Pandora's Grave (47 page)

“Make it quick,” Carter advised. “CRUCIFIX is fifteen minutes out. We need you ready to move as soon as he makes the delivery.”

“Roger that.” Harry slipped the phone back in his pocket and sat there for a moment, alternatives, options playing through his mind. Choices. His eyes wandered to the rear-view mirror and he could see Tex seated on an idling motorcycle about thirty yards back toward the highway.

There was only one choice when it came down to it.

“Ready to go?” Asefi asked, glancing idly back toward the highway. There was no response to his question, just silence. His head jerked around, panic gripping his body in a premonition of evil.

He was staring down the barrel of a gun. “Wh–what’s going on?”

“You lied to us,” the man responded, his voice containing all the warmth of an arctic storm.

If you can touch it, you can take it
. The long-ago instruction came flashing back into Asefi’s brain, the words of a mentor of his. A Russian martial arts instructor.
Take the gun
, his mind screamed, but the—the American, as he had come to regard him, moved first, exiting the car.

“Get out.”

“I don’t understand,” the bodyguard protested, pushing open the driver’s side door and stepping out. “What’s going on?”

“Simple, Achmed,” the American replied, keeping the hood of the car between the two of them. Disarming him was no longer a viable option. “You lied to us, took our money, sold us out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Eight million dollars, Achmed. We paid that money for reliable intelligence and you sold us a bill of goods.”

“A bill of goods? What do you mean?”

The pistol never wavered as the American continued, cold anger in his tones. “The target never was the Masjid al-Aqsa, was it? Just a city of 130,000 souls. And you take your money and ride off into the sunset.”

“A city?” Asefi demanded, the earth seeming to swim beneath his feet. He leaned forward, his hands against the hood of the car. “What are you saying?”

“Nablus is what I’m talking about. One of the largest cities of the West Bank. Thousands of Palestinians are going to die and it’s going to be your pretext for war. That crap about the Temple Mount was just that, a smokescreen to divert our efforts.”

“No, no, I told you the truth,” the bodyguard replied desperately, a cold sweat breaking forth upon his body. Everything he had said was a lie, but—Nablus? Nothing made sense. “I swear it.”

“You swear it, Achmed? Then tell me, why are your people in the Hammam al-Shifa of Nablus?”

Asefi shook his head. “I don’t know. By the beard of the Prophet, I don’t know!”

The American took a step closer, thumbing off the safety of the Colt. The metallic
snick
resounded in his ears like a death knell and he felt himself stiffen. “Wrong answer, Achmed. I’ve had it with your lies. Last chance. Why is Farshid Hossein in Nablus?”

“I don’t know,” Asefi repeated, his pride the only thing left keeping him on his feet. Another moment and his life would be snuffed out. The American’s face was expressionless, void of emotion. A death mask.

A minute passed, then another as Harry stared into the Iranian’s eyes through his gunsights. Truth was written there for him. Whatever else Asefi might be concealing, he knew nothing about Nablus. He’d seen what he needed to see.

He lowered the pistol and gestured to Achmed. “Back in the car, please.”

The Iranian obeyed numbly, his legs seeming on the verge of collapse, and Harry watched him, fishing in his pocket for the satphone. Their leads were wearing thin…

8:37 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“Anything on the
hammam
?” Carter asked, hurrying into Carol Chambers’ cubicle with another sheaf of papers. She looked up and shook her head. “Precious little.”

“They need something,” he retorted, almost snapping at her. She glanced into his bloodshot eyes and let it pass. He was running on fumes. They all were.

He ran his fingers through his already-tousled hair. “Building schematics?”

“Ron, the Hammam al-Shifa was built in 1624,” Carol replied. “I can’t even find a floor plan.”

“So, we’re sending them in blind.” He stared past her, at the satellite feed displayed on her workstation. “Something’s not right here. I can just feel it.”

4:40 P.M. Local Time

The road to Nablus

The West Bank

Harry stood along the side of the highway, watching as an old Dodge Caravan pulled off the road toward him.

As it neared, he could see the face of Avraham Najeri behind the wheel and he made a small hand gesture, directing the weapons dealer onto the side road.

Thoughts of his first meeting with Najeri flashed through his mind as he followed him along the road, waiting as he shifted the Dodge into park.

Harry had been a young agent then, barely two years in the field. Najeri, God only knew—the Arab had always seemed ageless. Objective: the forced extradition of a Chechen war criminal from the Gaza Strip. The dealer’s advice had been invaluable then.

So little had changed. As Harry approached, he could see the small statue of the Virgin Mary standing erect on the dashboard. A symbol that carried a risk of its own in this land, but Najeri was undeterred. And still alive.

“
Salaam alaikum
, my friend,” the weapons dealer greeted him, stepping out of the SUV. Blessings and peace be upon you.

“
Alaikum salaam
.”

“It’s been far too long. You are well?”

“I am,” Harry replied, seeing the look of uncertainty in Najeri’s eyes. The expectation that he would see others with Harry.

It wasn’t going to happen. Asefi was bound and gagged in the trunk of the car and Tex…well, Tex was conveniently elsewhere.

“Good, good,” Najeri chuckled. “And your family?”

It was an old sally, and they both knew it. “As I’ve told you before, I have no family, Avraham. That’s unchanged.” That lie was an old one as well, but he had no intention of discussing his personal affairs with the man.

Together, they worked to transfer the weapons from one car to another, with Najeri keeping up a running conversation regarding the weather, politics, and the general state of affairs in the Palestinian authority.

“A pleasure to do business with you, my old friend,” Harry said finally, placing the last bag of equipment in the back seat of the car.

The little man chuckled once again. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. But do tell your employers that I do not make a practice of these deliveries.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Harry replied amiably, watching as the weapons dealer walked back toward his vehicle. The engine started and he made a u-turn on the dusty road, heading back the way he came.

Harry waited until the SUV was out of sight, then raised a hand to his ear. A moment later, Tex appeared, a cloth-wrapped object in his hand.

“Mission accomplished?” Harry asked.

A rare smile crossed the Texan’s face and he knelt down at the back of the car, unwrapping the second of Najeri’s license plates. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

9:05 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“All right, here’s what we’ve got,” Carol announced as Ron came through the door behind her. “In thirty minutes, we’ll have a satellite overpass. We should be able to get a decent thermal scan of the bath house during that window.”

“And Nichols?”

“Will be in position in twenty, as of last sitrep.”

Carter took another look at her workstation’s screens, then cleared his throat. “I’ll brief the director. Let me know when the strike team is in position.”

5:36 P.M. Local Time

Old City Nablus

West Bank

“Right there, that’s right—hold it! Smile.” The shutter clicked and Harry lowered the camera, smiling at the young Western couple he had just photographed.

The young man gave his bride an affectionate squeeze and stepped forward to take the camera from Harry’s hand. “
Merci
.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry replied, watching as they strolled away down the crowded street of the Old City. A vision of happiness. Of love.

His hand went up to adjust the earbud microphone. “How are we coming, Tex?”

“Done,” was his friend’s terse reply. Good, Harry thought. The assault rifles were reassembled.

He resisted the urge to glance at his watch. There was no point in signaling to any watchers that he was waiting for something. They already had been lingering too long in one place.

Hurry up and wait was standard protocol.

The TACSAT in his shirt pocket started vibrating and he palmed it. “Hello.”

“Sir, we have the results of your scan.” It was Carol’s voice. “We have identified thirteen polyps within your right lung.”

“All malignant?” Harry asked, more than slightly amused at the phrasing.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have that information yet.”

He glanced across the street at the
hammam
. Even as they spoke, a man left the building, disappearing into a nearby alley. “Do you recommend further tests?”

“Negative. The doctor’s recommendation is immediate removal.”

“All right.” Harry ended the call without another word, moving quickly back to the car, parked down the street a full hundred meters. Tex was in the back seat, a blanket covering the rifles.

“Time to move.”

5:40 P.M.

Ramallah, West Bank

Countryside and village flashed past at eighty kilometers per hour as the black van sped south. A war-torn country, Hossein reflected, glancing out the window as Mustafa drove. The land of Palestine had not known peace in well over seventy years, ever since the establishment of the Zionist state.

The phone in his pocket went off with a jarring ring. “Yes?”

His brow furrowed in astonishment. It was Omar, the old man’s voice pitched no higher than a whisper. “The Jews are here.”

For a scant moment in time, Hossein was struck speechless. How could it be? That they could have been tracked so quickly.

Asefi! His teeth ground together in anger as he realized the truth. It was the traitor. Another moment passed before he replied, but when he did it was with perfect calm. “You know your instructions. I can trust you to carry them out?”

“Of course, my son,” the old man replied, a trace of humor in his voice. Laughing at death. “When the angels weigh my deeds at the end of time, I will not be found wanting.”

Hossein’s face hardened, his eyes flickering from the countryside to the road before them. “The blessing of Allah upon you,” he responded finally.

“
Allahu akbar
.”

9:41 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

There was something wrong. Carol could feel it. Her father would probably have jibed about feminine “intuition”, but she kept returning to the same set of frames. Just after the Land Rover parked in front of the
hammam
. Men exited the vehicle and entered the building. She had watched it a dozen times, yet still the feeling lingered.

Struck by a sudden inspiration, she panned the camera right, southwest, Carol noted abstractly. Movement in the alley between frames 1157 and 1209 caught her eye and she zoomed in.
There
!

She reached for the phone and began dialing, knowing even as she did so that there was no time…

5:43 P.M. Local Time

Old City Nablus

West Bank

“Moving in,” Harry whispered into his microphone. “Take up overwatch.”

He glanced up at the towering heights of Mount Gerizim as he crossed the street toward the
hammam
. The mountain of blessing.

The .45 under his jacket was his only weapon, a silencer screwed into the end of the five-inch barrel. Tex would provide back-up with the assault rifles, if needed.

At least that was the plan. Few knew better than he how quickly a plan could dissolve under the tensions of engagement. Particularly under the strain of fatigue that was beginning to bear down on him.

An elderly Palestinian man was sitting in his car about fifteen meters from the door of the
hammam
. Including their car and the Land Rover, there were only five vehicles in sight. Nablus hadn’t been laid out with automobile traffic in mind.

Reaching the side of the building, Harry ducked into an alcove, pulling a black balaclava ski mask over his face. When he emerged, his face was completely hidden, the Colt in his right hand.

Five steps to the door.

He saw the old man’s face out of the corner of his eye as he moved forward. There was something there—alarm bells exploded in Harry’s mind and he looked back.

The man was staring straight at him, taking in the mask and pistol without a trace of concern on his face. He might have imagined it, but it seemed as though a faint smile tugged at the corners of the wrinkled mouth.

The look of a martyr. The thought struck Harry suddenly and the pistol came up in his hand almost of its own accord.He saw the old man’s face framed in the straight-eight sights of the Colt and time itself seemed to slow down. To take a human life—on a hunch. Instinct against fact. The imaginations of a tired mind.

A voice came over his earpiece, breaking in upon the trance. Carol’s voice, low and urgent. “Get out of there, the place is a wash. I repeat, our quarry is not there!”

The decision had been made for him. His finger curled around the trigger, taking up the slack. The big Colt recoiled into his hand.

The heavy slug smashed through the windshield, spraying glass and blood over the seat as the bullet found its mark in the forehead of the old man.