Dark Waters (22 page)

G
idon Lotner arrived in twenty minutes, his sour expression saying it all. Dispensing with any formalities, he cut straight to the chase.

“You’re asking me to babysit Lucy? The answer is no. Now tell me what you’ve done with my prisoner.”

“He’s in the hands of Shin Bet.” It wasn’t a lie, but Jordan didn’t think he’d approve of their plan any more than Weizman would have. They would be ordered to come in, and there was too much at stake.

“We need you to stand guard,” Jordan said in English for the benefit of Taylor and Walker. She hoped Lotner would find the “guard” terminology more palatable. “Walker and I need to escort the judge to the U.S. embassy.”

“Why me? Why can’t you take the girl with you?” Lotner asked.

“Because she’s sick and sound asleep in her bed,” Jordan answered. “Because she likes you, and you like her. You taught her to play chess.”

“She’s no longer in danger.”

Those were close to Daugherty’s words.

“We don’t know what Zuabi’s men will do in retaliation for what happened yesterday. We cannot just hire a babysitter and put
someone else in danger.” Jordan could tell he was waffling. “We need your help, Detective. You’re the only one we can trust.”

“Is she feeling better?” Lotner asked, a sign he’d surrendered.

“A little,” Taylor said. “She’ll feel much better when she sees you’re here. Someone she can play chess with.”

They left ten minutes later, promising to be back in under an hour. Walker drove, Taylor rode shotgun, and Jordan sat in the backseat. From Dizengoff Square, the grounds were just over one kilometer away: walkable if you didn’t need a getaway car. Jordan kept a vigil. She had no way of knowing whether Brodsky or Zuabi had eyes on them.

“Do you think this will work?” Walker asked, driving along Pinsker, through a neighborhood that had seen better times. The question seemed posed to either of them. Taylor took the bait.

“Damn sure. The ambassador’s wife was a bridesmaid at my wedding. She begged Sarah not to marry me. She’d do anything to help my ex get Lucy back to the States.”

Jordan listened, peering out the windows and studying the faces of the people in the cars around them. The streets were clogged with morning traffic. Like rush hour in the States, most of the drivers were talking on cell phones, some singing along with their radios, others shushing children in the backseat. People blanketed the sidewalks, nearly half of them soldiers with guns. Funny, what had once been disconcerting now offered her a measure of reassurance.

Walker slowed at the turn onto Trumpeldor Street. Ankori High School sat on the southwest corner. Buses and cars converged to drop off young students, jamming traffic to a crawl. Except for the armed soldiers, it could have been any school in the United States. Teens behind the wheel honked. Teens on the sidewalks grouped into cliques. Parents waved and drove off. Jordan wondered how many of them knew about the secretary of state’s arrival and how many were just citizens going about their day.

Clear of the high school, traffic thinned and ran free to HaYarkon Street. Nearing the embassy gate, Jordan glanced up at the two large buildings next to the Isrotel Tower, where Ganani and Haddid were waiting, focused on the gate. As predicted, the embassy had doubled the guard. The parking lot looked full.

“State your business.” A tall Marine stuck out his hand for their credentials.

“We’re headed into the office,” Walker said.

The guard looked in the car, took a moment longer than normal to study the documents in his hand, and then handed back their papers and waved them through. The first hurdle cleared, Jordan allowed herself another glance at the building across the street. She caught a flash of light in an upstairs window, carelessness on the part of the Shin Bet agent. Jordan pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial for Ganani. The phone rang and rang.

“Did either of you see that?” Jordan asked, looking to see if any of the guards had noticed.

The only Marines in sight were busy searching the next car in line. The driver stood to the side, his attention fixated on the activity surrounding his vehicle. Finally, the guards waved him back to his car. When he reached the door, he turned.

A jolt of adrenalin pulled Jordan up in her seat. She recognized the man. She had seen him before in Sheikh Sa’ad. Short, with a wide face, he had been walking to the mosque with his family. He was the father of the boy who had been playing with the stick.

*

Ganani checked her phone when it vibrated a second time. The colonel. She had already disregarded three calls from him, but she couldn’t ignore him much longer or he might start to suspect that she was up to something.

“I have to take this,” she said, lowering the butt of her rifle to the table.

Haddid turned toward her, pulling the binoculars away from his face. Sun caused the lenses to mirror.

“Idiot,” she said, snatching the glasses from his hand. “Who are you signaling?”

Haddid frowned. “No one.”

She stared hard at the Palestinian. He sat with his hands on his knees, his back straight. Not defiant, but not afraid. She shoved him aside and moved to the window.

“That’s Jordan and the judge who just passed the guardhouse.”

Haddid pressed toward the glass. Jordan’s sedan pulled forward. The duty soldiers turned their attention to the next in line. There appeared to be no problems, no unusual movement on the grounds. After a moment, the guards waved the next car through. No one paid any attention to the building where the two of them hid. The Americans felt secure in their protection detail.

The phone vibrated again. Ganani handed the binoculars back to Haddid.

“I must answer this call. Understand something: any sound puts us in danger.”

With barely a nod, Haddid resumed his vigil.

Ganani punched the connect button. “Yes?”

“Where have you been,
krolik
?” Brodsky demanded. “How many times have I called?”

Ganani registered the anger in his voice and the use of the nickname.

“The prisoner escaped,” she said. “The police and I have been tracking him down.”

“He escaped?” Brodsky’s bellow forced Ganani to pull the phone away from her ear.

“How did this happen?” he asked. “There were agents en route.”

“They did not arrive in time.” A lie depended on details. Too much embellishment or not enough signaled a fib. Ganani opted for simplicity. “The Palestinian must have been helped.”

“By who?”

“The DSS agent believes there is a mole.”

The colonel’s lack of response erased any doubts in her mind. He knew of the mole. For the moment, she had chosen the correct camp.

“Can she identify this person?”

“I am not certain who she thinks it is.”

“But you must have ideas,
krolik
. Don’t forget, it’s me you are talking to.”

“I have no ideas.”

The colonel’s silence stretched until Ganani felt uncomfortable. She knew better than to expose herself and waited for him to break.

“Find the terrorist,” he said. “Then kill him.”

Ganani waited in silence, sensing he wasn’t finished.

“If you wish to continue to work in the field,
krolik
, I fear you need some additional training.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.

“What type of training?” she asked.

“The kind that helps you remember to answer your phone.”

J
ordan bounced her hands off of Walker’s headrest. “In the car behind us, the white Renault. The driver is from Sheikh Sa’ad.”

Walker hit the brakes and their car lurched to a stop. Throwing it into reverse, he powered backward toward the vehicle.

The driver jumped into his car and accelerated, pulling sharply to the right.

Walker skid the car to a stop. Shifting gears, he cranked the wheel hard and hit the gas. The car surged forward before he slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a beige car that had pulled into their path. Jordan lurched forward, catching hard against the seatbelt.

Hitting the horn, Walker shifted back into reverse and spewed gravel as he snaked backward. Once he had enough clearance, he stopped and ground the transmission into first gear.

Jordan kept her eyes on the man from Sheikh Sa’ad and listened for the shot. If Haddid had identified him, Ganani would take him out.

The Renault sped through the parking lot. No shot came.

Unclipping her seatbelt, Jordan leapt from the car and started running.

“Halt!” A sharp whistle from behind stopped her cold. She turned. Two Marines who had been lounging in the shade of the guardhouse ran toward her, weapons drawn.

Jordan reached for her badge.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the lead Marine yelled.

“We have a terrorist on the grounds,” she said. “He’s getting away.”

If she moved, Jordan knew the Marine would shoot her.

“Turn around.” The Marine advanced, signaling her back toward the car. The second Marine already had Walker and Taylor spread eagle across the hood.

“I’m DSS,” Jordan said. “Check my credentials.”

“Confiscate her weapon,” the Marine ordered, snatching her badge from her outstretched hand. He studied the shield.

By now, a crowd was gathering and the Renault had disappeared. Not wanting to spark a panic, Jordan spoke, keeping her voice low. “The man who came through the gate behind us, the one in the Renault—he is a terrorist. He is headed to the secretary of state’s quarters.”

“What did she say?” asked the Marine overseeing the others.

The soldier with her credentials suddenly shouldered his weapon and snapped to attention. “Ma’am, Special Agent Jordan, ma’am.”

Jordan took back her gun and snatched her badge from his hand. “Notify Daugherty that we have a situation, and notify the secretary of state’s convoy to pull up and wait for orders.”

“It’s too late, ma’am,” said the first Marine. “She arrived early, nearly a half-hour ago.”

Walker jumped back into the car and cranked the engine. Taylor slid into the passenger seat. Jordan climbed into the back and rolled down her window. “Get a warning to Dan Posner. Tell him there’s a man on site who is gunning for him.”

Walker goosed the gas, and her words were taken by air. Speeding across the parking lot, she kept her eyes on the cars, searching for any sign. She spotted at least five similar vehicles in
the lot. Walker pulled up behind the guest residence and locked up the brakes.

“Where the fuck did he go?” Jordan yelled, out of the car before Walker had ground to a stop. Then she spotted the car ten feet away, abandoned, the driver’s side door standing open.

Jordan started forward and then stopped. “Do you think there’s a bomb?”

“Possibly,” Walker answered.

“Taylor, stay in the car.” Jordan scanned area. There was no sign of the suspect. Several Secret Service agents wearing black suits and dark shades approached, guns drawn. The Marines held their ground in front of the doors. The mood was high alert.

A female agent advanced. “This is a restricted area.”

Jordan flashed her badge. “Where did the man who was driving this car go?”

“Inside. He works in the residence.”

“Which door?” Walker asked.

“I didn’t see where he went.”

“Can you reach Dan Posner?” asked Jordan.

“He should be on com.”

“Get a message to him. Tell him someone’s gunning for him. And get someone out here to check out this car. It might be rigged.” Jordan shouted to Walker. “Head to the front and alert the security detail. Secure all the exits. I’ll take the back.” Then, heading for the side entrance, she shouted back to Taylor. “Get Daugherty on the line! Make sure he knows what’s happened and that someone warns Posner.”

Jordan broke into a jog. If she knew Posner, he’d be upstairs, in the air conditioning, as up close and personal with the secretary of state as he could get. The agent assigned to the side door nodded as Jordan flashed her credentials.

“Did a man enter here in the last few minutes?” she asked.

“More than one. They all had passes.”

“I’m looking for one in particular.” She gave the description.

“He just came through.”

Jordan drew her gun. “Call for backup.”

Counting to two, she pushed open the door. The entrance led into a stairwell, and she quickly cleared the area. Approaching the door to the main floor, she stayed clear of the window and signaled the agent behind her that she was going to open the door. He took a stance. She counted down three on her fingers.

The hallway was empty.

“Do you know where Dan Posner is stationed?” she asked.

“Upstairs, outside the secretary’s suite.”

“Can you raise him on the com?”

The DSS agent spoke into his mic, listened, and shook his head. “He’s not answering, but Daugherty did. He says to wait for backup.”

Posner would be dead if they waited. For all she knew, he was already dead. “There isn’t time. Tell Daugherty I’m going in.”

Bounding up the stairs, she fished out her badge and waved it across the fire door glass. No shots rang out, so she ventured a look through the window.

The door opened into a hallway leading to a wide landing at the top of the main stairs. Contrary to Israeli utilitarian style, this floor of the residence bore soft, beige Berber carpet and Putnam ivory-colored walls—textures and a palette more suited to American tastes.

Jordan traveled the floor layout from memory. The secretary’s suite was through an entrance to the left, off of the large foyer. Halfway down the hallway on the right were two doors: one to a maid’s closet and the other to a small office. No agents were visible.

Yanking open the fire door, she stepped into the hall. Without the filter of glass, the light in the corridor seemed sharper, edgier.
Voices traveled up from the lower floor, the insurgency not yet registered by the agents stationed out front.

Gun ready, Jordan pressed her back to the wall and moved swiftly down the hallway. The carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps, giving her the element of surprise.

Nearing the landing, she spotted Posner and the other agent posted to the upstairs foyer kneeling against the far wall. The man from Sheikh Sa’ad stood with his back to her.

From this vantage point, Jordan could see that Posner looked scared. He had his fingers laced behind his head and a “please don’t kill me” look in his eyes.

“Tell me your name, infidel.” The Arab cracked Posner’s jaw with the butt of his gun. The man had found his target and didn’t even know it.

“Who wants to know?” Posner said.

“I do.” The Arab hit him again. “It is my honor to die here today, but I want to know who I take with me.”

“Up yours.”

With the third strike, Jordan heard teeth shatter. Blood spurted from Posner’s mouth. From the stairwell came the sound of a door buckling. Agents had breached the outside side door.

Shouting ensued. Footsteps hammered up the stairs.

The terrorist’s finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. Jordan’s mind flashed to Jabel Mukaber, where she had killed the man attacking Ganani. She had the same shot here. She could kill the Palestinian, but it meant the possibility of killing Posner. Not such a tough decision this time.

Posner’s eyes widened. The terrorist moved left as Jordan squeezed off a round. The bullet hit the drywall inches above Posner’s head.

The Arab turned and fired. Jordan flattened herself to the wall.

She moved to return fire when a shot echoed in the foyer. A red spot bloomed on Posner’s shoulder. Shock marred his features.

The second agent lunged forward to tackle the Palestinian. He dodged sideways, and the agent sprawled on the floor. The Palestinian pressed his gun to the back of the agent’s head, and Jordan squeezed off another round.

The bullet winged the man from Sheikh Sa’ad. He grabbed his arm and then fired wildly in her direction. She returned fire, and he threw himself through the doorway of the secretary’s residence. Posner lunged for the man and missed, sprawling across the carpet and blocking Jordan’s path.

“Your mission is over,” Jordan shouted in Arabic.

“I may have failed Zuabi,” the man said, his voice traveling down the hallway to the secretary of state’s residence. “But with Allah’s blessing, no one can stop that which is yet to come. May the people of Israel shrivel like grapes in the sun.”

Posner hadn’t moved. Footsteps banged up the stairs, and then Daugherty was behind her, his bulky frame casting a wide shadow across the carpet. “Where is he, Jordan?”

She gestured toward the guest residence.

Together, they grabbed Posner by the feet and dragged him to the side. He was still breathing. She rolled him over. A hole in his chest bubbled with blood. Posner gasped for air. Jordan pressed her hand over the hole and tried to staunch the bleeding.

“We need a medic!” she shouted. Posner writhed in pain.

“Leave him!” Daugherty yelled.

She struggled with the choice, but it was the job. An agent put his life on the line for those he had sworn to protect. Posner knew the score.

More footsteps and suddenly Taylor appeared beside her. He was supposed to be in the car.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m helping.” He scooped his hands beneath hers, taking over with Posner. “I’ve got this.”

Jordan scrambled to her feet and took up position with Daugherty on either side of the entryway to the private residence.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Let’s go then, on the count of three.”