H.M.S. Unseen Read Free

to the pitcher and poured himself a drink, splashing the water into a stone cup without spilling it. Then he walked back to his chair behind the door without crashing into it. His night vision, which was perfect now, he would use to best advantage. The last thing he wanted was equal terms.
     
    They came for him at precisely nineteen minutes after 2:00 A.M. Eilat heard the gate squeak and the doorknob turn. The first man entered silently, dressed in dark combat gear with desert boots. A second man, sensed rather than observed, followed the first; and Eilat remained by the door, standing with his eyes clenched shut, his hands covering his face, protecting his night vision from the glow of the city outside.
    Suddenly, very suddenly, without opening his eyes, he moved. Raising his right foot, he booted the door shut with a shuddering impact. Then he turned toward the wall again, his eyes still clenched tight.
    The two visitors turned automatically to the slammed door, and, as they did so, the big theater lightbulb set above it came on with blinding brightness, catching them in its ferocious glare. For a split second the two men stood transfixed, like rabbits in a spotlight. Their hands flew to their faces, but it was too late. The bulb had been on for only two seconds, but their night vision was completely lost, at a vital moment for them both. And Eilat still had his.
    He moved quickly behind the unseeing first man and crashed a smooth, heavy glass paperweight into the critical nerve center behind the right ear. Then he delivered the same blackout blow to the second assassin, after which he turned and softly opened the door. “I suppose they have a lookout,” he muttered. “I may have to kill him as well.”
    Walking swiftly across the yard, he ignored the gate and climbed to the top of the wall, using an old wooden bench. For two minutes he scoured the alley, watching for a movement, any movement, a person, any person. But there was nothing.
    Finally, he stepped down and walked back into the house, into the main room, switched on a small desk light, and collected his roll of sticky plastic packing tape. Slowly, with steady efficiency, he bound together the wrists and ankles of the unconscious intruders, using layers of tape. Then he placed one wide, thick piece right across each of their mouths and arranged the two inert bodies to his satisfaction. One, he dragged down the middle of the hall. The other, he lifted and carefully arranged, resting the man’s head and shoulders across the first man’s chest.
    Right after that he went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee that had been percolating for several hours. It was exactly eleven minutes since Eilat had floored his assailants. He returned to the hall holding his knife and positioned himself right behind the head of the uppermost man, who was just regaining consciousness.
    Leaning over, he made a small incision in the left-hand side of the throat. With a surgical twist of the knife, he severed the jugular vein, stepping back quickly to avoid the spurting blood from the third largest blood vessel in the human body. Then he walked back to the kitchen and finished his coffee.
    Grunts from the prostrate man on the floor drew him back to the hall a few minutes later. The lead assassin’s eyes were wide-open with terror, as his colleague bled messily to death all over him. There was almost a half gallon of blood now saturating the two men, and it was still pumping out of the neck wound.
    “ Salam aleikum —perhaps sooner than you think,” said Eilat. “I expect you’ve noticed I just cut your assistant’s jugular in half. In a few moments I shall have absolutely no hesitation in doing precisely the same to you. That would give you about eight minutes to live. It takes that long, you know…I mean unloading six pints of blood. He’s just about gone now. I should wish him well in the arms of Allah.”
    Eilat walked away, seemingly indifferent to the