‘Men are already hunting me, Abu. I am also taking my life in my hands to be here. But here I am.’ Lev stood in front of Abu Tamboura, dwarfing the small old man even though he was not a tall man himself.
Tamboura was an old-school smuggler who had made and lost small fortunes during the years of tight blockades and embargoes enforced by the Israelis. Things had since loosened up off and on, and he now owned several legitimate businesses, but he’d never left smuggling completely behind.
‘You come to my place of business with men hunting you?’ Tamboura knotted his fists and didn’t try to hide his rage. His wispy slenderness emphasized his short stature, and he was bald as an egg, though bushy eyebrows stood at attention over his glasses. His suit was cheap but well cared for, indicating a frugal but fastidious man.
The ‘place of business’ wasn’t much for show either. The small room was at the back of one of Tamboura’s legitimate businesses. Cheap pottery and soaps lined the wooden shelves. A small card table and three mismatched chairs sat under a naked bulb that hung from the low ceiling.
‘I didn’t bring them here.’ Lev hoped that was true.
After a moment of hesitation, Tamboura waved to the table. ‘Sit.’
Lev sat, grateful to get his weight off his left leg. He’d lost everything below the knee more than thirteen years ago and, although the plastic-and-metal prosthesis that had replaced it served him well, he’d been pushing its capabilities over the last several days.
‘What do you need from me?’ Tamboura fidgeted as he sat.
‘The same thing I have always needed. Information.’
Tamboura licked his lips and nervously drummed his fingers on the tabletop. ‘What information?’
‘Have you ever heard of a writer named Yazid Ibn Salam?’
Tamboura gave the name some thought, then reached inside his jacket and took out a small PDA. ‘Should I know this name?’
‘As an author?’ Lev shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t think so. I only stumbled upon a book he’d written lately myself.’
‘You are a language professor at the University of Jerusalem. Please forgive me for pointing out that books are your business, not mine.’
‘I have reason to believe that any book written by Yazid Ibn Salam would be worth a considerable amount to anyone looking for it.’
Tamboura scrolled through the PDA. The ghost gray of the screen reflected against the hard planes of his face. ‘If I had such knowledge, it might be costly.’
Lev smiled. Greed was a constant in Tamboura’s world, as true as due north on a compass. ‘I can pay.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that. Some of my contacts can be quite costly.’ Tamboura searched his database. Several international art houses and insurance companies would have loved to know what was in that database. He glanced up and shook his head. ‘I can find nothing about your author.’
Lev sighed.
‘Perhaps I could continue searching for information about this author.’ Tamboura put his PDA away and regarded Lev with his dark eyes.
‘That might not be a good idea.’
When Tamboura’s eyes glittered, Lev realized he’d said the wrong thing.
‘Are other people searching for books by this man?’
Lev stood, and the pain in his leg throbbed to renewed life. He put money on the table. ‘For your time, Abu.’
Tamboura looked at the money for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I haven’t done anything to earn it.’
‘You confirmed something that I would have wasted time trying to find out.’
Tamboura scooped the money up in one hand. ‘Then I’m glad to have been of service.’
As Lev turned to go, the doorway suddenly burst open, and a man stepped through with a pistol in his hand, followed by others.
Lev saw Tamboura already in flight toward the back of the building. Moving quickly, Lev slammed a fist into the naked lightbulb, shattering it and plunging the room into darkness. He ran after Tamboura. The wily smuggler always had a way out.
In the darkness, Lev collided with a wooden cabinet. Pottery splintered against the concrete floor in a kaleidoscope of noise. Evidently the man in the doorway thought he was being fired on because he began shooting.
‘Stop shooting, you fool! He must be taken alive!’
Lev had an arm in front of him, fumbling at a run through the dark.
Then Tamboura pulled open a door almost hidden behind a wide bookshelf filled with boxes of soap. The little man scurried into the evening as traffic noises echoed inside the small room.
The doorway let out into a small alley that ran between stone buildings. To the left, a wooden fence barred the way. To the right, the alley opened up onto the street. Tamboura ran toward the street, and Lev was at his heels.
Before they’d gone a half dozen steps, a car turned down the alley and raced at them. Tamboura froze, trapped in the bright headlights. The doors opened, and men stepped out, all holding guns.
‘Professor Strauss. We don’t wish to harm you.’ He spoke in English, but his accent was Arabian.
Lev turned immediately and ran in the other direction. Tamboura wheeled around as well and started to pull even with Lev, showing surprising speed. Then shots erupted, and Tamboura’s head shattered into a bloody mess. His corpse managed one more faltering step and fell on the cobblestones without a sound.
Even with the prosthesis, Lev made good speed. He hurled himself at the fence and climbed as quickly as he could. Before he could top the fence, he felt something thud into it and thought that one of his pursuers had reached the barrier as well.
Then a man crested the top of the fence on the other side. He looked at Lev. ‘I’m with Mossad, Professor. You’re coming with us.’ He thrust the snout of a wicked machine pistol over the top of the fence and fired strategic bursts.
Lev pulled himself over the top and dropped to the ground as bullets hit the fence behind him. The prosthesis buckled underneath him, and he fell, catching himself on his hands.
‘Get up.’ A man caught Lev by the arm and yanked him to his feet.
Lev stood and practically fell forward into a stumbling run. The man held on to his arm and tugged Lev forcefully. Two other men had joined the Mossad agent at the top of the fence. Bullets knocked one of them down, and he sprawled in the alley with blood covering his face. Lev yanked his attention forward to a van waiting across the street.
‘Faster, Professor Strauss, if you want to live.’ The Mossad agent was young and fierce-looking. He carried a pistol with an extended magazine in his free hand.
Men set up outside the van with weapons at the ready.
The sudden din behind Lev caused him to look back over his shoulder. The car that had stopped in the alley now roared through the fence. The two Mossad agents at the top of the fence flew backwards.
Immediately, the Mossad agents in the street opened fire. The van’s side cargo door opened as bullets drummed against the vehicle. The man with Lev heaved him forward as another man caught his free arm and pulled. Lev sailed forward and landed on his stomach. The second man yanked him away from the opening as the other agent slammed the door shut.
The man who had pulled Lev to his feet and gotten him across the street slapped the driver’s shoulder. ‘We’re secure. Go.’
The driver hit the gas, and the van shot forward as more bullets peppered its side.
Lev pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at the man beside him. ‘You’re Mossad.’
The man nodded.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘We came to get you, Professor.’
‘Why?’
‘The decision was made to bring you in and put you under protective custody. My superiors want to know where the book is.’
Lev looked at the grim-faced men around him. ‘What book?’
The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know what book. But my superiors do. They want it — and you — protected. Too many people are after you. Including the Ayatollah.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘That back there should prove that to you. Trust us. We’re your friends.’
Lev blinked. ‘There’s no book,’ he said, shaking his head. But if the book is true, he thought, and the world finds out, everything will change.