Bill Bates looked through the Sikorsky's wide windscreen and saw them
coming. The time had arrived, he realized immediately, to make a move.
Now or never. The Israeli's attempt to pull out early had just been cut
off at the pass, so why not see what would happen if the scenario got
shut down entirely?
He reduced the power, listening to the engines wind down, and rose.
"Guess my part of this is over," he announced. "You've got a go system,
so have a nice day. I'll be seeing you around."
Peretz' eyes momentarily flashed confusion, but he was wily enough to
recover immediately.
"Your help has been much appreciated," he smiled quickly. "Thank you
for checking everything out."
Should I tip off Number One, Bates asked himself. No, that flicker is
nobody's fool; he's already way ahead of this little twerp. And the
second he sets foot in here and sees that dead German hood, there's
going to be a lot of heavy-duty explaining to do.
Now Peretz was moving jauntily down the Sikorsky's folding steps,
carrying his Walther with an air that proclaimed nothing amiss.
Time to get out of here, Bates told himself. There's going to be hell
to pay.
He rose and headed down the stairs after Peretz as rapidly as he could.
"Mike, where've you been?" He waved at Vance. "We can't go on meeting
like this. What do you say we just pack it all in and go sailing?"
"Fine with me," Vance yelled back. "No time like the present."
At that moment, a shot rang out from somewhere in the direction of the
fallen gantry, whereupon Peretz whirled, leveled his Walther into the
mist, and got off a burst on full auto. Emptying the clip.
The scene froze, like a tableau. Vance's first thought was that Peretz
had overreacted. Nervous. And probably with good reason. But at least
Cally was trying to do her share. The problem was, the quarters were
too close.
The two Pakistanis were still standing on the tarmac, not quite
understanding what was happening, but Ramirez sized up the situation in
an instant. He shoved Mannheim up the steps ahead of him, ducked into
the protection of the Sikorsky's open door, and then turned back.
Peretz was slower, caught standing on the foggy tarmac next to the
bottom step. When he realized his Walther's clip was empty, he fished
another out of his pocket and quickly began trying to insert it.
"That won't be necessary, Dr. Peretz." Ramirez's voice was like steel.
"Let me take care of it." Whereupon he leveled his Beretta 9mm and shot
a startled Abdoullah squarely between the eyes. Before Shujat realized
it, he shot him, too, point blank in the left temple.
"What in hell are you doing?" Peretz yelled, watching them fall. He was
still trying to shove a new clip into his automatic, but now he was
losing his touch and it jammed. "That's not how we--"
"I suppose you thought me some kind of fool," Ramirez replied, shifting
his aim. "It's time I laid that fond illusion of yours to rest once and
for all."
"I don't appreciate your tone of voice." Peretz was still struggling
frantically with his Walther.
"And I don't appreciate you trying to make off with this helicopter. We
have just lost a crucial element of our relationship, the element of
trust."
"I never knew our 'relationship' had all that much trust in it." Peretz
looked up defiantly. "We had a business arrangement. I've kept up my
end to the letter."