"Oh, that won't be necessary," Rivka said. "It would be dark by the time we reached Mount Karkom. We wouldn't be able to see much of anything. On the way there, we pass a development called Mitzpe Ramon. There's a good hotel, the Beresheet. We can leave in the morning."
"I like this idea," Selena said. "I don't mind sleeping out, but I'd prefer a nice, comfortable bed."
"How's the food there?" Lamont asked.
"They have an excellent restaurant," Rivka said. "You could try some of our Israeli specialties."
Gideon said, "I know the place. It's expensive, but it's a nice hotel and it's not that far from where we're going."
"That settles it," Nick said. "Mitzpe it is."
They got into the vehicles and headed south on Highway 40. It was late afternoon when they checked into the hotel.
Lamont looked around as they walked in.
"Man, this is the kind of camping I really like."
"You're getting soft in your old age," Ronnie said.
"Careful who you're calling old," Lamont said.
The lobby floor was marble, inlaid with a pattern that suggested an abstract Star of David. A bowl-like fountain was set in the center of the floor. The colors of the hotel matched the colors of the desert outside, rich browns and warm tans, with cream accents. It was elegant and understated.
They got their keys.
"Let's meet in the restaurant at six," Nick said.
"Can't be too soon for me," Lamont said.
"You ever think about anything except food?" Ronnie asked.
"Unlike some people I know, I appreciate good food."
"Yeah, right, I've seen you dig into those MREs like a real gourmet."
"Hey, food's food. I like MREs."
The hotel was built on the northern edge of Ramon Crater, a geological oddity twenty-five miles long and fifteen hundred feet deep. The entire area was a national park. Selena and Nick had a room that looked out over the crater and the desert beyond. The view extended as far as they could see.
"It's beautiful, but barren as the moon," Nick said. "Can you imagine walking around in that for forty years?"
"No, I can't," Selena said. "It's probably not literal history. Forty years is a generic term for a long time."
"Forty days or forty years, it's still too long as far as I'm concerned. Places like this make me nervous. There's nothing out there except what you bring with you. It reminds me some of Afghanistan."
"At least here no one is shooting at you," Selena said.
"That's a definite plus," Nick said. "Not to mention that nice comfortable bed. You know, we still have more than an hour before we eat."
Selena put her hands on Nick's shoulders and looked into his gray eyes.
"Do you think that will be long enough?" she said.
CHAPTER 17
Hamid Kazemi leaned out the window of an idling van, talking to the guard at the Red Hook Marine terminal in Brooklyn. He handed over paperwork that showed he was taking delivery of a pallet of air compressors consigned to a wholesale auto-parts distributor in Queens.
The guard checked the numbers against the screen on his computer and scrawled something across the top page. He picked up a phone and spoke into it, handed the papers back, and pointed.
"Pull into that area over there. Someone will bring the pallet to you. Give him the paperwork and he'll load it into your van. Should take about fifteen minutes."
"Thanks," Hamid said.
The guard threw a switch and the gate swung open. Hamid pulled forward to where the guard had pointed and parked.
"Is it really this easy? Look at this." Amin gestured at the terminal. "Their security is laughable. How fast do you think that fat man in the guard shack can run?"
"Perhaps he eats too many donuts," Hamid said. "I have heard that all American policeman love donuts."
Amin nodded. "I don't think he's a real policeman. He is what the Americans call a 'Rent a Cop.'"
"There are real policeman here somewhere. For us, it's not a problem. We have all the right papers. With the right papers, one can do anything in this country."
"It is such a rich country," Amin said. "They have grown fat and lazy. Their refusal to recognize Allah will destroy them. It will be their undoing."
"It will be what they deserve. One day, all the world will be Muslim."
"God willing," Amin said.
He pointed at a forklift approaching. "I think that's our shipment."
Hamid got out of the van and opened the cargo doors in the back. The forklift operator maneuvered into position.
"Got the papers?"
Hamid gave them to him. The operator looked for the guard's signature, took a copy, and handed the papers back. He deposited the pallet into the back of the van. The forklift beeped loudly as it backed away. Hamid closed the doors, climbed back into the driver's seat, and started the van. They waited until the gate opened and drove away. Hamid waved at the guard as they drove through.
The storage unit they'd rented was a little over a mile from the terminal. It was a typical set up, with rows of units arranged neatly in a grid. Each unit had a garage style overhead door. Unit 8 B was halfway down one of the rows. Hamid waited while Amin got out and dealt with the heavy padlock on the door. He rolled the door open. Hamid drove the van inside and shut it down.
Amin came inside, turned on a single overhead bulb, and shut the door. Hamid walked to the back of the van and opened the doors.
The pallet was loaded with what appeared to be sixteen upright air compressors, wrapped in plastic shrink wrap. The compressors were typical of what could be found in any auto store or discount tool house across the country. Each unit was a cylinder about four feet high, topped with a housing containing two gauges for measuring how much air was stored and how much pressure would be released through the hose.
Two of the cylinders hid containers with sarin gas.
CHAPTER 18
The expedition left the hotel the next morning after a breakfast that included shakshuka, an egg dish with lamb meatballs, tomatoes and peppers. It was cool outside, the temperature in the high forties. In the summer months, the temperature during the day in this part of the Negev would rise to well over a hundred degrees. At this time of year, it would only reach the eighties.
Mount Karkom was a forty minute drive from the hotel. For the last part of the drive they could see the mountain looming ahead of them on the desert plain. It had an odd, orange-yellow color in the morning sun.
"They call this the saffron mountain," Rivka said. "When you look at it in the morning light like this, you can see why."
They parked the vehicles near the base of the mountain. The first thing Nick noticed were carvings etched into stones scattered all about the desert floor.
"What is this place?" Nick asked. "Why are there all these carvings?"
"People have been coming here long before there was an Israel," Rivka said. "Most of the carvings date back more than ten thousand years. The mountain was a center of Stone Age worship. You'll find altars, thousands of carvings, circles of stone, you name it."
The rocks bore pictures almost everywhere they looked. Selena pointed at one carved with the image of an animal with huge, curved horns.
"That one looks like an Ibex."
"You're right, that's an Ibex," Rivka said. "They're native to the area. There are over forty thousand carvings here."
"How the hell are we going to find an eye in the middle of all this?" Lamont said. "And even if we do, so what? What's it going to tell us?"
"It would show that we're on the right track," Nick said. "Besides, it might not be an eye. We won't know what it is until we find it."
"If there are forty thousand carvings, the only way we'll find it is to get lucky," Ronnie said.