Shadow Maker (31 page)

T
he policeman fired a burst of three bullets. Two slammed into Nick's vest and one caught him in the right clavicle just above it, sending him reeling backward. He tripped over the barrier surrounding the Foundation Stone and fell to the floor.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” muttered the policeman, walking around the stone. He kept the weapon leveled.

Tendrils of wicked pain radiated outward from the wound, lighting Nick's neck and chest on fire. He could sense loose bone fragments floating around as he struggled to his feet. “The case,” he breathed, holding his hands up to keep from getting shot again. “It's a nuclear bomb. Get a team in here to contain it. And tell the men outside to breach the Al-Aqsa mosque. I have a man in there.”

“I have a man in there too. Yours is dead,” said the policeman. The man's accent was hard to peg, New England maybe, with a trace of Gulf Arab. He backed up to the first ring of marble columns, keeping his weapon trained on Nick while he knelt down and picked up the remote trigger. “That is your problem, Nick Baron. You are completely unwilling to sacrifice your pieces.” The man nodded at the corpse still bleeding out on the sacred rock. “Me? I don't suffer that deficiency. I treat my pieces the way they were meant to be treated—disposable.”

“Your pieces?” Nick muttered. He tried to focus through the pain, squinting at the face in the shadow of the ball cap. In the dim light of the mosque he had not recognized his primary target. “Kattan.”

The young man took off his police cap and tossed it aside. “Good. Very good. You remember. That means you remember taking my father from me.” Kattan abruptly stepped to one of the marble partitions and dragged Kurt Baron into view, bound and gagged. “And now I will take yours.”

Nick lurched forward, but Kattan shot a burst at the carpet in front of him, sending ricochets into the sacred stone and forcing him back. His father tried to shout through his gag, but the effort only resulted in a fit of coughing.

The terrorist approached, motioning Nick aside with the weapon, and the two circled each other until Kattan reached the Foundation Stone. He pulled his bound captive up onto the rock and stood over the nuke and the dead Hashashin.

“You played well, Nick Baron,” he said with a gracious smile. “But you played exactly as I steered you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you really think that you would outsmart me by not going to Cairo? I didn't
want
you there. I wanted you here, with me at the very end. And here you are.” He spread his arms—gun, remote nuclear trigger, and all—and bowed.

“If you wanted me here,” said Nick, stalling for time, “then why did your men try to kill me in London?”

“Kill you?” Kattan rocked back with laughter. “To steal a line from Hollywood, if I had wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Those little distractions were just meant to keep you in the game, and they did, at least until a few minutes ago.” He shook the gun at Nick with his severed arm. “You are a poor sport. Like a petulant child upending the board, you refused to make your last move in our little game.”

“I was never in this for the game.”

“Liar!” shouted Kattan, his voice echoing beneath the dome. “I have seen your life, Nick Baron! I have studied you for
years
! Whether by guns or planes or little wooden pieces, you
live
to play the game, and
I
kept you in it! I allowed you to survive this long and you repaid me by quitting the board.” He turned the machine gun toward Nick's dad. “I sent you a move a few minutes ago after my man killed your partner. Pull out your phone, now. Make your countermove. Finish the game.”

“No. This is absurd.”

Nick's response infuriated the terrorist. He shoved the machine gun into Kurt's chest. “Do it!”

“Okay, okay.” Nick held out his hands to settle Kattan down. “Take it easy.” He pulled out his phone and opened the chess app. Kattan had only left him one move to get out of check, taking a rook with his king, exposing his own bishop. He pressed enter and then pocketed his phone once more.

They stared at each other in silence for several seconds, Kattan's weapon still pressed into Kurt's chest, until a chime sounded from the terrorist's pocket. The move had been received. He did not bother to pull out the phone. He lifted his eyes blissfully to the ceiling and quietly breathed, “Thank you,” and then pulled the machine gun's trigger.

Nick's dad grunted through his gag and dropped to his knees.

“Dad!” In a rage, Nick drew the Sig from behind his back, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, but Kattan pivoted and fired again. One bullet seared Nick's finger below the trigger guard. Another sparked off the suppressor, knocking the weapon away. It clumped onto the floor behind him. Nick growled and pulled his stinging hand to his chest.

“The same abilities that allow me to dominate you on the chess board also give me superior reflexes, Nick. It's all part of the same package. You cannot outthink me, and you cannot outshoot me. Stand down.”

The natural light in the lattice windows was almost gone. Kattan looked up at the dome, watching the shadow inside it grow. “I will let you observe your father's final moments. More courtesy than I was given. Then you and I will complete our game. We will die together on this sacrificial stone, and the apocalypse that rises from it will heal the world of the ills your kind and my father's kind created.”

K
urt's eyes pleaded with his son as he collapsed onto his side next to the dead Hashashin. He had taken three rounds to the right side of his chest. Blood soaked his shirt and trickled down onto the Foundation Stone.

“At least let me go to him,” said Nick, taking a step forward.

Kattan thrust his gun out. “Ah, ah, ah. I have been more than generous already. Stay where you are.”

Nick kept his distance, but he circled, looking for an opportunity. “You have your revenge. You can kill us and walk away. Why DC? Why Jerusalem? You're not one of these Hashashin fanatics.”

“Hashashin fanatics? Really?” Kattan chuckled. “You are the one racing around the world, killing, destroying lives, all in the name of a fallen power that still believes it governs the world by divine right. Who are you to call
them
fanatics?”

“A hundred thousand Israelis and tourists, ten thousand Americans,” said Nick, still circling. He shot a glance at his dad. Kurt was propped up on his left elbow, following his son with his eyes, but they were losing focus. He was fading. His pooling blood mixed with the blood of the Hashashin to form a dark red river that snaked through the contours of the Foundation Stone. Nick looked back up at Kattan. “Do you really believe that killing them and blowing up that rock you're standing on will bring your Mahdi and some kind of paradise?”

“Stop!” shouted Kattan, raising the remote trigger.

Nick froze.

The terrorist's voice calmed again and he tilted his head. “Pardon the outburst, but your attempt to off-balance me is both obvious and annoying. I bid you stand still.”

Nick nodded slowly and lifted his hands again.

“Messiah, Mahdi, they are all the same,” continued the terrorist. “Archaic nonsense that has cost the lives of millions and plagued our world with constant conflict. Don't you see, Nick? There is no God, no paradise.” He stamped the sacred stone with his boot. “This is just a rock. But the world . . . wants . . . Armageddon.” He shook the bomb trigger to emphasize each word and then dropped it to his side and looked up into the dome. “I will give it to them. And when the smoke clears and the sun emerges from the shadow of the black moon, you and I and a hundred thousand others will be dead, and then what?” He shrugged. “The world will go on. But they will go on in the realization that Armageddon has passed and no messiah and no Mahdi came to save them from their miserable existence.”

Kattan took a deep breath through his nostrils and smiled as if the air were suddenly clean. “The delusions that pollute this world will collapse and all will see that every religion is false. The crusades and the jihads will finally end.”

Nick shook his head. “When the smoke clears, the world will rebuild their churches. The masses will keep watching for the messiah. You can't destroy faith that easily.”

Kurt moaned and Nick's eyes dropped to his father in time to watch his head droop back. His elbow slipped from under him and he collapsed onto the Foundation Stone. Nick rushed forward but Kattan stamped his foot again, shouting, “No! I already told you, no!”

Nick stopped, closer than before but still too far to strike.

“Let me explain how the endgame has gone,” said Kattan, calming himself. “Your last knight is dead, taken by my man in the mosque, and your final move exposed your last bishop.” He viciously kicked Kurt's unmoving form. “And so, I have taken him too.”

Nick's phone gave its dreadful chime, announcing its receipt of the final move of the game.

Above them, the last trace of sunlight vanished from the lattice windows. Kattan looked up and nodded his approval at the completeness of the shadow that filled the dome. He smiled down at Nick. “You have a message. Go ahead. See what it says.”

As Nick pulled out his device and tilted up the screen, the terrorist raised the remote above his head. He wrapped his index finger around its red trigger. “Our game is over, Nick Baron. Checkmate.”

T
he instant that Kattan said
checkmate
, four of the windows encircling the dome exploded inward, showering the inner mosque with splintered latticework and tinted glass. The SWARM crashed its way into the chamber and hovered over the terrorist in a tight formation.

Kattan took his finger off the trigger as he ducked in surprise, shielding his face against the debris with his good arm.

The drones did not surprise Nick at all. He had called them. After the chime from the chess app, he had pulled out the SWARM control tablet instead of his phone. With a sweep of his thumb he had brought them in through the windows.

When the drones crashed in, Nick's left hand was already at his back, wrapped around the grip of a second Sig Sauer—the one Drake had pressed into his hands before braving the mob. His efforts to close the distance had brought him in range for a shot he could not afford to miss.

Nick whipped the gun around to his front and fired two rapid shots, obliterating the remote trigger and taking a large chunk out of Kattan's good hand.

The terrorist tried to return fire, but Nick dove out of the way, rolled to one knee, and turned his Sig on the mechanical hand holding the submachine gun, firing three more times. The weapon fell to the floor with a piece of Kattan's prosthetic still attached.

The terrorist rushed him, screaming with fury, and Nick shifted his aim to Kattan's head, but found that he could not pull the trigger, despite everything he had done. The person running toward him now was just an adolescent boy, enraged by the loss of his father.

Nick rose from his knee, rotated the pistol sideways in his hand, and struck the young man across the temple. Kattan stumbled past and collapsed onto the carpet, out cold.

A moan came from the Foundation Stone. Kurt Baron's eyes were open.

“Dad!” Ignoring his own pains, Nick leapt onto the rock and knelt at the older Baron's side. He tore away the gag and cradled his father's head in his hands. “Dad, you're alive.”

“Sorry, Son . . . Had to play dead . . . Jerk was never going to shut up if I didn't.”

“Try not to speak, Dad.” Nick gently laid his father's head down again. “I'm going to get you some help.”

Nick started to get up, but Kurt weakly grabbed his arm.

“The bomb, Son. It beeped while your friend was ranting. I think . . . it's active.”

Nick cautiously removed the aluminum cover from the device and found a five-inch touch screen. Ivory-white numbers counted down on a black field. There were twenty-five seconds remaining. Kattan must have activated a timer as a contingency. A square in the bottom right corner read
ABORT
.

“He left himself a way out, a fail-safe in case I didn't show.” Nick pressed the button, but the numbers didn't stop. They shrank to the top center and a gray keyboard and white entry window appeared. A cursor flashed, waiting for the password. Nick glanced over at Kattan. He had just knocked out the only man who could stop the bomb.

The keyboard looked strange. Some letters were missing. Other keys bore letter-number combinations. With sixteen seconds left on the clock, Nick realized he was looking at chess notation. “Checkmate,” he said out loud.

He pulled out his phone and checked Kattan's last move. He had taken Nick's bishop with a pawn,
but which pawn was it when the game began?

Nick had no choice but to take his best guess. He typed in the move WKPxBKB#, white king's pawn takes black king's bishop for checkmate.

He pressed
ENTER
.

The numbers kept going, less than ten seconds now. Nick winced.

Then green text appeared below the countdown, announcing access granted. Another button appeared next to it.
DISABLE
?

Nick quickly pressed it. The timer froze. The white numbers read 07.77.

“We did it, Dad.” Nick turned back to his father and smiled, but the older Baron had closed his eyes again. There was an immense amount of blood on the Foundation Stone. Kurt's lips were blue. He wasn't moving.

N
ick.”

Katy called to him.

Her voice was muddled, distant like before. He was afraid to look, afraid he'd see her up on the Temple Mount wall with Kattan again, fire blazing up between them.

“Nick, wake up.”

Nick reluctantly opened his eyes. Katy was not standing on a wall. She was standing right next to him. As his eyes focused, the look of concern on her face brightened into a beautiful smile. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed. “There you are.”

She was holding his hand. With effort, he turned his palm so that their fingers intertwined. “It's you” was all he could muster.

She nodded and wiped the tear away. “Yes, it's me.”

Nick gradually took in the room. He was in a hospital bed, half-reclined, a rack of monitors on one side of it, Katy on the other. This was a private room. Luke sat on a little brown couch playing with his favorite car, a Corvette Nick's dad had given him.

Dad.

Nick tried to sit up. Pain shot through his neck and shoulder, bringing clarity—flashes of memory. He saw IDF soldiers storming the Dome of the Rock. He saw white stones rolling beneath a gurney, a red helicopter up ahead. He heard his own voice shouting that Kattan was dangerous and that he might be carrying a vaccine that could save thousands. He watched them leading the terrorist away in handcuffs, one of the soldiers holding up a clear vial, its contents sparkling in the emerging sun.

Another flash and Nick saw his dad cold and lifeless on the helicopter floor, the Temple Mount drifting away below them, a medic running a tube between their arms, sending Nick's blood to his dad. Then he saw a surgery room and a doctor holding a syringe to his IV port. He protested, but the doctor plunged it in anyway.

After that, there was only darkness.

Nick's head fell back onto his pillow.

“Slow down, baby, you're okay,” said Katy, placing a soft hand on his forehead.

“Where?” he asked.

“You're at Hadassah Medical Center.”

“I'm still in Jerusalem?”

She nodded.

“And my dad?”

“He's going to be okay. Better than that, he has several admirers now.”

Nick struggled to push the fog of sedatives to the edge of his mind. “Admirers? I'm not following.”

Katy pulled up a rolling stool and sat down next to her husband. She took his hand again, this time with both of hers, massaging his fingers. “There's a guy here, I think he's Mossad—”

“Walker's contact,” interrupted Nick.

Katy nodded. “I think so. He's trying to keep people from talking about what happened up there. He's making everybody sign papers, but there's one story he can't stop.”

“It's hard to stop Dad when he gets going,” said Nick in a flat tone. “He's claiming he singlehandedly disarmed the nuke, isn't he?”

She sniffed and giggled, squeezing his hand. “Your dad's not even conscious yet, silly. The medics who pulled you out of the mosque are the ones telling the story.” Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “They say your dad and a terrorist both bled buckets on the Foundation Stone. They say the blood trails joined as they descended the stone, but then the terrorist's blood turned and poured onto the floor. He bled out and died. Your dad's trail continued into the Well of Souls, the hole that used to capture the blood of Jewish sacrifices at the bottom of the stone.”

There were voices in the hall, shadows outside the door. Katy glanced up and waited for them to move off before she continued. “The medics say the blood trail thinned right there, that your dad stopped bleeding when his blood reached the Well of Souls. The surgeon agrees. He should have bled out, but he didn't. The doctors are calling it a miracle. Word is spreading around the hospital like wildfire.”

Nick let out a painful chuckle.

“What's so funny?”

“Faith. It's contagious. Kattan tried to destroy it, but all he did was fuel the fire. The joke's on him. Drake would have loved it.”

“You should tell him. He's dying to see you.”

Nick abruptly sat up, but the pain knocked him back again. “He's what?”

“He's dying to see you.” Katy pointed toward the opposite wall. “Drake is two doors down. He can't talk very well, though. He's all beat up. The IDF found him in the ruins south of the Temple Mount, limping on a broken leg and dragging a dead man with him. He said the guy was a terrorist that tried to stab him with a poison knife.”

“He's supposed to be dead.” Nick glowered at the wall. “I'm gonna kill him.” Then he turned to Katy. The fog of the medication was now completely gone. “And you, you're supposed to be on a flight to Washington. Why are you here?”

Katy straightened and scrunched up her nose. “You think I was going to leave you in Israel just because you told me to?”

“You and Luke could have been killed.”

She relaxed, leaned into him again. “Not with you on the job.”

Nick reached up and pulled his wife to him, kissing her deeply. Not to be left out, Luke toddled over, and Katy scooped him up and set him on the bed with his father. The boy took his daddy's hand and played with his fingers. Nick looked up into Katy's hazel eyes. “Do you think maybe one day you can learn to do as you're told?”

“No,” she said, and kissed him again. “No, I don't.”