CHAPTER TWELVE

‘We’re too late,’ Bex said grimly. ‘They’re carrying him on to the aircraft. We’ll never get there in time to save him – even if we could somehow crash through the security fence, drive across the tarmac and ram the aircraft to stop them taking off. And there are laws against that.’

Sam’s face was white with worry. ‘What can we do? I mean – it’s Kieron!’

‘I know. I know.’ She shut her eyes tight and clenched her fists, thinking hard. ‘Right, if we can’t save him now, we’ll have to follow him until we can find a way. Grab whatever you need – we’re heading for the airport!’

In moments they were outside the motel getting into the car. Bex pulled the ARCC glasses from her jacket pocket and threw them to Sam. ‘Check flights. How quickly can we get to Tel Aviv?’

She started the car and reversed rapidly out of the parking space, scattering small stones and sand everywhere and causing a passing car to suddenly swerve out of the way. Meanwhile Sam slipped the glasses on and started interrogating the virtual screen that only he could see. ‘Working on it.’ His voice sounded tense. Tense and scared.

Bex shook her head as she slewed the car round and slammed it into drive. Her heart seemed to have coagulated into a cold black lump in her chest. If anything happened to Kieron, she didn’t know what she’d do.

They were five minutes down the main north–south road through Albuquerque when Sam swore under his breath.

‘What’s the problem?’ Bex asked, but she thought she knew.

‘There’s no direct flights. Best I’ve found is an El Al one, but it takes over twenty-four hours, with a twelve-hour stopover in New York. There isn’t a flight that’ll get us there in less than that, unless we’re prepared to wait around for a day, and even that only cuts the flight down to seventeen hours. A lot of routes are even longer and have two stopovers.’ Despair had crept into his voice. ‘We just can’t do it! If Kieron’s on a private jet it’ll get there direct, in –’ his hands moved in the air – ‘ten hours! We’ll be days late!’

Bex nodded. Part of her brain was concentrating on weaving from lane to lane, taking advantage of momentary fluctuations in traffic speed, while another part tried to work out their options.

She reached into her jacket and pulled her mobile out. ‘Call Bradley. His number is saved as “Friend 1”, just in case anyone steals the phone. Put him on speaker.’

A massive truck zoomed past on her right. She glanced in her side mirror. Another truck was coming up behind it, but for a second there was a gap right beside their car. She swerved suddenly sideways and accelerated to match speed, her front bumper inches from the truck in front and her rear bumper only just ahead of the one behind. A horn blared like an angry dinosaur. All she could see ahead of her was a set of red doors with a sign saying: ‘How’s My Driving? Call 1-800-Kiss-My-Ass!’ Funny, she thought darkly. Her rear-view mirror showed nothing but a massive radiator grille.

Sam had her mobile in one hand and was fiddling with the car stereo with the other.

‘This is no time to look for emo rock stations,’ she snapped.

‘I’m Bluetoothing the phone to the car speakers,’ he said, sounding offended. ‘There’s a microphone in the mirror. It’s easier than using speakerphone.’

Looking right again, she saw that the next lane across was empty. She swerved again, sliding out from between the trucks and accelerating even more. As she drew alongside the cab of the front truck she deliberately didn’t look at the driver.

Sam, however, did. ‘He’s not happy,’ he said. ‘It’s a good thing I can’t-lip read.’ He paused, then added, ‘No, it’s OK, he’s using sign language now, and they’re not nice signs.’

‘We’re in a hurry,’ Bex pointed out. ‘I don’t care about his hurt feelings.’

Bradley’s voice suddenly filled the car, blaring out of the car stereo. ‘Yes?’ Calm, not giving away his name or his number. Good training.

‘It’s me,’ she said, not giving her name either, just in case anyone happened to be listening in. Bradley would recognise the voice. That, and the fact that she was the only person who had the number of the burner phone he was using.

‘How’s things?’

‘Bad. We need help.’

‘Tell me.’ Those two words were a cue to her that she could talk freely.

She thought for a second. How to phrase this without giving too much information to anybody who might be listening in? ‘One greeb’s been taken and is heading for Tel Aviv in a private jet. We need to follow, but the passenger jets are far too slow.’

‘OK.’ He paused. ‘I can see where this is going, and I don’t like it.’

‘I need you to hire a private jet to take us from Albuquerque to Tel Aviv.’

She heard Bradley sigh. ‘Do you actually know how much that will cost?’

She slid back into the left-hand lane, ahead of the massive radiator grille of the truck that had been in front of her moments earlier. It seemed to lurch forward towards them, as if the driver wanted to slam into them, but she floored the accelerator and zoomed ahead. For a moment, she thought she saw a waving fist and a furious expression in the truck’s cab, but she looked away, concentrating on the road in front and to either side.

‘Not precisely, no,’ she said. ‘But I’m guessing it’s a lot.’

A sign for the airport passed by to their right. Next off-ramp.

‘It’s a huge amount. I mean, seriously vast.’

She drifted right, preparing to exit the interstate and head for the airport. Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard the wail of a police siren. She checked her speed. The last thing they needed now was to get pulled over.

‘Yes, but can we afford it?’

A pause. Bradley was either checking their business account balance or sitting with his head in his hands, hyperventilating. ‘We can,’ he said eventually, ‘but it means we’re wiped out. We won’t be able to afford anything else. Certainly not the rent for this fabulous apartment I’m sitting in. Probably not food either.’

‘They’ve got “K”,’ she said simply. She didn’t want to name Kieron, but Bradley would know who she meant. ‘We have to get him back.’

Another sigh. ‘You’re right. I’ll eat at Courtney’s place from now on.’

‘You will not,’ Sam muttered.

‘Drop the hire car off and head into the airport,’ Bradley continued in a businesslike manner. ‘I’ll text you the details of where to go.’

‘Thanks,’ Bex said awkwardly. Bradley signed off just as the sign for the hire-car drop-off area came into sight.

Sam opened the door even before Bex had bought the car to a halt. ‘Come on – we need to move!’

‘If we just abandon a hire car here without completing the paperwork,’ she pointed out, ‘then someone will call us back. And it’s not like there’s a plane waiting for us – Bradley’s still got to do his stuff.’

Sam growled under his breath, but he pulled the door closed again.

A few minutes later they were walking briskly towards the single terminal building.

As the glass doors slid shut behind them, encapsulating them in chilly air conditioning, a man with a short beard, wearing dark trousers, white shirt and a cap, moved towards them. Bex tensed, ready to punch him and run, but then noticed the epaulettes on his shirt. A pilot? Bradley must have acted quickly.

‘Chloe Gibbons?’ he asked. Her fake identity.

‘Yes. You are?’

‘I’m Dan. I work for a small local jet company: FalconAir. About thirty seconds ago we received a booking for an urgent flight to Tel Aviv. That’s you, right? I was told to look out for a woman and a boy looking stressed.’

She tried to dredge up a smile. ‘That’s us. How quickly can we take off?’

‘Payment’s already cleared, and we’ve filed an urgent flight plan. Should be able to get you into the air within twenty minutes.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I have to admit, this is an unusual flight for us. We usually get hired to take business executives to New York or defence contractors to Washington, D.C., when they’ve missed their scheduled flight. What kind of business are you in, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Bex’s mind went blank. Her thoughts actually seemed to freeze. So much had happened so quickly, and she was feeling so stressed, that she literally had no idea what to say.

Sam came to her rescue. ‘My dad’s in the movie business,’ he said casually. ‘He’s directing a movie in Israel – wants us to come out and see him.’

Dan nodded. ‘That explains it. OK, I guess you have your passports? Good – we’ll take you through the VIP security channel and get you onto the aircraft as quickly as we can.’

As Dan led them past queues of travellers who gazed at them with expressions ranging from blankness to jealousy, Bex murmured, ‘Quick thinking.’

‘I just wish it was true,’ Sam replied. ‘Actually my dad’s a lifelong drifter who can’t hold down a job for more than a week.’ He glanced up at Bex. ‘If there’s a bar on this aircraft,’ he whispered, ‘can I have a drink? I mean, a proper, adult drink.’

‘No,’ Bex said firmly. ‘A milkshake if you’re lucky, then you need to sleep. We both do. We have to get as much rest as we can before we get to Israel.’

‘What about food?’

She nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. Keep our strength up.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about my strength,’ he muttered; ‘I was thinking I’m hungry.’

Out on the tarmac stood a beautiful sleek white aircraft with a company logo stencilled on the side. Dan gestured to the steps leading up to the hatch. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable. Kristi will greet you and get you anything you need. Buckle yourselves in and we’ll get in the air as quickly as we can.’

Everything after that was a strange mixture of urgency and tedium: steaks and fries, ice cream, blankets and sleep, all while the aircraft was heading across America towards the Atlantic Ocean, towards Europe, towards the Middle East. In those interstitial moments when Bex found herself awake, not knowing what time it was, she tortured herself with attempts to divide the time it would take to get from Albuquerque to Tel Aviv by the number of pounds it had cost to book the aircraft, so she knew exactly how much of her and Bradley’s business bank account was draining away every second.

She flashed back to a couple of weeks ago in Mumbai; getting an assassin to give her information by having Kieron take chunks of money from the woman’s account. The assassin seeing her ill-gotten savings get smaller and smaller had worked better than torture; now Bex was going through the same experience.

Kristi, their young, blonde and bubbly stewardess, woke them gently after what seemed like an age of sleep. ‘We’re half an hour out,’ she said. ‘Can I get you some breakfast: juice and croissants?’

‘Sausage, eggs and bacon?’ Sam asked sleepily.

Security at Ben Gurion Airport was much tighter than in Albuquerque, and the armed soldiers walking around the terminal seemed much more tense. Many of the men wore skullcaps, while many of the women had headscarves. She also saw several Orthodox Jews in their severe black suits and wide-brimmed black hats, from which long corkscrews of curls hung down.

‘Have you been here before?’ Sam asked.

Bex shook her head. ‘Never, but I have some friends out here. I did some work with Shin Bet.’ At his blank look she added: ‘They’re the Israeli internal security organisation, like MI5 in the UK and the FBI in America.’

Sam frowned. ‘I thought that was Mossad.’

‘No,’ she explained patiently, ‘Mossad are external security. They’re the equivalent of MI6 or the CIA.’

‘Right,’ he nodded, impressed, ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

‘Can you access the local airport computer network with the ARCC glasses and see if you can find out when the Goldfinch Institute jet touched down?’

Sam glanced around nervously. ‘If I start waving my hands here, someone’s going to think I’m acting suspiciously and shoot me. There are a lot of guns around.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Although there’s a lot of gorgeous women in uniform carrying those guns, which is kind of attractive.’

‘Easy, tiger,’ Bex said. ‘Let’s go across to the window. If anyone looks, they’ll think you’re describing the scene outside to me.’

Moments later, Bex was gazing out across the harsh Israeli landscape while Sam used the ARCC glasses. His lips moved, giving a running commentary of what he was doing. ‘Right, I’m in. Very good security, but your kit has some seriously good hacking tools. Looking for recent arrivals. No, no, no … yes! Got them. The Goldfinch Institute jet landed about twenty minutes ago.’

‘We have to find them now,’ muttered Bex.

‘I’ve got an address for their facility. It’s out in the desert. Probably about a half-hour drive.’

‘Then we need to get a fast hire car and follow them.’

‘When you say “fast”,’ Sam asked carefully, ‘do you mean, like, a sports car? Because that would be cool.’

‘If we can afford one. Given how much it cost to get us here, we might be limited to mopeds.’

In fact, Bex managed to negotiate a good rate for a BMW Z3 from a specialist car-hire booth that didn’t seem to be doing much business and was glad to see a customer.

As they walked out of the main terminal building of Ben Gurion Airport and headed towards the multi-storey car park where the hire cars were located, she said to Sam, ‘I need you to check the route that will take us to the Goldfinch Institute premises. We have to assume that’s where they’re taking Kieron. If it’s not then we’ve wasted a phenomenal amount of money – not that I care, as long as we get him back.’

The BMW was small, but streamlined: bright red and open-top. Judging by his expression, Sam fell in love with it the minute he saw it.

‘When all this is over,’ he begged, ‘and we’ve got Kieron back, can we find a stretch of deserted road and let me drive it? Please?’

‘No.’

‘Can I at least sit behind the wheel?’

‘Yes – when we get Kieron back.’

A noise behind them sent a shiver of tension up her spine. It sounded like someone’s shoe scraping against the ground. She turned quickly, stepping to one side to avoid any attack that might be coming.

An Israeli woman stood just a few metres away. She didn’t have a headscarf, like many of the other women Bex had seen in and around the airport, but her hair was so full and glossy it was pretty obviously a wig. Married women who followed the Jewish faith strictly were required to cover their hair in public, she’d heard. She carried a small hard-shell suitcase in her hand.

‘Wombat,’ the woman said.

Bex relaxed slightly. She and Bradley had established a series of coded exchanges when they’d first started working together, so that if they had to pass messages through other people they would know that those messages were genuine. They’d chosen to use pairs of animals. It had seemed funny at the time. This woman knew the system, which meant she’d been sent by Bradley. He’d arranged something while Bex and Sam were in the air. Good thinking. The woman probably didn’t even know what she was carrying; she was just following instructions.

‘Anteater,’ Bex said. It was the response to ‘Wombat’ that she and Bradley had agreed, all that time ago.

The woman nodded. She put the small suitcase on the floor, then turned and left.

‘Pick that up,’ Bex said to Sam, ‘and get in the car.’

‘Wombat? Anteater?’

‘It’s code. Bradley’s sent us some stuff. Probably fresh clothes. Maybe some kit we can use. Anyway, get in the car and work out our route.’

While she familiarised herself with the controls and gingerly drove the car out of the car park and onto the road, Sam checked the ARCC glasses. He had the suitcase perched uncomfortably on his lap.

‘Take a left at the next junction, then drive straight for five miles.’

The BMW leaped ahead as Bex pushed the accelerator down as far as it would go. The road was clear, and she couldn’t see any sign of speed cameras. Time to push the car to its limits.

She kept an eye out for anything that looked like a limousine. Tara Gallagher had carried Kieron out of a limousine back in Albuquerque, and Bex suspected that was how Todd Zanderbergen preferred to travel. She saw nothing. Either the car taking Kieron was further ahead of them or it was on a different route entirely and they were screwed.

‘I’m going to see what’s in the suitcase,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe Bradley’s sent us some snacks. A few cans of drink, maybe.’

Bex sped up, enjoying at least for the moment the way the morning air seemed to blow the cobwebs from her brain.

Sam flipped the latches and pulled up the hard top. ‘Oh my God!’

‘What?’

‘It’s guns! He’s sent us guns!’

Bex smiled. ‘That’s very thoughtful. What kind of guns?’

‘A couple of automatic handguns and what looks like a disassembled sniper rifle!’ He glanced at her, wide-eyed. ‘Can I –’

‘No. Close the case.’

He sighed. ‘You never let me have any fun.’ He paused for a moment, distracted. ‘Take a right at the junction in one mile. Then it’s straight for twenty miles until we turn off on a side road. Looks like the same kind of set-up they had in Albuquerque.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘Were we really in Albuquerque? It all feels like a dream.’

‘I wish it was,’ Bex muttered, slowing for the turn.

She floored the accelerator again, guiltily enjoying the sheer power of the car, but no matter how fast they went they didn’t catch up with anything that looked remotely like a limousine. Once or twice they zoomed past another car, but they were small enough and dusty enough that she ignored them.

‘Side road coming up,’ Sam pointed out.

Bex slowed, but the turn was so sharp that she skidded the car sideways for a hundred yards or so, swan-necking and having to accelerate back along the side of the road in reverse before she could get on to it.

‘That was impressive,’ Sam said, brushing dust from his eyes.

She took the access road more slowly. It was rutted and untended, looking like it headed to a farm rather than a research institute. It was all in keeping with the way Zanderbergen had disguised his place in the USA. He was apparently a man of habit.

Something came into view over the horizon: a forest of antennas, followed by the top of a cluster of buildings clad in red glass.

When the bottom of the buildings came into sight, along with a familiar-looking double fence and security cabin, she pulled over and stopped the car.

She concentrated on what was happening down at the security gate. A black limousine had just passed through the gap, and the metal plates were sliding back up to block the way.

‘We’re too late,’ she said dejectedly. ‘They’ve gone inside.’ Although what she had planned to do if they had caught up with the limousine, she realised she hadn’t exactly thought through.

‘Then we go inside,’ Sam said firmly. ‘If that’s what we have to do to get him back, that’s what we do.’

‘Hang on a second.’ Bex watched as a driverless golf cart made its way from the nearest red glass building down towards where the limousine had parked. The driver of the limousine got out and opened the doors, one after the other. Todd Zanderbergen stepped out of one side and Tara Gallagher from the other. Moments later, Kieron joined them.

He was alive! She felt her heart leap.

Kieron reached into his jacket pocket and pulled his ARCC glasses out. Casually he slipped them on and looked around. Bex grinned. That kid reacted instinctively in a way that some agents took years to learn. He must be scared, probably terrified, but he was still thinking about the mission, and keeping his head.

‘Check the link to Kieron’s glasses,’ Bex murmured to Sam. ‘He’s just put them on.’

As Sam made gestures in the air, Bex watched as Kieron said something to Tara. Todd said something to her as well, and she walked over to the security cabin. Moments later she came back holding something in her hand. She waved it at Kieron, then said something to Todd. He answered, and Tara appeared to be typing something into the device she held.

‘That’s strange,’ Sam muttered.

‘What’s strange?’

‘The glasses – for a few seconds there I could see what Kieron was seeing, but all I’m getting now is static.’

‘Static?’

‘It’s like they’re being jammed.’

Bex sighed. ‘Tara’s holding some kind of electronic gadget. It must have detected the signal and countered it. We’re back to square one.’ She sank down to the ground, the adrenalin and anxiety of the past hours catching up with her.

Then a sudden thought occurred to her, a shaft of light in the darkness that was threatening to engulf her. ‘Sam – slide that suitcase over.’

‘We’re going in armed?’ Sam sounded simultaneously scared and enthralled.

‘No.’ She opened the case. Ignoring the two Glock handguns, she focused on what she recognised immediately as a disassembled M24 sniper rifle. The various parts – bolt, assembly rod, operating rod, trigger block and firing assembly, stock and barrel nestled in foam rubber, along with a Leupold Ultra M3A 10×40mm fixed-power scope.

It took her fifty-five seconds to assemble the whole thing.

‘What are you going to do with that?’ Sam asked nervously. ‘Kill someone?’

Bex aimed the gun at the three people inside the wire fences.