End of Days (Pike Logan #16)(106)
I disconnected and said, “Well, what did you guys figure out?”
“They’re here, and the serial killer is with them. We matched all the pictures from immigration and his name is Garrett. He’s acting as their head of security. We have identification for most of the diplomatic group, except for one guy. Garrett and the rest are driving to Megiddo—they left early this morning—but one named Michelangelo is not. He arrived with them, but isn’t listed as attending the speech. We don’t know where he is.”
“Okay, so they’re calling off the speech?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She saw the look on my face and held up her hands, saying, “We have elections coming up, and the prime minister isn’t going to miss this opportunity. There are delegations from four countries, to include the United States. Do you think he’s going to call off this event in our own country? In effect, say he can’t protect them in our own land? He’ll look like a coward.”
Incredulous, I said, “You guys realize the best case is he just ends up dead. Worst case he gets his entire country in a war with Iran.”
Shoshana said, “Pike, trust me, I get it, but it’s out of our hands. The prime minister is surrounded by Shin Bet. This Garrett guy can’t do anything to harm him. He’s one man.”
Chapter 69
Garrett finally saw the turnoff for the Megiddo national monument, having stopped some twenty minutes before at a coffee shop just off the Iron Interchange, a spaghetti-like mess of roads where four highways converged. He left Highway 6, joined Highway 65 to the east, and saw a truck stop advertising a coffee shop. He pulled into the parking lot, reminding the men they were on a time schedule.
The Knights’ entourage took another twenty minutes at the stop milling about, deciding on what to purchase and talking to the locals gathered there. He knew the Grand Master enjoyed such settings, but felt the press of time.
Eventually, they’d returned to the highway, and twenty minutes later, Garrett found the turn for the monument. It was another ten minutes down a small blacktop before he saw the parking area.
Pulling into the tourist compound, he saw a security checkpoint and a modern building at the back, the Megiddo hill and excavation rising behind it.
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.