Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  No argument there. Gan Yosaif was on no map.

  They’d spent the latter part of Monday and most of today in airports and airplanes. When they arrived in Tel Aviv they bought the most detailed map they could find, and searched through guide books, but Gan Yosaif might as well have been on a moon of Jupiter.

  So they took the Orthodox fellow’s advice and visited the Israel Land Authority, but had to travel to Jerusalem to do so. The trip took less than an hour and turned out to be in the general direction they needed to go anyway.

  It didn’t take the woman at the ILA long to pinpoint Gan Yosaif for them. The location remained in her records but was no longer on the maps because it was among the many kibbutzim that had failed decades ago.

  She directed them south into the Negev to a point east of Rahat and south of a tiny town called Dvira. When she asked why they were looking for a forgotten kibbutz, Rick had told her it was the birthplace of a recently departed dear friend. Laura could almost admire the glib way he mixed fact and fiction on the fly. The woman warned them to be careful since Gan Yosaif was just a couple of miles from the Arab sectors of the West Bank.

  “I can’t believe it,” Laura had said as she’d watched Jerusalem recede in the rearview mirror. “We rode through Jerusalem and I didn’t see a damn thing except the inside of a government office.”

  Rick shrugged. “Didn’t miss much. I’ve been here before. Mostly a jumble of old buildings. Most of Israel’s historic sites are just old buildings. Great if you like that sort of thing. Personally, I hate them.”

  “Are you kidding me? Israel is more than old buildings.”

  “No argument there. Mostly desert—as you’ll appreciate for the next couple of hours.”

  “You, sir, are a Philistine—and I use the term advisedly.”

  “Good choice, considering the locale.”

  “Do you know how much history has happened here? The course of western civ was determined by events that occurred—or are believed to have occurred—right here a couple of millennia ago. Ever think about that?”

  “All the time. I think about something out there taking notice of a preacher wandering around the Jerusalem area back then, and watching the Romans torture and kill him because he was getting too popular, and then after he’s dead and buried, that something starts thinking—”

  “Oh, no. You’re not…”

  “Yeah, that something starts thinking, ‘Hey, what would happen if I raised this guy from the dead? Wouldn’t that cause a major freak-out?’ Which, of course, it did.”

  “Probably no one more freaked out than that poor preacher.”

  “Right. But it’s a perfect example of the chaos effect we were talking about. That isolated anomaly in Palestine—”

  “You mean belief in that anomaly.”

  “Whatever, it’s had an enormous effect on the complex system of human history over the past two thousand years.”

  And so it had gone, across miles and miles of desert …

  Rick dragged the kibbutz gate open enough to admit their Jeep, then drove them through. They passed spindly olive trees and overgrown date groves until they came to a cinder-block building with peeling paint and a collapsed roof. It backed up against a silo of some sort. Or was it a cistern?

  She opened her door and was about to step out when Rick said, “Wait.”

  He turned the Jeep around so it faced down the driveway.

  “What’s that for?”

  “In case we need to make a quick getaway.”

  She didn’t like that. “What are you saying?”

  “Just that I like to be prepared.”

  Wary now, she stepped out. The sun was already gone. She’d read somewhere that night comes fast in the desert. No kidding. That sun had dropped like a stone into a pond. She could already feel the temperature falling, but her legs appreciated the chance to get out and walk around.

  With the motor off, the silence crashed in. She heard the faint rustle of the wind through the olive branches, the ticking of the cooling engine, and nothing more. The sense of isolation lay thick on the forbidding terrain. A little creepy out here.

  “Speaking of prepared,” she said. “You didn’t happen to get a special shipment like in Chetumal, did you?”

  He’d sent his pistol back to America from Chetumal, saying he wouldn’t even think about trying to sneak a weapon aboard an El Al flight.

  “I wish. Didn’t have time. But even if I had, it’s so much more difficult to ship a weapon into Israel. The country’s a freakin’ fortress.”

  She looked around. “I wonder why this place failed.”

  “Debt, I gather,” Rick said from the other side of the hood. “A failure of will, a failure of economics, or maybe a little of both. A kibbutz is a commune, you know.”

  “Like the hippies in the sixties?”

  “Somewhat, but a lot better organized.”

  “How many hippy communes left, you think?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t imagine many. From what I’ve read they were mostly organized around free love and drugs. The original kibbutzniks here were serious about communal farming, and you joined one to work, not to get high. There’s still hundreds of them left and they’re responsible for a lot of Israel’s agriculture.”

  She looked around. “What do we do until the stars come out? Explore?”

  “I’m going to record our exact latitude and longitude just to get that out of the way. But feel free to wander.”

  She looked at the dilapidated buildings and decided against exploring. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but the place looked haunted, almost menacing.

  She could phone home again. She’d had to wait until three this afternoon when they were in Jerusalem to call—at just barely eight A.M. back in the States—and Steven had assured her that everything was fine, although Marissa seemed to be feeling her mother’s absence more and more. Laura promised to be home as soon as possible. She’d checked her voice mail then but nothing more from Phil.

  Instead of wandering, what she really wanted to do was confront Rick about his identity problem. But was twilight in the middle of nowhere the right time and place to do that?

  Probably not.

  Not that she feared him. In fact, despite the incongruities in his personal history, she took comfort in his presence. Not because he seemed devoted to her; more devoted to the job of protecting her—a matter of pride or a sense of duty. Still, she couldn’t imagine being out here on her own.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “No.”

  She ignored that. “Is there a woman in your life?”

  “Isn’t that a personal question?”

  “No, just a curiosity question. Is there?”

  “Are you applying for the job?”

  “Hardly. Answer?”

  “No, no woman in my life. Satisfied?”

  “How about a man in your life?”

  A soft chuckle. “Just Stahlman.”

  “Has there ever been a woman in your life?”

  “Now that’s personal.”

  “Okay, why isn’t there one now?”

  “Also personal, but I’ll just say that relationships are overrated and leave it at that.”

  Spoken like a man who can’t find a woman willing to put up with him. She tried to imagine living with him … and failed.

  He took his GPS reading and made his notes, then reached across the hood toward her.

  “Have you got that pic of Chaim’s tat handy?”

  She reached through the Jeep window and pulled the photo from her shoulder bag.

  “It’s too early, isn’t it?” She looked at the sky where the sun’s rays were fading but not yet gone. “There’s a star up there but I don’t think that’s north.”

  “You’re half right,” he said, taking the photo. “That’s not north, but that’s also not a star. That’s Jupiter.”

  “How do you—? Oh, right. SEAL training.”

  �
��You got it.”

  She wanted so badly to challenge him.

  He pulled out his compass, took a reading, then laid the photo on the hood and aligned it at an angle.

  “We should find Polaris over that way when things get darker.”

  2

  Bradsher looked agitated as he entered Nelson’s suite in the Sadot Hotel. Since it was only a short shuttle ride away from Ben Gurion Airport, he’d decided to center their operation here.

  “Close the door and tell me what you’ve got.”

  He spread his hands. “Brother Miguel and his hireling are no longer with us.”

  The news came as no surprise, not after seeing Fanning’s travel companion, but Nelson’s headache suddenly worsened.

  “Details?”

  “The men we sent spotted a cloud of birds circling an area of the jungle. They found them there, both strangled, hanging from trees near their car. The birds and apparently some of the jungle cats had been at them.”

  “Time of death?”

  “They estimate Sunday night or early Monday morning. They drove the remains back to Mexico City. I don’t know what they plan to do with—”

  “And we don’t care. Who do they think did it—natives in retaliation, or Hayden?”

  Nelson knew the answer but he wanted the available facts.

  “Isn’t he really ‘Haddad’?”

  “He’s neither, but we started with Hayden so let’s stick with that.”

  The Haddad name hadn’t clicked until he’d recognized Fanning’s bodyguard. Then it all came crashing together. The real Haddad’s body had been found a while ago during a dredging operation near Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. If not for the dredging, the body would have remained in the muck forever. Not much left of him after years in the water. He’d been identified by dental records.

  The Company had suspected Haddad of terrorist ties and he’d been under close observation, especially after he quit the Sausalito force. But then he dropped off the radar. At least that was the official story.

  Nelson had had no inkling until now that his identity had been usurped. Apparently the Company had known, but they’d buried the information behind high-level clearances.

  Why, Lord? Why him of all people?

  “I wish you’d tell me his real name.”

  “As soon as you have the proper clearance, I will gladly tell you.”

  “Yessir. As for Miguel, the men who found him commented on the method. They felt it would be highly unusual for the natives to use—”

  “Zip ties?”

  Bradsher’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  Nelson shook his head. Could this get any worse?

  “He always had a thing for zip ties. Very creative with them. Were the bodies burned?”

  “No, sir.”

  Well, at least he hadn’t tried to make a mockery of the Leviticus Sanction.

  “The question is, did he learn anything from Miguel?”

  “No signs of torture on either, sir. I’m sure Miguel would say nothing even under extreme circumstances, and the hireling knew nothing.”

  “And yet … something sent them off to Israel … to a dead kibbutz.”

  “As you said, sir, Israel’s a dead end. They’re doing nothing more than sucking up our time and attention and resources. The desert is a perfect place to eliminate them and have done with it.”

  Bradsher didn’t see the Lord’s hand in this, nor Nelson’s place in His plan. For he was becoming more and more convinced that the Lord had a plan for him—specifically for him. But Nelson couldn’t voice that. Not yet. Not until he was sure.

  “You’re probably right. But she’s following some sort of trail, one we didn’t even know existed. Let’s give them a little more time and see where it leads.”

  3

  It didn’t take long for the clear desert sky to fill with stars. No moon, but the combined light from more stars than she had ever seen at one time was bright enough to light the ground and even cast faint shadows.

  “Isn’t that the Milky Way?” she said, sweeping her raised hand along a massive, mottled arc of light and cosmic dust stretching across the sky.

  “Yep. See that thickened brighter area? That’s downtown Milky Way, the galactic hub. They say there’s a massive black hole there.”

  She’d heard that and for some ridiculous reason it always made her uncomfortable. Not as if she was ever going to get near it. She continued searching the sky until she spotted a familiar configuration.

  “The Big Dipper. Look.”

  “Got it.” He pointed. “Follow the edge and there’s Polaris.”

  He pulled out a flashlight, angled the photo to align the tattoo’s staff toward the star, then used his protractor.

  “Two hundred ninety-three degrees west,” he announced, as if addressing an audience. Then, motioning her closer, he leaned farther across the hood and lowered his voice. “Don’t react to what I’m about to say, okay? Don’t look around, just concentrate on the photo.”

  Her immediate instinct was to straighten up and look around. It took every ounce of will not to.

  “Why? What’s—?”

  “We’ve got company.”

  She had to ball her fists to keep herself from looking.

  “Where?”

  “They’re behind the building. Slowly, casually, we’re going to get back in the Jeep and roll out of here. Got that? Slowly, casually. If they think we’re unaware of them, they might let us go.”

  “Wh-who are they, 536?”

  “Maybe. But since we’re about two miles from the West Bank, I have another prime suspect when it comes to sneaking around in Israeli territory at night. Now…” He lifted the photo and raised his voice. “Okay! That’s that! Back to civilization!”

  Laura’s knees felt a little wobbly as she straightened and stepped toward the passenger door. This wasn’t like Mexico where Rick had been armed. She found herself thinking about Marissa.

  What will happen to her if I’m killed? Steven won’t be able to—

  Her fingers were just brushing the door handle when the night suddenly came alive with incoherent shouting as four figures raced toward the car.

  “Hands up,” Rick told her. “No sudden moves unless someone starts shooting, then hit the dirt.”

  Laura had a quick impression of camo pants, sweaters, ammo vests, and head scarves, and then she was shoved up against the Jeep and roughly patted down. Whoever was doing it took extra time with her buttocks and between her thighs.

  Then more shouting in a language she didn’t understand, and a lot of pushing and shoving until they were both backed against the decrepit block building.

  The Jeep headlights came on, blinding her and pinning her to the wall.

  One of their attackers had found the car rental agreement and their passports and was on one knee by the headlights, inspecting them. He wore a white-and-blue keffiyeh, Arafat style, and appeared to be the leader. At least the others seemed to defer to him.

  He rose and said something to his companions. Whatever it was, they laughed and grinned. After a little back and forth chatter and more laughter—what was so damn funny?—the leader approached.

  “Tourists?” he said in heavily accented English.

  “Yes-yes!” Rick said. “We’re tourists! Please don’t hurt us!”

  “We will not hurt you. We—”

  “No!” Rick wailed, his voice breaking. “You’re going to cut our heads off! I’ve seen the video!”

  What was he saying? Cut their heads off? Why give them ideas?

  “Be calm,” the Palestinian said. “We only—”

  “Please!” he shrieked, dropping to his knees and pressing his hands together in prayer. “I beg you! Take her! Go ahead! You can have her! Just let me go!” He dropped his head almost to the ground as he held his folded hands aloft. “Pleeease!”

  She’d known him only for a couple of days, but this was so un-Rick, it had to be an act. She didn�
��t like the act—take her … you can have her … seriously?—but decided to play along.

  She stared at him with feigned disgust. “You sniveling bastard!”

  Apparently the lead Palestinian felt the same. He snarled something and kicked Rick in the ribs. The rest happened too fast to register. She saw a blur of motion and suddenly Rick had hold of the leader, pulling him down and turning him around to face his men, then using him as a shield as he opened fire from behind him.

  Rick’s words echoed back to her:… someone starts shooting … hit the dirt …

  She dove for the sand and scrabbled out of the headlight glare. Two of the three silhouetted targets fell quickly, but the third was able to return fire—quick, three-round bursts from some sort of assault rifle slung over his shoulder. She saw the leader Rick held buck with the impact of the slugs meant for Rick. The top of his head exploded.

  As the shooter ducked away from the Jeep, Laura realized he was heading straight for her. She tried to scrabble away but he caught her under an arm and started to lift her, obviously to use as a shield against Rick.

  No way.

  She had a little girl waiting for her.

  She grabbed a handful of sand and hurled it at his face. He’d been looking and firing at Rick and didn’t see it coming. He recoiled as it hit his eyes. She raked those eyes with her fingernails for good measure. He cried out in pain and released her. As she fell back, a bullet caved in his throat and another took away part of his face.

  Rick shoved his human shield aside and ran toward the Jeep. He quickly checked the first two men and stripped them of their weapons. None of the downed men was moving, certainly not the one closest to her.

  “You okay?” he said, hurrying over.

  “Wh-wh-what just happened?”

  “We just got ourselves out of a nasty jam.”

  “We?”

  “Nice move with the sand and going for his eyes. Gave me a clear line of fire.”

  A delayed reaction from her adrenaline surge was making her hands shake as she brushed them off and rose to her feet. She looked down at the bloody, ruined throat of the one who had tried to grab her. She’d seen too many dead people to have a corpse bother her, but this one did. He’d been blown away right in front of her.