Thriller (22 page)

The fixtures hummed. The refectory had four long tables

arranged in rows of two. It felt cold. The fish smell of the evening

meal lingered. At the back was a counter behind which stood a

restaurant-size refrigerator and stainless-steel stove. Next to containers of knives, forks and spoons, there were cups and a half

pot of coffee on a warmer. As rain lashed at the dark windows,

Saul went over and poured two cups, adding nondairy creamer

and the sugarless sweetener Erika used.

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He sat at the table nearest her. Reluctant, she joined him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course I’m
not
all right. How can you ask that?”

“I meant, are you injured?”

“Oh.” Erika looked away. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Except that you’re not.”

She didn’t reply.

“It’s not just
your
son who’s dead.” Saul peered down at his

untasted coffee. “He was
my
son, too.”

Again, no reply.

“I hate Habib as much as you do,” Saul said. “I want to squeeze

my hands around his throat and—”

“Bullshit. Otherwise,
you’d
do what
I’m
doing.”

“We lost our boy. I’ll go crazy if I lose you, also. You know

you’re as good as dead if you kill Habib here. For breaking the

sanction, you won’t live another day.”

“If I don’t kill Habib, I don’t
want
to live another day. Is he here?”

Saul hesitated. “So I’m told.”

“Then I’ll never get a better chance.”

“We can go to neutral ground and wait for him to leave. I’ll

help you,” Saul said. “The hills around here make perfect vantage points. Will a shot from a sniper’s rifle give you the same

satisfaction as seeing Habib die face-to-face?”

“As long as he’s dead. As long as he stops insulting me by

breathing the same air
I
breathe.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Erika shook her head from side to side. “In Cairo, I nearly got

him. He has a bullet hole in his arm to remind him. For two

weeks, he ran from refuge to refuge as cleverly as he could. Then

six days ago, his tactics changed. His trail became easier to follow. I told myself that he was getting tired, that I was wearing

him down. But when he shifted through Mexico into the southwestern United States, I realized what he was doing. In the

Mideast, he could blend. In Santa Fe, for God’s sake, Mideasterners are rarely seen. Why would he leave his natural cover?

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He lured me. He
wants
me to find him here. I’m sure his men are

waiting for me outside right now, closing the trap. Habib can’t

imagine that I’d readily break the sanction, that I’d gladly be

killed just so I could take him with me. He expects me to do the

logical thing and hide among the trees outside, ready to make a

move when he leaves. If I do, his men will attack.
I’ll
be the target. Dammit, why didn’t you listen to me and stay out of this?

Now
you
can’t get out of here alive any more than
I
can.”

“I love you,” Saul said.

Erika stared down at her clenched hands. Her angry features

softened somewhat. “The only person I love more than you

is…was…our son.”

A voice said, “Both of you must leave.”

Saul and Erika turned toward the now-open doorway, where

Father Chen stood with his hands behind his robe. Saul had no

doubt that the priest concealed a weapon.

A door farther along the refectory wall opened. The asceticlooking priest from the reception counter stepped into the doorway. He, too, had his hands behind his robe.

Saul took for granted that the refectory had hidden microphones. “You heard Erika. Habib has a trap arranged out there.”

“A theory,” Father Chen replied. “Not proven. Perhaps she invented the theory to try to force me to let the two of you stay.”

“Habib’s an organizer for Hamas,” Erika said.

“Who or what he works for isn’t my concern. Everyone is guaranteed safety here.”

“The bastard’s a psychologist who recruits suicide bombers.”

Erika glared. “He runs the damn training centers. He convinces the

bombers they’ll go to paradise and fuck an endless supply of virgins if they blow themselves up along with any Jews they get near.”

“I’m aware of how suicide bombers are programmed,” Father

Chen said. “But the sanctity of this Abelard safe house is all that

matters to me.”

“Sanctity?” Saul’s voice rose. “What about the sanctity of our

home?
Four weeks ago, one of Habib’s maniacs snuck into our

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settlement and blew himself up in the market. Our home’s near

the market. Our son…” Saul couldn’t make himself continue.

“Our son,” Erika said in a fury, “was killed by a piece of shrapnel that almost cut off his head.”

“You have my sincerest and deepest sympathy,” Father Chen

said. “But I cannot allow you to violate the sanction because of

your grief. Take your anger outside.”

“I will if Habib calls off his men,” Erika said. “I don’t care what

happens to me, but I need to make sure nothing happens to Saul.”

Thunder rumbled.

“I’ll convey your request,” Father Chen said.

“No need.” The words came from a shadow in the corridor.

Saul felt his muscles tighten as a sallow face appeared behind

Father Chen. Habib was heavyset, with thick dark hair, in his

forties, with somber eyebrows and intelligent features. He wore

dark slacks and a thick sweater. His left arm was in a sling.

Keeping the priest in front of him, Habib said, “I, too, am sorry

about your son. I think of victims as statistics. Anonymous casualties. How else can war be waged? To personalize the enemy is

to invite defeat. But it always troubles me when I read about individuals, children, who die in the bombings
. They
didn’t take

away our land.
They
didn’t institute laws that treat us as inferiors.”

“Your sympathy almost sounds convincing,” Erika said.

“When I was a child, my parents lived in Jerusalem’s old city.

Israeli soldiers patrolled the top of the wall that enclosed the area.

Every day, they pissed down onto our vegetable garden. Your

politicians have continued to piss on us ever since.”

“Not me,” Erika said. “I didn’t piss on anybody.”

“Change conditions, give us back our land, and the bombing

will stop,” Habib said. “That way, the lives of other children will

be saved.”

“I don’t care about those other children.” Erika stepped toward him.

“Careful.” Father Chen stiffened, about to pull his hands from

behind his robe.

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Erika stopped. “All I care about is my son.
He
didn’t piss on

your vegetables, but you killed him anyhow. Just as surely as if

you’d set off the bomb yourself.”

Habib studied her as a psychologist might assess a disturbed

patient. “And now you’re ready to sacrifice the lives of both you

and your husband in order to get revenge?”

“No.” Erika swelled with anger. “Not Saul. He wasn’t supposed

to be part of this. Contact your men. Disarm the trap.”

“But if you leave here safely, you’ll take their place,” Habib

said. “You’ll wait for me to come outside. You’ll attack me.”

“I’ll give you the same terms my husband gave his foster father. I’ll give you a twenty-four-hour head start.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re on the losing side, but somehow you

expect me to surrender my position of strength.”

“Strength?” Erika pulled down the zipper on her rain slicker.

“How’s this for strength?”

Habib gasped. Father Chen’s eyes widened. Saul took a step

forward, getting close enough to see the sticks of dynamite

wrapped around Erika’s waist. His pulse rushed when he saw her

right thumb reach for a button attached to a detonator. She held

it down.

“If anybody shoots me, my thumb goes off the button, and all

of us go to heaven, except I don’t want any virgin women,”

Erika said.

“Your husband will die.”

“He’ll die anyhow as long as your men are outside. But this

way, you’ll die also. How does it feel to be on the receiving end

of a suicide bomb? I don’t know how long my thumb can keep

pressing this button. When will my hand start to cramp?”

“You’re insane.”

“As insane as you and your killers. The only good thing about

what you do is you make sure those nutcases don’t breed. For

Saul, I’ll give you a chance. Get the hell out of here. Take your

men with you. Disarm the trap. You have my word. You’ve got

twenty-four hours.”

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Habib stared, analyzing her rage. He spoke to Father Chen.

“If she leaves before the twenty-four hours have elapsed…”

“She won’t.” Father Chen pulled a pistol from behind his robe.

“To help me, you’d risk being blown up?” Habib asked the

priest.

“Not for you. For this safe house. I pledged my soul.”

“My thumb’s beginning to stiffen,” Erika warned.

Habib nodded. Erika and Saul followed him along the corridor to his room. Guarded by the priests, they waited while he

packed his suitcase. He carried it to the reception area, moving

awkwardly because of his wounded shoulder. There, he used a

phone on the counter, pressing the speaker button, touching

numbers with the index finger of his uninjured right arm.

Saul listened as a male voice answered with a neutral, “Hello.”

Rain made a staticky sound in the background.

“I’m leaving the building now. The operation has been postponed.”

“I need the confirmation code.”

“‘Santa Fe is the City Different.’”

“Confirmed. Postponed.”

“Stay close to me. I’ll require you again in twenty-four hours.”

Habib pressed the disconnect button and scowled at Erika.

“The next time, I won’t allow you to come close to me.”

Erika’s thumb trembled on the button connected to the detonator. She nodded toward a clock on the wall behind the reception desk. “It’s five minutes after ten. As far as I’m concerned,

the countdown just started. Move.”

Habib used his uninjured right arm to open the door. Rain

gusted in. “I am indeed sorry,” he told Erika. “It’s terrible that

children must suffer to make politicians correct wrongs.”

He used his car’s remote control to unlock the doors from a

distance. Another button on the remote control started the engine. He picked up his suitcase and stepped into the rain.

Saul watched him hurry off balance through shadowy gusts

toward the car. Lightning flashed. Reflexively, Saul stepped

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back from the open door in case one of Habib’s men ignored

the instructions and was foolish enough to shoot at an Abelard

safe house.

Buffeted by the wind, Habib set down his suitcase, opened the

driver’s door, shoved his suitcase across to the passenger seat,

then hurried behind the steering wheel.

Father Chen closed the sanctuary’s entrance, shutting out the

rain, blocking the view of Habib. The cold air lingered.

“Is that parking lot past the boundaries of the sanction?”

Erika asked.

“That isn’t important!” Father Chen glared. “The dynamite.

That’s what matters. For God’s sake, how do we neutralize it?”

“Simple.” Erika released her thumb from the button.

Father Chen shouted and stumbled away.

But the blast didn’t come from Erika’s waist. Instead, the roar

came from outside, making Saul tighten his lips in furious satisfaction as he imagined his car and Erika’s blowing apart. The

vehicles were parked on each side of Habib’s. The plastic explosives in each trunk blasted a shock wave against the safe house’s

doors. Shrapnel walloped the building. A window shattered.

Father Chen yanked the entrance open. Slanting rain carried

with it the stench of smoke, scorched metal and charred flesh.

Despite the storm, the flames of the gutted vehicles illuminated

the night. In the middle, Habib’s vehicle was blasted inward on

each side, the windows gaping, flames escaping. Behind the

steering wheel, his body was ablaze.

The rumble of thunder mimicked the explosion.

“What have you done?” Father Chen shouted.

“We sent the bastard to hell where he belongs,” Erika said.

In the nearby hills, shots cracked, barely audible in the

downpour.

“Friends of ours,” Saul explained. “Habib’s team won’t set any

more traps.”

“And don’t worry about the authorities coming to the

monastery because of the explosion,” Erika said.

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A second explosion rumbled from a distance. “When our

friends heard the explosion, they faked a car accident at the entrance to this road. The vehicle’s on fire. It has tanks of propane

for an outdoor barbecue. Those tanks blew apart just now,

which’ll explain the blasts to the authorities. Neither the police

nor the fire department will have a reason to be suspicious about

anything a half mile farther along this deserted road.”

By now, the flames in the cars in the parking lot were almost

extinguished as the rain fell harder.

“We had no idea there’d be a storm,” Saul said. “We didn’t need

it, but it makes things easier. It saves us from hurrying to put

out the flames so the authorities don’t see a reflection.”

Another shot cracked on a nearby hill.