The Sinai Secret

FIFTY-NINE

Three Kilometers from Kibbutz Zion

At the Same Time

Another few minutes of bouncing around like a cork in rough water and Inspector Rauch would have embarrassed himself by getting sick, loosing his last meal all over the other five men in this infernal device, including the Israeli policeman, Zaltov. The bastard actually seemed to be enjoying the flight. The security man, Gruber, had explained that the cooling of the night air over the sun-warmed desert caused irregular heating and, therefore, the updrafts-thermals, he called them-that had rocked the Bell helicopter. The meteorological information had not made the ride any less terrifying.

For the first time in years, Inspector Rauch thanked God. They were descending, and this ride from hell was about over. He risked a peek through the Plexiglas. The aircraft's spotlight showed what looked like a small village with what might have been a pond in the middle. No, not a lake, but the smashed remains of some kind of huge container in the middle of whatever liquid it had contained. A water tower, he could now see. He could almost hear the desert sand greedily drinking up the available moisture.

And there was a fire; one of the buildings was burning. He could smell smoke.

The light moved to an open space, and the helicopter began a vertical descent that left Rauch's stomach somewhere above. On either side the other two machines were also settling.

Now he was close enough to the ground to see a group of men and women. The men wore hats and were all bearded, with the side curls of Hasidim. Several were pointing upward.

Rauch swallowed hard and spoke for the first time during the trip, asking Zaltov, "How do we know this man Reilly won't escape before we land?"

The policeman gave what Rauch supposed was a laugh had he been able to hear it over the clatter of rotor blades. "Escape? Where? This kibbutz is sealed off from the sea by the wall along the Gaza border and is in the middle of the desert. No one in his right mind would want to wander around out there."

Rauch was tempted to point out that Zaltov's ancestors had, according to their own tradition, done just that. And not just "wandered." After forty years of meandering, they had managed to select one of the few places in this area of the world that had no oil under it.

Instead he concentrated on mastering his heaving stomach for a few more minutes.

Rauch was surprised when the helicopter touched down with the lightness of a ballerina. In seconds Gruber was standing at his elbow, shouting orders over the dying whine of turbine engines and slowing rotor blades. The dozen or so uniformed and armed men fanned out, knocking on doors before opening them, while two of their number disappeared into the darkness, presumably to cover any exit. To the Austrian it looked like a military maneuver by well-trained troops. He was a little surprised that none of the residents seemed either surprised or upset that their kibbutz had been invaded. He supposed that, this close to hostile territory, the appearance of friendly forces at any time was welcome.

One of the soldiers had an old man by the arm, gently leading the white-bearded elder toward the place Rauch and Gruber stood. It was clear to Rauch that more respect than coercion was involved. Although the Austrian policeman could not understand the language, the tone indicated polite questioning rather than harsh interrogation. Finally the old man pointed toward one of several bungalow-like buildings just beyond the shrinking perimeter of light from the waning fire.

Gruber pointed to the same place. "He says he knows of no strangers here other than a red-haired woman who is visiting the chairman of the kibbutz and his wife. That's their house." The security man took off at a trot. "Come on!"

Rauch had not taken his second step when he heard shots. They seemed to come from the very house to which he was headed.