By the time they reached the freeway to Tel-Aviv, Mike realised that his earlier assessment had been correct. Interception on the freeway was out of the question. The traffic, apart from two more checkpoints, was free flowing and the van’s tyres could have been shot out easily enough but the Israeli patrols were everywhere and he forced himself to remain calm as he followed. When the traffic slowed on the outskirts of Tel-Aviv and darkness descended, Mike closed on the van, not wanting to lose his quarry in the traffic snarls of Tel-Aviv. Thirty minutes later Mike watched the van turn off into the lane and he parked as close as he dared. Normally Mike didn’t wear driving gloves but this time they served another purpose and leaving them on he retrieved his Heckler-Koch from the glove box. Glancing up and down he was relieved to find that the road was empty and he was grateful for the sparseness of street lighting in this part of Tel-Aviv. Moving quickly, he melted into the shadows, keeping the parked cars between him and his target as he moved silently down the lane.
The van had pulled up in front of the garage and his quarry was once again having trouble forcing the heavy doors apart. Using the van as cover, Mike moved silently along the side until he was only two steps away from the Arab who was now cursing loudly. Judging that he would not have a better chance, Mike reversed his grip on his Heckler-Koch to bring the butt down hard on the Arab’s head, but as he did so the Arab lost his footing in the dirt and slipped forwards. Mike’s pistol butt cracked against the Arab’s back instead of his head. The Hamas man had been trained to deal with a surprise attack from behind and dropped to his knees. With a powerful backward thrust he flung Mike into the air. Instinctively Mike hit the dirt entrance of the garage and rolled, weapon in hand, in time to see the Arab draw his own weapon.
Pfunk. Pfunk. Pfunk. The silenced. 45 sounded incredibly loud as Mike squeezed off three quick shots in succession. The Langley training had not been wasted. The Arab clutched his chest, his gun tumbling harmlessly underneath the van. Mike watched his quarry sink in what seemed like slow motion to the garage floor, his lifeblood ebbing away, hatred visible in his eyes, but fading. Calmly, Mike McKinnon dragged the body into the back of the garage and drove the van inside. He picked up the three spent cartridges and pocketed them.
With the aid of the small microphone and earpiece that the boys in the basement had provided, Mike listened to the final tumbler fall into position. After he opened the door of the old Chubb safe he scanned the contents. There was one envelope, and the only outside marking was in thick black pen:?.
Giorgio Felici had followed Mike McKinnon on the opposite side of the lane. The Hamas operative would be more than a match for the American, he thought, but he would get in close, just in case.
For a brief moment Felici lost sight of the other two men behind the van. Then he heard three shots from a silenced. 45 and knew he’d lost his Hamas man. Deciding against taking on the American in a confined space, Felici waited. As the CIA agent drove the van into the garage, Felici crouched low. Moving past the garage he took cover behind a parked car.
Fifteen minutes later the CIA agent emerged carrying a plastic envelope. Felici watched as his target looked around quickly before moving up the lane towards his car. Felici drew his Beretta and silently followed.
Mike McKinnon heard a noise and immediately reached for his gun as he spun around towards the sound. A single bullet hit him between the eyes and he crumpled silently to the footpath.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jerusalem
‘Y ossi will make a wonderful Prime Minister, David,’ Allegra said as Elie headed off with their order, ‘but I worry for both of you. Some of the ultra-orthodox Jews and the settlers are seething.’
As David and Allegra clinked their glasses in a toast to peace, two young men deep in conversation near the entrance to Numero Venti stopped talking and stepped aside to make way for a beautiful young woman. Wasfiheh Khatib walked confidently into the crowded restaurant and moved towards David and Allegra.
Elie moved out from behind the bar. He had seen her once before and it was not the young woman’s striking looks that prompted him, it was his years of training and a sixth sense that something was not quite right; none of his guests were expecting anyone and all the tables were full.
‘May I help,’ Elie asked with a polite smile, tapping her on the shoulder. As she turned, the brief look of concern in the girl’s dark eyes did not escape the old waiter. She put her hand in her pocket and Elie saw the wire. Instinctively he spun the girl around and wrapped both arms around her, but he was too late. Wasfiheh pressed the button, detonating nearly 2 kilograms of ammonium nitrate. A blast of flying nails, smoke and deadly shards of glass shattered the restaurant and the shock waves thundered off the old stone walls.
‘Allegra!’ David shook his head and staggered to his feet. Blood was streaming from a deep cut on the side of his head. Allegra had been closer to the girl and was now lying motionless in a pool of blood. In the distance the all-too-familiar sound of approaching sirens could be heard, the vision of which would be carried on news bulletin updates around the world.
‘We open this bulletin,’ Geraldine began, ‘with another tragic bombing in Jerusalem, with the first reports indicating that up to five people have been killed and a dozen more injured, some critically.’
Normally it would have been just another set of statistics to which the world had become anaesthetised by their sheer regularity, but this time the bombing had struck at members of Prime Minister Kaufmann’s family, and the footage showed scenes of ambulance workers trollying the wounded against a backdrop of destruction and the eerie hue of red and blue flashing lights. The picture faded to the entrance of the Hadassah Hospital at Ein Karem, with the pale face of a visibly shaken Tom Schweiker in the foreground.
‘Tom, what’s the latest there?’
Despite his personal connections to David and Allegra, Tom’s voice was calm and measured.
‘Another shocking tragedy for the people of Jerusalem with the bombing of one of the city’s most popular restaurants, Numero Venti,’ Tom began. ‘The casualties have been heavy and include the Prime Minister’s son, Dr David Kaufmann, and one of the world’s foremost scientists in the field of archaeological DNA, Dr Allegra Bassetti.’
‘Is there any word on their condition?’
‘It’s understood that David Kaufmann has been treated for cuts and abrasions but Dr Bassetti is still in surgery and as yet there is no word on her.’
In Rome the Cardinal Secretary of State, with prior warning of the bombing, was glued to the live broadcast, his anger growing at the mention of the woman’s name.
‘Will this affect the peace process, Tom?’
‘As tragic as it is, I don’t think so, Geraldine. A short time ago Prime Minister Kaufmann made a statement to that effect. Here’s a bit of what he had to say.’
The Prime Minister of Israel walked into the hospital foyer, and with a sad look he nodded to the waiting media.
‘Tonight we have together suffered another tragedy in what has for too long now been a cycle of bloodshed and violence. I want to convey my deepest sympathy to those who have lost their loved ones in this senseless attack on innocent people. I want those responsible to know that it only deepens our resolve to find a just peace. For both sides.’ It was a measure of the vision of Yossi Kaufmann that even in the middle of a personal tragedy, he could avoid the revengeful invective of previous administrations. ‘I want all Israelis to know that President Ahmed Sartawi of Palestine was one of the first to call me and offer his condolences to the people of Israel.’
‘How will this affect the peace process, Prime Minister?’ The question came from Tom Schweiker. He had got to know and admire the Israeli statesman, but the tough questions still had to be asked.