Fuse of Armageddon (31 page)

“Ask Kate. Just remember to arrange for the portable air conditioner before you leave. And make sure Mossad e-mails me the intel on who is running this orphanage.”

“Anything else?” Hamer asked sardonically.

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Cokes. On ice. Have some kid deliver it. Safady’s going to call, and I’ll need it by then.”

28

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 15:39 GMT


A boy, maybe ten years old, stepped in front of Patterson and Burge, holding up oranges. The kid was obviously hawking the fruit. He had stringy hair and pockmarks on the skin of his cheekbones.

Both men shook their heads and tried to push past him.

With a fixed smile, the boy stepped backward. Then he frowned. The near-constant beeping of the GPS locator was far too audible. The kid fired a question at them in Arabic, pointing at the machine in Burge’s hand.

Neither man answered. According to the GPS signals, they’d located the house Saxon had told them to find. It was one of dozens lining this street, each pressed hard against the next with sagging walls of whitewashed brick. Saxon had promised the house would be empty.

The kid asked more questions in animated Arabic. He moved forward to look closer at the GPS locator.

Burge reached under his shirt for his pistol.

Patterson grabbed Burge’s arm, afraid to utter even the word
no
in English.

The alarm on Burge’s watch began to beep, adding to the small cacophony of technology. The two-minute warning.

Burge glanced at Patterson.

Patterson could read his expression. The canisters had to be dropped in at the exact same moment as all the others. This kid would not be allowed to interfere.

Shoot to kill if necessary.

15:39 GMT


“Here’s your explanation,” Quinn said to Kate. Now that the two of them were alone in the van, her presence seemed magnified. He was looking for a distraction in the last few minutes before the next call from Safady.

“The irrigation thing?”

See,
Quinn thought,
there it is
. It had been how long since the helicopter had landed? Yet Kate knew instantly that he was picking up the irrigation conversation from where he’d left it there. Uncanny.

“The irrigation thing.”

“I thought it seemed strange that you didn’t want Hamer to hear us talk about it,” she said. “I figured you had a good reason for it.”

“No sense antagonizing Hamer just before going into a tense situation where we have to work as a team.”

“A discussion on irrigation would do that?”

“Not irrigation. Water quotas. A nasty little weapon that Israel uses on the Palestinians.” Quinn gave an overview. Many of the low-income Palestinians collected rainwater in cisterns on their roofs. Israeli jets strafed the cisterns, leaving the Palestinians without water. Then water was sold back to them at high prices. Widespread government fraud siphoned off other water that was supposed to go to Palestinian farmers by quota. Again, this water was sold back to them at extortionate prices.

“I never knew that,” Kate said. “But the results of using water as a weapon are obvious when you see it from above.”

“It’s obvious on a Google Earth map too,” Quinn said. “Even from satellite images, it’s easy to see the border with green on one side and brown on the other.”

“It seems kind of unfair.”

“And that’s exactly the reaction that would have set Hamer’s teeth on edge. The Israelis don’t see it as wrong.”

“You’re defending this?”

“Of course not. I just didn’t want to get into it with Hamer right at that moment.”

“Funny,” Kate said. “It seems like you’d be a little more pro-Israel after what the Palestinians did to your . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she’d realized that the next word would hurt him.

“After what the Palestinians did to my family?” Quinn quietly asked. If that’s why she’d gone quiet, she was right. It did hurt. It always would.

She nodded.

“Palestinian terrorists killed my family. Not Palestinians. Do you have any idea what it’s like for nearly one and a half million people living at poverty level in this ten-by-twenty-mile strip of land? In the shadow of one of the richest nations in the world?”

“That takes moral guts,” she said. “To be pro-Palestinian.”

He shook his head. “Pro-peace, remember? Pro-children. I’m pro-Palestine because Israel will never be secure without a viable Palestine. I’m pro-Israel because Palestine will never be viable without a secure Israel. You’re doing what the rest of the world does too—trying to make simple judgments based on a complex situation. This conflict goes back generations, with inflicted injustices that have mounted from and against both sides for so long that looking for the wrongs and rights only fuels the fire.”

“What do you look for, then?”

“I’ve got a saying for business conflicts,” Quinn told her. “Don’t get mad—”

“Get even.”

“Wrong again. ‘Don’t get mad; get even’ is what has escalated this for sixty years. Try this instead: don’t get mad; spend the other person’s money.”

She thought about it. “Set aside your emotion and find a way to make it work in a way that benefits you.”

“Exactly. This has gone so far beyond who deserves what that it needs to be reduced to finding a solution without looking for retributive justice.” Quinn paused. “The practicality of this is very simple. The Palestinian situation is not going to go away. Right now, much of the rest of the Arab world has found a way to live with the fact that Israel can’t be destroyed. Yet if Israel goes the final step of taking the remaining land or obliterating the Palestinians, this uneasy truce ends, and it will be Muslims against Israel and all her Western allies. In short, the one-state solution won’t work. Most Israelis recognize that; so do most Palestinians.”

“Most?”

“Extremists on both sides are fighting to prevent a two-state solution.” Quinn shrugged. “And it doesn’t help when those seventy million Americans are basically brainwashed into believing that solution is against God’s will.”

“Brainwashed? You’re talking about Silver’s end-times theology.”

“Right. Too often, anyone who even questions it is called heretical. There needs to be dialogue on how much the religious right contributes to the Mideast problem because of misguided theology.”

“Yet you’re here—” Kate waved her hand in the direction of the orphanage—“trying to rescue one of the most vocal and prominent fundamentalist proponents of a one-state solution.”

“His life—just like any life in Palestine or Israel—is far more important than ideology.”

15:40 GMT


The Arab kid kept pushing them to buy.

Patterson growled and pointed for the kid to leave.

The boy had enough street sense to know he had some sort of leverage here, even if he didn’t understand why they wanted him to leave. He held out the oranges, speaking rapidly.

Patterson figured the kid had just doubled the price of the oranges. He still had a restraining arm on Burge and felt Burge’s bicep tighten.

Patterson glanced up and down the alley and saw three bigger kids ahead. He told himself that obeying orders and shooting this boy would only draw more attention than it would prevent. Maybe even bring down a street riot and blow the entire operation.

The alarm on Burge’s watch beeped again. They had to get inside the building and locate the pipes. The drop had to be coordinated at exactly the same time as the other teams. How many seconds were left?

Burge tried pulling his arm loose.

Patterson stepped in front of Burge, blocking the kid from harm.

The boy grinned.

Patterson held out his hands for the oranges. The kid retreated slightly, still talking. Probably asking for money.

Patterson smiled and snatched one of the oranges. The kid doubled his rate of speech. Patterson looked ahead, judged his distance, and threw a fastball with the orange.

It zipped through the air and at the end of the shallow arc hit one of the three kids farther down the alley solidly in the back.

The bigger kid turned around, yelling in anger.

Patterson pointed at the boy in front of him, who was still holding the other orange.

The three bigger boys made the connection and started walking toward the little kid, yelling louder.

The kid with the orange didn’t hesitate. He took off running. Seconds later, the three others swept past Patterson and Burge in full pursuit.

Patterson checked his watch. “Still got a minute,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Patterson was unsurprised that the door to the abandoned house was unlocked as promised. Like everything else about this operation, even this detail had been thought out ahead of time.

The interior of the house was completely bare. Patterson followed Burge to the back of the house and up steps onto the flat roof. Two pipes protruded side by side. They were vents, but they didn’t lead into the house.

“Thirty seconds,” Burge said, looking at his watch.

Patterson pulled out the gas cylinders and waited. Burge counted down, one second at time. At the ten-second mark, Patterson punched a button on top to prime each canister.

Burge continued the countdown.

At zero, Patterson dropped a cylinder in each tube. Then he and Burge began the trek back to the safe house. The op plans gave them less than five minutes to get there.

29

Khan Yunis, Gaza Strip • 15:45 GMT


You missed the deadline,” came the familiar voice. “You’re not here. Two Americans die.”

Quinn had just answered his cell phone. He and Kate sat on orange crates in the back of the van. She was wearing traditional Muslim clothing and had the veil in her lap. Dressed this way, she would be invisible on the streets. Even better than a flak jacket.

The six Coke bottles Hamer had had delivered were sitting in a plastic sack of ice beside them. On another crate, Quinn’s laptop was open, the screen dark.

“I’m here,” Quinn said, cradling the phone to his ear.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Rule one in negotiating: never lie.”

Kate was watching Quinn. He pointed at the bottles, holding up two fingers, indicating that Kate should open a couple.

“I’ve heard nothing about Israeli military from my people.”

“Maybe I’m in front of the wrong place.”

“You had the address.”

“I did,” Quinn agreed as Kate searched unsuccessfully for a bottle opener. “Here’s my problem: I need to know you are who you say you are and that you are where you say you are.”

“I think you need to prove to me you arrived by the deadline. Didn’t you say you needed to establish trust with me?”

“Just like you need to establish trust with me. I’m the one in the middle. If I can trust you, I take that back to the other side. My job is to get both sides what they want.”

“Prove you are here first.”

“Look outside. You’ll see a white van. I’m in it.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Safady said. “You expect me to believe you’re here without the protection of soldiers?”

“Look outside.”

“So that an Israeli sniper can take apart my head with a bullet?”

“How about this,” Quinn said. “Stand beside Jonathan Silver. Hold up your fingers in a peace sign. You know what a peace sign looks like?”

“Why should I do this?”

“Have one of your men take a photo. Your cell phone takes photos, right?”

“Nobody sees my face in a photo.”

Quinn hadn’t expected the terrorist to make that mistake, but it had been worth a try. “Then get someone else to stand beside him. I just want to see someone walk out of the orphanage with a photo of Jonathan Silver and a peace sign. Delivered to me in my white van on the street.”

“All that does is prove I’m where I say I am.”

Quinn glanced at Kate. She’d given up on finding a bottle opener. She’d taken a knife out and was using the flat part of the blade to pop the cap.

“You send someone. I’ll give him a bottle of Coke. Ice-cold, just opened. He can snap a photo of me with a Coke in my hand after he shows me the photo of you with Jonathan Silver. Then you know I am where I say I am. And I know you are where you say you are.”

Kate opened the second bottle. She took a long drink and grinned.

Quinn grinned back.

“This is a joke, right?” the voice said in Quinn’s cell. “You are not alone in a van in the Gaza Strip to negotiate with me. Let me warn you, there will be no humor when I shoot the first Americans.”

“This is not a joke,” Quinn said. “And the stupidest thing you could do right now would be to shoot a hostage.”

“Do not speak to me like that.”

“Those hostages are your leverage. I’ve managed to keep the military out of this. If you shoot someone, they’ll be here in as little time as it takes to bring choppers from the border.”

“I want a negotiator with brains,” Safady said. “Not someone so idiotic he comes into Gaza with no protection and is willing to sit like a duck to be shot.”

“Shoot me and there won’t be more negotiations. There will be a military operation. Is that what you want now that you’re trapped?”

“I’ll tell you what I want.”

“First the cell-phone photo of one of your men with Jonathan Silver. Then I’ll believe you. And once you send someone out to the van, you’ll believe me, too.” Quinn hung up.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Kate asked. “You treated him like a baby just now.”

Quinn took a pull on his Coke. “Actually, I thought it went rather well.”

“Are you kidding me? He’s probably lining up a couple hostages right now.”

“Maybe. But if I thought I was pushing him too far, I would have backed off.”

“Why push him at all?”

“If he’s determined to take all of them down in a dramatic suicide bloodbath, there’s nothing I can do,” he answered. “Nothing the Israeli government can do. Jack Hamer knows it too. That’s why he allowed me to run this in an unorthodox way.”