“Right.”
The director held out a communication to Jan when he came through the door. “Something big coming apart at the central office. They need you, they say, yesterday or earlier. I have no idea what it is about, except the bastards could not have picked a worse time to pull you out. We’re finally getting the production leveled and on line. Tell them that, will you. They don’t seem to listen to me any more. Make them happy and grab the next plane back here. A pleasure to have you on the site, Kulozik. There’s a cab to pick you up.”
“I’ll have to pack…”
“Don’t worry. I took the liberty of having the BOQ servant put all your stuff into your bags. Get moving, so you can get back.”
Jan had more than a suspicion that he was not on his way to Suez and Cairo. The Arab cabdriver put Jan’s bags into the back then salaamed respectfully as he held the door open for him. It was cool in the air-conditioned interior, after the walk from the buildings. As they pulled away from the installation the driver took a fiat metal box from the seat and passed it back to him.
“Lift the lid, sir, and a push-button lock is revealed. If you are not aware of the combination do not experiment in cab, I beg you. Explosions follow error.”
“Thanks,” Jan said, weighing the package in his hands. “Is there anything else?”
“A meeting. I am taking you to the place of assignation. There is, I regret, a payment of eighty pounds for this service.”
Jan was sure that the man had been well paid for this service and that this additional payment was a little bit of free enterprise. He passed the money over in any case. His bank balance was still unbelievable. They drove down the smooth highway for a half an hour — then turned sharply into one of the tinmarked tracks that led out into the desert. A short while later they came to the scene of some forgotten battlefield filled with the shells of wrecked tanks and disabled field guns.
“Here please,” the driver said, opening the door. Heat pressed in in a savage wave. Jan got out and looked around. There was nothing in sight except the empty desert and the burned wreckage. When he turned back he saw that his bags were on the sand and the driver was climbing back into the cab.
“Hold it!” Jan called out. “What happens next?”
the man did not answer. Instead he gunned the engine to life, spun the vehicle in a tight circle and sped back toward the highway. The dust of his passage swirled over Jan who cursed fluently while he wiped his dripping face with the back of his hand.
When the sound of the cab died away the silence and loneliness pressed in. It was very peaceful, but a little frightening at the same time. And hot, searingly hot. If he had to walk back to the highway he would have to leave his bags here. He wouldn’t want to carry them, not in this temperature. He laid the metal box in the shade of the bags and hoped the explosive it contained was not heat sensitive.
“You are Cassius?” the voice said.
Jan turned about, startled, since he had not heard any footsteps in the muffling sand. The girl stood there, near the ruined tank, and the arrow of memory startled him so that he almost spoke her name aloud. No, Sara was dead, killed years ago. Yet the first glimpse of this suntanned girl in the brief khaki shorts, with her blond, shoulder-length hair, had startled him. The resemblance was so close. Or was his memory betraying him after all the years? She was an Israeli like Sara, that was all. He realized that he was still staring in silence and had not answered her.
“I’m from Cassius, yes. My name is Jan.”
“Dvora,” she said stepping forward and taking his hand; her grip was firm, warm. “We have long suspected that Cassius was more than one person. But we can talk about that later, out of this sun. Can I help you with your bags?”
“I think I can manage. There is transportation?”
“Yes, out of sight of the road behind this wreck.”
It was the same sort of vehicle they used in the oil camp, a halftrack, with wheels at the front and tractor treads behind. Jan threw his bags into the back and climbed up into the high front seat next to Dvora. There were no doors. It was open at the sides for air, but a solid metal roof kept the sun off them. Dvora threw a switch on the steering column and they started forward silently, with only the slightest hum coming from the wheels.
“Electric?” Jan asked.
She nodded and pointed at the floor. “High density batteries under the floor, about four hundred kilos of them. But out here these vehicles are almost self-sufficient. The roof is covered with macro-yield solar cells, a new development. If you don’t put too many K’s on this thing during the day it will stay recharged without being plugged to the mains.” She turned her head and frowned slightly when she found him staring at her again.
“Please excuse me,” Jan said. “I know I’m being rude looking at you like that. But you remind me of someone I knew, a good many years ago. She was also an Israeli like you.
“Then you have been to our country before?”
“No. This is the first time. We met near here and I saw her again in England.”
“You’re lucky. Very few of our people get to travel at all.”
“She was — how shall I say — a very talented person. Her name was Sara.”
“Very common, like all of the biblical names.”
“Yes, I’m sure so. I heard her last name just once. Giladi. Sara Giladi.”
Dvora reached down and switched off the wheel motors. The halftrack clanked jerkily to a stop. Then she half-turned on the seat to face Jan, her face impassive, her large dark eyes staring into his.
“There are no coincidences in this world, Jan. Now I know why they sent me instead of one of the muscle-bound field agents. My name is Giladi as well. Sara was my sister.”
She was, she had to be. So much of Sara was in the turn of her cheek, her voice, reminding him constantly of the girl he had once known.
“Sara is dead,” Dvora said quietly. “Did you know that?”
His smile was twisted, humorless. “I was there when she was killed. We were together. Trying to get out of England. And there was no need for it, stupid, she shouldn’t have died. It was a terrible, terrible waste.”
Memory flooded back, the guns, the murder. And Thurgood-Smythe’s presence. All done under his command. Jan’s jaw was locked tight as he remembered and Dvora saw his fingers clench onto the grab handle.
“They told me nothing, no details,” Dvora said. “Just that she had died in the service. You… you were in love with her?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“It is to me. I loved her too. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Of course. It’s simple enough. We were trying to leave the country, but we never had a chance. We were betrayed from the very beginning. But she didn’t know that. Instead of surrendering she fired at them, made them shoot back, willing herself to die so they could not have her knowledge. And that is the most terrible part. They had known everything all of the time.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that. It is terrible, even more terrible for you because you are alive to remember it.”
“It is, yes, but I suppose that it is all past history. We can’t bring her back.”
That was what he said. But he was silent about the rest of his thoughts as the halftrack started up again. Perhaps Thurgood-Smythe and Security had physically killed her. But she had been betrayed by her own people, by her own organization right here in Israel. At least that is what Thurgood-Smythe had said. Where was the truth? He was going to try and find that out before he had anything more to do with these people.
It was a grueling drive and they had little to say to each other, locked in their own thoughts. The sand gave way to rock, then sand again. (?)tnbetnhotou Heights(?) hills; road signs in Hebrew began to appear and he realized that they were out of the Sinai and in Israel.