IDF Base
Ten days after Assassinations
One day to Announcement
Zeb sprang out of the kitchen. The conference room’s door was opening. The second server was stepping inside. To his right, Meghan and Carmel were nearing.
‘STOP!’
The server didn’t stop.
Don’t want to shoot him like this.
Zeb holstered his Glock in a flash, dived at him, grabbed him by his collar and yanked him back savagely.
The plates went clattering to the floor. The door started closing. The server swung round smoothly and punched Zeb in the belly. His eyes were cold, his jaws set. Zeb staggered back. The momentary respite was what the server needed. His hand flashed to his chest. Dived into a pouch and came out with a grenade.
‘STAND BACK!’ Zeb warned the guards, ‘DON’T SHOOT.’
I should have shot him, he cursed himself, when I had the opportunity.
The nearest four soldiers dropped to the floor and crawled rapidly to the kitchen. Meghan grabbed Carmel and joined them. ‘Go,’ she yelled. ‘We’ll deal with him.’
There was something in the server’s eyes. He seemed nervous as he backed away, holding the grenade in his hand. A muscle twitched on his face.
‘Don’t do this. You can’t escape. Give yourself up.’ He tried to recognize the server, but all he could see was his dark eyes.
All the kidon have dark eyes.
The server’s hand arced. The grenade sailed in the air down the hallway. His hand flashed to the M16 behind his back.
Zeb didn’t linger. He charged toward the conference room and hurled himself inside. The M16 spat behind him, followed by two flat cracks, sounding almost like one.
And then the door shut behind him.
He crashed into a chair, fell over a negotiator. His eyes sweeping around the room swiftly, taking stock.
The negotiators and the ambassador were looking at him in shock.
The room’s soundproofed. But they saw some of that and must have heard the shooting.
The other server was to his front and left, jumping back from laying down his plates. His eyes were on Zeb.
The grenade exploded in the hallway. The room shuddered, its windows shook.
‘DOWN! ON THE FLOOR,’ Zeb ordered the negotiators, who were shrieking and cowering in fear. He repeated the command in Arabic.
The server stood immobile. He looked stunned.
Or he’s working out his next move.
The Israelis and Palestinians threw themselves to the floor. Alice Monash joined them.
Zeb climbed onto the table and drew out his Glock. Then the server acted.
He grabbed a chair and threw it in Zeb’s direction. It was heavy: leather-backed, with rollers. Despite that, he picked it up as if it weighed nothing. The next moment, his hands flashed to his M16.
Zeb ducked. He stepped on a paper towel, which slipped on the smooth surface. He stumbled. The heavy missile caught him on his shoulder, and his Glock went flying.
He went with the momentum, rolling on the table as rounds ripped the air above him. Moving faster than his assailant thought he could. Screams burst from the civilians.
‘STAY … DOWN,’ he panted, and then his feet were smashing against the server, and the two men crashed on a chair and fell to the floor.
Zeb on top, gripping the M16 firmly, directing it toward a rear wall. The server trying to gain control of the weapon, punching at Zeb with his free hand, bucking his hips in an attempt to dislodge him.
Zeb let go of the weapon. The server brought the barrel up and started turning it down. Zeb grabbed the fallen chair and pulled it hard. Its roller smashed into the hostile’s neck, choking him. His grip loosened.
It was the opening Zeb needed. He slammed an elbow into the man’s shoulder, grabbed the M16 from a weakened palm and flung it away. It was too cumbersome for close-quarters combat. He reached for his Glock when the server reared up and headbutted him.
The blow felt like a block of concrete. Zeb’s forehead split. Blood poured down his face. He reared back from the impact, struggling to bring up his handgun after a vice-like grip clamped around his wrist. The server, who was forcing the Glock to the American’s body, twisted his wrist painfully until it reached close to the breaking point.
Zeb gritted his teeth, panting harshly, and willed his body to counter the move. Sweat dripped down his nose, mingled with blood. The server’s eyes were dark, fathomless, his face scrunched in concentration.
Zeb weakened his grip suddenly. His gun arm swung wide under the attacker’s pressure. The weapon triggered and shot into the ceiling. He let go of the weapon, and this time, it was his turn to headbutt.
Except that the server wasn’t there. He had kicked away, catching the American on the chest, and now sprang to his feet.
He ripped away his mask. His hand flashed to his thigh and came up with a knife.
‘Eliel, why are you doing this?’ Zeb asked hoarsely. He grabbed the edge of the table and got to his feet unsteadily.
The kidon attacked in reply.
Zeb saw the knife coming, weaving and dancing in the air, heading toward his chest. He swayed inside the arc of the slice and put out his left hand to guide the blade away.
It was misdirection.
The operative’s left fist slammed into his side like a shovel. He thought he felt a rib crack. Fire lanced through him. He took a step back to make space and felt wetness down his left side.
He looked down in surprise and saw a thin, reddening slash in his clothing.
Eliel had cut him on the upstroke, even as he had punched him in the side.
‘I should have killed you the moment I knew who you were.’ The kidon’s lips parted in a feral grin.
Zeb shook his head to clear his mind.
Eliel was possibly the best operative Mossad had. He would need his wits about him.
‘I did think about killing your friends. I would have enjoyed cutting their pale skin.’
That was a mistake.
A red mist descended on Zeb. It surged through him, woke the beast in him, gave him power and speed.
He roared inarticulately. Grabbed the nearest furniture, a chair. Swung it around one-handedly and let fly at Eliel, who was charging again, saw the incoming missile and ducked. But another chair flew straight at him and crashed into his chest, and he staggered back and fell.
Eliel reacted almost instantly. He looked at Zeb. Then at the M16, which lay close by. He threw his body at it, got hold of it, and started triggering as he brought the barrel down.
Zeb moved faster than he ever had.
He left the ground, aiming for the Glock that was underneath an upturned chair. Its leg slammed into his side. A groan burst out of him, but his hand kept scrabbling desperately until it touched the weapon.
He grabbed it. Its butt fit comfortably in his palm like it was home. He turned around awkwardly, the furniture digging into his back.
The M16 had stitched a straight-line pattern on the roof, rounds coming down the wall toward him, Eliel working the weapon with lethal efficiency, his eyes hot as if they could burn Zeb with their gaze.
Concrete chips smacked Zeb’s face. He heard shouting as if from a distance. Screaming. He thought he heard Meghan’s voice. Beth’s as well.
He would take his time, even if Eliel shot him. He gripped the Glock, straightened his arm. Something singed his cheek and then Eliel filled his sight and his finger moved automatically and the gun bucked in his hand.
The kidon’s body jerked. The M16 fell away from his hands, one last round burying itself in the wall.
Bodies moved.
Zeb looked up, tiredly.
Beth and Meghan. Behind them Carmel. Dalia. All the remaining kidon. Levin, near the door.
Voices started speaking at once. Maybe they already had been, but the sounds registered on him only then.
Beth helped him up and held a hand around his shoulder as he swayed.
‘Is anyone—’
‘Not a single one. But for you.’
Levin came across to them, his face like thunder. He looked down at Eliel with distaste. ‘I—’
Someone yelled incoherently at the door.
Navon stood there, alive somehow, his body shredded, his face torn away, just one eye blinking at them.
He brought his M16 up slowly.
Zeb shoved Beth out of the way. He drew his Glock up but he knew he was slow.
A sharp report sounded and the kidon collapsed.
He looked around dumbly. Avichai Levin was holstering his weapon calmly.
He caught Zeb’s eye.
‘I am Mossad’s ramsad. I haven’t forgotten how to shoot.’