The Sinai Secret

FIFTY-ONE

Bull amp; Rose Public House

Abington

At the Same Time

Jacob looked at the lock of hair, puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

Lang explained to him while the replacement for his empty glass finally arrived. He was gratified to see Jacob putting his pipe away along with its assorted impedimenta.

Jacob held his own empty glass up for the waiter. "I look forward to meeting your new bird."

"I hope you do. First we've got work to do. Obviously Zwelk and his people have her."

"If he's the heavy in all this. Either way, I'd guess you'll be getting some kind of a demand shortly."

Lang leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Why, do you suppose, didn't I get one with the envelope?"

Jacob pursed his lips for a moment and then pointed to the BlackBerry still on the table. "I'd venture they want you to use that thing, verify the chippie has disappeared, before they start making demands."

"But that means they'll have to keep me in sight."

"No, that means you bloody well will want them to keep you in view rather than lose contact."

Lang thought about that. "I suppose they're watching now."

Both men resisted the impulse to turn around.

"Doesn't mean we can't start," Jacob said, standing as he drained his glass in a gulp. "Come along."

Lang followed suit. "Where?"

"On a bleeding holiday, lad."

Minutes later they were strolling along the river's grassy bank. Shortly past the lock, Jacob stopped at a dock to which five or six gaily painted rowboats were tied, each with a tiny outboard motor bolted to the transom. A cloth banner overhead advertising boats to rent by the hour hardly moved in the still air.

"Ever cruised the Thames?" Jacob asked.

"No, never thought about it."

"Great pity. The fact that just above London it narrows into little more than a stream with a slow current makes it an ideal day trip or a week's excursion, depending on how far you want to go. Boats have the right to tie up anywhere along the banks, and you can cruise from Maidenhead all the way to the bogs in Hertfordshire. Great way to visit Hampton Court, Oxford, et cetera."

Lang was watching Jacob hand a credit card to the man on the dock. "I'll remember that."

He glanced around, unable to distinguish anyone suspicious among the boaters, picnickers, or others out to enjoy a beautiful day.

Once on the river Jacob opened the little motor all the way, propelling the craft at what Lang guessed was slightly less than three knots. The river was as crowded as the lock. Racing hulls, rowboats, and other small craft, along with an occasional long, slender canal boat, all traveled at the same stately pace. Lang noted the number of houses along the water, as varied as the boats on it. A small cottage there, a Tudor mansion here.

From his seat in the bow, he turned to where Jacob was steering with one hand and talking into a cell phone held by the other. "This is swell, but I don't see how a river cruise is going to-"

Jacob took a hand from the motor's handle to wave him into silence. The little boat rocked dangerously.

Without speaking, Jacob made a sweeping U-turn and continued to retrace their course for a minute before turning back around. Lang was about to risk another near swamping when he realized Jacob was making straight for a willow-framed boathouse in front of a white-frame Georgian. The door swung upward and the rowboat's motor went silent as the little dinghy's momentum carried them inside. Immediately the door came down again.

Lang was letting his eyes adjust to the relative gloom that had replaced the bright sun reflecting from the river when Jacob spoke. "Guess you thought I'd gone round the bend, turning around out there."

"The thought crossed my mind."

Jacob was tying the craft to a cleat next to the slip. "Wanted to make sure our friends hadn't had the time to rent their own pleasure craft and crash the party." He climbed onto a wooden deck. "C'mon inside."

Lang did as he was bidden. "But I thought we wanted them to know where I Was."

"They'll find us soon enough once we return the boat. Come along, now."

Lang followed his friend along the tree line to the house. A door opened as though by magic as they approached. Inside, a man held the door open. Despite the warmth of the day he wore a tatty wool sweater. The white of the shirt underneath showed through a network of holes. Wordlessly he led Lang and Jacob along a corridor devoid of furniture or furnishings. The rooms were equally empty.

Safe houses all had a certain barren similarity, Agency or Mossad.

At the end of the hall their guide opened a door, revealing a flight of stairs. Halfway down a wave of cool air washed over them. They entered a room totally dark other than the flickering screens of banks of computers. In the murk Lang got only the impression of operators.

Jacob seated himself in front of one, motioning Lang to sit beside him. Their guide disappeared into the darkness.

Jacob began booting up. "Nice country estate, don't you think? Office extension for those weary of the city."

How a computer room in the English countryside differed from the one at Mossad's part of the Israeli embassy in London escaped Lang.

Jacob's machine flickered to life. Lang watched the screen. To his surprise Jacob called up the Internet just as anyone with the capability might do.

"Don't tell me we're shopping on Amazon."

Jacob didn't turn his head from the monitor. "Nothing that complicated. You'll note I'm calling up Google."

"You're going to Google Zwelk?"

"Not exactly. But I am using a site any bloke connected to the Net can use."

Lang watched as what appeared to be a satellite picture of brown earth filled the screen. "What are we looking at?"

"Israel. More specifically, a part of it near the Gaza Strip."

Lang watched as Jacob narrowed the focus with each click of the keyboard. He could see the brown of the desert that was Palestinian Gaza meet the green of Israel's cultivated fields and orchards. Many people remarked on the success of Jewish agriculture in the desert while the land across the border remained empty sand. The reason, he knew, was not a difference in desire or ability; it was the irrigation system that fed Jewish farms but was denied their Arab neighbors.

A cluster of ten or so flat roofs was now clearly visible, with a little whitewashed wall showing. The angle of the satellite was directly overhead so that shadows, rather than profiles, defined objects.

"Maximum resolution," Jacob announced. "This is Zwelk's kibbutz in real time. If he has your lady friend, she's in one of those buildings."

Fascinated, Lang stared at the screen. "You mean anyone with a computer can look down anywhere?"

"If he has the coordinates or, in the civilized world, an address. Of course, the system isn't so helpful at night or on cloudy days."

Privacy: available only during the evening hours or inclement weather.

Silently the two men watched a small herd of animals, Lang guessed sheep or goats, being driven somewhere. A person, sex undeterminable at this angle, walked out of one of the houses and into another.

Jacob pointed to a building in the middle of the compound. "See the extra vehicles? Something's going on in there. Unusual for Shabbat. I'd guess if she's there, those cars belong to her guards."

"That or they're celebrating the Sabbath."

"Possible," Jacob conceded, "but these people are ultraconservative, believe in strict observance. That would prohibit all work, including driving. I'd bet those cars and trucks have been there since sundown yesterday, and there's only one reason I can think of why there would be more than one per house: alternating guard duty."

Lang agreed. "Can you print this out?"

"Better. I can print out what you're seeing as well as everything within a couple of miles. Surely you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

Lang grinned. "Of course I am. You coming along?"

Jacob sighed as he centered the cursor on the print icon. "Why not? I haven't been back home in a long, long time."

"What about Rachel?"

Jacob looked into Lang's face. "You don't really think I'd tell her where I was going and why, do you? Why, the old love would have a fit." Or worse, Lang added mentally, insist on coming along.