"Where is he now?"
Mikael nodded toward the door. "Let's get out of here. He won't be back."
"Nabi Ulmalhamah." Dublowski repeated the words exactly as al Arif had shouted them.
"The Prophet of War," the man on the other side of the table promptly translated.
"What?" Parker asked. They were in the Delta Force cafeteria, Dublowski having pigeonholed the Force's Middle Eastern intelligence officer, Major Aguirre.
"The Prophet of War," Aguirre repeated. "That's a literal translation of those words."
"It's a place," Dublowski insisted.
"It might well be," Aguirre agreed.
"Have you ever heard of it?" Dublowski asked.
Aguirre leaned back in the plastic chair and contemplated his mug of coffee. "Dan, you—"
"No speeches," Dublowski cut the officer off. "I've heard all the speeches I want to hear. Have you ever heard of a place called Nabi Ulmalhamah?"
Aguirre shifted in the seat, uncomfortable. "I've heard of it. But," he added quickly, forestalling Dublowski's next words, "I don't know exactly where it is. I know it's one of Prince Hakim Yasin's palaces. A palace to an Arab can mean just about anything from a one-bedroom apartment to a real palace. Given that we're talking about Yasin, I would tend to lean toward the latter. He's got dozens of palaces all around Saudi Arabia. He's got a chateau in Switzerland. Even a brownstone in New York City."
"I thought you were our Middle East expert," Dublowski said.
"I am," Aguirre said. "We do the best we can."
"Well, what the hell've you been doing?"
"I've spent the last two months setting up our forward deployed strike team in Israel." Aguirre leaned forward. "You find this place and if your daughter is there, we can bring the wrath of God down on their heads with what we got over there now, I assure you that."
"Who would know where it is?" Parker asked.
"If anyone, the CIA."
"Fuck!" Dublowski exclaimed. "The damn CIA's been dogging this thing from the get-go. We're not going to get any help from there."
"Maybe we will," Parker said.
"How?" Dublowski asked. "I don't think Ferguson is going to volunteer to help."
"Not after what you did," Parker agreed, "but I know someone I can ask. Kim Gereg, the head of Operations."
"Shit," Dublowski said. "Ferguson said he was following us on Gereg's orders."
Parker looked at the old sergeant major. "Did it ever occur to you that Ferguson might have lied about that to keep us from going to Gereg?"
"Where is Jawhar?"
"The local army barracks," Mikael answered. They were seated in the back of a battered van, a curtain pulled across separating them from the two guards in the front seats. The van had been parked in an alley two blocks away from the hotel. As soon as they got in, it began moving.
"What is he doing?" Thorpe asked.
Mikael leaned back, crossing his long legs. He pulled a small baggie out of his pocket and some rolling papers. "Cigarette? It is always best here to roll your own, as you Americans say, or else pay top dollar for black market — even then, there are those who repackage cheap Russian versions in American packs and cartons. You would be amazed at the scams — is that the right word? — that some of these people come up with."
Thorpe shook his head at the offer. He waited impatiently as Mikael rolled a thin cigarette and lit it. The Israeli agent took a deep drag, then tapped the ash onto the floor. "What is Jawhar doing? What he and his brother have always done. Stirring up trouble. He has met twice with a Colonel Kostenka. Who is — was — assigned to the research and development section at the Chemical Troops classified training center at Leonidovka." Mikael took another drag. "You know about VX, correct?"
Thorpe nodded. VX was, along with sarin, one of the two most deadliest chemical weapons.
"The Russians have long had VX," Mikael said. "They used it in Afghanistan. It is the only major new chemical weapon devised since the end of World War II, actually. Or was. As you know from your military training, there are many disadvantages to the use of chemical weapons. Many have tried to make better chemicals to get around those disadvantages."
Mikael was looking at the ceiling of the van. "Your CIA has a term called 'breaking the ice.' What they mean by that is that anytime something new is done, it breaks the ice and makes it easier for others to do it. When that cult used sarin in the subway in Tokyo, the ice for the use of chemical weapons by terrorists was broken."
"The Russians also broke the ice, so to speak, several years ago when they developed a new form of chemical weapon. They call it VZ. Fast-acting, it kills within five seconds in the same manner as VX, by breaking down the nervous system. More importantly, it also dissipates within twenty seconds, which makes it much safer to use, with less likelihood of friendly casualties. Also, it must be inhaled. You can smear it on your skin and no problem. One sniff, though, and you are dead."
"Why are you telling me this?" Thorpe asked.
"Because Jawhar is here to pick up a rather large amount of VZ. Large in terms of effect — small in terms of actual material."
Thorpe rubbed the side of his face, feeling the stubble of a beard. He was tired and the adrenaline rush of anticipating a confrontation with Jawhar was wearing off.
"To what end?" Thorpe asked.
"We're not certain of that," Mikael said.
The van came to a halt. One of the men in the front stuck his head through the gap in the curtain and said something in Russian.
"We're here," Mikael said. He uncrossed his legs and knelt, pulling a footlocker close. "Here?"
"Outside the army barracks," Mikael said. He opened the lid on the locker. AK-74s and other weaponry were inside. He pulled an assault rifle out along with several thirty-round clips. He handed them forward. Then he did the same with a second rifle.
"What are you doing?" Thorpe asked as Mikael grabbed a third rifle and inserted a thirty-round magazine in the well.
"We have had this place under surveillance ever since we became aware of the contact between Jawhar and Colonel Kostenka. Besides this van, we have six other men in two other vehicles nearby."
"The State of Israel frowns upon chemical or biological agents falling into the hands of those we consider our enemies. We don't really care what Jawhar has planned for the VZ." He pulled back the charging handle on the AK-74 and let it slam forward. "We're going to stop this exchange. When Jawhar leaves the barracks, we attack. Great plan, eh?"
Chapter Twenty-four
Dublowski watched the plane take off, then turned and scanned the small group of people in the Fayetteville Airport. Parker was on her way back to D.C. to try and arrange a meeting with Kim Gereg, the chief of Operations for the CIA. Dublowski didn't think much of the plan, but Parker was still a colonel and he was a sergeant major, so there wasn't much he could do to dissuade her.
He went to the closest pay phone and took out his wallet. A card was tucked into the deepest fold in the worn leather and he retrieved it. He used a calling card, then dialed the number. It was answered on the second ring.
"Giles."
"Sir, it's Dublowski."
"What did you do this time, Dan?"
Dublowski almost smiled. "Sir, we got some problems here and need some help."
"We?"
"Mike Thorpe and I."
"Thorpe's in Europe. Stuttgart, last I heard."
Dublowski wasn't surprised that Giles knew that. The old boy network in Special, Operations was very efficient. "Right now he's actually in the Ukraine," Dublowski said.
"What are you guys screwing up now?" Giles asked.
Dublowski gave the retired colonel a thumbnail sketch of the most recent events, all the while watching the terminal to see if anyone was watching back. When he finally rattled to a close, there were a few seconds of silence before Giles said anything.