Dazzle - The Complete Unabridged Trilogy

by Judith Gould

  Najib's jet was one thing, but there shouldn't have been a helicopter within a hundred and eighty miles.

  He jumped to his feet. 'Mobilize!' he screamed at Ghazi. 'We are under attack!'

  Chapter 24

  It was like the epicentre of a massive earthquake.

  A series of shockwaves from an explosion somewhere within the palace rocked the floor and caused a tremor which sounded like a rumbling freight train passing by directly below. The walls shook so violently that beside her, a hairline crack slashed across the pink suede wall covering and tore it apart at the seams with a loud ripping noise. From behind her, in the living room, she could hear the crashes as the windows imploded and the Venetian mirror burst on the wall and went flying. A mad staccato rattling gave evidence of the expensive objets on the sideboards and tables dancing spastically and falling. Daliah shouted and pounded on the Nevelson doors with renewed vigour, but it was futile. No one was coming to get her, and the big bronze portals only vibrated and groaned. It would take a lot more than a little shaking to loosen them.

  Then the shockwave passed as suddenly as it had come. She put her ear to the cold bronze door. Muffled shouts and screams came from somewhere out in the hall, and she shouted and pounded on the doors some more. After a moment she slumped against the wall. Her fists were beginning to hurt and her knuckles were bleeding. From the way things sounded, she wouldn't be at all surprised if the whole palace was soon blown to kingdom come—herself included.

  Lesser explosions were reverberating with less force from somewhere outside on the grounds. Turning her head, she glanced once again back into the living room. Earlier, she had opened the windows and drawn the curtains aside so that she would have no trouble hearing the jet when it approached, and now, through the horizontal hairline cracks between the shutter slats, lightning flashes of red and orange burst and boomed like fireworks. With each tremor, the shutters rattled and shook, but like the bronze doors, they held fast.

  Strangely enough, despite her anger and frustration, she was not the least bit frightened. Rather, she felt a thrill of exhilaration. Her heart surged warmly. Najib had come for her, just as he'd promised. Wonderful!

  Not so wonderful. There was a terrible whistling noise and, again, an explosion rocked the walls and sent another shockwave rippling and rattling all over again. Clouds of plaster rained down from the ceiling, and the big marble floor tiles actually lifted, shifted, and did a little dance. All but one, which had popped up and cracked, settled back in place. Whatever missiles were being aimed at the palace, they were certainly starting to hit closer to her suite. Not wonderful at all.

  The shouts out in the hall seemed to be getting closer now and from somewhere right outside the shutters came the unmistakable roar of a helicopter swooping down yet once again. A moment later there was the staccato rat-tat-tat of machine guns. Oh, God, don't let Najib get hurt!

  She glanced around fiercely. She had to get out of here. If only there were something she could do.

  She let out a gasp. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before?

  Brandy! During her rummaging, she had come across a bottle of brandy in the sideboard!

  She stood there hesitantly, her heart thumping, and then literally flew into the living room. She lunged for the floor, ducked instinctively, and put her arms protectively over her head as another explosion rocked the palace. A hailstorm of shrapnel rained against the outside of the shutters. Mad fingers of blue and white electricity jumped from the slats to the now-glassless window frames and sizzled.

  Keeping down and crawling on her belly across the floor on broken glass, she made it to the sideboard and yanked the doors open. The bottle was just where she'd seen it. She grabbed it by the neck. Courvoisier. Beautiful. On impulse, she kissed it.

  Now, matches. She would need matches and a wick. No, not matches. A lighter! There was a table lighter on the nightstand!

  She crawled madly into the bedroom, cursing the size of the rooms and the length of the crawl. When she reached the bedside, she lunged up for the lighter, blessed Ronson, and grabbed a pillow off the bed. She tore the case off it and giggled to herself. Courvoisier and a Pratesi pillowcase! It would make one hell of an expensive Molotov cocktail!

  The brandy was a new bottle. She tore at the wrapping around the neck and cursed as she broke a fingernail in the process. She ripped the pillowcase in shreds, twisted a length of it into a respectable wick, and poured enough brandy on it to soak it thoroughly. She sniffed. It smelled fruity and potent. Then she looked at the bottle and shrugged. Why not? She lifted it to her lips and took a swig for good measure. It went down like liquid velvet and radiated through her like a warm cloud.

  She stuffed the soaked rag into the neck of the bottle. Clutching her homemade bomb in her left hand and the lighter in her right, she raced back out to the foyer.

  Now let them come get me.

  She didn't have long to wait.

  'Schnell! Unlock it!' a shrill, guttural German voice screaming from the other side of the door.

  Just her luck. It would be the German bitch.

  'Well, here's to you, Monika,' Daliah said fiercely to herself. As she heard the rattle of keys, she flattened herself against the wall so that she would be hidden behind the door when it opened, lit the tip of the rag, and averted her face as it flared gloriously into a crackling flame. 'Cheers,' she whispered soundlessly.

  Slowly the door slid open toward her. Then her heart sank. Why were they hesitating? Why didn't they come in?

  Hurry! Dammit, hurry before this thing blows up in my face!

  'Up!' Najib screamed in at the helicopter pilot. 'To the roof!' He was standing on the left landing skid and hanging on to the outside of the cabin while Dani was hanging on to the other side. Their heads were ducked against the noisy whack-whack-whack of the overhead rotor, and the whirlwind it stirred up tore at their faces. 'Up!' Najib screamed again.

  'If you say so.' The imperturbable pilot calmly took off, nosing the bird upward at a sharp angle, and the ground fell away below them. Najib glanced down. Beneath his feet, all hell had broken loose, and Abdullah's men were racing around in confusion. He grinned to himself. Usually it was they who called the shots; now, suddenly caught in a defensive position, they were not prepared for being on the receiving end of things. They were getting a taste of their own medicine. Good.

  Dani looked up. Overhead, the old flares in the sky were dying out and falling, and another white one shot up into the sky, bursting into radiance and bathing the compound in dazzling, starkly surreal light. Then, lowering his gaze, he could see the men atop the compound walls racing around; as he watched, a rocket from a shoulder-held launcher burst into the wall, exploding a giant hole. As though in slow motion, chunks of concrete and screaming men went cartwheeling through the air.

  The helicopter rose above the palace roof, swooped down, and hovered, scattering a cluster of terrorists. Najib and Dani both let off a burst from their hip-held automatics. Two men pitched off the roof, two more were mowed down screaming, and the remaining three fled for the roof door and disappeared.

  Crouching, Najib jumped off the skid, rolled over twice, and keeping his head ducked against the whirring rotors, leapt neatly to his feet. Still in a crouch, he raced toward the roof door. On the other side Dani did the same and dived into position alongside him, waving back to the pilot to take off.

  Najib looked at Dani and pointed to the roof door; the clatter of rotors was too loud for speech. Dani nodded, and together they dashed to the door and flattened themselves to either side of it.

  'Cover me!' Najib shouted. He reached sideways gingerly for the door handle and then flung the door open to a bright rectangle of light. Dani leapt forward and let fly a burst of bullets; then, as he jumped back, Najib dashed inside and took the stairs down three at a time, Dani was right behind him.

  They were inside the palace. So it was not impregnable after all.

  When they reached the landing,
a spray of bullets shot up from below and chipped bits of marble off the walls around them.

  Dani propelled himself forward in a dancing spiral, loosened another burst, and danced back again. He heard a scream, and the firing stopped.

  He glanced at Najib. 'Where to now?'

  Najib gestured downward with his thumb. 'This is the third level. Unless they've moved her, Daliah's still down on the second.' He tensed and listened. Bursts of gunfire were coming from somewhere below. He exchanged glances with Dani. On impulse, he unstrapped his helmet and tossed it aside. 'I can't hear well enough with it,' he said. 'And it cuts down on my peripheral vision.' Then, as Dani took his off also, Najib raced down to the second-floor landing. Behind him, Dani grinned to himself. He was glad Najib al-Ameer was on his side. He'd hate to have him for an enemy.

  Daliah shrank back against the wall as the German girl and Surour burst into the foyer and headed straight into the living room. She waited a few seconds before sliding quietly out from behind the door. She tiptoed soundlessly after them. The flames of the Molotov cocktail blazed like a giant leaping torch, and the heat was so intense that she had to lean away from it.

  It was then that Monika heard the crackling of the fire behind her and whirled around, her face contorting in rage. 'Nein!' she yelled, and flung up her arms to shield her face as Daliah flung the Molotov cocktail at her feet.

  It exploded with a roar and Monika screamed as a sheet of flame engulfed her and shot up to the ceiling. Daliah caught a glimpse of the German's clothes starting to burn, but she didn't wait around to see what would happen. She lunged for the door, slipping on the small prayer rug in the marble-floored foyer and, arms windmilling, skated on it past the imposing open Nevelson doors and out into the hall. Pausing only fractionally to glance both ways, she could already hear Monika's screams turning into shrill curses, and then the clatter of weapons were close behind.

  That could only mean one thing. Surour and Monika had been stopped only momentarily. They were coming after her.

  Without thinking, Daliah turned right and, clenching her fists like a sprinter, raced down the sculpture-lined hall. Shots cracked like thunder close behind her, and bullets boinged as they ricocheted off a giant owlish Maillot.

  Daliah ducked low and zigzagged wildly to avoid the spray of bullets, her heart pounding as though it would burst.

  She lunged sideways, down another bisecting corridor.

  Without direction, she ran for her life.

  Najib burst through the open doors of the suite in which Daliah had been kept prisoner, Dani at his heels. They both began to cough violently. There was a smouldering fire in the suite, and the air was thick with pea-soup smoke.

  'Daliah!' Najib called out. 'Daliah!'

  There was no answer. He exchanged glances with Dani. Was she gone? Or was she somewhere in that blinding fog, passed out? . . . Dead? There was only one way to find out. 'Follow me,' he rasped grimly to Dani. 'I'll take the bathrooms. You look in the bedroom. Then we'll both check the living room.'

  After four minutes of choking and coughing, they ran back out into the hall, their lungs raw, their eyes streaming.

  They took little comfort in the fact that she was gone.

  'What now?' Dani panted.

  'You take that side,' Najib gasped, pointing to the right. 'I'll go left.'

  They were closing in for the kill.

  Daliah took no heed of the detonations erupting in various parts of the palace. It was all she could do to stay one hallway turnoff ahead of Monika and Surour. She couldn't be sure, but she had the terrible suspicion that she was running in circles. It was too late now to wish she'd asked Najib for a lesson in the palace layout. All the sculptures looked the same, and she could have sworn she'd run past them before.

  And then she suddenly knew she wasn't running around in circles after all. The hallway she was skidding down came to a windowless dead end. Two sets of closed double doors, one on either side, loomed tall. She chose the one on the left and struggled with it. Locked. In desperation she tried the one on the right. Locked. The thud of heavy boots sounded very close. As she turned slowly around, the breath caught in her throat. Monika and Surour were rushing toward her.

  She was neatly trapped.

  Scorched bright red, eyebrows and crew cut completely singed off, Monika's face was a hideous feral mask. With slow deliberation she tossed her automatic rifle aside. Then, signalling Surour to stay put, she walked slowly toward Daliah, clapping her hands as though she thoroughly enjoyed what was coming.

  Daliah stood still as a wary statue.

  And then fancy footwork and blurring arms turned Monika into a killing virago.

  Chapter 25

  Schmarya hurried around in a swift running limp, his automatic shooting arcing bursts of scintillating tracers.

  His eyes were everywhere at once, scanning the battlefield. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but it sounded as if the return fire was already starting to lessen. He kept his eyes peeled for the Israeli captain in charge of the mission.

  He finally caught up with him on the far side of the palace, behind a makeshift shelter of lawn furniture next to the big underwater-lit swimming pool. 'Captain, I've found a pocket of resistance in what I think is being used as a barracks building!' Schmarya was breathing heavily from the exertion, but his eyes glowed with a resolute fever. 'I need a man with a rocket launcher. As soon as the barracks is destroyed, that should halve the resistance we're encountering.'

  The captain signalled to one of the men who held a heavy portable rocket launcher on his shoulder. 'Perlman, go with him. Then come back here immediately. In a few minutes we'll start storming the palace.'

  Schmarya led Perlman in that swift, stiff-legged limp of his to the other side of the compound. Now he knew he hadn't imagined it. The terrorists had definitely been cut off. The outbuilding being used as a barracks and the palace itself were still strongholds, but their defence had definitely been driven from outside the compound into shelter. Thus far, the Israeli commandos were doing themselves proud.

  Monika smiled. Insanely.

  Daliah smiled right back at her. Tauntingly. Taking careful steps backward, she beckoned with both her hands for the German to come closer.

  Monika stared at her, the insane smile turned savage, and an unholy darkness came down over her eyes. She lunged forward, and as Daliah took evasive action, she drew unexpectedly back again and started to walk deliberate flat-footed circles around her. The feint had told Monika what she needed to know. Daliah was no combat expert, but her reflexes were good and she'd had training—probably a little bit of this, and a little bit of that. Standard military training and some judo, maybe even a little bastardized karate thrown in. That one evasive tactic showed it all.

  Monika's flame-blistered lips grinned, and she wiped her sweaty hands on her fatigue pants. Then she continued her stalking circles, waiting to catch Daliah when her guard was down. It might be an interesting fight after all.

  'Never be defensive. Whenever possible, take the offensive.' The words of the military training sergeant, so long ago in the Negev, came back to Daliah in a flash. Well, so be it. She'd been defensive up to now, and it was time to show some fancy steps. She crouched forward, gorilla-like, her fingers brushing the floor.

  In response, Monika prepared her hands rigidly for Wing Chun chops.

  A mere millisecond ticked, and then Daliah sprang into action; one second she had been stationary, and the next her feet should have connected with Monika's abdomen. But Monika had whirled aside and parried the attack.

  'Ha!' Not wanting to lose the initiative, Daliah continued the offensive—hands slashing and slicing, feet whirling and kicking. With her every movement Monika was losing ground and was slowly but steadily being beaten back toward the Libyan. The German's moves were all defensive, deflective.

  Surour could sense Monika's being beaten. By reflex, his submachine gun followed Daliah and his finger tightened on the trigger
.

  Daliah was oblivious of him and kept up her winning streak. She was smiling grimly and sweat was flying off her, but her movements were controlled and precise and confident. She went for the kill, a flat chop to Monika's throat.

  The blow was paralyzing—for Daliah. She hadn't even seen Monika's left knee blurring up, but her kidneys exploded in a flare of crippling pain, and then the right knee caught her just under the rib cage. She buckled from the explosions racking her body and sagged slowly to her knees. Wrapping her arms tightly around her, she rocked forward and backward.

  Monika turned her back on her and unconcernedly walked a few steps away. Daliah knew what she was doing—adding a dollop of insult to deftly applied injury, showing she had nothing to fear. Daliah's rising anger subdued the stabs of pain to bearable aches and triggered off a blast of adrenaline. She climbed slowly to her feet just as the German turned around.

  For a long moment they locked eyes. And then, without warning, Monika grabbed her by the left wrist and left ankle and began whipping her around and around, as if Daliah were a merry-go-round horse gone out of control. Daliah experienced a horror of dizziness as she flew in ever-quickening circles through the air.

  Jerking and writhing and screaming and kicking, Daliah struggled to free herself, but Monika, skinny and wiry as she was, was solid muscle. Daliah's struggles only seemed to intensify Monika's fury and speed.

  Vertigo and the centrifugal pull blinded Daliah; she was a crazy carousel, going around and around and around again, and then, up, around, down, and . . .

  Monika let go.

  Daliah had the horrifying helpless sensation of whistling through empty space. She arched her head back and whipped her arms together in an overhead diving stance as the blurry white wall loomed. Monika had misjudged. Instead of smashing headlong into the wall, Daliah was flung headlong down the hall—straight into Surour's belly.