The Lance

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

People milled about in the corridor. Nick watched a medical team load Rivka onto a gurney. They'd given her a shot of something and she was out of it, her dusky skin the color of milk. He called Ari.

"Is she all right?"

"She's badly wounded. The medics are here, she's on her way to Hadassah."

"How did it happen?"

"We went through the door of my room and someone started shooting from the balcony. We fired and he went over the edge. She took one all the way through."

"You?"

"He missed." Nick thought of Rivka taking a bullet meant for him. It wasn't a good thought.

"Stay where you are," Ari said. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Down the hall, three men and a woman in dark suits and earpieces made their way toward him.

"I may not be here. I see Secret Service coming. They're going to want some answers."

"Ten minutes." Ari hung up.

The four agents stopped in front of Nick. They didn't look friendly.

The lead man was over six feet tall and purposeful, with a face that had serious all over it. His eyes were like ice. He was around forty, clean-shaven even this late in the day. He had a high forehead and a combination of green eyes and red hair that said Ireland in the background somewhere.

"You're Carter?"

It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to know who he was. They'd only needed to check the hotel register.

"Yes."

"Calloway." He flashed his ID and gave a pointed look at Nick's holstered H-K. "Hand over your weapon, please."

The other agents waited to see what he would do. The hallway was filling up with police, Secret Service, spies and who knew what. It reminded him of a scene from a Bogart movie. The only thing missing was Sydney Greenstreet.

A large Israeli police officer wearing the insignia of a Sergeant Major stepped in front of Calloway.

"Just a minute. We are in charge, here." His English was heavily accented. He turned to Nick, said, "Give me your pistol, please." He had his right hand on his holstered weapon, the strap snapped back and the hammer cocked, his left hand held out for the gun.

Agent Calloway was cool before, but now he turned glacial. "The President's security takes precedence here. This man will come with us."

"I don't think so. You are on Israeli sovereign territory. This is our country, not yours. Your President is upstairs and quite safe. This man is in our custody." He turned back to Nick. "Your weapon, please."

Nick carefully lifted his .45 out of the holster, using a thumb and one finger on the grip, and held it out to the Israeli. He took it, nodded once in satisfaction. Calloway's expression looked like he'd been forced to drink vinegar.

The agents crowded in and the tension level in the hall went up. Several Israeli policemen moved closer. Then a commanding voice cut through the noise in the hall.

"That's enough!"

President James Rice was coming down the corridor, thirty feet away. He wore tan slippers and an unbuttoned gray cardigan vest over a blue shirt and casual slacks. Three more grim faced agents were with him. Calloway straightened. All sound died away. Down the hall, a woman in a pink robe and hair curlers peered out of her room.

The President had the kind of presence people expect of the single most powerful politician in the world. With Rice, it was more than political practice. He radiated command and confidence. An intense energy belied his sixty-seven years. He was just under six feet tall, with silver hair still showing a few strands of black. His penetrating, hazel eyes didn't miss anything.

Calloway stepped forward. "Mr. President. Sir, you shouldn't be here."

"It's all right, John, I know who this man is. He is not a threat."

Rice looked at Nick. "A short time ago I received a phone call from Director Harker. When I heard what happened down here, I decided to see for myself."

The President was known for hands-on involvement with anything he deemed important. It drove his advisors and his security details crazy.

"Mr. President," Nick said. "Sir, if I could have a few moments, I need to speak with you."

"All in good time, Carter, all in good time. Sergeant." He nodded at the police officer. "It is Sergeant, isn't it? Please return Mr. Carter's weapon to him."

The Israeli policeman was at a loss as to what he should do. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it. Just then Ari came down the hall, his Shin Bet ID held high in front of him. The crowd parted before him like the red sea before Moses. He stopped in front of the policeman.

"Sergeant Major, I think you had better do as the American President suggests."

The Israeli cop started to say something, thought better of it and gave the pistol back, butt first. The woman agent had moved to the side of the President and was talking into her microphone, holding one hand against her earpiece, the other on her holstered Glock, watching Nick the way a cat watches a mouse.

"You are…?" Rice looked at Ari.

"Ari Herzog, Mr. President, Shin Bet. Mr. Carter and I have been working together. One of my operatives was with him and injured when they were attacked. It's an unfortunate incident. We'll pursue it. "

"Shin Bet. You believe this was a terrorist operation of some sort?"

"Mr. President. We — Mr. Carter and I — have been concerned about your safety. It's possible this attack has something to do with your presence here in my country."

Rice sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Herzog. I regret the trouble my visit causes you. I hope your agent recovers quickly." Rice paused. "Perhaps you would allow me to take charge of Mr. Carter. I'm sure you have much to attend to."

It was a gracious dismissal and an order at the same time.

"Of course, Mr. President. Nick, please contact me."

"As soon as possible, Ari."

Rice said, "This way, Carter." He turned and headed for the elevators, his detail flanked around him. Nick caught a hard look from Calloway, but the agent said nothing. Rice was the boss. There was no doubt about who was in charge.

The ride up to the ninth floor was made in silence. Rice looked preoccupied. Calloway and his agents looked unhappy. Nick didn't know how he looked but decided to keep his mouth shut and work at getting the sake under control. He had a vivid picture in his mind of Rivka lying on the floor of his room.