antar Square. “I see him,” Shoshana said. “On the right, beside that building. He’s seen us.”
“Got him,” Avidar grunted. “There’s two men on the other side of the street.” He stomped on the accelerator. “Get the Uzi,” he ordered. He was going to use the car to block the two men who were moving out of the shadows toward Habish. Shoshana bent forward only to have her face smashed into the dash when Avidar mashed the brakes and skidded the car to a stop. She ignored the pain and grabbed the gun. Before she could raise up, four shots rang out from the left and she heard Avidar groan as the car stalled. He was hit. Habish jerked the right rear door open and piled into the backseat. She leaned across Avidar and stuck the snout of the Uzi out his window and sprayed the street.
“Go!” Habish shouted from the rear. Shoshana shoved Avidar against his door and half sat on him to get at the controls and start the car. She shifted into what she thought was low gear and let the clutch out. She was in third and the car lurched forward, almost stalling. She jammed the gearshift into first and accelerated away. Two more gunshots slammed into the back of the car, one grazing her neck. Habish returned fire from the backseat. “Got the bastard!” Habish yelled as she turned the corner. “Stop the car.” Before the car had come to a halt, Habish was out and disappeared around the corner.
Not knowing what Habish wanted her to do, she jumped out of the car, ran around to the driver’s side and pulled the wounded Avidar out of the driver’s seat. She was shoving him into the backseat when Habish came back. He jumped behind the wheel and they drove off. “They’re both dead,” he said and handed her a radio he had taken off one of the bodies. He didn’t have to tell her that he had shot both of the wounded men in the head. “Listen for radio traffic,” he commanded, “and make sure we’re not being followed.”
Somehow, Shoshana managed to plug Avidar’s wound and stop the bleeding while she rotated through the four channels on the radio and scanned the road and sky behind them for pursuers. Then they were back at the safe house. Together, they lifted Avidar out of the car and placed him in the back of a dilapidated truck Avidar had bought from a farmer.
Inside the house, Habish told Shoshana to bum any scrap of paper that might help the Iraqis. While she fed the fire, Habish hooked two electrical leads from a wall outlet into the computer. When he made contact, the circuitry started smoking. Smoke and fumes filled the room. Then he did the same to the printer. When he was satisfied that their circuits were fused, he lifted a circular hatch out of the basement floor. “The well,” he told her and dropped all their equipment down the hole. “They’ll find it — eventually.”
He led her upstairs to a bedroom and threw some old clothes at her. “Time to become a farmer,” he said. “Hang the combo pen between your tits like a pendant and tape it down.” While she did as he ordered, Habish started to load the truck with food and cans of water and gas that had been stashed in the basement.
When Shoshana was changed, she rushed downstairs and helped him load the truck. “Do we have a first aid kit?” she asked.
“In the truck … beside Avidar.” While he changed into the worn clothes of a farmer, she climbed into the back of the truck. A flashlight and the first aid kit were lying next to the wounded man. Then she realized that everything they had been doing at the house had been planned and probably rehearsed.
“Avidar, I need to examine you,” she said. “Were you hit anywhere else?” He shook his head weakly. She broke the kit open and wished she had paid more attention during her first aid training.
“Stop the bleeding first,” Avidar whispered. The irony of it hit her; the wounded telling the nurse what to do. “Then clean the wound as best you can.” She rolled him over and examined the small hole in his left side. Blood was still oozing out around the handkerchief she had shoved into the wound.
Habish climbed into the back of the truck and held the flashlight, watching her work. “Move over,” he said and handed her the flashlight. She watched him as he deftly removed the handkerchief, examined the wound, stopped the bleeding, and bound Avidar up. “You shouldn’t have stopped,” Habish gently scolded. “Your orders were to pick me up only if it was safe.” A weak smile crossed Avidar’s face and then disappeared. “You always were a fool,” Habish said, returning the smile. “Okay, time to go.”
They climbed into the cab and Shoshana was surprised at how quickly the engine started. “Avidar worked on it,” Habish grunted. “You should have known how to take care of his wound.”
The reprimand cut deep into Shoshana and she didn’t know what to say. But Habish was right, she should have known what to do. “Where are we going now?” she finally asked.