Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

The light turned green, and the sports car moved out smoothly and swiftly. “Fall back at least two blocks,” Ali commanded.

  They drove for several minutes in silence, Brad occasionally spurting forward when he temporarily lost sight of his quarry. The Porsche took a quick left turn at the next intersection. As Brad approached, the light turned yellow. He stabbed at the brake, then realized such a delay could lose them, so just as quickly, he hit the gas and leaned the Volkswagen into the corner, taking the light at full red. A panel truck blasted its horn as Brad rocketed past him. If they were keeping score for the most unpopular driver in Jerusalem tonight, Brad had it going away.

  Ali spoke up when the car had come out of the sliding turn and settled into the straightaway. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record and knowing I’m probably a hundred miles off target—” he stopped, searching for the right words.

  “Go on,” Brad said, sensing what was coming.

  “All your protests last Friday about how casual your interest in Miri is seem a little hollow about now. You know that, don’t you?”

  Brad was silent and concentrated on the taillights ahead of him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, right?” Ali said.

  “I’m just curious about who she’s with, and where he’s taking her.”

  Ali grinned. “Some curiosity! We are not just out here risking life and limb in the Jerusalem Grand Prix. You might sell that to some dumb American kid, but with a brilliant, perceptive young Arab boy, it won’t wash.”

  Brad nodded reluctantly. As usual, Ali, beneath that easy good humor, knew the score—even better than Brad. “All right, I guess I do find her very interesting.”

  “Interesting?”

  “All right, you sadist. I find her attractive.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “You won’t let a man have any illusions, will you.”

  Surprisingly, Ali grew very sober. “Speaking of illusions, are you facing the biggest one?”

  “I know what you’re driving at. But I’m working on her. If I could convert her, then—”

  “Is this the cool-headed Mormon missionary talking? Or the young man who sees his girl with another man and jumps into his car in hot pursuit?”

  Brad was silent, not knowing the answer to that himself. “I think there is more hope of converting her than the typical Jewish person. She really seems—”

  “Oh, oh!” Ali cut in again, pointing ahead of them. “Your boy is turning left.”

  “So?”

  “He’s turning the wrong way into a one-way street.”

  They were headed north now, out of Jerusalem, and the traffic was thinning out rapidly.

  “What do I do?”

  “Don’t follow him! Either he’s made a mistake—and that seems unlikely, he’s been driving as though he knows the city well—or he’s on to us. You follow him the wrong way on a one-way street, and there’ll be no question about what we’re doing.”

  “Oh well, let’s give it up. It’s no big thing.” The disappointment was evident in Brad’s voice.

  “Maybe we could out-fox the fox,” Ali said a moment later as he peered down the street where the sports car had turned. It was dark. No taillights were visible.

  “How?”

  “Either he’s turned off his lights, or he took a quick right to get off the one-way street. If he did that, there’s only one major place he can come out. Hit it, and we’ll see if we can be waiting for him.”

  Brad punched the gas pedal down as Ali directed him toward the likely intersection. Two minutes later he pointed to a spot along the curb that was deep between two trucks. “Pull in here. If he’s coming out, he’ll be coming out of that next intersection.”

  Brad pulled over and cut his lights. He smiled at Ali. “Crazy, huh?”

  Ali shrugged. “Actually it’s kind of fun. We had one class in surveillance techniques at the PLO camp. But we never got to do it for real. And I think,” he said, trying not to sound too excited, “my instructor would be right proud of me. There he is!”

  The Porsche eased out of the side street and then moved away, the rich, throaty roar of its engine clear even from where they sat.

  “Okay, give him some running room and leave your lights off this time. If he sees this one-eyed beast following him again, he’ll sprint like a scared rabbit. And this bug ain’t no way going to keep up with his rabbit.”

  Brad obeyed, somewhat nervous to be driving without lights.

  A few minutes later Ali spoke again. “I can’t figure where he’s heading. We are nearly out of the city and headed north for Nablus. Maybe he’s going to take her on a quiet country drive in the moonlight.”

  “You’re a real comedian,” Brad growled.

  “For a guy who’s only curious, you sure are touchy.”

  A car was approaching from the other direction and, as it came up on the VW, its lights clicked off and on twice.

  “Oh, oh!” Ali said as it passed. “That was the police. You’d better turn on your lights, or we may have a threesome in this little party.”

  Brad reluctantly turned on the headlights and watched his rearview mirror anxiously. But the taillights receded rapidly and then disappeared.

  “Now let’s see if our man sees us and panics and runs,” Ali said.

  For the next several minutes the Porsche drove steadily. There was no increase in speed. They had left the city now, and only scattered houses, pale and ghostlike in the light of a half moon, appeared along the road. It was really quite pleasant, with the warm evening breeze streaming in through the open windows. Yeah, Brad thought. A great night to park.

  Suddenly up ahead the right taillight winked a bright red and then winked again. Then both brightened as the driver braked.

  “He’s turning.”

  “That’s odd,” Ali said. “I don’t remember any main roads out here. Maybe he’s going to someone’s house.”

  “Do I follow him?” Brad slowed down as they approached the spot where the Porsche had turned.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got. I’d hate to follow him into someone’s driveway.”

  It wasn’t a driveway. It was a road, though not much of one. As Brad turned, the sweep of the headlights showed that the pavement ended immediately. He stopped as he rolled onto gravel. A dirt track led on into an olive grove.

  “Well, that settles it,” Ali said as Brad brought the car to a halt. “You certainly can’t follow him up that without being noticed. We may as well—”

  A piercing white light exploded in Brad’s eyes, and a deep voice bellowed a guttural noise in his ear. He jumped so hard his knees hit the steering wheel. Stunned, he stared into the light. He couldn’t see who was holding it, but he didn’t have to.

  “He says to get out very slowly,” Ali said. “And to keep our hands in sight.”

  Brad had learned one thing about the military. A man with rank is to be obeyed without question—and this man had placed the flashlight so that it very clearly illuminated his rank—an M-16 rifle. He lifted his hands slowly and carefully, his heart pounding like an artillery barrage. The light moved back, and Brad’s door was yanked open. Again the voice barked out a command.

  “He wants me out too and both of us spread-eagled on the hood,” Ali translated. “Move very slowly.”

  They obeyed. Brad squinted briefly into the light, then turned his head slightly so he could see their captor out of the corner of his eye. There was no question about it. It was the driver of the Porsche. But he was puzzled. Where was Miri? Probably hidden out in the trees somewhere.

  Expert hands searched him quickly for weapons, then moved to Ali to do the same. Suddenly Brad understood and went cold. If I were an Israeli, and a beat-up old Volkswagen started following me late at night, what would I assume? Arab terrorists were too grim a reality to ignore. He admitted a grudging admiration that this man had taken action to protect Miri.

  Then an even worse thought hit Brad. Where was Miri? What if she comes
to see what is happening? He could picture the look on her face when she learned who her pursuers were. The Israeli stepped back, clearly visible in the light of the headlight. Brad and Ali slowly straightened and turned around.

  From the look on his face, it was clear that his unsuccessful search for weapons had not greatly improved his mood. He lowered the flashlight, but the black muzzle of the rifle was set in stone. Again the flow of rapid Arabic came pouring out.

  “He wants to know why we’re following him,” Ali murmured. “That’s a rough translation, minus a few choice terms.”

  “Well, don’t tell him!” Brad hissed. “Think of something.”

  Brad grunted in pain as the snout of the rifle jabbed sharply into his ribs. The eyes staring into his were like two daggers of ice.

  “Please do tell me why,” he barked in rough but clearly understandable English.

  Straightening again slowly and rubbing the tender spot, Brad spoke politely. “Look, we’re sorry. There’s been a mistake. We thought you were someone else.”

  “Shut up!” the Israeli barked. He looked at Ali. “You, Arab. You tell me why you follow me.”

  “Well,” Ali said, giving Brad a quick glance, “we saw you at the concert with—” Brad cut off the critical word with a sharp kick to Ali’s leg.

  If he hadn’t expected a reaction from the Israeli, the swift blow would have left Brad retching on the ground. As it was, he saw the sudden flip of the man’s weapon, and dropped back as the butt of the rifle struck him solidly in the solar plexus. It made him gasp sharply, and he dropped to his knees.

  “Hey!” Ali cried, diving for the weapon. The butt swung upward, catching Ali with a glancing blow on the chin. He flew backwards, hit the hood of the Volkswagen, and slowly crumpled to the ground.

  Brad saw it all from his knees, but didn’t turn his head. He gave one slow moan and toppled over onto his face in the gravel, where he lay trembling. His trembling was not faked, nor was it alone from the pain. Containing the fury rising in him was almost beyond him, but containment was his only hope. He groaned again as he clutched a handful of gravel beneath him.

  “On your feet,” came the command. Brad ignored it.

  The feet crunched twice on the gravel, and Brad was yanked roughly onto his back. As he turned over he flung the gravel upwards, catching his opponent full in the face.

  The Israeli howled in pain and grabbed for his eyes, jerking the M-16’s muzzle straight up in the air. Brad sprang into a crouch, brought his two hands into a club, and swung with all the fury that was seething in him. It caught the tall Israeli right between the buttons of his sport coat and cut him down like a sapling hit by a Howitzer.

  Brad staggered to his feet, breathing hard, and retrieved the rifle, leaving the Israeli where he lay, gasping frantically for breath. He moved to Ali and bent over him. An ugly red welt was visible on his jaw, but he was reviving. Brad helped him up to a sitting position. Even in the poor light of the headlamp, the gray undertone of his complexion showed he was still in a mild state of shock.

  “Are you okay?” Brad asked anxiously, careful to keep the rifle trained on the Israeli.

  Ali managed a wan smile. “Yeah. I’ll be all right.” He looked over at the sprawled figure, still twisting in agony. “I don’t think he liked being followed. What did you do to him?”

  “Evened the score for you.” Sympathy was not one of Brad’s more obvious virtues at the moment. But satisfied that Ali was going to be all right, he moved back to the Israeli. He grasped him by the belt and lifted him up and down several times as he had seen trainers do to football players when the wind was knocked out of them. Gradually the man’s color began to return and his breathing slowed to a more reasonable rate. He hitched himself up and leaned against the Volkswagen, his eyes wary and full of hate, but not fearful.

  Brad closed in on him, the muzzle of the M-16 in a position to suggest a strong hint. “Look,” he said calmly, “I tried to explain to you that we meant you no harm, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “What do you want?” the man asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “Nothing.” Brad extracted the clip from the rifle and ejected the shell in the chamber. “We made a mistake. We’re sorry. But next time you ought to give a man a chance to tell his story.” Brad moved back, the rifle hanging loosely now. “We’ll leave your rifle exactly one mile down the road on the right side.”

  Brad stepped back to Ali and helped him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  Suddenly a sharp voice rang out behind them. “Don’t move!” The voice was firm and very impelling. “I have a pistol pointed at your backs. Drop the rifle!”

  Brad obeyed, his heart sinking. He would have known that husky voice anywhere.

  “Move into the light where I can see you.”

  Ali grinned weakly. “I think we had better obey the lady, don’t you?”

  Fourteen

  It was past ten, and the hotel lobby was deserted and quiet. Brad was so deeply engrossed in his book that he wasn’t aware of her until she was nearly at the desk. If someone had wired his chair with electricity and suddenly dropped the switch for a full charge, he wouldn’t have come to his feet with any more dispatch.

  “Oh, hello,” he murmured.

  Miri smiled. In his embarrassment, Brad couldn’t tell if it was a smile of friendly welcome or more like that of a tiger as it eyed its intended victim.

  “Hello,” she said sweetly. “Brad Kennison, I presume.”

  Brad groaned inwardly. It was the tiger. But he decided to try a tentative smile. “How are you?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m curious.”

  “Oh? About what?”

  “Two things. First, are you still planning on coming to our home Saturday night? Father asked me to remind you.”

  Brad hedged. Levi had asked him last week to come to his home for an informal evening with some friends. At the time he had been very pleased at the prospects. Now…

  “Well?”

  “Well,” Brad murmured, thinking rapidly, “I may have to—well, I’m not sure.” He didn’t want to offend the Shadmis in any way. And yet how could he spend an evening making small talk with Miri after Sunday evening’s disaster?

  “I see,” she said slowly. “That leads me to my second question. Why have you been deliberately avoiding me these past four days?”

  “Well,” Brad hesitated, “I’ve been helping Ali. School started yesterday. I have to prepare for that English class I’m teaching.” He stopped, realizing how empty the whole monologue sounded.

  “Uh huh,” she said, her dark eyes holding just a hint of amusement. “And is that why you keep going through the hotel lobby as though you’re making your way through an armed mine field?”

  “Who, me?”

  “And why you haven’t eaten in the hotel except when you’re sure I’m gone somewhere? Not even breakfast?”

  “Well, we get an early start at the school.”

  “Oh really,” Miri said.

  He decided that the cat and mouse game had gone on long enough. “Listen, I am really sorry about Sunday night. I have never felt so ridiculous in my whole life.”

  Her expression was grave, but Brad had the distinct impression that a laugh was struggling to break its way to the surface. “Oh?” she said, her voice half mocking.

  “I don’t know why it is that whenever I’m around you, I keep doing these idiotic things,” he finally said in exasperation.

  “A girl loves to be told how she brings out the best in someone.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” he started, and then saw that she was playing with him. “Anyway, I am sorry. How’s your friend?”

  “He claimed he was fine. But I noticed that he walked me to the door very carefully Sunday night. What did you hit him with? He wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “I mean nothing that I picked up.” Brad held up his hands, interlocking the fin
gers as he had done that night. “Just this. When I saw him club Ali, I’m afraid I lost my cool.”

  “How is Ali, anyway?”

  “Fine. He’s got a big bruise, but it hasn’t slowed him down at all. He still talks a mile a minute.”

  “David felt a little better when I told him you were a Viet Nam veteran.”

  Brad shook his head, cursing himself for the hundredth time for deciding to follow Miri that night. “Does he always carry an M-16 and a .45 automatic with him on a date?”

  She laughed lightly. “As you know, I can be very fierce.”

  Brad pulled a face at her. “Come on, be serious.”

  “David is in the military. He is a good friend of my brother, Nathan.”

  And of yours, Brad thought, remembering how she had looked up at him after the concert.

  “Israeli soldiers are required to keep their weapons with them at all times,” she added.

  “I’ll try and remember that.”

  “Now will you tell me what happened? As I told you, David refused to discuss it. Partly anger, partly hurt pride, I think.”

  “I don’t blame him for being angry. What he did under the circumstances was very admirable.”

  “But to come to blows, Brad! Why didn’t you explain to him? David is a kind man.”

  Brad smiled. That could be a good sign. Obviously she didn’t know this fellow too well.

  “Really, he is. Please, tell me what happened.”

  “How much did you see?”

  “Nothing. David gave me the pistol and made me go hide among the olive trees. I waited for a few minutes and then decided to sneak down to see what was happening. I saw you standing over David with the rifle.”

  If compliments were being passed out for courage, this dark haired sabra could get in line. She had jumped into a potentially deadly situation to help David as swiftly as he had moved to protect her.

  “Well,” Brad said sheepishly, “Ali started to tell him that we were following you. I could just picture the look on your face when he asked you to verify our story. I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. When Ali started to explain, I kicked him in the shins. Your friend thought I was trying to stop him from talking. That’s when he hit me and knocked me down.”