The Project 02 - The Lance

a glossy 8 X 10 photograph and handed it to Nick. It was a picture of the white Volvo, taken from one of the omnipresent cameras monitoring the streets and highways of Israel.
    Nick tapped the picture. " That's him. The one in the passenger seat had the phone."
    " The car was stolen. We found it five kilometers from the alley where you were attacked. The occupants are unknown to us."
    " A dead end."
    " So far. We are a patient people, Nick. We'll find them."
    Rivka took off her scarf and shook down her hair, ran her fingers through it. It was a rich, deep brown, almost black, with a long, flowing wave.
    " Let's talk about Arslanian," Ari said. "The fact he was killed tells us there must be substance to whatever he wanted to tell you. His assassin knew you were coming and tried to kill you as well. There's no purpose to that unless you are a threat to whatever is being planned."
    "That makes sense . But no one is supposed to know I'm here or why. Just a few people on my end and now your people here in Israel. There aren't many, in either case. On top of that, I haven't learned squat."
    " Squat?"
    " Anything of value."
    " Ah, but you have. Someone is worried you will find out something, therefore there is something to be found out. It seems someone has betrayed you. The question is who?"
    Nick thought of Harker's signal.
    Alpha Red.
    Ari leaned back in his chair. "Arslanian was researching the Holocaust, particularly the criminal SS and Himmler's role in the so called final solution. He visited Germany two weeks ago."
    "Do you think that has something to do with his death?"
    "With Nazis, anything is possible," Ari said. "In Israel, the Holocaust was not so long ago."
    Rivka tossed her head and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "What's next, Ari?"
    " We keep looking for the men in the Volvo. We watch everything around the President. Nick, you're seen as a threat to the opposition. Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage."
    "Why do I get a feeling you're thinking advantage as in bait?"
    Ari shrugged, held up his hands, palms up. "I wouldn't put it quite like that. But someone wants you out of the picture. They might try again. If they do, we have a chance to grab them."
    " Not if they're sitting on a roof somewhere with a rifle and a nice, big scope." Carter felt a headache beginning.
    " Then you should stay away from places where a sniper might have a good shot." He smiled. "No, I think if they come after you it will be, as you Americans say, up close and personal. Rivka will walk you around the Old City and I'll assign backup. It's possible we can draw them out."
    Carter couldn't think of a better plan. If painting a target on his chest would flush out the people who had killed Arslanian, it was worth it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    Carter and Rivka sat in the Quarter Café, overlooking the Western Wall and the Temple Mount. The golden Dome of the Rock glowed in the late afternoon light. The view was fantastic, the food less so, but the strong katzar coffee was just what he needed. Nick's legs ached from wandering the maze of Old Jerusalem. His back felt like it was in a vise. The knife wound throbbed. His headache was constant.
    Getting old, he thought. Maybe it's time to pack it up.
    "One more sight." Rivka set down her empty cup. She was enjoying it, showing him around her city. Even waiting for something to happen.
    Nick groaned.
    "Let's go see the tunnels."
    "Tunnels?"
    "You can't see Jerusalem without seeing the tunnels. They're right over there." Rivka nodded at an arched entrance below the Mount. "There are old cisterns, chambers, dead ends. It's a maze. Where people pray is just a small portion of the Wall. There's a tunnel that follows the wall for several hundred meters under the Mount."
    They walked down into Kotel Plaza, the large square where people prayed in front of the Wall. At the entrance to the tunnels, signs in Hebrew and English proclaimed "The Western Wall Heritage."
    An open gate of black iron led to an arched chamber of grayish stone. They walked through the next arch and entered a long corridor. Walls of stone formed a long, narrow passageway lit by pools of yellow light at regular intervals. Far down the tunnel a group of sightseers chattered as they moved along.
    Behind them a middle aged couple gawked, the man pointing his video camera everywhere. The woman was dressed in a yellow polyester dress with pink accents, her lipstick too red, her hair a damaged bottle blonde. The man was about