Rules of Deception

Von Daniken felt in his pockets. He’d dropped his own phone somewhere during his unceremonious exit. He drew his service pistol and fumbled with it until he’d managed to chamber a round and make sure that the safety was off. He swore under his breath. His watch read 7:42. He picked up a new noise coming from the top of the hill. It was the drone’s jet engine coming to life.

He looked around him. The house was thirty meters directly uphill from him. It was a modern building, cantilevered over the hillside, supported by great steel pylons. The windows were dark, lending it an abandoned feel. He knew better.

He raised his head for a clearer view. A bullet struck a tree ten centimeters away. He dug his cheek into the snow. Night vision goggles. Of course. How else could they see him in this damned dark?

“Run down the hill,” he said to Hardenberg. “You’ve got to warn the others.”

Hardenberg sat with his back pressed to the rear bumper, his face bluer than ice. “Okay,” he said, but he didn’t budge.

“Stay behind the car and they won’t be able to hit you,” von Daniken went on.

Hardenberg stirred. He swallowed and his shoulders gave a giant shrug. He set off, crawling on all fours backwards down the road. Von Daniken watched him retreat. Five steps. Ten. Stay down, he urged silently. Hardenberg crawled a few more meters, then raised his head tentatively.

“Low,” von Daniken whispered, patting the air, signaling for him to keep down.

Hardenberg misinterpreted the motion and began to stand.

“No,” shouted von Daniken at the top of his lungs. “Get down!”

Hardenberg nodded hesitantly and continued to walk down the hill. A bullet struck him in the head and he collapsed onto the cement.

“Klaus!”

Von Daniken rolled onto his back, sick with himself.

84

Captain Eli Zuckerman adjusted the trim on his ailerons and eased back the throttle as a prelude to disengaging the autopilot. Flying a passenger jet had become so automated that once a plane’s onboard computers were programmed with a particular flight’s data-destination, cruising altitude, maximum allowable ground speed-the aircraft could literally fly itself. The only time Zuckerman felt himself in full control of the aircraft was during takeoff and landing, a total of thirty minutes per flight. The rest of the time, he was basically a technician monitoring all the instruments and making sure that his first officer kept up with ground communication. It wasn’t exactly the job he’d dreamed of when he’d left the air force so many years ago as a red-hot fighter jock with twenty-one kills during three wars.

Zuckerman hit the disengage button. The plane shuddered and dipped as he took manual control. Easing the yoke left, the A380 began a gentle turn to the south. It was a clear night, ideal flying weather. He could see the city’s lights in the distance, and farther off behind it, a great black emptiness that was the Alps. He trimmed the flaps and the aircraft began its slow descent to Zurich Flughafen.

“Sixteen minutes to touchdown,” said his copilot.

Zuckerman stifled a yawn. As expected, it had been an uneventful flight. He checked his watch-fifteen minutes to landing-then glanced at the first officer. “So, Be

“El Al 8851 heavy, this is Zurich Air Traffic. We have an emergency. Code 33. Divert to Basel-Mulhouse, vector two-seven-niner. Climb to thirty thousand feet. You are advised to use all possible haste.”

Code 33. A ground-to-air attack.

“Roger. Code thirty-three. El Al 8851 heavy proceeding on vector two-seven-niner. Climbing to thirty thousand feet. Do you have radar contact of that bogey?”

“Negative, El Al 8851. No radar contact as yet.”

“Thank you, Zurich.”

Eli Zuckerman tightened his shoulder harness and shared a worried look with his first officer. Taking the yoke firmly in his hand, he banked the aircraft hard to port and pushed the throttle forward. The aircraft surged ahead.

It was time to see what this baby could do.

85

“Mahdi I, all systems green. You are cleared for takeoff. May God be with you.”

Major General John Austen ran up the engine. The RPMs of the Williams turbofan jet rose smoothly. He released the brake and the drone began to roll down the runway.

Over the headset, he heard the crackle of fireworks. On the screen to his left, he saw sparks flying. No, not sparks. These were muzzle blasts from his men’s weapons. A voice came over his headset. “Police.”

“Keep them away.”

As Austen powered the throttle and the drone began to roll down the runway, he felt a surge of pride and accomplishment. He had done it. He had fulfilled the mission entrusted to him. Israel, in rightful possession of the Holy Land, was gearing up for attack. Iran itself was properly armed. The Forces of Gog and Magog were set to do battle on the plains of Armageddon.

In brilliant detail, he envisioned how the conflict would unfold, all according to God’s plan.

Israel’s bombing offensive would fail.

Iran would retaliate with the Kh-55 cruise missiles in its arsenal, missiles whose sale he had personally brokered. The nuclear weapons armed with ten-kiloton warheads would fall upon Tel Aviv, but not upon Jerusalem itself. The Lord, in His power, would protect His holiest of cities. The Americans would, in turn, fall upon Iran. The Fundamentalist Islamic Republic would cease to exist.

All was in place for the Lord’s return. And the Rapture that would follow.

Austen blocked out the noise of the escalating gunfight, focusing his eyes, his concentration on the screen in front of him. The trees passed by with increasing rapidity. The runway lights were flashes. The speedometer read one hundred knots…one hundred ten…he eased the joystick back. The nose began to rise…

It was then that he saw it. A pair of headlights barreling toward the drone. A car where no car should be.

He grasped the joystick in his fist and pulled it back while punching the throttle.

“Fly!”

86

“Did you hear that?” Jonathan asked, alarmed.

Emma glanced in his direction. “What?”

He rolled down the window and craned his neck out of the car. “I’m not sure, but…” A loud pop cracked the air, followed by another. The sounds were ti

Emma pulled the car to the side of the road halfway up the hill. A medieval forest cloaked the slope. Remnants of an ancient wall were visible close to the road, clawed basalt blocks splashed with lichen. Deep amongst the trees, the shots burst like fireflies.

“Von Daniken. That will keep them occupied.” She shifted in her seat and leveled her gaze at him. “Are you certain you’re prepared to do this?”

Jonathan nodded. He’d made the decision days ago.

“Switch seats,” said Emma. “You drive. Unless, that is, you know how to shoot a gun.”

Jonathan paused halfway out the door. “I was going to say you hate guns.”

“I do.”

The two crossed round the front of the car, their shoulders brushing. Jonathan slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted it for his height. Emma closed the door and told him to get going. He noticed that she no longer looked so much the professional. Her face had lost its confident veneer and her breath was coming fast and hard. She was every bit as scared as he was.

He put the car into gear and accelerated up the slope. They’d hardly covered ten meters when their headlights illuminated a riot barrier spa