Nick nodded. “Ahmad Kushal Wahish. The Pakistani death merchant. He’s a physicist, used by Pakistani ISI to pass nuclear-weapons technology to rogue nations.”
“Wahish is wanted by international agencies for proliferation crimes,” added Drake. “He can’t leave Pakistan.”
“Except, he did leave Pakistan,” said Molly.
Another picture flashed up on the right side of the big screen. It was shot from a distance. Wahish was standing at the foot of an old watchtower, next to a younger man with a shaved head. The younger man’s face was less distinct, but it was clear enough.
“Kattan,” said Nick, spitting out the name.
Molly bobbled her head. “Most likely, but not definite. We have a seventy-percent match. This was taken in Cairo two days ago by the GIS, the Egyptian General Intelligence Service.”
“Is the GIS cooperating with us?” asked Drake.
“Not exactly.” Walker bent down over Molly’s shoulder to look into the camera. “A CIA infiltration bot stole that picture from their classified network. It was uploaded less than an hour ago with a surveillance file. It looks like the GIS has been tracking Wahish but staying out of his way. He hasn’t left that location in forty-eight hours.”
“So we know Wahish is there,” mused Nick, “but Kattan can’t—”
“There’s more,” interrupted Molly. “CJ went back over the evidence like you asked, searching for a link to the fourth sign — the rising smoke and the sky of molten brass. She learned that lithium-six has another use. It acts as a multiplier in a nuclear package.” Molly took a nervous sip of her coffee and set the cup down offscreen. “We’re talking a massive expansion of nuclear yield, the difference between a suitcase nuke and Hiroshima. Such a modification takes serious expertise, but Wahish is a serious expert.”
Walker bent down into the screen again, his scowl as dark as ever. “The pieces fit, gentlemen. We may not know where Kattan is, but we know his nuclear weapon is in Cairo.”
CHAPTER 62
The C-27 Spartan droned across northern France at 23,000 feet. On the screen in its small command center, Colonel Walker was adamant. “I have CJ and her task force to help me chase down the virus. You boys need to find that nuke in Cairo before Kattan decides to take out the pyramids.”
Nick was staring at the floor, his features compressed in concentration. Suddenly he slapped the armrests and stood up, shaking his head. “No. It’s too easy.”
“Baron…” said Walker with a warning tone.
Nick gestured at the picture of Wahish and Kattan. “Sir, Kattan wanted us to see this, and he wanted us to see it at this exact moment. He’s doing it again, shaping our moves, keeping us a step behind.” He shook his head again. “No. I’m not doing it. We have to break the cycle, jump ahead to the target.”
“And how do we know where that is?” asked Drake.
Nick glanced over his shoulder at his teammate. “The Hashashin already told us, the early Hashashin, the ones who etched those inscriptions in the catacombs eight hundred years ago.” He pointed through the screen at the analyst. “Molly, bring up the translation of the prophecies.”
The stanzas that Nick found in the catacombs replaced the picture of Wahish on the left side of the screen. “There,” he said, gesturing to the first half of the fourth stanza. “‘A great smoke will rise up from the center of the world.’ Kattan’s legitimacy with this group depends on his staying true to their ancient prophecies. All we have to do is figure out where the early Hashashin thought the center of the world was.”
The colonel’s scowl took on a scornful twist. “Right. All we have to do is read the minds of the dead assassins.”
“Mecca,” offered Drake. “That’s the center of the Muslim world.”
Nick furrowed his brow. “I don’t think Mecca is the target. Of all the hadiths about the end times that I’ve heard, none of them mentions Allah’s judgment against Muslims. It’s always the unbelievers and the Jews—”
He stopped, looked up at the screen. “The Jews. Of course. The target is Jerusalem.”
The colonel responded, but Nick did not hear him. His legs gave way and he sank into his chair. Suddenly it all made sense.
The sun will be blotted out. Not from the smoke, but from an eclipse, like the one coming up in Jerusalem. And then…
Armageddon.
His family.
It could not be a coincidence that after all these years Nick’s father suddenly got an invitation to speak in Jerusalem, and Nick had stupidly sent his wife and child along. The terrorist’s revenge would be complete. Kattan planned to kill his entire family in a nuclear blast.
Nick looked up at the screen where Walker’s larger-than-life mouth was still moving, repeating a single word. It slowly came into focus.
“Baron!”
He finally snapped out of his trance. “We have to go to Jerusalem.”
“And… he’s back,” said Walker. “I was trying to agree with you, but you checked out on me.” He glanced down at the analyst. “Molly, what kind of death toll are we talking about if the target is Jerusalem?”
Molly shifted to another workstation in the background and worked the keyboard. “Given the lithium-six boost and the added tourist traffic from the eclipse—”
She stopped typing and stared wide-eyed at the colonel. “A hundred thousand from the blast alone. Two or three times that from the radiation effects.”
“And the time of the eclipse?” asked Nick.
Molly returned to her keyboard. “Tomorrow morning. Full occultation at seven fifty-two A.M.”
The sandy-haired CIA agent had been watching the conversation silently from the back of the command center. He suddenly pushed off the wall and held up a time-out sign. “Whoa, everybody. Egypt is one thing. Israel is another. The Holy Land is not on Airdrop Incorporated’s list of destinations. That’s the most heavily defended strip of land on the planet. If we even make it to the coast, it will be in a ball of flames.” He shrugged. “The best I can do is our refueling base in Cyprus. That will get you close.”
Nick shook his head. “Not close enough.”
“Ahem.” Walker cleared his throat. His scowl was contemplative. “Maybe it is.” His gaze fixed at infinity for a heartbeat and then he nodded, more to himself than to the others. “Yes. This will work. You boys get to Cyprus. Let me take care of the rest.”
CHAPTER 63
Markus. That was the name of the border patrol officer who waved Samir onto the scales at the Champlain border crossing. Markus Johnson. He looked like he could have played for the NFL if he wanted to. He had two kids, both of them girls. Markus was the crew manager for the early shift. He once told Samir that the quieter hours suited him and that midmorning release allowed him to spend more time with his family.
Samir could hardly count the number of conversations he and Markus had shared while his truck sat on these scales. They talked about vegetables, about family, sometimes they even talked about Islam. On most days, Samir was happy to sit and chat for a while. Today he prayed their conversation would be short.
It wasn’t.
“I’m gonna have to look in the back, Sammy,” said Markus as Samir stepped down from the truck and handed over his freight papers.
The farmer’s heart rate ramped up a notch. “Why? Is there a problem with the weight?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just that Homeland Security raised the threat level. No explanation yet, but the new level means we have to check every vehicle.” Markus sighed as he flipped through Samir’s papers. “Standard bureaucratic baloney. Don’t know what I’m looking for or why I’m looking”—he tilted his head and waived his clipboard—“but I gotta check a box that says I looked.”