“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.”
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?”
“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.”
“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.”
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.”
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!