He stopped at the checkpoint, noticing that the entire car park had been closed to the public. He rolled down the window, and passed across the diplomatic passports of the Knights in the vehicle. The names were checked off a list and he was waved forward, a police officer showing him where to park. He did so, then exited, saying, “I’m the head of security for this group. Is there a way I can take a look at the setup before we begin?”
The uniformed Israeli passed him off to a man wearing a suit, who said, “I’m with the security team for the prime minister”—meaning Shin Bet—“what can I help you with?”
“I just want to see the setup. I’m the security man for this group.”
He sized Garrett for a moment, then said, “That’s not necessary. We control the entire venue.”
Garrett smiled and said, “I’m sure you’re correct, but I do get paid for this. All I want is a walk-through.”
The agent considered for a moment, then said, “Tell your group to head into the visitors’ center for their security passes.”
Garrett leaned into the vehicle and relayed the instructions, then stood up. The agent said, “Do you have any weapons?”
Garrett raised his arms and said, “No firearms, but I do have a knife. Other than that, just an iPhone, a Thuraya sat phone, and a GPS.”
He said, “Leave the knife in the vehicle.”
Garrett did so, placing a folding blade on the driver’s seat, then turned back around. The man said, “Raise your arms, please.”
Garrett did so, and the agent gave him a pat-down, then said, “Follow me.”
He led Garrett past the visitors’ center to the hill that housed the remnants of Megiddo.
An ancient city built on a hill that protected the Aruna pass through the Carmel Mountains, it had been inhabited thousands of years before Christ was born, with more than twenty-six civilizations having been uncovered—the earliest from 7000 BC. The hill had become a layer cake of archeological digging, with one conquest after another taking the city and then leaving their mark on the earth. It was reputed to house the stables of King Solomon, and was said to be the most fought-over piece of terrain in the history of human conflict—but Garrett only cared about the final one prophesied by the Bible. The one he planned to engender today.
They climbed the steps to the archeological digs, past the museum and visitors’ center, until Garrett saw a shaded overhang with a podium, in front of it several stands of temporary metal stadium seating, also shaded. He said, “Is that where the speech will be given?”
“Yes.”
“May I go look?”
Aggravated, the agent said, “All of this has been cleared before we even arrived. After that, it was cleared again personally by my detail.”
“Please, humor me. I have to report back to a boss just like you.”
The man grimaced, but said, “Follow me.”
They went to the stands and Garrett pretended to look at the structures, as if he were searching for potential threats. He went to the podium and pretended to examine underneath it, but in reality pinpointed the actual grid in his GPS.
He stood up, looked around in a 360-degree circle, and said, “I guess there won’t be any snipers. This is the highest point around.”
The agent scoffed and said, “You Americans. Always with the conspiracy theories. Do you think this is the first speech the prime minister has given? We protect him each time.”
“What about a rocket attack? This is sort of open ground, and it’s an easy location to find even if you’re just using Google Earth.”
“We have the Iron Dome. It’s ninety percent effective against missiles from Gaza or Lebanon—and those missiles aren’t even accurate enough to hit this place. More than likely, if they tried, and the Iron Dome didn’t kill the missiles outright, they’d land ten kilometers away.”
They started walking back down the stairs, Garrett saying, “But all it would take is one lucky shot.”
“Yes, if either Hamas or Hezbollah were dumb enough to try. If that happened, they would be wiped from the earth.”
Garrett thought, One can hope.
Reaching the visitors’ center, Garrett shook the agent’s hand, saying, “Thank you for your patience.”
The agent said, “Enjoy the show,” then walked away.
Garrett chuckled, realizing he had no idea how true his words would be.
He went back to the SUV and called Raphael on the sat phone. When he answered, Garrett said, “I have the grid. Prepare to copy.”
He relayed it, then said, “We’re within the hour. Are you ready?”
“Yes. We’ve done one test. We’re ready.”
“Okay. Stand by. I’ll call when the audience enters the stands. Is the weapon set with a proximity fuse?”
“Yes. It’ll close in to about twenty meters of the grid then explode, throwing out ball bearings as it continues forward. The death radius should be thirty meters or greater.”
“Perfect. I’ll need to contact you before he takes the stage because of the flight time. I have no idea how long his speech is going to be. Stand by.”
He disconnected and saw a caravan of cars enter the parking lot, the middle one flying the flags of Israel on the bumpers. He knew who it was, and felt his adrenaline rise.
They parked, the security men spilling out, searching for a threat, and then the primary phalanx of men entered the museum/visitors’ center. He followed behind, entering the building to find a buffet of food and all present enraptured by the presence of the prime minister of Israel.
He sought out the Grand Master and said, “I’ve checked the area, and it’s secure. I’m going to hang back at the SUV, letting the Shin Bet handle the security.”
Chaucer said, “Thank you. I think that would be best. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to talk to the prime minister.”
Garrett went back to the SUV, hoping the grin and grip wouldn’t take too long. He opened the door, sat behind the wheel, and turned on the ignition, engaging the air-conditioning, waiting. Eventually, he saw the mass of people exit the visitors’ center and head up the same stairs he had earlier. He waited until they were at the top, lost from view, and pulled out the Thuraya, dialing Raphael.
The phone connected, and he said, “Forty-minute flight? Is that right?”
“Yes. From our calculations, that’s how long it’s going to take to reach your location. We had to program some waypoints in to fly around the Golan Heights. It’ll be coming in from the West Bank.”
“Launch it now. Call me as soon as it’s in the air.”
He hung up, then played with the radio, trying to find a station that actually spoke English, but failed. He waited seven minutes, growing more concerned with each passing second. He looked at his phone, willing it to ring. He didn’t want to initiate a call and possibly interrupt the launch. Maybe they just had a small problem and were working to resolve it. He knew from his past Special Forces experience that a headquarters interrupting a mission because of a simple lack of contact was the last thing he should do.
Trust the man on the ground.
He waited another five minutes, and couldn’t contain himself. He dialed the phone. He heard, “Hello?”