Ted Bell - Phantom

“They don’t like him?”

“Understatement. They despise him.”

“He has many enemies. One more will not faze him.”

“Not like us. Our enemies have short life spans.”

“Vasily. You tried to kill his son, for God’s sake.”

“And he killed two of us. Another item on his resume.”

“You are telling me this as a warning.”

“Yes. Because I am loyal to my friends. As I say, I don’t give a flying fuck about this Hawke one way or the other. It’s not an area of the organization that concerns me personally. I am a simple businessman. But he’s your friend. So I thought I would tell you this message.”

“Vaz, I appreciate your telling me all this.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Is there some kind of time frame? Some kind of deadline?”

“He who asks no questions is told no lies.”

“Well, in that case, let me tell you something, Vasily. I have spoken to him. Your colleagues have now made two separate attempts on the life of his son. He suggests that if you want to kill a Hawke, try killing him. In fact, he would welcome it. He likes the odd challenge now and then. But if you make one more move against his child, your organization will pay a price you can’t even imagine. Do not underestimate this man. He has killed more people than most SAS regiments. You see where this is going?”

“Yes. Your friend Hawke is either stupid, or he is suicidal.”

“He is neither. I heard him once described as a man of ‘radiant violence.’ It is not an overstatement. If your organization chooses to ignore this warning, this beautiful palace will be a smoking ruin, littered with the bodies of your membership.”

Vasily didn’t speak for a few long moments, just sat there staring at the Englishman. Concasseur was about to take his leave when the Russian finally spoke.

“So. Ian, my old friend, these women you are engaged to, they are all named Svetlana?”

“Odd, isn’t it? Shall we have another round? I’d like to enjoy the splendor of this magnificent club while it still exists.”

Israel, Negev Desert

Elon Tennenbaum was nervous. Which was unusual for one of the toughest of the new crop of Mossad officers recently accepted into Israel’s legendary intelligence service. Mossad’s people were a tough crowd; nerves of steel were high on the list of qualifications. Tennenbaum could stare down a speeding bullet and not blink. He was the kind of katsa, or field agent, who would deliberately take a knife to a gunfight, a lone feral cat who would gladly wade into a pack of snarling dogs.

However. One week earlier, at Mossad’s headquarters on Tel Aviv’s King Saul Boulevard, a surprised Tennenbaum had found himself being escorted up to the director general’s ninth-floor office. Now, perhaps, he might see some real action. Track down a Hamas assassin in the streets of Jerusalem. Blood on his hands, that’s what he wanted.

But the good-looking young Mossad officer had been sorely disappointed. He was surprised to learn that he would assume responsibility for security involving a high-profile military event that needed to go off without a hitch.

He was displeased with the assignment, even though it came from on high. He was a fighter, not a security guard. But he kept this thought to himself as he replied, “Yes, sir!” to the director general’s order.

He was informed only that some breakthrough new weapon had been developed. It would be unveiled and demonstrated at Israel’s top-secret research facility in the Negev Desert. And, the director had told him, no one, save those directly involved with the top-secret project, had the slightest idea what the hell it was. And that would include Tennenbaum himself. It was strictly “need to know,” and the man responsible for the weapon’s security apparently didn’t need to know.

Located about thirteen kilometers to the southeast of the city of Dimona, the Negev research center was widely assumed to be dedicated to the manufacturing of nuclear weapons. Israel had long acknowledged the existence of the highly classified site, but refused to confirm or deny its suspected purpose, citing a policy known as “nuclear ambiguity.”

Tennenbaum had been out in the desert all week. The large hangar where the weapon was undergoing final preparations for the demonstration was guarded by men with automatic weapons and dogs round the clock. All he knew about the mysterious thing was that it had been designed and assembled in the underground scientific research facility located directly beneath the main complex.

Elon, curious as anyone else as to what waited inside that heavily guarded structure, speculated. Some kind of new warhead, he assumed, ultra-long-range artillery, or an entirely new weapons delivery system. But, due to his intensive Mossad training, he knew the limits of “informed conjecture.” It was always fruitless to guess what was really going on inside a house of mirrors filled with smoke.

It was his first truly serious assignment. Up until now, all he’d done was courier work, carrying dispatches from headquarters to various embassies: Lisbon, Paris, Madrid. He had climbed the ladder of the service, but only so high. Someone had told him the steps up the Mossad ladder could be dangerously slippery. This was understatement honed to a fine point. But he had been equal to every test so far, and he had climbed rapidly to his present position, even, he reflected with some pride, attracting the attention of the director.

But today was no “test” of his abilities.

He had to make damn sure the debut and demonstration of Israel’s newest high-tech weapon was executed flawlessly. At ten A.M. the white transport buses began arriving at the gates. The project had been shrouded in such secrecy that even some of the high-ranking members of the Israeli Defense Forces had no inkling of what they were about to witness.

Gossip had it that it was some kind of antiaircraft or antisatellite “death ray.” He was not tempted to scoff at such notions. Science fiction, Elon had noticed lately, was often not fictional at all.

Over the course of a week, Tennenbaum had seen to it that the already formidable perimeter around the Negev complex had been beefed up. It was now, in his view, well-nigh impenetrable.

The entire area surrounding the complex was fenced off and heavily guarded. It was defended from aerial attack by a battery of Hawk antiaircraft missiles. Arrow antimissile batteries also surrounded the entire complex. He had ordered the airspace above closed to all aircraft for the duration of the demonstration. He had ensured that all communications regarding the place and time of the event had been encrypted, and invitations were limited to only two hundred people with the highest-level security clearance.

So why did he feel so damn “insecure”?

At dawn that morning, he’d walked the entire perimeter. Talked with the guards on patrol, the men manning the antimissile and antiaircraft batteries, the K-9 guys who handled the Dobermans, the snipers, communications operators, radar operators, every living soul he could find who might be a weak link. He hadn’t found one, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had. It was nothing but a foolish premonition, but still it nagged at him.

The sun was brutal. Must be the reason for his drenching perspiration Elon thought, looking around at the gathering crowd. The thick rivulets of sweat running down his face couldn’t be nerves, right?

Two large tents had been erected on the tarmac outside the hangar doors for the two-hundred-plus VIP guests. The tents stood on either side of a ten-thousand-foot runway extending from the wide doorway of the hangar into the desert beyond. On a distant hilltop some miles beyond the end of the runway, a large concrete structure had recently been constructed. It was about the size of a four-story apartment building and looked like an aboveground bunker. Powerful binoculars had been provided by personnel with the information that this bunker was the “target.”