The Jericho Pact

by Rachel Lee

  Nor was she surprised, shortly after the speech, to hear a knock at her door. Steve stood there, dressed tonight in a windbreaker, ballcap and ratty jeans.

  “You heard?” he asked as he stepped inside.

  “Every oily word.”

  He nodded toward the table where his notes were spread. “And those?”

  “When I add them to the speech, I get sick.” She closed the door behind him. “I may have trouble believing in this pyramid technology you’re talking about, but I don’t have any difficulty believing that man has delusions of grandeur.”

  “Delusions of entitlement,” Steve corrected gently. “I’m afraid he believes he was born to be king.”

  “What scares me is that you might be right.”

  “What scares me more is that he has the pyramid.”

  Miriam still had difficulties accepting that a piece of ruby shaped like a pyramid could be as powerful as Steve’s research indicated. But every time she started to dismiss the notion, she remembered what a ruby laser could do.

  “I have contacts here in Europe,” she said. “We’re going to need them. There’s no way you and I alone can move against that man.”

  “Certainly not.” He dropped into a chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “For some time I’ve had the feeling that I’m walking a laid-out path.”

  “Destiny, you mean?”

  He looked up, smiling faintly. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur. But sometimes I feel as if no matter what step I take, I still get drawn in the same inscrutable direction.”

  “Like being caught in a spiderweb?”

  He nodded. “Something like that. One thing I can assure you. There are many people who would like me to get this pyramid. And I can’t say for certain what they want it for. The only thing I know is that they intend to take it from me.”

  “So why do you keep seeking it?”

  “Look at the hands that hold it now. Can I leave it there?”

  She sat on the couch, her lips pursing thoughtfully. “You’re not going to give it to anyone, are you?”

  He shook his head. “God willing, I can disappear with it and hide it forever. Unfortunately, according to the diary I read—you remember, the old woman I told you about who died during the attack on this city?”

  “I remember.”

  “She mentioned there were at least three others.”

  “But it seems that for now no one knows where they are.”

  “Perhaps. I hope not. But absolutely no one is going to get that ruby pyramid from me.”

  “Where will you take it?”

  He shook his head, smiling.

  Miriam laughed. “You’re right. I don’t want to know. Oddly enough, if this pyramid is what you say it is, you’re exactly the person I’d want to have it. But we’re still going to need help from my friends.”

  “Where are they?” he asked.

  “You’re not going to like the answer.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Rome.”

  “We may not have to meet them there,” she said. “I can get a message to them to meet us in Strasbourg.”

  “I don’t think it matters, Miriam. No one will harm me until I possess what they want. Send your message, and tell them to meet us in Strasbourg if you prefer. I’ll summon Miguel.”

  Berlin, Germany

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the only plan Renate could form on the fly. She had to hope the young German doctor would remember having met Lawton and think of him as an ally to be protected rather than a suspect to be turned in.

  They couldn’t go to a hospital. That would involve the Polizei, and given that Lawton had only hours before been released from jail, another dead body at his doorstep would not be ignored. With everything else that was going on, they couldn’t afford that kind of attention, nor the inevitable delay.

  They made their way to the home of Frau Doktor Ulla Viermann and waited for her. A telephone call to the hospital, placed from a pay telephone in the guise of a friend confirming an evening at the theatre, had yielded the end of Viermann’s shift. Assuming she had not been delayed by events at the hospital, or that she didn’t pause to chat with a colleague or catch up on paperwork or any of a thousand other possibilities Renate couldn’t predict or plan for, the Doktor should have been on her way home half an hour ago.

  Lawton groaned quietly in the car beside her. She’d grabbed a handful of towels from the hotel laundry on their way out, and already one was soggy and heavy beneath her hand. Finally she saw Ulla Viermann walking up to her house, carrying a plastic bag with the bright blue, yellow and red logo of Lidl, a grocery chain. Another of the thousand possible reasons for her delay.

  The Doktor was clearly tired, and Renate had circled the car and was already slipping her hands under Lawton’s armpits before Ulla Viermann glanced over.

  “I need your help. I can’t take him to a hospital,” Renate said quickly.

  Viermann seemed suspicious for a moment, but the pallor of Lawton’s face penetrated her caution. “Bring him. Quickly.”

  Lawton managed enough strength to moan, struggling to his feet as Renate pulled him from the car, and he leaned on her as they climbed the three steps into Ulla Viermann’s house. The Doktor dropped her groceries on her sofa and pointed through a doorway.

  “On the kitchen table.”

  Renate complied, explaining in brisk, clipped terms that he had been shot approximately one hour before, and had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since. The strain of movement caused him to black out again, and he lay limp on the table. Ulla Viermann shook her head as she cut away Lawton’s shirt.

  “The deciding first hour has passed.”

  Renate knew she was referring to the critical sixty minutes after a traumatic injury, when treatment was most effective. “I know. We had no choice.”

  “You are German,” Viermann said as she wiped blood from the wound.

  “Ja.”

  “But you are not free to move openly in Germany.”

  “Nein,” Renate said.

  “The wound is not so bad,” Viermann said, probing it with a fingertip. “The bullet lodged in a rib. It was not very powerful.”

  That explained the near silence of the shots, Renate thought. The gunman had reduced the gunpowder load in the cartridges, both to dampen the sound and to reduce the risk of a round penetrating a wall. He was a professional. Or he had been, before she had fired the coup de grâce through the bridge of his nose before they’d left the hotel room. She’d quickly wiped down the weapon and placed it back in the man’s hand. She could at least hope the Polizei would see it as a hotel burglary gone wrong for long enough to allow her and Lawton to escape Germany.

  “He will be in much pain for several days,” Viermann said, her eyes closed, her fingers working by feel alone, nudging the small bullet out of the wound. “And not fully healed for three to six weeks. He should not move much. But that will not be possible, will it?”

  “No,” Renate said. “It will not be possible.”

  Viermann dropped the bloodstained lump of lead into her kitchen sink. It was, Renate saw, a small caliber round. Probably a five millimeter, its tip flattened like a mushroom. A hollow-point round. Had it not struck a rib, it would have lodged in a lung. Or worse.

  “I would like to ask what you are up to,” Viermann said as she poured antiseptic powder into the wound and reached for a suture kit that she kept in a first aid box. “But I know you cannot tell me. Just please assure me that you are hunting the people who killed Chancellor Vögel.”

  “We are,” Renate said. “You have my word.”

  The Doktor stitched quickly, her fingers moving with the speed and confidence born of years of experience. She glanced at Renate’s face as she worked. “I believe you. If he will travel, I must stabilize his rib. Help me sit him up so I can tape it.”

  Lawton woke as Renate maneuvered him into a sitting position. She held his arms up as the Doktor wo
und cloth tape tightly around his chest. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  “Getting shot does,” Renate said, trying to keep her voice light. “But it’s a minor wound.”

  “Yes,” Viermann said, picking up Renate’s cue. “It is a minor wound, Herr Caine. It will hurt for some days, but you will live.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Lawton said. “If I live, I have to breathe, and that’s what hurts.”

  “The bullet broke a rib,” Viermann said.

  Lawton shook his head. “Oh, lovely irony.”

  “What do you mean?” the Doktor asked. Then Renate saw Viermann’s eyes widen as she mentally connected Lawton to the dead EU agent on Oranienstraße. “That was you?”

  “We need to get him out of Germany,” Renate said, trying to force a smile. “Before there are no Germans left.”

  “The man who attacked you tonight was involved…” The Doktor seemed to answer her own question before she finished asking it. “Yes, you need to get out of Germany. A train would be best. I can purchase the tickets in my name.”

  “If you would be so kind,” Renate said.

  “Of course,” the Doktor said. “I will call now.”

  Renate nodded. After Viermann had left the room, she whispered to Lawton, “We have another problem.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “While we were waiting in the car, I tried to get through to Jefe, but no one is answering at Office 119.”

  26

  Rome, Italy

  T he Saif Alsharaawi cell had indeed downloaded most of the contents of the Office 119 mainframe, but they had been unable to read most of the data because they lacked the decryption keys.

  “So much for secrecy,” Assif muttered as he checked things out to see where he stood.

  The Arab who assisted him laughed humorlessly. “Nothing is secret, my friend. Nothing. We all try to prevent others from learning our secrets, but sooner or later…somebody finds out. Just as someone found out about the existence of your organization in order to attack you.”

  Assif lifted an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

  A smile. “What choice do you have? We saved your lives. We saved your data. We should work together.”

  Assif felt nearly violated. The computers were his sacred territory, and someone else had been mucking with them. Worse, someone had been mucking with them and he hadn’t known it. He might as well have been kicked in the groin.

  The Arab clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t feel so bad. We knew of your existence because we worked on an operation with you. We met some of your operatives. It was not as hard for us to find you.”

  Assif nodded reluctantly. “Which is probably how the others found us.”

  “Most likely. The question is, which of your agents made an unfortunate contact?”

  Jefe entered the room just then. “Officially we’re shutting down.”

  “What?” Just as Assif had begun to assimilate what had happened and was starting to think of ways to track the source of the attack, they were shutting down?

  “I said officially,” Jefe repeated patiently. “At this time, anyone who knows of our existence will hear that we were wiped out. That will limit the threats against us while we get up and running again.”

  “What about Lawton and Renate?” Assif asked. “They’re out there somewhere.”

  “For now,” Jefe said, “they’re on their own.”

  Berlin, Germany

  Renate punched the end button on her cell phone and looked at Lawton. Ulla Viermann had put them in a tiny bedroom at the back of her three-story house. Like many European homes, it had been built upward, since land was so scarce, and the rooms were tiny by U.S. standards. Ulla’s home had been inherited from her parents, not an unusual situation when it might take several generations to pay off a mortgage.

  Lawton lay on a cot, gathering his strength before they set out again, but he was wide awake.

  “Still no answer?”

  “Not from anyone.” Renate spoke calmly, but only someone who knew her as well as Lawton did would have realized that the situation had driven her back behind her barriers of ice.

  He didn’t need to speak the words, but he did anyway. Speaking something, anything, felt essential right now. “This is not good.”

  “No.”

  No one from the office was answering. Phones were ringing, but that didn’t mean the phones still existed. The ring tone was provided by the cell company, not the phone being called.

  Lawton pushed himself up on an elbow. “We’ve got to get back to Rome. Now.”

  She reached out and pressed gently on his shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere until it’s dark.” She waited until he fell back on the pillow. “You can use the recovery time, and I need to think.”

  “Think about what? Something’s wrong, but at this distance, we don’t know anything.”

  “I know something. I know that Margarite went to meet a French contact a few days ago, and from there she returned to Rome.”

  He absorbed this. “Any idea who she met?”

  “Of course not. But at this point, I wouldn’t trust a Frenchman any further than I could…how do you say? Throw him?”

  “That’s it.”

  She smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. “If she has leaked something that hurt the office, I will kill her.”

  Lawton looked at her. This was no idle threat. Renate intended to do exactly what she said.

  Would he ever really know this woman?

  Mannheim, Germany

  The rabbi, the priest and the imam huddled together in the rectory of Liebfrauenkirche, sipping coffee in stony silence. Monsignore Veltroni sat with them, watching them, sensing their anger and distress as clearly as he felt his own. Action must be taken, but at this point he wasn’t sure what to propose. And so far, despite repeated efforts, he had been unable to gain audience with the Pope.

  Stoll spoke finally. “Monsieur Soult is claiming part of Germany for the EU.”

  The Imam Zekariah shook his head. “If it were only that.”

  Veltroni looked at him. “What do you think it is then?” Although he had his suspicions, he wanted to hear them voiced by someone else. Suspicions like this had to be confirmed.

  “It is simple,” Stoll answered. “The EU is being led by a Frenchman, and he proposes to use French troops, admittedly under the EU flag, to annex part of Germany. This will not be well-received. In fact, it will cause war, because our state, Baden-Württemberg, has refused to cede the land. How would Italy feel if Switzerland decided to take part of Italy as a buffer zone?”

  “And no one else reacts,” Rabbi Lev said bitterly. “The other countries say and do nothing, as if they are fools who cannot understand what is happening beneath their noses. Germany stands alone in resisting this act.”

  Veltroni spoke gently. “I think they are stunned. Events have moved swiftly.”

  “Not too stunned to agree to put my people on trains and buses. Not too stunned to put us out of sight like dirty dishes.” The imam was clearly incensed, and Veltroni couldn’t blame him.

  “So now,” said Stoll, “we face war. And we have no friends. Though why Germany should expect to have friends in war after the last century, I do not know.”

  Veltroni spoke. “The U.S. will stand beside you. Their President has said so.”

  Stoll shrugged. “It does not matter. It will be war, and we must prevent war. We must.

  “I cannot believe this,” Hans Stoll said. “Only a few short months ago, the future of Europe looked so bright. Now…now we may close our borders. We may stand alone against the EU. We may be facing war.”

  Ismail Zekariah, the imam, nodded as if his head were too heavy for his neck. “I know. I know. My friends, I grew up in this country. As you did, Hans. It has not always been easy for Muslims here. But still we persisted and were permitted to build our mosque. And bit by bit we have begun to feel more welcome here, at least in Mannheim.
To us it has truly become our home. I cannot tell you how touched we all are that our friends here did not turn on us after the attack in Hamburg. We feared it. Indeed, we even expected it. It would have been understandable.”

  “But it did not happen,” the priest said.

  “No, it did not happen. Instead, the Germans who have accepted us with such difficulty now stand beside us in a way that takes my breath away. I would not have believed it possible.”

  Rabbi Lev looked down, a tear appearing on his cheek. “People can learn. If we could not, would not God have given up on us long ago? The Torah is full of stories of how my people have defied their God, yet again and again he has forgiven us. Because he believes we can be better.”

  Hans Stoll smiled faintly. “I have always thought the Old Testament was a love story.”

  “Love story?” The two other clerics looked at him.

  “Ja, the love of God for his chosen people.”

  Rabbi Lev nodded slowly. “Nu,” he said. “It is so.”

  The imam agreed. “It is so.”

  “So far,” the priest said, “many among our peoples have acted in God’s love. So far.”

  “But,” said Lev, “if there is war…”

  He did not need to finish the sentence. They all knew that God’s love too often fell by the wayside in time of war. Turn the other cheek gave way to Kill or be killed.

  Ismail Zekariah sighed. “The consequences would be horrible. Everything Europe has striven to create for so many decades would vanish at the first gunshot. And there will be a gunshot. Germany will not tolerate French soldiers on German soil.”

  “Already,” said Stoll, “we are positioning our defenses to prevent it. And have you noticed the convoys passing? The Americans are still here. They are not even telling their soldiers’ families to go home.”

  “But many are going nonetheless,” Lev said. “I have some in my congregation. American businessmen are growing anxious, as well.”