The Peace Killers

by Ty Patterson

  He got to his feet again, gathered the weapons and raced back to safety.

  The weapons were AKs. In good condition. A spare mag with each shooter.

  Meghan took one, inspected it. ‘Zeb, this could be Mumbai all over again.’

  Terrorists had taken over downtown hotels and buildings in Mumbai a few years back. They had shot several residents and had finally been overpowered in a shootout with cops and local SWAT teams.

  Those incidents had made every law enforcement and counter-intelligence agency in the world reassess its security measures.

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Someone’s coming!’ a guard warned.

  ‘Don’t show yourself. Don’t shoot unless I say so.’

  They accepted his words without question.

  ‘You,’ he told the sisters, ‘remain here. It’s possible there could be more shooters outside, to catch us in a pincer movement.’

  He ran toward the elevator. Took cover behind a vehicle and signaled for the two guards to follow suit.

  There was the sound of clattering footsteps. Screams and shouts. Indistinct orders being shouted.

  Several armed men appeared. All in Israeli uniform. Behind them were a bunch of people. Panic in their faces and voices.

  Zeb waited a beat. Motioned for the guards to stay quiet.

  Twenty-five civilians, he counted rapidly. Ten guards. Five in front, five at the rear. He searched in the dimmer light, and his heart leapt when he spotted Bob, his two partners and, next to them, Alice Monash.

  He stepped out from cover. Raised his hands immediately when guns trained on him.

  ‘I AM WITH THE AMBASSADOR,’ he said in Hebrew.

  ‘Zeb!’ Alice Monash cried out in relief. ‘He’s with me,’ she told the Israeli security detail.

  ‘You said you were Mossad,’ the elevator guards looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘I am not the enemy,’ he thundered. ‘Are these the negotiators?’ he asked the nearest guards.

  ‘Yes,’ one man spoke, evidently the team leader, who clearly agreed with him that it wasn’t the time to discuss who he was. If Zeb wasn’t pointing a gun at them, he wasn’t hostile. ‘And some residents. What’s the scene here?’

  Zeb broke it down to them quickly. Several negotiators cried in alarm at his account.

  ‘You will be safe,’ he told them, injecting authority into his voice. He repeated the same message in Arabic. ‘I guarantee it.’

  ‘You have vehicles for them?’ he asked the leader.

  ‘Yes, and evac locations.’

  ‘Move!’

  Bob and the American security team escorted the ambassador to their vehicle. The negotiators and the residents went to six vehicles.

  ‘You two,’ Zeb pointed to the elevator guards, ‘get in those vehicles.’

  That way there will be two to each vehicle.

  ‘Let the ambassador go first,’ he told the team leader, who stared at him and then nodded.

  ‘Ma’am, your vehicle will lead.’ He ran to the ambassador, who lowered her window.

  ‘No, let them—’ Bob protested.

  ‘Bob. Zeb’s right.’

  ‘Ma’am, there could be more attackers outside. We’ll be the first to be hit.’

  ‘Go!’ she ordered, her lips compressed, her face white. ‘Zeb, get in. Get Beth and Meghan, too.’

  ‘No, ma’am. We’ll run outside. Just in case.’

  He darted away, ignoring her shouts and Bob’s yells.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he told Meghan and Beth.

  They followed without a word, knowing instinctively what he was planning.

  The three of them headed out of the parking lot, walked up the inclined driveway, weapons ready, eyes scanning the street. Sirens were wailing in the distance; armed officers had turned up and were clearing the street.

  Zeb waved to the ambassador’s vehicle.

  It nosed out of its shelter, headlights turned on. Behind it, more lights as the other vehicles followed.

  No attacker showed. An IDF man stood in the center of the street, waving at them to come through.

  Zeb moved to the right, the sisters followed, allowing the vehicles to pass.

  Alice Monash’s vehicle reached street level, started turning left.

  The door of the ambulance opened, the one Zeb had noticed. It was hundred yards away to the right.

  A bearded man stepped out in EMS uniform. Another jumped out and joined him. Zeb looked at their hands. Clear.

  He looked back at the vehicles, which were still moving slowly, the ambassador’s ride completing its maneuver.

  Something bothered him. A car honked in the distance. Sirens grew louder. And then it came to him in a flash.

  Why aren’t those EMS men rushing to the hotel? There must be enough dead or wounded around.

  His head snapped back.

  Saw both men reach inside the vehicle.

  The leaner, taller one brought out something long, tubular. Zeb’s eyes flew to his face.

  Recognition flooded. Abdul Masih!

  ‘INCOMING!’ he roared a warning.

  He threw himself to the ground just as the second man started firing at the vehicles.

  The EQB leader started raising the launcher to his shoulder.

  Zeb fired the AK. His first rounds flew wide.

  The second terrorist brought his weapon downwards to bear on Zeb.

  Stone chips flew at Zeb. Something grazed his cheek.

  Slow down. Masih matters. Forget the other shooter.

  He slowed down his breathing. Blanked out everything but the terrorist leader and his launcher. Ignored the sisters’ shouts and the shooting that commenced. Everything else was white fog.

  Through it, he sensed rather than saw the second gunman fall back after rounds slammed into him.

  Zeb didn’t pay attention.

  His attention was fixed solely on Masih, who gripped the launcher firmly, steadied it and took aim.

  Zeb sighted. Something slammed the side of his head. His head jerked back and something warm and wet trickled down his face. He blinked and sighted down the rifle again. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

  He focused on Masih. Took a breath and let it out slowly.

  The terrorist braced himself, his eyes narrow, his lips parted in a feral smile. He, too, was singularly intent on firing, ignoring the rounds aimed at him.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  Zeb triggered at the bottom of his respiratory cycle. And this time his aim was straight and true.

  Abdul Masih fell back, his body jerking spasmodically as Zeb’s rounds punched into him. The grenade launcher clattered to the ground.

  Sound returned, though indistinct. The world returned, slowly.

  IDF personnel flooded the street. Someone hauled him up. A voice spoke urgently. He shook his head.

  It repeated. He blinked rapidly. It was Meghan.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she touched his temple, her palm red, wet, when she drew it away. ‘You are bleeding.’

  ‘The ambassador?’

  ‘She’s safe. Everyone’s safe.’

  ‘Zeb!’

  Avichai Levin came running, his face lined with worry and anger.

  ‘It was EQB. All along, it was them. Not Mossad.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Jerusalem

  Five days after Assassinations

  Six days to Announcement

  * * *

  ‘You’re hit.’ Levin snapped his fingers and EMS personnel hurried across.

  ‘A gash.’ Zeb felt his temple gingerly. It hurt. He had been injured far worse. He would live. A medic clicked his tongue and started cleaning the wound. ‘That’s Masih?’

  The ramsad followed his gaze, at the body of the man Zeb had shot. IDF and police officers milled around it, several crouching. The grenade launcher had been taken away to a military vehicle.

  ‘That’s him. Identity confirmed. The second man is Alam Qadir,
the second most-wanted man in Israel. His lieutenant. Beth and Meghan shot him. They couldn’t take out Masih; you were in their way.’

  A chopper flew overhead, low, drowning out their voices. Zeb squinted up and saw the bird was a military one, shooters leaning out of it, searching, alert, ready. He spotted a couple more in the distance. He lowered his gaze, became conscious of the ambient noise. Sirens blaring, officers barking orders, crying and screams, police and military officers thick on the ground, herding away civilians within the perimeter they had set up, keeping out curious onlookers. TV vans had rolled up; they, too, were kept outside the cordon.

  It looked like a war zone.

  It is war, he thought bleakly.

  ‘Zeb!’ Meghan brought him back from his thoughts. Beth was beside her. Both of them pale, their eyes wide. Beyond them, the negotiators’ vehicles were tightly bunched and parked on the street, surrounded by a ring of grim-faced IDF personnel who looked as if they would shoot first, ask questions later.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Not that wound,’ the elder sister snapped and pointed to his leg.

  Only then did he become aware of the throbbing in his left thigh. He looked down to see his jeans soaked in blood. Another medic crouched and inspected it.

  ‘A flesh wound,’ she said. ‘You got lucky. The round grazed your leg, took some flesh, but it’s nothing serious. We’ll clean it, dress it. You might limp for a few days, but you’ll be fine.’

  Zeb leaned against the nearest vehicle and let the EMS staff work. ‘You and Beth?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Unhurt. As good as new.’ Her attempt at humor fell flat.

  ‘If he had fired …’ Beth looked at the fallen EQB leader and shivered.

  ‘He didn’t,’ Levin said decisively. He read the speculative look on Zeb’s face. ‘They,’ he nodded at the bunch of police officers who were speaking through the lowered window of one of the vehicles, ‘are taking statements from the occupants of each vehicle. Shouldn’t take long. Once done, they’ll be driven to a secure location. Care to tell me what happened?’

  Zeb narrated the events, the sisters chiming in. The medics attending to him gaped, slammed their jaws shut and nodded their heads in assent when Levin barked, ‘This remains confidential.’

  ‘Those IDF men at the elevator. They came close to shooting you,’ the Mossad director said grimly.

  ‘I know. How many?’ He voiced the question he had been dreading to ask.

  Levin understood. His voice was like sandpaper. ‘Eighteen civilians dead. Dozens injured. Body count not complete.’

  ‘The terrorists?’

  ‘All dead, those who were in the car. Seven others killed. Five in custody, of whom two are critical.’

  ‘Where are they? The ones who are alive?’

  ‘Some place where they will never be heard from again.’

  * * *

  They drove away half an hour later, following the convoy of negotiators’ vehicles. They were in Levin’s vehicle, his security men in the front. The ramsad was continually on his cell, listening, giving instructions.

  He broke away momentarily when the ambassador’s ride separated and headed to the embassy. ‘Follow it,’ he told his driver, and got back to his calls.

  Bob rounded on Zeb once they were inside the building.

  ‘You,’ his finger shot out, ‘put the ambassador at risk. Her vehicle should have been in the middle.’

  ‘You aren’t looking at the big picture.’

  ‘I’m here to protect Ms. Monash,’ Bob snarled, thrusting his face against Zeb’s.

  ‘Bob!’ Alice Monash voice’s cut like a whip, ‘Zeb did the right thing. If my vehicle had been fired on … that was a risk I was prepared to take. Maybe you didn’t notice, but Zeb, Beth and Meghan were on foot. Way ahead of any vehicle. They would have been the first to be shot at. The first to be killed.’

  Bob stayed where he was, his eyes burning in anger until Zeb shoved him away and went searching for a shower.

  An hour later they were back in Levin’s vehicle. Freshly showered, wearing clean clothing that the embassy had miraculously procured for them.

  No Bob or his team. Just the four of them, the Mossad director and his security team.

  ‘Avichai, where are we going?’ the ambassador broke the silence.

  ‘Beit Aghion.’

  ‘The negotiators?’

  ‘At an IDF base in the Negev desert. They can’t be more secure.’

  ‘Why weren’t they based there in the first place?’

  ‘Optics and perception. Palestine looks at Israel as a heavily militarized state. Conducting peace negotiations in an army camp … will not build a lot of trust.’

  They drove through streets that had a very visible military presence. Groups of soldiers watching traffic go past, occasionally stopping cars and questioning their occupants.

  ‘We don’t know if any of the EQB men got away,’ Levin answered an unvoiced question. ‘Or if there are more active cells.’

  ‘I thought Masih was in Gaza.’ Zeb stretched his legs and winced when his thigh flared in agony. He caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror. He looked gaunt. His temple had been stitched; the wound was looking ugly. He had stopped the medics from applying a dressing, despite their protests. He didn’t want anything around his head.

  ‘There are tunnels,’ the ramsad said bitterly, ‘between Gaza and Israel. They keep digging, we keep closing the ones we find. He must have crawled through one we hadn’t detected.’

  ‘How did he know which hotel to attack?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Beats me.’ Levin lowered his window when they arrived at the prime minister’s residence. He showed his credentials and waited for the security personnel to complete their inspection.

  Zeb lingered, along with the sisters, while Levin marched inside with Alice Monash. The director sensed their absence and turned around.

  ‘Zeb—’

  ‘We’ll wait in the vehicle.’

  ‘No,’ he beckoned them. ‘I brought you here for a reason.’

  Levin took them down a hallway and nodded at a security guard outside a door, who opened it for them.

  Prime Minister Yago Cantor waved them inside and waited for them to seat themselves.

  ‘Let’s start,’ he said grimly.

  * * *

  Somewhere in the Middle East

  * * *

  The handler watched the Jerusalem scenes unfold on his TV, in shock. Of all the outcomes he had planned for and imagined, this wasn’t one. He knew Magal and Shiri weren’t involved. They were going to check out the hotel but hadn’t gone through with the plan.

  A TV chopper was hovering above the hotels, broadcasting live footage of Emek Refaim. A host in the studio added commentary and brought in experts.

  ‘No one knows who the attackers are,’ a talking head reported. ‘The entire area is sealed. No journalist is allowed to go inside the perimeter. All cell phone signals have been blocked. The government isn’t commenting.’

  ‘There are some rumors that the negotiators were in one of those hotels.’

  ‘I have heard those, too, but until we receive official confirmation, all this is speculation.’

  More experts arrived and gave their views; some claimed that Hamas had struck, others said the attack was related to the Palestinian killings.

  That gave the handler an idea. He logged into a fake social media account and posted a tweet.

  MOSSAD STRIKES AGAIN. ATTACKS PALESTINIANS’ HOTEL.

  Over the years his cyber team had created hundreds of bots to spread fake messages. Those accounts kicked in now. They retweeted his message in rapid succession until it started trending on social media.

  * * *

  Ein Kerem

  * * *

  Magal and Shiri watched the coverage in silence. They had left the scene the moment the American had shouted at them. They, too, knew what would unfold once the car headed to t
he hotel. They had felt the ground move when the car bomb exploded.

  ‘Who do you think it was?’ Shiri mused, ‘and did they get the negotiators?’

  Magal didn’t reply. He channel-surfed but found that every station was showing the same footage. ‘The Israelis have clamped down on news,’ he said finally. ‘They’ll release a statement when they are ready. And when they have come up with a story that suits them.’

  ‘Where does this leave us?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

  Shiri’s face darkened. He knew what that meant. Chances were high that they would have to act only on the day of the announcement. They had discussed that eventuality, too. It would be extremely risky but not impossible. There wasn’t any security setup that couldn’t be breached. At a cost. Magal and Shiri knew what price they were prepared to pay—anything that didn’t involve their dying was an acceptable risk.

  Magal’s phone buzzed. He checked it: a text from an unknown number.

  ‘It’s the handler.’ He showed the message to Shiri.

  You cut short your sightseeing trip?

  Yes, Magal replied. It wasn’t safe.

  Did you manage to see any attractions?

  Not in enough detail. We’ll have to go another day.

  You can visit that other attraction until the security issue resolves.

  Shiri frowned. ‘What does he mean?’

  ‘He wants me to take care of Peter Raskov.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Beit Aghion, Jerusalem

  Five days after Assassinations

  Six days to Announcement

  * * *

  ‘Who are these people?’ Levitsky stared at Zeb and the sisters as they sat next to the ambassador.

  ‘They are with me,’ Alice Monash replied, not elaborating.

  ‘I understand, Ambassador, but what are they doing here? Yago,’ he looked for support from his leader, ‘This is an internal meeting. We have allowed Ms. Monash to sit in, but surely—’

  Cantor’s jaw flexed as he glared at his minister. ‘That’s FBI Special Agent Tom Brown,’ he gestured at Zeb. ‘I met him earlier. He helped us in my discussion with Jaedon Haber. You know what that leader was threatening. The two ladies are the ambassador’s aides. We have far bigger problems—’