Emilio led the way, heading in the opposite direction away from the Vatican and the hidden chapel. The tunnel widened as they made a sharp right into a small chamber and stopped. Two of the security men in black suits looked at each other nervously and motioned to two other security officers with automatic weapons standing behind Leo and the others.
Ariella moved between Leo and Alon and whispered in their ears. “They’re going to kill us.”
Without warning, Emilio stepped forward and snatched the backpack from John. At the same time, the two security men behind them raised their weapons. It was the last act of their lives. Two bullet holes appeared in their foreheads as Leo turned to see Alon crouched in a classic handgun combat position with his nine millimeter extended in front of him, smoke rising from the barrel. Alon swirled around just as two other security men pulled their weapons, but it was Lev who fired this time, dropping both killers to the ground.
Emilio never looked back. Followed by the remaining panicked security men, he ran for his life down a side tunnel, clutching the backpack and disappearing into the maze under the Vatican.
Alon shouted at them to drop the backpack and took off in pursuit. Leo reached out and grabbed him solidly by the arm. “Stop, Alon. I have the book.”
Alon turned to face him, his eyes bulging. “What? I thought John …”
Leo grabbed Alon by the shoulders. It was like stopping a bull that had seen a red flag waved before its eyes. “We switched.”
Alon began to focus on the words, his pupils growing smaller as his body slowly began to release itself from combat mode. “You what?”
“We switched. Back at the train station.” Leo drew a breath. “I have the book now. They only got a decoy backpack.”
Alon turned and looked at John, who was nodding to him with his mouth hanging open. He scanned the chamber around them before returning the warm gun inside his waistband. Their Israeli protector began to take some slow, deep breaths as he had been trained to do following a lethal engagement. It was a method designed to steady his nerves and purge his system of excess adrenalin, allowing him to face the next threat with a clear head.
Lev dropped the clip from his gun and reloaded as easily as if he were reaching for a beer in the refrigerator. Older bulls reacted differently than younger ones after a battle. Lev had been a battle-tested soldier before Alon was even born.
John dropped to one knee, sick to his stomach. The bile rose in his throat as he looked at the dead security men around him. He had never seen death close-up like this before. Ariella knelt beside him and brushed the hair out of his face before gently pulling him back to his feet.
Leo continued to watch the tunnel where Emilio had retreated. “We’ve got to reverse course and get to the chapel before our friends find out they have the wrong backpack and return with reinforcements.”
Alon called Moshe on the radio to alert him to their situation, but the signal was pure static. Either they were too deep for the radio to work, or it was purposely being jammed by someone.
Alon looked at the others. “We’re on our own. Let’s get moving.”
Chapter 43
Pakistan — The North-West Frontier Province
The giant Russian-made rocket transporter rumbled out of its underground hiding place at the base of the mountains. Behind it was a solitary military truck full of men wearing checkered turbans and carrying automatic rifles and rocket propelled grenades. They followed a rocky path, skirting populated areas while looking skyward and chanting prayers in their native tongue.
A spring thunderstorm had just passed and the skies were beginning to clear, but the men in the small convoy were not worried about satellite surveillance above their position. They had practiced daily and knew that their mission would take only a few minutes. After that, their fate was no longer important.
After plowing over the rough terrain and traveling another mile, the massive, dull-brown vehicle slowed to a predetermined stop. The crew of the transporter waited. They radioed their leader in a nondescript safe-house in the nearby town of Chitral and scanned the horizon as the rag tag group of men in the truck behind them jumped out onto the wet soil. Awaiting final instructions, the men spread out and formed an armed ring around the perimeter of the rocket launcher.
When confirmation finally came, the Taliban commander ordered the crew to activate the hydraulic pads that dropped from beneath the transporter onto the uneven rock-strewn plateau, creating a stable platform for launching. Simultaneously, the Cold War-era Russian Su-18 intercontinental ballistic missile, code named the Satan, was raised to its full upward position at the rear of the vehicle.
Inside a cramped space behind the driver’s compartment, two technicians were activating the targeting computer that would send the rocket on its way. The commander stood outside and scanned the skies. He was looking for signs of a predator drone in the vicinity, but intellectually, he knew that if an unmanned enemy aircraft had already spotted them, they would be dead before they ever saw the missile that attacked them.
Vapor rose into the cloudless blue sky from the side of the rocket as the freezing volatile fuel began to warm and vent to the outside. Predetermined target coordinates were confirmed by the crew, and the computer now took over the countdown. The men had done all they could; the rest remained in the hands of Allah and the gods of technology.
They jumped from the cab of the transporter and ran toward the waiting truck in the distance just as a fiery blast erupted from the nozzles at the base of the rocket. Fire enveloped the truck as the thrust from the engines sent the giant, deadly arrow skyward, leaving a white plume of smoke in its wake.
In a matter of minutes, the spent rocket would reach its apogee and the nuclear warhead would separate, beginning a six-thousand-mile-per-hour descent to its target below. Thousands of years of history, along with some of the most holy sites known to man, were about to be vaporized. The target was Jerusalem.
Chapter 44
The Carmela bobbed calmly at her dock in the yacht-encrusted Porto Romano Marina inside Fiumicino Harbor. The citizens of Rome flocked to the beautiful harbor and beaches nearby in the summer for weekend getaways and were unaware of the events occurring over two thousand miles away in the rugged mountains of northern Pakistan. Inside the yacht, the scenario was reversed. Alarms were going off and the crew was in a state of panic. Many seemed unable to move as they stood in front of TV screens scattered around the boat and watched the world situation spiral out of control. Air raid sirens were now blaring in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem as the Israeli military tracked the inbound warhead heading their way.
The United States had been on a virtual lockdown since the nuclear attack on Houston. Widespread hysteria had set in around the country and revenge was in the air. As people around the country feared another attack, rumors swirled inside and outside the government as to who had finally committed the unthinkable act of nuclear terrorism on America. Inside the Oval Office in the West Wing of the White House, the president and his advisors were huddled in a feverish debate about their next course of action.
One more incident like the one in Houston would be the tipping point toward a holocaust of unimaginable proportions aimed at anyone America and Israel believed was responsible. The entire world was now on high alert, and nerves were frayed at the highest levels of every government on earth. Unlike the major powers, terrorists didn’t have hotlines with their enemy to allow cooler heads to prevail. They just struck without warning.