Slaton had heard the metallic clanging as someone climbed the ladder. He cursed and watched the gate, willing Zak’s entourage of vehicles to appear. Whoever was outside pushed on the door, but he’d already barricaded it with everything he could find. It could probably be shoved open, but it would take a few men to do it. Whoever was out there now was alone. He could barely believe the next sound he heard.
“David!”
There was no mistaking the voice. He hesitated, then shouted, “What are you doing here?”
“David, don’t do this! It’s wrong!”
He tried to block out her words as she struggled against the door.
“I talked to Anton Bloch, David. You’ve got to listen to what he told me.”
Slaton gave no response as two limousines flew into view, careening through the quickly opened gate. Zak had arrived.
Chatham’s helicopter touched down near the base of the tower. He immediately spotted Christine Palmer, of all people, banging on a door from a catwalk halfway up the structure. It didn’t take much thought to figure out why. He pointed up to show Ian Dark and they ran off, Dark grabbing a machine pistol from the helicopter. Circumnavigating the fence, they were joined by two of Masters’ team. All raced for the ladder.
“Zak wasn’t the one who killed your wife and daughter!”
Slaton tried to ignore it.
“I know more about it than you or Anton Bloch. Zak was there! He killed everyone on that bus.” He tracked the two big Mercedes as they skidded to a halt near the airstairs.
“Yes, David, but there’s a part you’ve never known! Your wife and daughter weren’t even on that bus in Netanya. They were killed by a drunk driver, in an accident miles away. Don’t you see? The Mossad wanted you to hate, David! Hate so you would kill, just as you’re doing now. Zak didn’t do it, David! Not your family!”
Slaton locked sight on the rear door of the front car. It opened. He felt for the trigger, but his finger seemed slow to react. Slaton squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them. It couldn’t possibly be true, he thought. Not after all these years. Not after all the pain.
Zak’s distinctive balding head appeared. Security men surrounded him, but he was tall enough, and Slaton had a good look angle. The man appeared smug, seeming in no hurry as he moved to the stairs. Slaton tracked him and began the trigger pressure. At that moment, he heard reinforcements clanging up the ladder outside. Too late. He only needed one shot.
Zak was climbing as well, now in clear view as he ascended the boarding stairs. He stopped halfway up, ignoring his ushers, and turned. Through the rifle scope Slaton could clearly see a victorious expression as Zak looked back on the scene.
Her lovely voice pleaded. “David! David, I love you. Don’t let them win!”
The kidon’s finger quivered.
She screamed, “No! No!”
The crack of the rifle shot was muffled as the equipment room door crashed in. Slaton’s shoulder brunted the gun’s recoil, but in the next instant he made no move to confront the police, instead retraining his weapon on the distant target. Two machine pistols opened fire. Bullets raked across his side and he was thrown back against a bloodsplattered wall. There, the kidon slumped into a sitting position, silent and still.
Epilogue
When Zak’s jet landed in Tel Aviv it was early evening. The Prime Minister was whisked straight to the War Room. There were no public appearances, but a communiqué was released to the press in his name. Firm in tone, it reaffirmed Israel’s grave concern over recent events, yet assured the world that the state would persevere in its efforts for a lasting peace. It also expressed thanks to Israel’s own Prime Ministerial security detail, and to the security professionals of Great Britain, who had together foiled the assassination plot. The communiqué promised to get to the bottom of the conspiracy, while hinting it might be a long and arduous investigation, given that the assassin was dead and had apparently acted alone.
At ten o’clock the next morning, a second official communiqué was issued, this one short and terse.
AT APPROXIMATELY 8:15 THIS MORNING PRIME MINISTER EHUD ZAK SUFFERED FROM SEVERE CHEST PAIN AND WAS TAKEN TO JERUSALEM’S HERZOG HOSPITAL. THERE, THE PRIME MINISTER WENT INTO CARDIAC ARREST. DOCTORS AND STAFF WERE ABLE TO REVIVE HIM, AND HE IS NOW RESTING UNDER SEDATION. FURTHER TESTS WILL FOLLOW. AT THIS TIME THE DEPUTY PRIME MINISTER, ELIJAH PEER, HAS ASSUMED ALL DUTIES OF THE PRIME MINISTER, AND WILL ADDRESS THE FULL KNESSETT AT NOON.
Benjamin Jacobs and Anton Bloch, both exhausted, gathered in Jacobs' study shortly before noon to watch the speech on television. They had spent half of yesterday convincing the power brokers of Israeli politics, the same ones who had ousted Jacobs only days ago, that their new Prime Minister was at least a criminal, and possibly a traitorous madman. In the end, their case — the evidence Bloch had acquired along with Pytor Roth’s confession (in person) — had been very convincing. The leaders of Israel were convinced that Zak had to go. The question was, how?
The man had no political support, but getting rid of him that way would take time, and they all shuddered to think what damage he could do in the interim. A not insignificant contingent thought that another, more successful assassination attempt should greet Zak when he arrived back in Israel. Cooler heads finally settled on Bloch’s idea, which kept the risk at a minimum.
“How long do we keep him in the hospital?” Jacobs asked.
“A week, maybe two. We’ll find somewhere nice and isolated. In a few days we’re going to announce that there’s been another cardiac event, just to make certain.”
“You’re sure we can keep it secret that there’s nothing wrong with him?”
“Not many people know,” Bloch reasoned. “The men and women on the Cabinet certainly won’t ever breathe a word of it. They’d be killing their own careers, maybe risking jail. There are only four people on the medical team, two doctors and two nurses. We screened carefully and they all know the importance of what’s happening. The test results and medical records will be locked down tight.”
“What about Zak and his group?” Jacobs wondered.
“Thanks to Slaton, not many of his group are left. Pytor Roth was never one of them, of course. Just a low-level Aman grunt who’d been compromised. Zak knew about it and used him. I think we’ve been able to put the fear of God in Mr. Roth. That and a few dollars will keep him quiet. As for Zak himself,” Bloch shook his head, “he’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He’d be up against treason charges, and when we talked to him yesterday we made it very clear that if it came to that, life in prison would be his best outcome. This way he spends a few weeks in the hospital, then fades away.”
“Do you think he will? Fade away?”
“The people in that room yesterday were very powerful and very scared. They gave Zak his pension and his life, but if he sets a foot wrong they can take either one back.”
Jacobs didn’t even flinch. He wondered if he could be getting used to such things. “He almost did it, didn’t he? Zak used that first weapon to get himself appointed Prime Minister. The second to destroy a Libyan weapons facility. And he nearly killed the peace process. It all would have worked perfectly if it hadn’t been for David Slaton.”
Jacobs went glumly to the wet bar and, without bothering to offer, grabbed two round crystal goblets. He filled them both to the midpoint with port from a carafe and gave one to his friend.