by By Jon Land
More of Hassan’s bullets ricocheted off the conveyor belt as Ben rolled to the other side. He gazed up to find the huge killer looming over him, smiling as he steadied his pistol.
A rampaging loader smashed into Hassan from the rear, spoiling his aim as he fired and pitching him onto the conveyor next to Ben. The errant bullet struck a heat sensor and activated the warehouse’s sprinklers, the heavy spray of water drenching both of them.
Suddenly the conveyor belt began to churn in the opposite direction, heading back through the warehouse. Hassan reached out and grabbed Ben by the throat, squeezing, the man’s strength incredible. Ben felt his cartilage beginning to crush and flailed outward with his hands, managing to jam a thumb deep into the killer’s good eye.
Hassan screamed in pain and released his hold of Ben’s throat, rocketing a fist downward instead. Something that felt like iron slammed into Ben’s face, his nose erupting in a spray of blood. Another blow rattled his jaw, the next two deflected into glancing blows that stung nevertheless.
Then Hassan closed both his hands over Ben’s throat again, leaving no room for doubt this time. Ben tried to pry the hands off, then groped for something to grasp, to lash out at, but the killer’s arms were so long, fully extended, that Ben could reach nothing. The conveyor belt carrying them rolled deeper into the warehouse, approaching a loading station manned by automated pincers spinning wildly toward the conveyor and then away with nothing to lay upon it.
Ben focused on those pincers, knew his timing would have to be perfect. He readied his legs along with his arms as the breath bottle-necked in his constricted throat and air bubbled in his brain.
The pincer apparatus swung left, then right. Left, then right. . . Left, then—
He jerked Hassan upward with all his strength. Not very far, barely even budging the death grip on his throat, just enough to push him into the pincers’ reach. Ben heard something crunch, watched Hassan’s eye bulge as he thrashed wildly before the pincers spun him away from the conveyor belt, digging deeper into his spine.
Back and forth, they twisted him, back and forth . . .
“She tried to kill me!” Danielle screamed from the floor when the security force charged in, Layla Aziz Rahani’s blood smeared over her face. “Please, a doctor! I’m hurt! I need a doctor!”
The head of the security force surveyed the scene quickly, his gaze holding for a moment on the body of the plant manager Hazeltine, before he reached down to help Danielle up.
“It’s all right, Ms. Rahani,” he said to Danielle, Layla Aziz Rahani’s inert body lying just beneath her. “We’ve captured the gunmen who did this. Help is already on the way.”
Ben leaned against a support beam, streams of water from the sprinklers continuing to cascade over him.
“You must be Kamal,” a voice said.
Ben swung to his right to find a disheveled man wearing a white terry-cloth bathrobe approaching him.
“Recognized you from your picture,” the man said. “Nice work. I’ll take things from here.”
“Who . . .”
“Am I? Roger Ramjet, president of the Girl Scouts of America.”
Ben continued to stare at him.
The man took off his bathrobe, rung out the water, and offered it to Ben. “Here, put this on. It’ll help you get out of here. Don’t worry, it’s brand-new. I stole it from the hotel.” Then he removed a security pass that was looped around his neck. “This too. Look down, act a little crazy, and they’ll think you’re me.”
Ben took the bathrobe and pass, eyeing the neatly stacked crates everywhere around him. “The vaccine . . .”
“I know all about it. Leave the rest to me.”
Ben had turned and started to walk off when the man’s voice caught him.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” The man pulled something from his pants pocket and tossed it to Ben. “It’s a scone. In case you get hungry on the way to wherever you’re going.”
* * * *
EPILOGUE
D
anielle stood in the shade of the grove of olive trees, gazing down at the freshly dug grave and the coffin that had been lowered into it. Around her the air smelled sweet, and a breeze blew the hair onto her face. She let go of Ben’s hand, knelt, and picked up a handful of dirt. Then she tossed the dirt down atop the coffin, watching it spread and slide down the sides.
The slight hill above held the graves of her parents and brothers. It had taken some arm twisting to make this spot in the Jerusalem cemetery available, several favors called in. It took still more for Colonel al-Asi to obtain what few remains of Hanna Frank Saudi officials had salvaged from the fire that had ultimately gutted a good portion of the Rahani palace’s fourth floor, so there would be something to bury.
Ben came forward and took Danielle’s hand as she stood over the open grave. He turned briefly to meet the gaze of Colonel Nabril al-Asi, who stood ten feet back, the only other person in attendance besides the rabbi who had presided over the simple ceremony.
“I’ve only been here once since my father died,” Danielle said suddenly. “We used to come here together to visit my mother’s grave. And my brothers’.”
“It doesn’t usually help much,” Ben said to her softly.
“Memories.”
“You don’t find those in graves,” he said, waiting for her to look at him before continuing as he tapped his head with his free hand. “You find them in here.”
Danielle turned again to the grave. “I wish I remembered something about Hanna Frank. A smile, a laugh, a look—-something to hold on to.”
Ben felt her squeeze his hand tighter.
“I wonder how I would’ve felt about my father, if I had known the truth.”
“No differently.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because I know you.”
Colonel al-Asi drew up even with them. “The two of you need to leave. The car is waiting.”
“That’s right,” Danielle said ironically. “We’re fugitives.”
“Give me some time to sort things out,” al-Asi told her.
“Take all the time you want. I’m done trying to go back.” She turned to Ben, smiling slightly. “What about you, Inspector?”
He shrugged. “I think I’ve finally run out of places to go back to.”
“The car,” Colonel al-Asi said, easing them both away by the shoulders. “Please.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to find someplace new, won’t we?”
Danielle asked, leaning her head against Ben. “Do you have a preference?”
Ben looped an arm around Danielle’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know when we get there.”