Gregg Loomis - The Sinai Secret

Alicia had been turning her head as each man spoke. "What power? What Book of Jereb?"

This time it was Lang who didn't respond to her question for the moment. "How did you know the copy of Jereb had been found?"

"We knew it was buried somewhere among the medieval manuscripts at Melk. We couldn't just walk in and rummage through them. So, when the abbey decided to sort them out, create a computer index, we simply hired someone to keep a close watch. We never dreamed that man Steinburg would actually reproduce a copy of the book and send it to his cousin. By the time our man at Melk told us what had happened, it was too late."

"You kidnapped me and are threatening to kill us over some medieval manuscript?" Alicia asked incredulously.

Lang didn't break eye contact with Zwelk. "Not just any manuscript. This was a copy of a much older one, an alternative to the Book of Exodus."

"I still don't understand."

"This book, like Exodus, states that Moses was an Egyptian. It went further, telling of a king deposed because he was monotheistic-put the priests of the various gods out of work, as it were. But it went on. The Israelites were Egyptians, too, Egyptian believers in a single god, not Jews. Mr. Zwelk figured that anyone researching superconductors similar to the Ark might be lead to the Book of Jereb or come across the real story: that Egyptians, not Jews, wandered in the desert and settled in what is now Israel. He couldn't take that risk, so he had everyone connected to that research killed."

Alicia was clearly perplexed. "So, what does that have to do with

…?"

"Our friend Zwelk here wants to make sure no word of the Israelites'true origins gets out to the world at large. See, if the Israelites were not Jews, but Egyptians, Arabs-"

Zwelk interrupted. "The state of Israel cannot afford to have the legitimacy of its claim to Palestine disputed, particularly by the Muslim world. It is the land promised to my people by their God." "Not unless your people happen to be Egyptians," Lang observed.

Zwelk's face screwed into a scowl. 'And that, Mr. Reilly, is why you won't be leaving."

Alicia gave Lang a frightened look.

"Don't worry," he said. "He isn't going to-"

He stopped in midsentence.

The three men in the room had heard it, too: the distinctive thump of helicopters in flight.

"Whoever that is," Zwelk announced, "I assure you they are too late to be of help to you." He reached for Lang's SIG Sauer on the table. "They will find that you shot your lady friend here in an attempt to kidnap her from the hospitality of our community."

"Won't work, Zwelk," Lang said, mentally measuring his chances of successfully lunging across the table. "Nobody is going to believe she was here by her own will."

Zwelk stepped back, gun arm extended. "Why not? Neither of you will be alive to contradict it. In any event, I will not be here by the time whoever is in those helicopters arrives. I have known for a long time that my devotion to the purity of the Jewish religion would provoke the authorities and planned accordingly."

"Reminds me of rats and sinking ships," Lang said.

Lang took a deep breath as he watched Zwelk's trigger finger tighten.

He could only hope Jacob had known what the hell he was doing.

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.

The SIG Sauer exploded in Zwelk's hand, sending shrapnellike fragments into his face.

For an instant his eyes protruded from a blood-splattered face as he contemplated the shreds of flesh that had been his hand moments before.

Then he grunted with shock and grabbed for the stump at the end of his arm as though he might stop the geysers of red his ulnar and palmar arteries were pumping.

Lang doubted Zwelk had even begun to feel pain as he heard the first note of a scream from Alicia.

The shock that had frozen the two guards passed. They both lunged for their weapons on the table, but Lang was closer.