He caught up with Bathsheba and slowed down to match the pace of airport traffic. An Avis shuttle bus separated them from the two cars ahead. The green Peugeot took the ramp onto the highway, followed by the black Renault.
“ They are heading north,” he said into his helmet, “away from Paris.”
In his side mirror he saw her black helmet tilting as if saying: So what? But Gideon was alarmed by this development. Their operational assumption had been that Al-Mazir, if he actually showed up, would be driven to a safe apartment in Paris, where Abu Yusef would be waiting. After the meeting, he would become an easy target. Inner-city assassinations were quick and uncomplicated-a red stoplight, spraying the target with bullets, disappearing into traffic. End of story. But the highway was tricky, even on powerful motorbikes. Shooting at high speed could lead to cars flipping over, a multi-vehicle pileup, and innocent casualties, followed by police barricades at the highway exits. On the other hand, trailing the two cars to their destination carried its own risks. A suburban setting would make the two K1 motorbikes stand out like black flies on a slice of cheesecake.
Their orders for this scenario had been clear: Once they’re off the highway, eliminate Al-Mazir at the first opportunity. Tracking down Abu Yusuf’s hideout would have to wait.
“ As soon as they exit,” Gideon said. “I’ll go first. You finish off.”
Her black helmet nodded once.
Hassan’s hand emerged with a mobile phone, not a gun. Al-Mazir slouched back in the seat. He accepted the proffered phone, pressed it to his ear, and heard Abu Yusef’s unmistakable voice. “ Ya habibi! ”
“ Ah-Salaam! Allah’s blessings upon you!”
“ Hearing your voice is like hearing the prophet Mohammed himself!”
Al-Mazir laughed. “Your slick tongue is still anointed with the olive oil of Palestine.”
Abu Yusef’s laughter was hoarse with static. “In my dreams I still chase you among the ancient groves of Nablus.”
“ Me too, my friend. Me too.” Al-Mazir chuckled with pleasure. The intervening years of estrangement had failed to diminish their childhood bond. He had been foolish to harbor suspicion.
“ The excitement has kept me awake all night. You’ll be awed by my plan. It is grand! More impressive than Munich, more spectacular than Entebbe, more stunning than a hundred Achille Lauros. And we’ll soon have the money to do it!”
“ And where will we meet your generous friend?”
“I have arranged a dinner right here, at our villa. A tender lamb is roasting over red embers-just like home. The scent alone will get you inebriated.”
“Ah! You know me too well!”
Gideon leaned right and rolled the throttle, accelerating after the cars, which cut through three highway lanes toward an exit ramp. The motorbike responded with explosive power, rapidly closing the gap between him and the cars. “Here we go!” He glanced at the mirror by his right hand and registered her headlight close behind.
The green Peugeot approached the turnoff to the local road. It stopped at a red light, its right taillight blinking. The Renault stopped behind it.
His right hand let go of the throttle and reached into his coat for the mini-Uzi. He kept a grip on the handlebar with his left hand, two fingers extended over the clutch lever. His left foot downshifted while his right foot tapped the brake to decelerate, coming to a full stop behind the Renault. He saw Al-Mazir in the back seat, pressing a mobile phone to his ear. The younger man was sitting behind the driver.
Bathsheba’s motorbike stopped a few feet behind, slightly to the left.
Boots planted on both sides of the K1 to balance it, Gideon drew the mini-Uzi and cocked it. With both arms extended over the small windshield, he aimed the weapon, but suddenly his left boot slipped, likely on an oil stain, and the motorbike began to tip sideways. He grabbed the handlebar and fought to keep from falling over.
The traffic light turned green, and the Peugeot moved instantly, making a sharp right turn onto the local road. The Renault driver glanced in his rearview mirror, noticed the weapon, and slammed the gas pedal. The engine uttered an angry roar, followed by the high pitch of spinning wheels.
His left boot found a dry foothold, and Gideon pulled the motorbike straight up. He aimed the mini-Uzi to the right, where he expected to find the Renault following the green Peugeot, but it turned left, skirted the stationary cars lined at the red traffic light, and raced away on the local road. Gideon cursed and corrected his aim, but by then the Renault was sheltered by the line of waiting cars.
He stashed the weapon back under his coat. His left foot hit the gear shift into first, his hand twisted the throttle, and the motorbike took off. He leaned all the way to the left, executing the sharpest turn possible, his head as low as the headlights of a station wagon waiting at the light. He prayed there was no more oil on the road.
Al-Mazir gripped the door handle and yelled into the phone, “Assassins! Help!” Abu Yusef’s reply was drowned in the screeching tires and roaring engine.
The large Renault weaved from lane to lane through traffic. It passed a delivery van and cut back in to avoid a collision, causing the van to run off the road.
Looking back over his shoulder, Al-Mazir saw the headlight of a motorcycle. “Allah’s mercy! Shoot him down!”
“Get down!” Hassan drew his gun, released his seat belt, and lowered the window. He extended his arm out, but the driver swerved sharply, and Hassan fell back. He cursed and got back to the window. His shots popped in a rapid succession.
*
Gideon bent forward, ducking behind the tiny windshield. A moment later, the shooting stopped. He twisted hard on the throttle and aimed the motorbike at the solid white line, passing a bunch of cars. The Arab driver was very good, and the top-of-the-line Renault had ample power, but no sedan could outrun a BMW K1.
He switched hands, his left reaching across to hold the right-side handlebar grip, keeping the throttle at a steady pace behind the Renault. With his right hand he drew the mini-Uzi, aimed it at the rear window, and pulled the trigger. The glass disintegrated into a thousand shards, which pelted him like hail. The Renault spun around, slid across the opposite lane and into a ditch.
Gideon kept his motorbike on a straight line, down-shifted, and stopped on the right shoulder. In his rearview mirror he saw Bathsheba slow down and cut across the opposite lane in front of an oncoming car. She couldn’t stop in time, and her K1 slipped and fell over.
He cursed, pulled on the throttle, and made a U-turn, heading back.
She was already on her feet, running to the Renault.
There was a lull in traffic, and no sign of the green Peugeot.
She aimed at the car. A long burst of bullets exploded into the side windows, crushing bones and flesh, splashing red blood. The empty magazine fell to the ground, and she shoved in a new one. Aiming forward, she pulled open the back door.
“ Hurry up,” Gideon said, but the speakers in his helmet brought back only the sound of her breathing.
Inside the Renault, crouched forward, Al-Mazir recited verses from the Koran. On top of him, Hassan’s body spewed blood in slowing spasms. A phone on the floor let out a distant voice.
Bathsheba cracked open her eye-shield and met Al-Mazir’s eyes. “Greetings from Jerusalem,” she said and pulled the trigger.
He was dead before the last bullet made its short way into his torn chest.
Gideon pulled a brown envelope from his inside pocket and tossed it to Bathsheba. She tore it open and flung a bunch of photos into the car, covering the bodies with images of naked youths utilizing sex paraphernalia.
A couple of cars came down the road, slowing to a crawl, windows rolling down, voices shouting in French. Behind them, a little blue Porsche arrived at high speed, honking to hurry them along. But Gideon could only think of the green Peugeot, racing over with three armed Arabs ready for battle amidst all of these French civilians. “Let’s go,” he said. “Now!”