Fuse of Armageddon (50 page)

“Other hand same way as the first,” Brad told Davidson.

Davidson began crying again as he put two spikes through Patterson’s other hand. The third spike he nailed into the branch just below Patterson’s hand. “Come on. I can’t stand doing this to you.”

Brad pushed Davidson aside. “Given where we are,” he said to Patterson, “I doubt you’ll appreciate the irony as much as I do. This tree makes for a good enough cross, and you’re about to be crucified. Where’s the heifer?”

“Dear Jesus,” Patterson mumbled, “I’m sorry for what I did wrong over the last months. Please take me to heaven and let me see Sarah.”

Brad laughed. “You won’t get there for a while. Let me explain why crucifixion was such an effective threat for the Romans. Suffocation, exhaustion, and dehydration. You’re in pain right now, but you’re nowhere near dead.”

Patterson had his eyes closed, whispering his prayers.

Brad slapped his face. “You’re standing on the ground right now. Your diaphragm is working the way it should. But as soon as you start hanging from your wrists, you’re going to slowly suffocate. You’ll need weight on your feet for the diaphragm to push air into your lungs. Understand?”

Patterson opened his eyes and stared unflinchingly into Brad’s face.

“What we’re going to do next is exactly what Roman soldiers did to criminals on the cross. We’re going to push your legs up and spike your ankles into the tree. Much as the leg cramps are going to hurt, they won’t kill you. Neither will the broken ankle bones. But you’re going to let yourself hang from your wrists because it will hurt too much to place any weight on your shattered ankles. Got it?”

Brad continued without waiting for an answer. “Except as you hang from your wrists, you’ll slowly suffocate. Then you’ll put your weight down long enough to breathe. Until you can’t bear the weight on the broken bones. And it will start all over again.”

He slapped Patterson’s face, gently this time. “Crucifixion won’t kill you. You’ll go back and forth between suffocation and agony on your broken ankles for a few days while you get thirstier and thirstier. In the end, dehydration is what’s going to do it.”

Brad stepped away. “We’ll be on the Temple Mount long enough for that. The beauty of all this is that you’ll be conscious the whole time. You can stop it whenever you want. Just tell us where to find the heifer.”

Davidson stepped to the side. He vomited, then straightened.

“Patterson,” Brad said, “spare yourself all of this.”

“Jesus knew how bad this was,” Patterson said. “Maybe when I get to heaven, that’ll get me extra mercy.”

The second soldier stepped up to the tree. He grabbed Patterson’s ankles and lifted his feet until his knees were bent at a forty-five–degree angle. Patterson was too worn out to struggle.

Davidson lifted the hammer.

Western Wall Tunnel • 20:56 GMT


“I’ll humor you and ask the obvious,” Cohen said to Kate from behind his flashlight. “Why were you hoping I’d find you?”

“Gives
me
the chance to monologue.” She was alive as long as she could keep him curious. “Except I’m the good guy.”

“You find an extra thirty seconds of life that precious? Fascinating.”

“I’m curious too.” She coughed. “Why this?”

“Tedious and predictable question.”

“You had to get me because I knew too much, right? And Kevin died because we told him what we knew. Why not take us out to the desert? Why go through this tunnel charade? Just to show off your bomb?”

“The desert leaves tracks. Your bodies would leave evidence trails. Down here, the evidence will be vaporized and buried under tons of rubble.” He laughed. “Much easier to let you walk through the tunnels than kill you and drag you. Especially with time running short.”

“How short?”

“At twenty-two hundred hours GMT. Midnight here. A symbolic time. Israel is ready for a new dawn.”

“Midnight,” she repeated. GMT meant nothing to her. But midnight did. Just over an hour away. “But why all this—the Temple operation?”

“Enough,” he said. “Why were you hoping I’d find you?”

“I’m dying here. You know that. Why not indulge me? You tell me why you’re doing this. Then I tell you how I know Quinn’s going to stop you.”

“No, you tell me now.”

“You sounded very proud of that Davy Crockett,” Kate said. “Probably not many people you can let in on your secret. Doing all this was impressive.”

Cohen laughed softly. “When the bomb destroys the Muslim Quarter, the Palestinians will blame the American fanatics who took over their Temple Mount; the Israelis are going to blame the Palestinians for hiding a weapon of mass destruction. Either way, Israel’s going to be able to reclaim the Muslim Quarter and the mount. Either way, the swamp will be drained.”

Americans on the Temple Mount. Quinn’s guess had been right.

“Swamp?” Another cough. More pain. She hoped it wasn’t from blood in her lungs. Not that it mattered. She didn’t have a lot of optimism about her life expectancy.

“You know why Palestinians get their children to throw rocks at our tanks? They know that we won’t fire back at rocks. They push as far as they can but stop short of forcing us to unleash what we have.” Cohen was talking faster now, his anger breaking through. “When this bomb goes, it’s going to be war. A real war. And Israel will move in with everything we have and clear this land of every Palestinian on it. Finally, we’ll be one land. One people. And we have no fear of being able to protect our borders from other Arabs. Because the West is going to have to unite with us and the United States as the holy war spreads. It’s going to be a war that rids us of the Palestinian threat, the Iranian threat, and all other threats in the Middle East. When the political landscape settles, Israel is going to have a huge territory to administer. And no more suicide bombers and market explosions.”

“Americans,” she said. “You know who is on the Temple Mount too? You set that up—the switch?”

“We helped set up the Mossad-IDF operation and used it to get the Americans up there, then helped the Americans plan their op to get to Gaza.”

“We?”

“I’m finished with answers. You don’t get all your wishes before you die.”

“But I get the important one—the satisfaction of letting you know that you’ve lost. Quinn’s way ahead of you on this.”

“Right.” There was no concern in Cohen’s voice. Not much interest, either. All it would take was a squeeze of his forefinger. The bullet would come without warning.

“See my smile?” Kate said, leaning against the wall. It took effort, but it was there. “I’m imagining your face when you discover all of it’s exposed. That suicide will be your best option. That whatever the reason you have for the Davy Crockett, it’s not going to succeed.” A spasm of pain gripped her, and she grunted. Then grinned when it passed. “That’s why you should monologue. So much better when you can rub your victory in.”

“You’ve bought yourself another thirty seconds.”

“Don’t need it. I’m not leaving here alive. The extra thirty seconds doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Quinn doesn’t know anything.”

“Right,” Kate said with yet another smile. She closed her eyes. “Check my voice mail. Listen to the message he left for me.”

“What does he know?”

“Phone’s in my pocket. Power it up, then press and hold
1
. You don’t need a password to access it. More fun for me if you hear it from Quinn, the way he explained it to me.”

“Tell me or I shoot.”

Kate had lost a lot of blood. She could feel it by the way she was getting cold. She wouldn’t be leaving here, even if he didn’t shoot her. A bullet in the skull now would be a mercy.

“There’s no signal down here, stupid woman. I want to know what he knew.”

“Plenty. I was looking for a way to stop you from the second you got into the car. Thought I had my chance when you gave me your gun. I didn’t expect that it wasn’t loaded. I wanted to see what else I could learn before I took you down and dragged you back to Quinn.”

“What does he know?”

Kate managed to snort. “Are you going to threaten me with torture? Or tell me you’ll kill me if I don’t tell? A woman with nothing left to lose is a dangerous woman.”

“Give me the phone.”

“I’ll bet you don’t like getting blood on your hands anyway.”

“Too bad you won’t be around after midnight. Then you’d see how much blood I’m willing to spill. Give me the phone.”

“Go spit.” She doubted this guy even recognized the line from the original
Lethal Weapon
movie. Her favorite line of defiance. Danny Glover, playing Mel Gibson’s partner, said it when he knew he was about to die. The difference was, Mel had shown up and rescued Danny. Because it was a movie. That wouldn’t happen here. The best she could hope for was a chance to warn Quinn.

“I want the phone.”

“No reception, remember? Guess you’ll never know how much he’s already figured out until it’s too late. That makes me feel great.”

She didn’t see the blow coming. It took her an instant to realize he’d pistol-whipped her across the skull. She tumbled sideways, limp.

The flashlight moved across her face. But her eyes were closed. It wasn’t difficult to fake unconsciousness. Now that she’d accomplished what she wanted, it was tempting her again.

Cohen’s hands were on her, roughly searching. She wished she had the strength to make a move, to try to get the pistol. But she was out of reserve.

Cohen found the cell phone in her front pocket and worked it loose.

He stood back.

With no ceremony, he pulled the trigger.

She knew this because the bullet didn’t come. His pistol dry clicked.

It made her want to laugh. The moron hadn’t even counted shots as he’d fired at her earlier.

Cohen threw the gun at her feet and walked away without touching her.

He had the phone. That had been her goal.

Kate could take satisfaction in something else. She’d been right. Maybe he was willing to spill blood, but he didn’t like getting it on his hands. Otherwise he would have used them to kill her instead of leaving her to die slowly.

47

Temple Mount, Jerusalem • 21:05 GMT


Enough,” Quinn said from the shadows behind the flashlights. He’d arrived at this corner of the Temple Mount just after Davidson hammered Patterson’s second hand to the tree. “Take the soldier down.”

Brad’s flashlight dipped, then turned toward Quinn, catching him square in the face. “You?”

There was only one way for Quinn to play this negotiation: as if he had all the cards. “Take the light out of my eyes. You’ll see a cell phone in my hand. I’ve got it on speakerphone. This entire conversation is monitored.”

This was a crucial moment. Quinn needed to establish power. If Brad refused to take the light out of his eyes, the negotiations would be a lot more difficult.

Brad lowered the flashlight to the cell phone in Quinn’s hand.

Some of Quinn’s vision returned. Enough to see that the two soldiers who had been about to hammer a spike into the ankle bones of the man were still kneeling, hesitant about what to do next.

“Take the man down from the tree,” Quinn said. He hid his repugnance at the torture already inflicted on the nearly unconscious man pinned there. “This operation is over.”

“I’ve got twenty soldiers across the Temple Mount,” Brad said. “Explosives wired where I need them. You don’t give the orders here.”

I already have,
Quinn thought.
The soldiers around you know it too.

“Twice that many would only buy you about five minutes of fighting. Hamer, you explain.”

Brad’s flashlight beam darted in a few directions, searching for Quinn’s companion. The answer came instead from the phone Quinn held.

“Brad Silver,” the tinny voice said, “this is Major General Jack Hamer. Remember? The guy with the prime minister on speed dial. Time to put your toys away. I’ve got a thousand soldiers surrounding the walls and enough body bags for all your men. Quinn’s there to help you decide how you want the next half hour to go.”

Western Wall Tunnel • 21:06 GMT


What did Kate have to write with? The pen she’d taken from Quinn.

But she had no paper. And it was pitch-dark.

Still, she had to try. Cohen had said midnight. That he was ready to spill the blood of thousands. She had to leave this message somewhere.

Kate couldn’t move her left arm. It was numb. She used her right hand to twist it so that the fleshy part of her left forearm was facing her.

In the dark, she pressed her pen against her forearm. As slowly as possible, trying to visualize the letters, she wrote them on her skin.

The effort and pain exhausted her, but she refused to quit.

It was better than the alternative.

Dying.

Old City, Jerusalem • 21:08 GMT


Cohen hurried out through the Muslim Quarter. It was fortunate that he’d found Kate so close to his exit from the tunnels. With less than an hour to detonation, he needed as much time as possible to clear the area.

Except for Kate’s threat about the voice mail, he was satisfied. Kate didn’t know that Cohen had already ordered the deaths of Hamer and Quinn through Hamer’s bodyguard. There would be some confusion after the blast; Cohen’s man would take care of Hamer and Quinn.

The blast would also mean nobody would tie Cohen to Kate or Kevin.

Chances were he’d be able to remain head of the Mossad and deal with the aftermath of something he’d orchestrated over the last few months.

But was there something on the voice mail? Something he would need to counter with damage control? At the worst, if his cover was blown, he’d be out of the country in two hours.

He powered up her phone.

As instructed, he pressed and held the 1 key. Her voice mail came on.

No messages.

Stupid, lying woman. Thought she could fool him.

Cohen dropped the phone in a garbage can. He wasn’t worried about his prints tying him to Kate. The phone would be destroyed in less than an hour. Along with the Muslim Quarter.