"Yes, I know. And I can imagine you're currently having cash-flow problems, too. But I don't care. Prove to me that you didn't do this terrible thing to me and pay me what you owe me."
Zdrok hung up without giving Tarighian a chance to respond. He looked at Antipov and said, "So he thinks the American is dead? The girl in Israel hasn't talked yet, so I suppose it's time we convince her to do so. If he's really dead, we'll soon know for certain." He picked up the phone again and made a call to Jerusalem.
"DAMNZdrok," Tarighian said to Mertens as he hung up the phone.
They were in Tarighian's private office inside the Cyprus shopping mall complex.
"What is it now?" Mertens asked.
"They're screwing us," Tarighian replied. He dialed another number and waited. "Hello, Hani?"
Tarighian's head of finance was on the other line. "Yes?"
"Was that payment transferred to the Shop?"
"Yesterday, sir."
"You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. I did it personally."
"They say it wasn't received."
"Impossible."
"Look into it, will you? I have enough problems right now."
"Yes, sir."
Tarighian hung up and glared at Mertens. "I suppose you want to tell me again how crazy this scheme is."
Mertens shrugged. "As a matter of fact . . ."
"All right, Professor. If Baghdad isn't a suitable target, then what is? Are you going to say Israel again?"
"Of course! I cannot believe you are blind to this. Tel Aviv or Jerusalem should be the target because Israel is the key objective in the Middle East. Destroy Jerusalem and the region really willbe in chaos. And it will avenge the assassination of Gerard Bull."
"So that'swhat this is about? Your former boss?"
"He was much more than a boss. He was my mentor. He was like a father to me."
"There is no proof that Israel was responsible for Bull's murder."
"There is every indication that the Mossad was responsible. I was there. I was working with Gerard when it happened. I swore to avenge his life then and I intend to do it."
"Not with my money you don't," Tarighian said. "Just because you were Gerard Bull's right-hand man doesn't give you the privilege to question my motives. Professor, you have done a wonderful job with the Phoenix, but in Allah's name I will not tolerate insubordination. Now that the Phoenix is complete, you are expendable. Don't forget that."
Tarighian's cold brown eyes stared holes through Mertens, and the Belgian physicist saw--not for the first time--why so many men respected and feared the man. Tarighian possessed that rare quality known as charisma. Great men throughout the ages used charisma to influence others, whether it was for good or for evil, and Tarighian was no different. He had seduced Mertens long ago, convincing the Belgian to devote his life to designing and building a weapon for the Shadows. The pay was an additional incentive, of course, along with protection from the Belgian authorities who had been looking for him ever since his escape from the mental institution.
For Mertens, though, he was not in it only for the money. By working on Tarighian's project, Mertens had fulfilled his goal of continuing the dreams of Gerard Bull, the man who taught Mertens everything he knew. Mertens was not a Muslim, nor did he care about the Shadows' objectives to drive the West out of the Middle East and take over Iraq. He had no loyalty to Jews, Muslims, or Christians. His devotion was to Bull and the man's genius. Mertens owed it to Bull to fulfill the man's prophecy.
"Very well," Mertens said. "I apologize. But you should know that many of your own men are unhappy with what you plan to do. They do not agree with your decision to attack a city in a Muslim country."
"Are you talking about Ahmed Mohammed by any chance?" Tarighian growled. "I will deal with him in due time. Ahmed has been my friend and ally for over twenty years. If he is disgruntled, he'll get over it. Now get back to work. I don't want to hear another word about it. I expect the Phoenix to be fully operational tomorrow and we'll begin tests in the afternoon. Is that clear?"
Mertens bowed his head slightly. "Absolutely." He stood and left the room.
He walked down the dark, empty corridor to his own office, where Heinrich Eisler was waiting for him, whittling on a piece of wood.
"Well?" Eisler asked.
"I've had enough of Nasir Tarighian and the Shadows," Mertens said. "It's time to take matters into our hands. I'm placing a call to Mohammed."
29
SARAHwiped the tears from her cheeks, rose slowly from the cot, and walked weakly into the bathroom. The dirty mirror reflected a frightened mess of a girl. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was stringy, and the makeup was long gone. Sarah hadn't showered in a couple of days--what was the point? The hunger pangs no longer bothered her, but she felt extremely feeble. Now it was just a question of how much longer she'd be able to perform other normal functions.
Over the years she had been aware of other kidnap-pings in the Middle East. The stories were always on CNN or in the newspaper. Americans were abducted while performing their jobs or while serving in the military. Sometimes the hostages were rescued . . . more often not.
What would the bastards eventually do to her? So far they hadn't mistreated her physically, although the creep named Vlad had come close. She hated Eli now, but in many ways he'd been her protector. There was no telling what the two Russians would do if Eli wasn't around.
Several times she had been tempted to tell them how to contact her father. Sarah was loath to involve him, but she also suspected that he could get her out of this situation. If Eli was right and her father really was a government spy of some kind, he would have the resources to rescue her. Perhaps he could bring the army in and blow her asshole kidnappers to hell.
On the other hand, the kidnappers wanted him for a reason, and Sarah didn't think it was a good one. She could see the hate in their eyes and hear the venom in their voices when they spoke of him. Sarah was certain they wanted to kill her father, and she understood full well that she was the bait to lure him into their clutches. She was resolved not to let that happen.
How many days had it been? She had lost count. She now realized she should have done what she'd seen prisoners in movies do--scratch on the wall with something and make a mark for every passing day. She knew she'd been there less than a week but more than four days. If she hadn't been kidnapped, she'd be home now. She would have said goodbye to Rivka and her family and--
Oh, Rivka.
What happened to her friend haunted Sarah and tore at her heart. It was all her fault. If she hadn't been Rivka's friend, the girl would still be alive. During one of Eli's frequent visits to her room, Sarah asked him what had happened to her. How did she die? Eli refused to tell her. He said he didn't really know--only that she was dead. Sarah asked him if Noel was responsible and Eli simply shrugged. How could he be so cold? How could bothof them do what they have done? She and Rivka had given the boys their bodies, their love, their devotion. She and Eli had spoken of living together in New York and maybe getting married someday. Had Rivka and Noel done the same? Had he convinced her to trust him and look forward to a future with him?
Bastards.
Sarah finished her business in the bathroom and lumbered back to the cot and lay down. She then heard a familiar knock on the door. Eli again. The key turned in the lock and the door opened. She didn't look at him but felt his presence as he stood over her.