The Sinai Secret

SIXTY-ONE

Tel Aviv

Two Days Later

Lang spent the days with a man Jacob later identified as Mossad's master interrogator. He was mostly interested in just how much Lang knew and how far along Zwelk's work with gold might have gotten. The word weapon was never mentioned, but the progress of the foundation's research was. Although not specifically told, Lang came away with the definite impression that it would be wise to stick to matters of a medical nature.

It was an idea he would definitely consider.

While Lang was occupied with answering questions, Jacob gave Alicia a view of the city, a fast-paced walking tour that left her begging for time-out and an afternoon nap. With her back at the hotel, Jacob moved much more leisurely and directly into the Yemenite Quarter, the city's oldest. Narrow streets were lined with Arab-type dwellings competing for space with newer Art Deco homes, many decorated with tile panels. He turned into Nakhaler Binyamin Street, where fashionable boutiques and cafes did a brisk business despite the afternoon heat.

He passed several outdoor tables under an awning and a sign announcing the premises as the Camel's Hump in Hebrew and English before slowly turning around. As though unsure of his surroundings, he surveyed the nearly empty street before backtracking to the cafe and sitting across a table from a man whose face was hidden by a newspaper.

"Try the konafa," said a voice from behind the pages. "It's freshly baked."

Jacob nodded his assent to a waiter who had appeared as though by magic and vanished just as quickly. "I assume you didn't ask me here to sample the pastry."

The paper dropped to the table and Gruber shook his head. "No, but it's good enough to make the trip worthwhile."

Jacob waited until a tiny cup of black Turkish coffee was placed next to the small plate holding roasted pistachios wrapped in crisp strings of fried dough and the waiter had retreated.

Gruber folded the paper with a great deal more care than a day-old tabloid merited. Jacob wondered idly whether Mossad budget cuts had mandated reuse of newspapers.

"We owe you and your friend Reilly," the security man said.

Jacob was reaching for his coffee. "And just who might 'we' be?"

Gruber folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "All of us Jews, the government."

Jacob refrained from pointing out that the two were far from synonymous.

"We needed to get rid of that nutcase on the Gaza border. He would have provoked the Palestinians into another war."

Again Jacob kept quiet, not mentioning that everything from an Israeli prime minister's casual visit to the Temple Mount to security precautions against suicide bombers seemed to have that unfortunate effect on the Palestinians and their beneficent, peace-loving Islamic brethren.

"Or worse, much worse. And the politicians would never have allowed us to storm in there without a reason. How'd you steer Reilly to that kibbutz, anyway?"

Jacob sampled coffee that had the consistency of used motor oil. He ameliorated its bitterness with a nibble at his pastry. "I didn't. Zwelk did it for us."

Gruber nodded knowingly. "I should have guessed. Not even you could have arranged for the girl to be kidnapped and taken there. But you did do a hell of a job trashing the place."

"A specialty," Jacob said uncomfortably.

Although he was happy to have the Israeli government owe him a favor, he would not want Lang to even suspect he had been manipulated.

"He never questioned how that oil truck just happened to be in the right place, how you just guessed the satellite coordinates for the kibbutz, or…?"

Jacob was definitely ill at ease, his coffee and konafa in midair. "Just so happened your interest and his coincided."

He wished this circuitous conversation would reach its intended destination, but he did have a question. "I'm curious: How did you make sure Zwelk learned about the Melk manuscript?"

"Easily enough. Its existence had been rumored for centuries. The problem was finding it and making it disappear without causing an incident. Zwelk had someone at the monastery. The guy worked for us, too."

"And you guessed he'd do whatever it took to make sure it never became public."

A statement, not a question.

"Pretty much a given. Our historic claim to this land is the moral right we have to a nation of our own. Any true Zionist would die, if need be, to protect that."

"So, your double agent tipped you the chase was on."

Gruber nodded affirmatively and glanced around as though fearful of eavesdroppers before leaning forward, ready to finally come to the point. "How much does Reilly know?"

Jacob put down the pastry and stared innocently. "Know about what?"

Gruber frowned. "Don't fuck with me! The weapons system, of course! You're the one who suggested I take that powder and the box to King Solomon Street. Does Reilly realize what it is, how it works, what it can do?"

Jacob took another sip of the viscous coffee to give himself a moment to think before answering. He had little doubt what would happen to Lang if he told the truth. "I think he swallowed that trash you fed him about not caring about the historical origins of the country."

Gruber's eyes glistened with irritation Jacob knew could become lethal. "That wasn't the question."

Jacob shrugged. "If you're asking me specifically if he knows about the power that can be generated from the dimensions of the Ark, I'd say he hasn't the foggiest. The man's a sodding barrister, not a scientist."

Gruber leaned back against his seat, a man relieved. "Glad to hear it. He's not a bad sort for an American. But national security comes first, right? You'll let us know if he figures it out, right?"

Jacob took another bite of pastry. "Right."

Right after I make a dash across Trafalgar Square in the buff.

Gruber's chair protested against the pavement as he pushed back and stood, tossing shekels onto the table to cover Jacob's tab. "Glad to hear that, too." He picked up the newspaper. "And so will be King Solomon Street. They would do whatever was necessary to keep the secret".

The warning was far from idle. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police bragged of always getting their man;

Mossad did. Even if it took years. Retribution for the murders of the Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics was completed nearly fifteen years later.

Jacob watched Gruber walk away, wondering if Lang, too, had just been threatened.

It was on the way to the airport in a limousine offered by Gruber that Lang decided to ask Jacob a question that wouldn't go away.

"The Ark?"

Jacob turned from staring out of the window, his teeth grinding in resentment of very explicit warnings that smoking was not, repeat, not allowed in government transportation. "What about it?"

"Israel has made some sort of weapons defense system out of it, hasn't it?"

Jacob looked forward, making sure the glass between the driver and passenger compartments was up before he replied, "Trust me-you don't want to know."