Pharaoh (48 page)

The assault team captain approached General Hooker. ‘The bomb has been disabled, sir, and so have the other two. The operation is concluded.’

‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Hooker. ‘Thank you for a job well done.’ He crossed the lot on foot to where Blake was still kneeling. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘It’s over, son. Come on, let’s take you to a hospital. Someone has to take care of those arms of yours or you’ll lose them.’

Blake got into Hooker’s car and said, ‘Take me to Sarah, please.’

He found her sleeping, sedated and receiving a blood transfusion. He asked if he could sit in the waiting room until she woke up and the doctor on duty agreed to let him do so.

The room was empty. There were sofas along the wall and a TV, turned off, in a corner. On one side, near the window, were a table and lamp.

He sat down, opened his briefcase and began reading. The first human being to read the Breasted papyrus in three thousand and two hundred years.

A nurse came up to him in the middle of the night and said, ‘Mr Blake, she’s awake now. You can talk to her, but you will have to be very brief, as she’s still in a critical condition.’

Blake closed the briefcase and followed her.

Sarah’s left shoulder was bandaged and she had a drip in her right arm.

‘Hello, darling,’ he said. ‘We did it. You were incredible.’

‘I can’t see myself said Sarah, ‘but I’ll bet you look worse than I do.’

Yeah, well, it was a long day. I’m lucky to look like anything.’

Sarah fell silent for a moment, turning her face towards the pillow and then back towards him. She looked straight into his eyes. ‘We’re the only ones left who know the secret of Ras Udash,’ she said. ‘Maybe it would have been better if I had been blown up with everyone else.’

Blake caressed her forehead. ‘Don’t say that, darling,’ he said. You’re wrong.’

G
AD
A
VNER
put on his old combat uniform, buckling up the belt, slipped his Remington calibre thirty-eight into the holster and took the elevator down to the basement, where about a dozen men from the special forces were waiting in a couple of Jeeps. Armed to the hilt, they were dressed in black and their faces were covered by ski masks.

Their commander introduced himself. ‘Lieutenant Nahal, at your command, sir.’

They got into Jeeps with special darkened windows and drove down the deserted streets of the city until they had reached the Antonian Fortress archway.

Ygael Allon was waiting at the entrance to the tunnel and did not seem terribly surprised to see the civil engineer in combat fatigues. He guided the men through the passage to the start of the second section. At the point where the stairs leading under the base of the Temple began, the wall appeared completely solid.

‘The men who did the work were brought here blindfolded after long walks through the city to disorient them,’ said Lieutenant Nahal into Avner’s ear. ‘Once the job was completed, they were brought back to their quarters using the same procedure. As you can see, there’s not the slightest trace on the wall. Besides us, only the Prime Minister himself knows about this passage.’

‘Good work,’ said Avner, ‘and now let’s get on with it. We don’t want to be late for our appointment.’

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the end of the tunnel, where the ramp had been completely cleared.

‘In ancient times, the tunnel led out into the open countryside at this point, behind the siege lines,’ said Allon. ‘Nebuchadnezzar’s camp couldn’t have been far from here, in that direction. Good luck, Mr Cohen.’ And he turned back alone.

The men ascended the ramp until they reached a kind of trapdoor. They opened it and found themselves inside a house already guarded by their fellow soldiers.

Avner, accompanied by a couple of his men, went upstairs, where his technicians had set up a listening post.

‘Their Silkworms are scheduled to be launched in the direction of Beersheba at ten tonight. They’re using mobile launching ramps, sir, and the report of a ramp aimed at Jerusalem has been confirmed. Probably gas. The countdown begins in half an hour,’ said Nahal.

Avner looked at the stopwatch on his wrist. ‘Get the helicopters out and occupy points four, six and eight of the operation plan. We’ll move in exactly seven minutes’ time.’

The men grouped around the exits and Nahal drew closer to Avner. ‘Please allow me to insist, sir. There’s no reason for you to take part in combat. We can handle it. If Abu Ahmid is hiding out in that house, we’ll bring him back here, tied hand and foot.’

‘No,’ said Avner. ‘It’s an old story that has to be settled between the two of us. He was the one who led the ambush in which my son was killed in Lebanon. I want to do this personally, if I may.’

‘But sir, there’s no saying that Abu Ahmid is down there. You could be risking your life in vain at this critical moment.’

‘I’m sure he’s there. The bastard wants to be the first to enter the city deserted by her inhabitants, just like Nebuchadnezzar. He’s there, I can smell him. And you leave him to me, Nahal. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The officer looked at his watch, then raised and lowered his arm. His men sprang silently out of all the exits, sliding along the walls towards their objective.

On the other side of the city, about half a mile from where they were, the sound of helicopters and machine guns could be heard. Their diversionary manoeuvre had commenced with perfect timing.

Nahal’s commando unit was just a few metres from its objective now, a little whitewashed building surrounded on every side by taller buildings which hid it from sight. On the rooftop a powerful radio antenna was being raised as they watched, masked by laundry and rugs hung out all around.

‘Just like you predicted, sir,’ said Nahal. ‘We’re ready for the assault.’

‘Proceed,’ ordered Avner.

Nahal signalled to his men. Four of them slipped up on the guards posted at the front and rear entrances of the house, taking them out with daggers, swiftly and silently.

Avner advanced with Lieutenant Nahal to the windows. Nahal nodded and his men threw a cluster of flash grenades and rushed in, shooting everything in sight with deadly precision.

Nahal moved into the next room and took out a man sitting in front of a radar screen. He saw the mobile ramp reference signals, which were beginning to become stronger.

‘Here they are,’ he shouted. ‘They’re coming out into the open!’ He called headquarters. ‘This is Barak calling Melech Israel. Ramps identified. Launch the fighters. Grid 264 788. I say again, grid 264 788, over.’

‘We read you, Barak. Is the Fox with you?’

Nahal wheeled around and just caught sight of Avner as he disappeared down a hallway. He came to a stop and fired three or four times in quick succession. Nahal shouted to his men, ‘Cover him!’ Into the microphone he reported, ‘The Fox is hunting his prey.’ With that, he took off after his men.

Avner was heading down a second hallway, with a trapdoor at its end. He lunged forward, opened the hatch and descended the small staircase on the other side.

‘No!’ shouted Nahal. ‘Wait!’

But Avner had already disappeared underground. Nahal followed with his men.

Avner stopped for a moment, heard the footsteps of a man escaping and shot in that direction. He ran forward and found himself in an underground chamber, its ceiling supported by a dozen brick columns. There were cases and cases of weapons and ammunition everywhere. At the centre of the room was the base of the large retractable radio antenna.

‘Secure the entire area!’ he ordered and, as the men were combing the room, he ran towards a staircase that led up to the surface. He lifted another trapdoor and found himself outside. Helicopters were hovering low, tasked to eliminate any snipers in the area.

Avner saw a figure running along the wall and he shouted, ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’

The man turned, a fraction of a second, and Avner recognized his flashing eyes under the keffiyeh. He took the shot, but the man had already vanished around the corner.

Nahal and his men pulled up short, stopped by a group of women and children, who were milling about in the road.

‘He’s in there someplace, damn it! Surround the block and search the houses one by one!’

The men obeyed but there was no trace of Abu Ahmid.

Lieutenant Nahal turned back to Avner, who was leaning against the corner of the house where – for a single moment – he had seen his enemy face to face.

‘I’m sorry, sir, we haven’t found him anywhere. Are you sure you got a good look? Sure it was him?’

‘Sure as sin. And I wounded him,’ he added, pointing to a spray of blood on the edge of the wall. ‘He’s got my bullet in him. Just a little advance payment, but I’ll settle the account before these things kill me off,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘Have this shack razed to the ground and let’s go home.’

As they gathered at the helicopter pick-up point, Nahal got a call from headquarters. ‘This is Melech Israel here,’ said the easily recognizable voice of General Yehudai. ‘Are you reading me, Barak?’

‘Operation concluded, Melech Israel. Objective destroyed.’

‘Ditto here,’ said the General. ‘The ramps were blown up three minutes ago. Pass me your boss.’

Lieutenant Nahal handed the earphones to Avner. ‘It’s for you, sir.’

‘Avner.’

‘Yehudai here. It’s all over, Avner. The “Gabriel” launch procedure has been suspended. The Americans have defused the bombs. Reinforcement fighters are taking off from five aircraft carriers in the Mediterranean.’

‘Five, you said? Which are they?’

‘Two are American: the
Nimitz
and the
Enterprise
. Three of them are European: the
Aragòn
,
Clemenceau
and
Garibaldi
.’

‘The
Garibaldi
too? Won’t Ferrario be pleased. Over and out, Melech Israel. I hope you’ll buy me a beer before we call it a night.’

They boarded the helicopter, which rose up over the city. In the west, a hollow roar soon turned into a thunderous explosion and a thousand ribbons of fire streaked across the sky.

Avner turned to Lieutenant Nahal, who was just taking off his ski mask. ‘Any news of Lieutenant Ferrario?’

Nahal hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Lieutenant Ferrario has been reported missing in action, sir.’

‘He’ll make it through,’ replied Avner. ‘He’s too quick for them,’ he added, his gaze wandering off towards the Judaean desert and the barren Moab hills.

G
AD
A
VNER
finished his beer at the bar of the King David Hotel, but when he pulled out his wallet, a voice behind him said, ‘Let me get it, sir, if I may.’

Avner turned around and found himself facing Fabrizio Ferrario. He was wearing a finely tailored light blue linen suit and had a beautiful tan.

‘I’m glad you made it through, Ferrario. Leaving for somewhere?’

‘Yes, sir, and I wanted to say goodbye before I left.’

‘Did you remember to bring home those things I told you about?’

Ferrario glanced down at the crotch of his trousers. ‘They were there last time I looked, sir.’

‘Magnificent. Well, then, have a good trip.’

‘Will you come and visit me in Venice?’

‘I’d like that. Who knows. Maybe, one day, once I’ve retired from this damn job.’

‘Otherwise here, in Jerusalem, whenever you need me.
Shalom,
Mr Avner.’

‘Shalom,
my boy. Say hello to your lovely city for me.’

Avner watched him walk off. He thought of all those beautiful girls who were surely waiting for him in Italy and sighed.

He threw his overcoat round his shoulders and left the bar, walking through the streets of the old city until he found himself in front of his house. He went in and took the stairs all the way up, slowly, as he did whenever he’d managed not to overdo the cigarettes. When he got to his landing and paused to catch his breath, a voice he had not heard for some time sounded from a dark corner.

‘Good evening, sir.’

Avner was slightly startled but did not turn. He said, as he was turning the key in the lock, ‘Hello, night porter. Frankly, I never thought we’d meet again.’

‘I believe you. It wasn’t easy to outlive all those cut-throats you sent out after me. From land and sky.’

Avner opened the door and gestured for his unexpected guest to enter. ‘Come in, Professor Blake. I imagine you have something to say to me.’

Blake walked in. Avner switched on a light and indicated a chair, then sat down himself. He brought his hands to his face. ‘You have a gun in that briefcase, don’t you? You’ve come to kill me,’ he said. ‘Go ahead, if you want. For me there’s no difference between living and dying.’

‘We had a pact,’ said Blake.

‘That’s true. I had you released from fifteen years of prison in Egypt. You, in return, were to continue researching the Breasted papyrus, for us this time, providing us with any useful information you found in the course of your research.’