Digitalis (28 page)

H
idden on the roof of a nearby abandoned shop, Azzan watched. Anger coiled around his heart, the poison speeding through his veins as he watched the scene before him. Authorities encircled the vehicle. Ambulance. Fire trucks. Police. Head cradled in his hands, he stared at the scene, disbelieving how utterly he’d failed. Laid out on the thin roof, he pressed his nose against the plaster. Breathed in the dust, the smoke, the ash, the foul stench of burning rubber and metal.

He’d almost completed his mission. And now—they were gone.

Shouts drew his attention back to the scene. Police shouted to one another as firefighters removed their gear. One raised his hands and shrugged. Curious. They weren’t pulling bodies from the flames. What was going on?

Two officers inched closer and tried to peek around the flames. Finally, one shook his head. Waved the others away. “Empty,” the man said in Arabic.

Empty? The Hummer was empty? How was that possible? Azzan perked up.

A shadow shifted several buildings down, snagging his attention. He scampered off the roof and dropped into an alley. He slunk through the tight confines, working his way toward the place he’d seen the movement.

Jogging down the narrow space between the buildings, he maintained a watchful eye. A police car cruised past, and Azzan pushed himself into a corner. Waited till the coast was clear, then hurried on. He searched the alley. The shops. Jiggled door handles. Flung back curtains that served as doors. Nothing. He surveyed the area.

Foolish to hope …

Slumped against a door, he gripped his knees. Closed his eyes. It couldn’t be over. Not this quickly. He couldn’t have lost them, failed the mission that he’d sacrificed his career for. His head ached, and his arm throbbed from the bullet graze. Eyes closed, he tried to gather himself, tried to get his head back in gear.

He straightened, cast one more long glance toward the road, where just past a tangle of pedestrians, he could see the smoke pouring like a specter through the air. Azzan shook his head and pushed off the wall. When he turned, he found himself staring into beguiling eyes.

Heart kick-started.

Raiyah stood in a shop, behind a grimy and cracked window.

After double-checking the alley, Azzan hustled into the shop.

Surprise and tears lit through her eyes. She nodded.

“Where is he?”

She motioned toward a corner, where a weakened frame sat propped against the wall. A crooked smile came into the gaunt, bearded face. “Azzan.”

“We need to hurry.”

The old man sighed and rubbed a bandaged hand over his bearded face. With a frustrated huff, he glanced at the dingy wrappings and shook his head. “We are out of time.”

“I know.”

“No. They’ve begun … f-final phase.” A mottled lower lip, fattened by abuse and reddened with dehydration quivered. “I did not find the last piece.” A long, ragged breath issued from him. “Bombs … on … way.”

A
ir rushed in under the door, dank and damp. A piece of paper carried on the small current, swirled and fluttered over the dull gray cement floor. For a second, it settled over a crevice, then another draft caught the scrap and flung it against the desk. Yet again, it moved … slid, flipped away under the forceful fingers of the stormy wind punctuating the foul night.

Clomp!

Piper jumped as one of the soldiers stamped his booted foot on the paper. Heart racing at the sudden move, she realized how much she and the scrap had in common. Swirling, caught in a current and driven without control. Then stomped—her heart. Smashed. Smothered.

She lowered her head.

Light spilled across the floor as a door opened and drew her gaze up. A woman in a gray wool skirt and black heels stood on the threshold. “Miss Blum?” She motioned Piper into the small office.

Hesitantly and with quick glances to the heavy guns guarding her, she rose, clutching her backpack to her chest, and crossed the dark space. Her steps slowed at the threshold. Carpet glue stared up from a stripped floor, looking forlorn and aged. Dingy white walls did little to lighten the semi-darkened room. Even the bulb hanging from the ceiling couldn’t chase the shadows from the corner office. No doubt hiding its secrets as well.

The old man she’d seen at her apartment—was that really just a week ago?—rose to his feet behind a large oak desk. Flanking him from behind, two more men dressed in black from head to toe and cradling M4s in their arms leaned back against the window ledges.

One man she recognized from the night her apartment was hit—the one on the right who looked more like a tower of muscle than a guard. She wondered at how that flak vest fit over his large chest and shoulders. Younger, the other guard wore his youthfulness well, but his edge was no less than his counterpart. Both seemed ready to kill her.

Piper skated a look around the room. A divider blocked her view of the far left corner. A door sat ajar, but not enough to reveal what it contained.

“Please,” the older man said and extended a hand toward the chairs that faced his desk. “Let’s talk. My name is Olin Lambert. My position, well, isn’t something you need to know at this point.”

As she tucked herself into the nearest seat, Piper groped for the faith that had carried her through the last year. It felt out of reach … out of date. This man clearly had power—both of presence and firepower, which told her this wasn’t a typical interrogation. This wasn’t the police department. FBI? He hadn’t shown her a badge—wasn’t that required?

Beside her, the woman eased into the remaining chair and crossed her legs.

“I daresay there’s a lot to cover,” he said as he lowered himself back to his chair. “So, let’s establish one thing, right now.” His aged but penetrating eyes pinned her to the seat. “Absolute honesty. Are we agreed?”

Honesty? Was he going to reciprocate? What did it matter? “I’m tired. I can’t … can’t do this anymore. No more secrets.” She smoothed her hand down her jeans. “No more running.”

He leaned forward, folded his hands over the clean desk. “I’m listening.”

Piper’s fingers coiled around her backpack again. She tightened her grip, sighed, then began rummaging through it.

Quick movements jerked her gaze up.

The soldiers, in a snap, had their weapons trained on her. Their precision and quick reflexes bespoke military training. She should know. She’d done her stint in the Israeli Army. And for that reason, she paused.

Mr. Lambert raised a hand. “Stand down, gentlemen.”

Gaze skipping between the men, who lowered their weapons but not the heightened alert she saw in their eyes, she dug into the pack.

Traced the contours of the box. Prayed beyond her most desperate hopes this wasn’t a mistake. She lifted out the key to her father’s location, and set the music box on the desk.

The old man didn’t budge, flinch, or blink. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

Slowly, she let her fingers trail away from the box, from its familiarity, the reassurance she’d found just having it in her possession. Piper let out a long breath. Steadied herself and gave herself one last admonishment that this had to be done. There’d been too much bloodshed.

She gulped the acid pooling at the back of her throat. In essence, she was about to hand her father over to people she did not truly know. She pinned her gaze on the man studying her. “My name is Kelila Liora Rosenblum.” Though she’d wanted to appear confident and assured, the way her name came out, almost whispered, betrayed her.

Something in the weathered face shifted—the soft lines gone. “Piper Blum is the name I was given,” General Lambert said. “One of my best men came to me, said maybe he’d found the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.”

Heat and cold washed down her shoulders at the same time. Colton.

“Guess you had him fooled.”

“I—I …” Piper let the words die on her tongue. She’d lost Colton. No matter what she said, it didn’t change all the things she’d done wrong and the deceit she’d had to employ to stay alive and keep her father safe. She captured her lower lip between her teeth to stop the trembling.

He considered her, his aged eyes betraying nothing of what he thought or felt. “You see, he was required to have you vetted. But you aren’t quite what you told him, are you? Tell me, Miss
Rosenblum
, why did you drag him into all this?”

“Me? I didn’t … He invited me … I …” She gulped back the tears.

“I’m here because of what I’ve done to him. I’m willing to give you all my secrets, all I have … anything to …”

“Please—go ahead.” His brows knitted. “Enlighten us.”

She flashed her eyes at his taunting. If she didn’t keep going, she’d lose the nerve. Maybe it was too late, but her father never would’ve wanted someone to die. “My father is Yitshak Rosenblum, a member of the board of directors of the National Strategic Studies Institute.” She tried to wet her lips, but her mouth was as parched as her lips. “Approximately eighteen months ago, he discovered a massive plot against Israel.”

“That’s nothing new.” He sat back, almost disinterested. “Nations and leaders for thousands of years have tried to wipe out the Jewish nation.”

“This plot, he’d said, would make Israel hemorrhage from within.” She shook her head. “I know no details beyond that. I cannot answer what he found.” A point of contention between them because Baba did not trust her enough to even provide her with that information. “Whatever it is, he feared for his life, yes. But his greater concern was for our homeland.”

“Why go into hiding? Why not turn over what he found to the authorities at once? Was he a coward—protecting only himself?”

A dart of fury speared her. “My father is no coward.” She gulped and tried to slow her hammering heart. “He did not have all the puzzle pieces but enough to know the threat was beyond imagination. He said the betrayal was too deep and far spread to know whom to trust.”

Silence dropped over the room. Only the rustle of the soldier’s material and the rain tapping against the windows could be heard. Piper waited, staring at the box. Hoping she hadn’t just murdered her father.

Finally, a squeak from his chair snapped her gaze up. “What’s the music box?”

“It is the only way to contact him. Within it is an encoded chip that contains passwords, so to speak, that will transmit messages to him. He has a duplicate. It’s the only way I have been able to speak to him.”

Mr. Lambert sat forward. Flipped open a folder. “You entered the U.S. five years ago as an exchange student.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Two years later, you returned to Beersheba with a bachelor’s degree.”

He knew? Her identity?

“How did you reenter the U.S.? You did not use your passport.”

She swallowed. They could ship her back, accuse her of espionage. Throw her in prison. She’d thought of these things many, many dark nights as she lay in her apartment, alone and scared. “My father handed me the passport with my new identity as he put me on the train for the Tel Aviv airport.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how or where he got it.”

“But you have a suspicion.”

“He had many friends—
loyal
friends, more like family than friends, in addition to hundreds of admirers for his extensive work with NSSI.”

“Intriguing—you don’t know who?”

“No.”

“What of family?”

She let out a soft snort. “My father’s brothers adhered to the old ways. Baba—my father’s acceptance of Yeshua as the Messiah severed their relationship. They would no more help him or me than they would a terrorist.”

“No aunt or … uncle?”

A figure emerged from the adjacent room. “Ah, Lily. It has been a long time, has it not?”

Piper lunged to her feet. “Uncle!”

“It’s just temporary.” Colton draped his hand over the steering wheel, staring through the rain-splotched window.

His mother harrumphed. “Don’t even suggest—”

“Mom, it’s not a suggestion, and it’s not a favor.” It took every ounce of effort and control he had left to keep the ugly out of his voice. He was tired. It’d been a long twenty-eight hours. He aimed the truck toward Reagan International. “It’s just what is. Stay with your brother until I have something set up, until I know the danger has passed.” He glanced across the cab of the truck at her. “Just do this—for me. Okay?”