"Ill telephone his private number at the State Department, the one Colonel Abrams gave us."

"Quickly," said her colleague, a blond man whose hair had thinned perceptibly, the strands matching the flesh of his scalp. "But remember, if theres no answer after the fifth ring, hang up."

"I understand." After five rings the major replaced the telephone. "Theres no answer."

"Then were to call his house. We are to avoid all switchboards."

"Ive got the number right here." The major retrieved the quarter from the slot, inserted it, and dialed.

"h.e.l.lo?" A woman spoke.

"The secretary of state, please. Its most urgent."

"Theres a lot of that going around," replied the irritated voice. "If youve got something urgent to tell the secretary, get in line and call the White House. Im going to our beach house in St. Michaels."

"A rather angry woman hung up," said the bewildered Mossad officer, turning to the captain. "She said to call the White House-"

"Which were prohibited from doing," broke in the subordinate. "We are to speak only to the secretary of state."

"Hes obviously at the White House."

"We cant go through that switchboard-no one is to be trusted, only Palisser. Abrams sent word through diplomatic channels that he was to expect two visitors. The colonel and the secretary are friends, and coming from Abrams, Palisser will a.s.sume our urgency."

"Then I disagree with our instructions. Since Palissers at the White House, I see no reason why we dont call the switchboard and get a message to him. Abrams said every hour was vital."

"What kind of message? Were not to identify ourselves."

"Well leave word that the cousins of his friend Colonel David have arrived, and will call him as often as possible on his private line or his house, or even his office if we have to-"

"His office?" the captain interrupted, frowning.

"Every hour is vital," said the major. "Were not identifying ourselves, and he can instruct an aide or a secretary or a servant how and where we can reach him. We must get Nesbitts name to him.... Lets find a limousine-with a telephone."

The seemingly oblivious customs official waited several minutes until he was sure the couple would not return to watch him. Convinced they had left, he placed the red delay sign on his counter and picked up his telephone. He pressed three numbers, instantly reaching the head of immigration security in an upper office, the room itself having two rows of mounted television monitors on the wall slightly above the myriad electronic consoles.

"The two Israeli possibles," said the clerk. "Male and female, ages and descriptions roughly similar."

"Occupations?"

"Engineers, verbal and written. Its on their cards."

"Purpose of visit?"

"Fund-raiser for projects in the Negev desert. They should be in the terminal by now. The females slightly taller and dressed in black, hes in a gray suit, both carrying flight bags and attache cases."

"Well pick them up on a monitor and check them out. Thank you."

The head of immigration security, an obese middle-aged man with a puffed face and neutral eyes, rose from his desk behind a large gla.s.s part.i.tion and walked into the outer room, where five people sat in chairs in front of their consoles and television monitors.

"Look for a couple," he ordered. "The womans taller and dressed in black, the guys in a gray suit."

"Ive got em," said a woman in the fourth chair barely thirty seconds later. "Theyre talking by a telephone."

"Good work." The security chief crossed to the female operator. "Give me a closer look." The woman turned a dial on her console, which in turn activated a telescopic lens on a terminal camera. The figures came into larger focus, the sight only to be greeted with disgust by the chief. "Christ, they dont look anything like the photographs. Forget it, kiddo. We got a trigger-happy stamper down there."

"Whaddya looking for, Stosh?" asked one of the men.

"A couple who may be bringing in diamonds."

"May I go down and escort them to my personal jeweler?"

The superior laughed with his crew and headed for the outer door. "For that you cover my phone. I gotta take a leakeroonie." The security official went out into the narrow corridor, turned left, and hurried to the end, where there was a railing and an even narrower balcony that overlooked much of the terminal. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a hand-held radio, and switched to another frequency. He then held it to his lips and spoke while squinting down at the crowds until he saw what he had seen on the television monitor. "Rattler, its Catbird. Come in."

"Rattler on. What is it?"

"Targets are confirmed."

"The M couple? Where?"

"Theyre heading for the limo platform. Hes in a gray suit; shes taller and dressed in black. Move!"

"I see them!" whispered a third voice over the radio. "Im not fifty feet away. Jesus, theyre picking up speed; theyre in a hurry."

"So are we, Copperhead," said the chief of immigration security, listed among the Scorpios as number fourteen.

The two Mossad officers sat in the back of the limousine, their attache cases on top of their flight bags on the jump seats; the captains case was open. In his left hand, the blond undercover agent held a laminated card, four by six inches in size, that listed every nonsecure telephone number he might possibly need in the United States, from major addresses to emba.s.sies and consulates, from allied and enemy intelligence agencies to favorite restaurants, bars, and several women he felt might welcome his attention.

"Where did you get that?" asked the major.

"I made it myself," answered the captain. "I hate looking things up in telephone books. Remember, I was posted here for eighteen months." He slid a credit card through the telephone slot, waiting for the word dial to appear on the thin panel. "Be quiet now," he continued as he pressed the numbers on his index. "This is the White House switchboard, and they dont care to ask questions; they only take messages."

"Youve done this before ...?"

"Frequently. There was a sweet thing, a maid in the third floor private quarters-... Shhh! Ive got an operator."

"The White House," said a tired female voice on the line.

"Forgive me, miss, but Ive just spoken with the secretary of states wife, Mrs. Bruce Palisser, who informed me that her husband was with the President. I should like to leave a message for Mr. Palisser, please."

"Are you cleared, sir? Otherwise, the Security Council cant be interrupted."

"I would not presume to interrupt, madam, I simply wish to leave a message."

"Yes, sir."

"Just tell him that the cousins of his old friend, Colonel David, are in town and will be in touch with his residence and his office as frequently as we can. He may leave word where we can reach him at his convenience."

"You want to give me a number?"

"That would be presumptuous on our part, and I wouldnt care to put you to any more trouble."

"h.e.l.l get your message as soon as the meetings over."

The Mossad captain replaced the phone and leaned back in the seat. "Well take turns calling his office and his residence every five minutes. As you say, weve got to get Nesbitts name to him even if we have to give it over the phone," he said. The captain had leaned forward to put his laminated telephone index back into his briefcase, when he suddenly looked to his left outside the closed window. A second limousine was crowding them off the highway! Its rear windows were open ... and in those dark s.p.a.ces were weapons!

"Get down!" he screamed, throwing himself over the major as an unending fusillade of gunfire exploded, sending full-jacket bullets through gla.s.s and metal, penetrating the bodies inside. During the murderous attack, a grenade was lobbed through the shattered window. The limousine spun off the highway, rolling over and over on the shoulder of the road until it crashed into a metal sound wall and exploded in fire.

34.

The highway from Dulles Airport was in shambles. Thirty-seven vehicles had piled up, smashing into one another as the fires from the explosion spread across the road, the result of the multi-punctured fuel tank of the destroyed limousine. Within minutes the sound of sirens and the deafening roars of helicopter rotors filled the morning air, joined shortly by the two-note screeching nah-noahs of the medical emergency units skirting both shoulders of the road to reach the casualties.

It was not only the death of the messengers from Tel Aviv, it was the end of their lives for twenty-two innocent men and women who wanted only to get home and to their families after arduous journeys. It was an obscenity born of a far more obscene conspiracy, born yet again years before by a child forced to witness the beheading of her mother and father in the mountains of the Pyrenees. Madness at 10:52 A.M. on a bright summers day.

11:35 A.M.

Bajaratt was close to losing her temper, if not her sanity. She could not get through to Senator Nesbitt! Instead, it was first a receptionist, then a subordinate secretary, followed by the personal secretary, and finally an aide to the senator himself.

"This is the Countess Cabrini," said the Baj firmly. "I truly believe the senator wishes to speak with me."

"He does, indeed, Countess, but unfortunately hes out of the office. You must remember, Countess, the Senates in summer recess, and our schedules are not as rigid as when were in session."

"Are you saying you cannot find him?"

"Were trying, Countess. He might well be on the golf course, or visiting friends-"

"He has a housekeeper and a driver, young man. Certainly they know where he is."

"The housekeeper knows only that the senator went out in the car, and the cars telephone merely repeats that the owner has left the vehicle."

"I find this quite intolerable. I wish to speak to the senator himself."

"And Im sure he would wish to speak with you, Countess, but if youre inquiring about your appointment at the White House, let me a.s.sure you that its on the firm schedule. I have it here in front of me. Youll be picked up at the Carillon hotel at seven-fifteen sharp this evening. Its somewhat early, but just in case theres heavy traffic."

"You do rea.s.sure me. Thank you very much."

12:17 P.M.

Hawthorne pounced on the Shenandoah Lodges desk telephone. "Yes?" he said.

"Its Palisser. Im surprised I havent heard from you."

"Havent heard? Ive left a half-dozen messages!"

"You did?... Thats odd, you were cleared to reach me."

"I know that; the operators said that. They told me each time they were sending my name down to you."

"I never got it. On the other hand, the whole day so far has been a basket case. There was a foreign policy crisis, but with luck and a few threats we may have diffused it.... What happened with General Meyers? Frankly, he behaved like an idiot during the conference. His answer to everything was 'sweet bombs!"

"Whats that?"

"Missiles that blow up selected targets housing the leaders on both sides-he was serious."

"Hes more than that, hes a confirmed Scorpio. Weve got him on tape. He had information that could have come only from the Scorpio network. Hes one of them, theres no doubt any longer. Trust me, I know. Take him, isolate him, put him under chemicals!"

"Weve got something else too. A friend of mine in Israel, a colonel in the Mossad who thinks were riddled with so many leaks were a sieve, sent two of his people here with what must be vital information. He wouldnt take such drastic measures otherwise. Lets wait until they reach me, then well move on all fronts."

"That works for me. Well pull them all in and blow this b.i.t.c.h out of the sky."

"Whats the bromide, Commander? 'From your mouth to G.o.ds ear? Let us hope."

As Hawthorne hung up the phone, the hotel television set was showing the carnage on the Dulles access road from a helicopter in the sky on the outskirts of the airport. Cameras transmitted pictures of burning vehicles, some suddenly exploding, charred bodies on the pavement, a tragedy beyond words.

The obese chief of immigration security felt the short, sharp impulses of his Scorpio monitor, excused himself once again from his quarters, and walked rapidly to the nearest public phone in the outside corridor.

"Number Fourteen," he said, after pressing the digit litany.

"Number One here" came the harsh voice on the line. "Outstanding, Fourteen, well done. Its all over the news."

"I hope to h.e.l.l it was the right couple," said Scorpio Fourteen. "I figured the fund-raiser for the Negev desert was the key."

"It was. My source in Jerusalem gave it to me, and hes a tough old b.a.s.t.a.r.d. If he could pop-gun this whole administration, hed do it himself. Ill reach him and give him the news. He wants what I want and were going to get the whole enchilada!"

"Dont tell me, Number One, I dont want to know."