‘Eighteen wires,’ repeated Grey hesitantly. ‘That means six false receptacles—’
‘That’s it, Tinker—forget it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘We cut one of those, we get a rock-muchacha band blaring in the street.’
‘How can you tell? You said the pre-coded wires were altered—for amateurs like Ben-Ami. How can you tell?’
‘Mechanics’ courtesy, my friend. The slob-joes who work on this stuff hate like hell to read diagrams, so they make it easier for themselves or others who have to service the systems. On every false wire they make a mark, usually with pincer pliers high up towards the main terminal. That way they call in after fixing the system and say they spent an hour tracing the falsies because the diagrams weren’t clear—they never are.’
‘Suppose you’re wrong, Mr. Weingrass? Suppose that here there was an honest “mechanic”?’
‘Impossible. There aren’t enough of them around,’ replied Manny, taking a small torch and a chisel out of his right pocket. ‘Come on, prise off the panel; we’ve got roughly eighty to ninety seconds to snip off twelve leads. Can you imagine? That cheap bastard, Hassan, said these batteries are weak. Go on!’
‘I can use plastique,’ said code Grey.
‘And with that heat set off every alarm in the place including the sprinkler system? Meshuga! I’m sending you back to shul.’
‘You’re making me very upset, Mr—’
‘Shut up. Do your job, I’ll get you a badge.’ The architect handed code Grey the chisel he had taken from Hassan, knowing it would be necessary from the plans of the Sahalhuddin’s security. ‘Do it quickly; these things are sensitive.’
The commando jammed the chisel below the panel’s lock and with the strength of three normal men pressed forward, snapping the panel open. ‘Give me the torch!’ said the Israeli. ‘You find the wires!’
One by anxious one Emmanuel Weingrass moved from right to left, the beam of light on each coloured wire. Eight, nine, ten… eleven. ‘Where’s twelve!’ yelled Manny. ‘I caught every false lead! There has to be one more! Without it they’ll all trigger off!’
‘Here. There’s a mark here!’ cried code Grey, touching the seventh wire. ‘It’s next to the third false lead. You missed it!’
‘I got it!’ Weingrass suddenly collapsed in a fit of coughing; he doubled over on the floor straining beyond his endurance to stop the seizure.
‘Go ahead, Mr. Weingrass,’ said Grey gently, touching the old man’s thin shoulder. ‘Let it out. No one can hear you.’
‘I promised I wouldn’t—’
‘There are promises beyond our control of keeping, sir.’
‘Stop being so fucking polite!’ Manny coughed out his last spasm and awkwardly, painfully got to his feet. The commando purposely did not offer assistance. ‘Okay, soldier-boy,’ said Weingrass, breathing deeply. ‘The place is secure—from our point of view. Let’s find my boy.’
Code Grey held his place. ‘Despite your less than generous personality, sir, I respect you,’ said the Israeli. ‘And for all our sakes, I can’t permit you to accompany us.’
‘You what?
‘We don’t know what’s on the upper floors—’
I do, you son of a bitch! My boy’s up there!… Give me a gun, Tinker Bell, or I’ll send a telegram to Israel’s Defence Minister telling him you own a pig farm!’ Weingrass suddenly kicked the commando in the shins.
‘Incorrigible!’ muttered code Grey without moving his leg. ‘Impossible!’
‘Come on, bubbelah. A little gun. I know you’ve got one.’
‘Please don’t use it unless I tell you to,’ said the commando, lifting his left trouser leg and reaching down for the small revolver strapped behind his knee.
‘Actually, I never told you I was part of the Haganah?’
‘The Haganah?’
‘Sure. Me and Menachem had a lot of rough-and-tumbles—’
‘Menachem was never part of the Haganah—’
‘Must have been some other bald-headed fellow. Come on, let’s go!’
Ben-Ami, the Uzi gripped in his hands in the shadows of the Sahalhuddin’s entrance, kept in touch by radio. ‘But why is he with you?’ asked the Mossad agent.
‘Because he’s impossible!’ replied the irritated voice of code Grey.
‘That’s not an answer!’ insisted Ben-Ami.
‘I have no other. Out. We’ve reached the sixth floor. I’ll contact you when it’s feasible.’
‘Understood.’
Two of the commandos flanked the wide double doors on the right of the landing; the third stood at the other end of the hall, outside the only other door with light showing through the crack below. Emmanuel Weingrass reluctantly remained on the marble staircase; his anxiety provoked rumblings in his chest but his resolve suppressed them.
‘Now!’ whispered code Grey, and both men crashed the door open with their shoulders, instantly dropping to the floor as two robed Arabs at each end of the room turned, firing their repeating weapons. They were no match for the Uzis; both fell with two bursts from the Israeli machine pistols. A third and a fourth man started to run, one in white robes from behind the enormous ebony desk, the other from the left side.
‘Stop!’ yelled code Grey. ‘Or you’re both dead!’
The dark-skinned man in the robes of a lavish aba stood motionless, his glowering eyes riveted on the Israeli. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done? he asked in a low, threatening voice. ‘The security in this building is the finest in Bahrain.’
The authorities will be here in minutes. You will lay down your weapons or you will be killed.’
‘Hello there, garbage!’ yelled Emmanuel Weingrass, walking into the room with effort as old men do when their legs do not work as well as they once did, especially after a great deal of excitement. ‘The system’s not that good, not when you’ve sub-contracted five or six hundred.’
‘You!’
‘Who else? I should have blown you away years ago in Basrah. But I knew my boy would come back to find you, you scum of the earth. It was just a matter of time. Where is he?’
‘My life for his.’
‘You’re in no position to bargain—’
‘Perhaps I am,’ broke in the Mahdi. ‘He’s on his way to an unmarked airfield where a plane will fly him out to sea. Destination—the shoals of Qatar.’
‘The sharks,’ said Weingrass quietly, in cold fury.
‘Ever so. One of nature’s conveniences. Now do we bargain? Only I can stop them.’
The old architect, his frail body trembling as he breathed deeply, stared at the tall, robed black man, his voice strained as he replied. ‘We bargain,’ he said. ‘And by Almighty God you’d better deliver or I’ll hunt you down with an army of mercenaries.’
‘You were always such a melodramatic Jew, weren’t you?’ The Mahdi glanced at his watch. ‘There’s time. As is the custom on such flights, there can be no ground-to-air radio contact, no subsequent forensic examinations of a plane. They’re scheduled to take off with the first light. Once outside I’ll place the call; the aircraft will not leave, but you and your little army of whatever-they-are will.’
‘Don’t even think about any tricks, you scum ball… We deal.’
‘No!’ Code Grey whipped out his knife and lunged at the Mahdi, gripping his robes and throwing him over the desk. ‘There are no bargains, no deals, no negotiations whatsoever. There’s only your life at this moment!’ Grey shoved the point of his blade into the flesh below the Chicagoan’s left eye. The Mahdi screamed as the blood rolled down his cheek and into his open mouth. ‘Make your call now or lose first this eye, then the other! After that it won’t matter to you where my knife goes next; you won’t see it.’ The commando reached over, grabbed the phone on the desk and slammed it down beside the bleeding head. ‘That’s your bargain, scum! Give me the number. I’ll dial it for you—just to make sure it’s an airfield and not some private barracks. Give it to me!’
‘No-no, I can’t!’
‘The blade goes in!’
‘No, stop! There is no airfield, no plane!’
‘Liar!’
‘Not now. Later!’
‘Lose your first eye, liar!’
‘He’s here! My God, stop! He’s here!’
‘Where?’ roared Manny, rushing up to the desk.
‘The west wing… there’s a staircase in the hall on the right, a small storage area below the roof—’
Emmanuel Weingrass did not hear any more. He raced out of the room, screaming with all the breath that was in him. ‘Evan! Evan…!’
He was hallucinating, thought Kendrick; a person dear to him from the past was calling to him, giving him courage. The singular privilege of a condemned man, he considered. He looked up from the cot at the window; the moon was moving away, its light fading. He would not see another moon. Soon there would be nothing but darkness.
‘Evan! Evan!’
It was so like Manny. He had always been there when his young friend needed him. And here at the end he was there to give comfort. Oh, Lord, Manny, I hope you learn somehow that I came back! That finally I listened to you. I found him, Manny! Others will, too, I know it! Please be a little proud of me—