“Yosef?” Aharon broke into his silent musings.
“Yes?”
“My wife wants to do something for you to show our thanks, perhaps a meal in your honor.”
Yosef gave him a sad smile, “That won’t be necessary. Tell her another hug is thanks enough.” He stood, his right hand hidden behind his back.
The woman’s arms came around his neck, her cheek pressed to his chest. “Yekanyelay,” she sobbed. Thank you.
“I am sorry,” Yosef said quietly in Hebrew.
He used his knife. Normal procedure dictated he kill Aharon first. As a man, he posed more of a physical threat. But Yosef decided that watching his wife die would stun the rabbi enough for him to dispatch the Eritrean before he recovered. Further, a woman’s reactions are quicker than a man’s, and her scream would likely have alerted the children asleep in their beds.
Yosef was across the room, plunging the bloody blade into Aharon’s chest before the body of his wife hit the rug covering the wooden floor. The rabbi stood still as the knife came at him, his eyes fixed on a horror beyond his comprehension. In seconds it was over, and Yosef was back on the street, heading toward his hotel.
For security reasons, he had no choice but to kill them. Someday, Aharon Yadid would have told a friend about the Israeli agent he had helped, and that was a leak Yosef could not afford.
There was a great deal to accomplish before he and his team left for the Valley of Dead Children. He had to contact the team members in Jerusalem guarding Harry White and order his mutilation, a task he would enjoy for the pain it would cause Mercer. He also had to reach Defense Minister Levine and order the helicopter for when the mission was over. The Israeli Defense Force had CH-53 Super Stallion helicopters that could make the flight with their upgraded inflight refueling capability and safely return with their precious cargo. It would take some coordination to have flying tankers standing by to support one of these choppers, and only Levine could clandestinely order all the necessary equipment.
Even through the churning ideas that flooded his brain, Yosef still found a few seconds to consider what he would find at the mine. The idea was staggering. Not only would it ensure Levine’s election, there was something even larger at stake than a political victory. Out in the desert lay hidden a tangible link to the founding of Judaism, a talisman unlike any other religious artifact ever unearthed. If they could bring it to light, it would make the great Dead Sea Scrolls pale in comparison. A piece of living history was within his reach now, something stolen from Israel hundreds of generations ago that had become his destiny to bring home.
He shook himself of these feelings and refocused on his job. Things were coming into place. First was the location of the mine. And now he finally had an idea who was behind the Sudanese attacks in Rome and at Mercer’s hotel. Yosef had learned from Archive, their secret tap into the Mossad computer system, that Italian industrialist Giancarlo Gianelli was under investigation by the FBI and Interopol in conjunction with documents stolen from the United States. Yosef harbored the suspicion that they were talking about the Medusa pictures. Taking into consideration Italy’s colonial presence in Eritrea, it seemed likely that Gianelli was after the pictures and the mine. He guessed that the Italian was behind the Sudanese, perhaps using them as a mercenary army to thwart Mercer’s and indirectly Yosef’s own efforts.
What he didn’t know was how close the Italian was and if he knew about what really lay hidden out in the northern wastelands.
Jerusalem
Security all over Israel was still on a heightened alert even after two incident-free months had passed since the deadly bombing at the Western Wall. Nowhere was this more apparent than within the towering ramparts surrounding Jerusalem’s Old City. Armed patrols walked the narrow, twisting streets in even greater numbers than during the Infitata. While every Israeli citizen had to perform two years of active military service, it appeared that the IDF was using only the toughest veterans to patrol the sacred city. Uniforms and machine pistols were a common sight all over the country, but the grim faces of these shock troops chilled even the most impassive residents.
The streets and meandering alleys were eerily quiet this night except for the low mutterings of the patrols and the occasional rustle of feral cats picking through garbage. The shops were boarded up for the night, and little light escaped from the shuttered windows of the houses. The gibbous moon shone on the cobbled roads, its milky, otherworldly light only adding to the haunted feeling of the city.
Beyond the crusader walls, the new city of Jerusalem, too, was quiet. The presence of so many armed soldiers patrolling the streets and neighborhoods, harassing both Jew and Arab alike in their search for terrorists, had strained the patience of the inhabitants to the point where they no longer ventured out unless absolutely necessary.
In the safe house within the old city, the strain of maintaining vigilance was also telling on the remainder of Yosef’s team, those charged with guarding Harry White. These soldiers were the group’s lowest ranks, those with minimal combat experience. The best of the organization had gone to Eritrea with Yosef, leaving the younger, less-trained zealots to hold their prisoner. Without Yosef’s direct control, discipline had started falling and was now at its lowest ebb. While their belief in their cause and in Defense Minister Levine had not wavered, they’d lost interest in baby-sitting a cantankerous old man.
The younger members chafed at the forced inactivity. Arguments had become a problem. Rachel Goldstein, the nurse who was the ranking member in Yosef’s absence and now team leader, found herself treating cuts and abrasions from the fights that broke out with increased regularity. Her authority was all but gone, and she realized that if they didn’t receive new orders soon, they would murder the old man and leave for their homes.
Fervency, like flame, needs fuel to burn brightly. Un-tended, it can quickly die.
Then, finally, direction had come. Minister Levine had called earlier in the evening with word that he wanted them out of the city. He promised them a new safe house at a secure military base in the Negev desert, adjacent to the Demona nuclear research facility. This was welcome news, but Levine had not specified how they were to get past the security patrols in Jerusalem. Rachel had asked him about safe passage out of the city and Levine had responded that he could not issue such orders without rousing suspicion. He explained that the curfew in effect all over Jerusalem could not be broken for any reason without direct orders from Prime Minister Litvinoff, no exception. She had argued with him fiercely, but the Defense Minister didn’t budge.
Because vehicles were not allowed in most parts of the Old City, Rachel realized they would have to walk Harry White to a van they had waiting in the new city, making their task that much more difficult.
Rachel had already sent one man to get the van and wait for them outside the Zion Gate on Eziyyoni Street. He had a cellular phone and would call when he was in position. She sat at the kitchen table with the rest of her people, discussing ideas that would make their evacuation easier, but so far they had come up with nothing inspired. Their lack of training and experience showed.
“I guess we will have to go with the idea of a diversion,” Rachel surmised after thirty minutes of wasted conversation. “Jacob and Lev will leave here when David calls from the van.” The two agents nodded. “I want you at least a half kilometer from the safe house before starting anything. What you do for a diversion is at your discretion — a burst of automatic fire into the side of a building should be sufficient. I needn’t remind you that you can not be apprehended.”