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When Bourne said, “I’m counting on it,” she shot him a quizzical look.
Bourne waited until the throaty roar of the trucks’ exhaust rose through the night, then whirled the pickax over his head and let it go, watched it as it rose up into the night and landed on the roof. Whatever sound it made was masked by the burble of the trucks. Tugging on the rope, he pulled the pickax toward him until its curved head caught in the crack between the roof and the low parapet wall. He strapped the duffel across his back, and, without another word to Rebeka, began his ascent of the strip of shadowed wall.
When he was halfway up, she took hold of the rope and hauled herself up after him. The noise from the trucks had ceased, making them hypervigilant about any noise whatsoever. Bourne reached the parapet, grabbed hold of it with one hand, and rose up high enough to peek over the top. Two guards were visible. One was standing in the center of what looked like an enormous target painted onto the flat roof. Outlining its circumference were a series of small blue LED lights, which burned very brightly. The second guard was at the rear of the roof, his hands on the parapet as he leaned over, staring down at the increased activity on the loading dock.
Bourne launched himself over the parapet and crouched down onto the roof. A moment later, Rebeka joined him.
“They’ve got a helipad up here,” she whispered in his ear. “The lights are on so they must be expecting a helicopter.”
He nodded. “It looks like this is the way the real Semid Abdul-Qahhar is going to make his exit.”
To one side of the helipad was a glass-covered hatch, large enough so that both men and matériel could be taken from inside the building to the helicopter, or vice versa. It was a neat solution to arriving and leaving quickly. Bourne signaled Rebeka to take the guard at the rear while he handled the one at the helipad.
The roof, made of a gravelly substance, was dotted with risers, water tanks, vents, and elevator and HVAC housings. He crabbed his way from one of these to the next. This was the easy part because he could keep to the shadows cast by the structures. The circle of light cast by the LEDs was another story entirely. As he came to rest behind the elevator housing, he picked up a loose piece of gravel and threw it so that it hit the side of a water tank twenty feet to his right.
The guard turned his head instantly and, unstrapping his AK-74, came cautiously toward the spot where the gravel had struck the tank. He walked around the tank. As he turned his back on Bourne’s position, Bourne sprinted across the intervening space, leapt onto the guard’s back, and, wrapping his arm around the guard’s neck, snapped it. He lay the limp body down and took the automatic weapon from nerveless hands.
Scuttling back around the water tank, he made for the rear of the roof. He saw the second guard sprawled on the gravel. Above him was Rebeka, but she wasn’t alone. A third guard, one hidden from both of them until now, was creeping up on her. Not wanting to fire his weapon, he ran toward her, but the instant the third guard was within arm’s length, she whirled, struck away the muzzle of his AK-74, drove her fist into his gut, and grabbed him by the throat. The guard arched back, straining to fire his weapon so as to alert the guards on the loading dock. Rebeka was forced to relinquish her grip on his throat in order to pry open his hold on the assault rifle. As it clattered to the rooftop, something flashed in his hand and drove inward. Rebeka slipped her arm through his, twisted sharply, fracturing his elbow. The guard groaned, his knees giving way, and she slammed the heel of her hand into the base of his nose, jamming the cartilage back into his brain. He keeled over, dead before his body hit the gravel.
Bourne was at Rebeka’s side. She gri
He lay her down and began to part her clothes in order to see the extent of her wound.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “You have a deadline to make. I won’t be the reason you don’t make it.”
“Shut up.” Bourne’s fingers moved quickly and expertly over the wound. It was deep, but he couldn’t find any evidence of organ damage. This was good, of course, but she was still losing blood at a rapid rate. If he didn’t take immediate action, she would bleed to death. Ripping her cloak into strips, he wound them around her, binding the wound as tightly as he dared. The blood stopped flowing for a moment, but then it began to soak through the material.
“Listen to me,” she said in an urgent voice, “the real Semid Abdul-Qahhar has a tic at the outer corner of his right eye. You’ll see a tiny muscle pulsing. That’s something that can’t be replicated by his doubles.”
Bourne nodded as he bound her with another layer. This was as much as he could do.
“Leave me now,” she said.
Still, he hesitated.
“Go on.” She gave up a tight smile. “I can take care of myself. I’m Mossad.”
“I’ll come back for you.”
Her smile turned sardonic. “No you won’t. But thanks, anyway.”
He rose and peered over the rear parapet. The doors of the loading bay had been thrown open. He had to get to the stash of spiked weapons before they were loaded onto the trucks. He had no time to argue with her.
Without a backward glance, he ran to the hatch that led down into the building. Stripping off his clothes, he clad himself in the uniform of the guard he had killed. Then he surveyed the top of the hatch. Through it, he could see a storeroom, for the moment at least dark and deserted. A ladder led up from the floor to one side of the hatch. He wasn’t surprised to see an alarm wire ru
The hinges of the hatch were on the side opposite the ladder. Using the broken tip of the blade, Bourne loosened the screws enough to lift the hatch. He found the alarm trip wire, used the knife to cut through the insulation in two places, then wrapped the bare ends of the electrical wire to the bare spots to keep the circuit intact while extending the length of the trip wire. Then he raised the hatch far enough for him to slither through. He dropped to the floor of the storeroom, found the door, and stepped out into a long corridor that stretched to his left and right. Directly ahead of him was a half wall. Peering down, he could see the whole of the warehouse structure laid out below him. He looked for the twelve long crates and spotted them almost immediately. They were off to the right side. To the left were the open doors that led out to the loading bay. The first crates were being taken out to be loaded onto the trucks. He spent ten seconds memorizing the warehouse layout, then found the nearest staircase and began his rapid descent.
The upper floors were no problem—everyone was on the ground floor overseeing the loading of the war matériel. As yet, there was no sign of Semid Abdul-Qahhar, but Bourne was sure he wouldn’t be far away. This shipment was much too valuable for him to leave its transit to subordinates.
He met the first guard one flight above floor level. The guard nodded to him, but as Bourne brushed past him, he reached for Bourne’s left arm
“Where is your weapon?” he said.
“Right here,” Bourne replied as he slammed the guard’s head back against the wall. The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head as he slid down. Bourne took the AK-74 and continued on his way down. Judging by the pace of loading, he calculated he had ten minutes at the outside to set the SIMs in place and get out of the building before he sent the electronic signal that would blow the place sky-high.