Covenant

52

There are too many people.”

Spencer Malik watched the large screen before him showing a blazing building in garish shades of yellow and orange. The shapes of fleeing Palestinians littered the scene, some running away from the burning building, others paradoxically running toward it.

“They’ll come out of one of the adjacent buildings,” Malik said. “Just keep the camera steady.”

The technician flying the Valkyrie struggled to keep the aircraft in position.

“We’re running out of airspace, I’ll have to turn.”

Malik watched the screen intently, and spotted three figures sprinting away from the burning remains of the building. He squinted at the image, seeing the clothes that they wore, the way that they moved. For a brief moment, as the Valkyrie turned gracefully through the sky above them, he caught a glimpse of a pixelated but recognizable face.

“There they are.” Malik pointed to the small group of running figures, their forms blurred and indistinct through the sensitive night-vision cameras. “Take them out.”

The technician shook his head.

“We can’t be sure at this range.”

Malik smashed a clenched fist down on the table beside him.

“Kill all of them. That’s an order!”

The whine of the turbine engine howling behind Ethan and Rachel was suddenly broken by a loud clattering noise that echoed off the densely packed buildings around them.

“Get down!”

Ethan hit the ground behind Mahmoud as bullets whipped and cracked around them, churning the dust in wicked little bursts. Rachel slammed down alongside him, her long hair smothering his face. The sound of the turbine howled past overhead and vanished.

“This way!” Mahmoud said. “We must get out of sight!”

Mahmoud scrambled to his feet and turned right down a narrow alley. Ethan dragged his protesting body up again, Rachel struggling alongside him as they plunged down the alley in pursuit of Mahmoud. The Palestinian halted at the end, craning his neck to look up into the sky and listening intently.

“It’s coming back, you can hear it.”

Ethan strained, but could hear nothing save for the cries and shouts of alarm from around the burning building far behind them.

“We can’t keep running like this,” he said wearily. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

“They’ve used all of their missiles and have only bullets remaining now. In Gaza, there is always somewhere to hide from bullets.” Mahmoud smiled grimly. “Come, this way.”

They ran out into the street together, sprinting toward where the road ended in a T junction, splitting left and right and the way ahead blocked by a wall pockmarked with impact craters from artillery fire and bullets.

“There is another tunnel in the building at the end, on the left,” Mahmoud shouted as they ran. “It goes under the wall and comes out in open ground beyond.”

“They’ll see us emerge!” Ethan shouted.

“We have only to wait until their fuel is exhausted.”

Ethan turned, looking over his shoulder as the sound of the turbine whined back toward them.

“We’re not going to make it!” he shouted.

Mahmoud reached the door of the house at the end of the street and promptly slammed into it as it failed to open before him.

Ethan slid to a halt alongside Mahmoud, who banged against the heavy door with his fist.

“Don’t suppose you have a key?” Ethan muttered.

“It’s coming back!” Rachel called, and pointed back down the street.

In the faint glow of the flickering flames from the adjoining street, Ethan saw the Valkyrie descending toward them, its inky fuselage silhouetted against the hellish inferno beyond.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he uttered helplessly.

The Valkyrie howled down the street toward them, and Ethan turned to shield Rachel from its view, waiting for the crackling sound of its guns and the unimaginable impact of superheated bullets slamming into their bodies.

The sudden howl of a rocket deafened Ethan as a trail of white smoke screeched past their heads from behind the battered wall nearby. Ethan glimpsed a slender shape whistling up into the sky and then the Valkyrie vanished amid a blast of boiling flames and smoke before falling in ungainly flaming spirals into the street below.

Mahmoud stared in shock at the shattered UAV as a growling mechanical roar filled the air. Ethan sheltered Rachel against the locked door as the wall nearby suddenly crumbled, chunks of masonry and clouds of cracked cement spraying out over the street.

“Israel is coming,” Mahmoud muttered darkly, and placed one hand firmly on Ethan’s shoulder. “I must leave, but know this: I owe you a debt, sadiqi, that cannot be repaid with words. Ma’assalama.”

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak Mahmoud had sprinted away and vanished into the chaotic sprawl of Gaza’s alleys.

The roar intensified as an enormous tank rolled over the wall and onto the street, crunching over debris as its immense diesel engine snarled and smoked. Ethan stared at the troops wearing body armor and carrying assault weapons who were amassed around the vehicle. In the light of the distant flames, Ethan could see white discs marking the tank, each with a blue star in its center: the Star of David.

The tank drew up in the street and an Israeli soldier bearing the epaulettes of an officer moved quickly forward, his rifle pointed at them.

“We’re American,” Ethan called.

The Israeli officer hesitated, his expression alert and cautious. Ethan saw his eyes scan their bodies for any sign of explosive devices, a grim reminder of the threat to Israel from suicide bombers. Ethan’s ripped shirt betrayed the presence of no suspicious packages however, and the officer waved them forward.

“Ethan Warner?” the officer asked briskly.

“How the hell did you know we were here?” Ethan stammered.

“We got a call from Washington,” the officer said. “Follow me.”

Ethan led Rachel past the tank, its huge diesel engine idling now in the darkness, and knew that they would be safely escorted from Gaza. Doug Jarvis had come through once again.

“I need a direct line to the office of the commander of the Israeli Defense Force,” Ethan told the soldier as he directed them to an armored personnel carrier parked nearby. “There’s a lot I need to tell them.”

“There’s a lot the Ministry of Foreign Affairs needs to tell you,” the officer replied, turning and pressing a pistol to Ethan’s chest as another soldier grabbed his wrists and bound them in handcuffs.

“What are you doing?” Rachel demanded.

“Ethan Warner, you are under arrest,” the officer said briskly. “I suggest that you reconsider your alliance with him, Ms. Morgan. He won’t be in this country by the morning.”