The Icarus Agenda

'Get out of the light!' whispered Red, the command directed at Weingrass. 'Go into the hall by the elevators!'

'What…?'

'I hear something outside!'

'You do?'

'Two or three people, perhaps. Quickly!'

Silence. And beyond the thick glass doors, two obviously drunken Americans weaved down the pavement, the words of a familiar melody more softly spoken than sung. To the tables down at Mary's, to the place we love so well…

'Son of a bitch, you heard them?' asked Weingrass, impressed.

'Go to the rear,' said Grey to Black. 'Do you know the way?'

'I read the plans, of course I do. I'll wait for your signal and take out the last one. My magic elixir is still half full.' Code Black disappeared into a south corridor as Grey raced across the Sahalhuddin's lobby; Weingrass was now in front of him heading for a steel door that led to the basement of the building.

'Shit!' cried Manny. 'It's locked!'

'To be expected,' said Grey, pulling a small black box from his pocket and opening it. 'It's not a problem." The commando removed a puttylike gel from the box, pressed it around the lock and inserted a one-inch string fuse. 'Stand back, please. It won't explode, but the heat is intense.'

Weingrass watched in amazement as the gel first became bright red upon firing, then the bluest blue he had ever seen. The steel melted before his eyes and the entire lock mechanism fell away. 'You're something, Tinker—’

'Don't say it!'

'Let's go,' agreed Manny. They found the security system; it was contained in a huge steel panel at the north end of the Sahalhuddin's underground complex. 'It's an upgraded Guardian,' pronounced the architect, taking a pair of wire cutters from his left pocket. 'There are two false receptacles for every six leads—each lead covering fifteen to twenty thousand square feet of possible entry—which, considering the size of the structure, means probably no more than eighteen wires.'

'Eighteen wires,' repeated Grey hesitantly. 'That means six false receptacles—’

'That's it, Tinker—forget it.'

'Thank you.'

'We cut one of those, we get a rock-muchacha band blaring in the street.'

'How can you tell? You said the pre-coded wires were altered—for amateurs like Ben-Ami. How can you tell?'

'Mechanics' courtesy, my friend. The slob-joes who work on this stuff hate like hell to read diagrams, so they make it easier for themselves or others who have to service the systems. On every false wire they make a mark, usually with pincer pliers high up towards the main terminal. That way they call in after fixing the system and say they spent an hour tracing the falsies because the diagrams weren't clear—they never are.'

'Suppose you're wrong, Mr. Weingrass? Suppose that here there was an honest “mechanic”?'

'Impossible. There aren't enough of them around,' replied Manny, taking a small torch and a chisel out of his right pocket. 'Come on, prise off the panel; we've got roughly eighty to ninety seconds to snip off twelve leads. Can you imagine? That cheap bastard, Hassan, said these batteries are weak. Go on!’

'I can use plastique,' said code Grey.

'And with that heat set off every alarm in the place including the sprinkler system? Meshuga! I'm sending you back to shul.'

'You're making me very upset, Mr—’

'Shut up. Do your job, I'll get you a badge.' The architect handed code Grey the chisel he had taken from Hassan, knowing it would be necessary from the plans of the Sahalhuddin's security. 'Do it quickly; these things are sensitive.'

The commando jammed the chisel below the panel's lock and with the strength of three normal men pressed forward, snapping the panel open. 'Give me the torch!' said the Israeli. 'You find the wires!'

One by anxious one Emmanuel Weingrass moved from right to left, the beam of light on each coloured wire. Eight, nine, ten… eleven. 'Where's twelve!' yelled Manny. 'I caught every false lead! There has to be one more! Without it they'll all trigger off!'

'Here. There's a mark here!' cried code Grey, touching the seventh wire. 'It's next to the third false lead. You missed it!'

'I got it!' Weingrass suddenly collapsed in a fit of coughing; he doubled over on the floor straining beyond his endurance to stop the seizure.

'Go ahead, Mr. Weingrass,' said Grey gently, touching the old man's thin shoulder. 'Let it out. No one can hear you.'

'I promised I wouldn't—'

'There are promises beyond our control of keeping, sir.'

'Stop being so fucking polite!' Manny coughed out his last spasm and awkwardly, painfully got to his feet. The commando purposely did not offer assistance. 'Okay, soldier-boy,' said Weingrass, breathing deeply. 'The place is secure—from our point of view. Let's find my boy.'

Code Grey held his place. 'Despite your less than generous personality, sir, I respect you,' said the Israeli. 'And for all our sakes, I can't permit you to accompany us.'

'You what?

'We don't know what's on the upper floors—’

I do, you son of a bitch! My boy's up there!… Give me a gun, Tinker Bell, or I'll send a telegram to Israel's Defence Minister telling him you own a pig farm!' Weingrass suddenly kicked the commando in the shins.

'Incorrigible!' muttered code Grey without moving his leg. 'Impossible!'

'Come on, bubbelah. A little gun. I know you've got one.'

'Please don't use it unless I tell you to,' said the commando, lifting his left trouser leg and reaching down for the small revolver strapped behind his knee.

'Actually, I never told you I was part of the Haganah?'

'The Haganah?'

'Sure. Me and Menachem had a lot of rough-and-tumbles—’

'Menachem was never part of the Haganah—'

'Must have been some other bald-headed fellow. Come on, let's go!'

Ben-Ami, the Uzi gripped in his hands in the shadows of the Sahalhuddin's entrance, kept in touch by radio. 'But why is he with you?' asked the Mossad agent.

'Because he's impossible!' replied the irritated voice of code Grey.

'That's not an answer!' insisted Ben-Ami.

'I have no other. Out. We've reached the sixth floor. I'll contact you when it's feasible.'

'Understood.'

Two of the commandos flanked the wide double doors on the right of the landing; the third stood at the other end of the hall, outside the only other door with light showing through the crack below. Emmanuel Weingrass reluctantly remained on the marble staircase; his anxiety provoked rumblings in his chest but his resolve suppressed them.

'Now!' whispered code Grey, and both men crashed the door open with their shoulders, instantly dropping to the floor as two robed Arabs at each end of the room turned, firing their repeating weapons. They were no match for the Uzis; both fell with two bursts from the Israeli machine pistols. A third and a fourth man started to run, one in white robes from behind the enormous ebony desk, the other from the left side.

'Stop!' yelled code Grey. 'Or you're both dead!'

The dark-skinned man in the robes of a lavish aba stood motionless, his glowering eyes riveted on the Israeli. 'Have you any idea what you've done? he asked in a low, threatening voice. 'The security in this building is the finest in Bahrain.’