The terrorist smiled. What a silly thing to say.
CHAPTER 70
Amran Jazar, the Hashashin lieutenant who had dutifully delivered the lithium-6 three days before in Cairo, parked a yellow taxi at the edge of the Palestinian village of Ras Al-Amud, east of Jerusalem. The crescent-topped spire of the town mosque on the hilltop above cast a long shadow westward across the deep Kidron Valley. That valley separated the Mount of Olives from the Noble Sanctuary — the Temple Mount, as it was known to the infidels — and many scholars and prophets claimed that it would one day be soaked with the blood of Armageddon. So, thought Amran, it would.
Amran’s journey to Jerusalem had taken nearly fifteen hours, beginning the moment Dr. Wahish finished his work. More precisely, it began the moment Amran slit the physicist’s throat — the same way he slit the throat of the Syrian who had brought them the virus. The Emissary had been clear. There was to be no trail, no witnesses that could be captured and questioned to jeopardize the final goal. Amran had carried the device away in an unobtrusive gray backpack, leaving nothing behind in the old watchtower but a white-haired Pakistani, facedown in a sticky black pool of his own blood.
From Cairo, Amran had carried the weapon to Ismailia, on the edge of the Sinai, and then, at dusk, continued on into the desert. He crossed the Egyptian portion on an ATV; the Israeli portion on foot. Abandoning the vehicle cost him time, but taking a noisy ATV across the border would have been suicide.
When he finally reached the frontier city of Beersheba early that morning, Amran had simply hailed a cab — one with the yellow license plates that allowed service vehicles easy passage through West Bank checkpoints. The cab driver had stayed behind, bleeding out in a ditch north of town.
Now Amran climbed out of the vehicle with his backpack and tossed the keys on the floorboard. He did not bother to wipe clean the cab’s interior, not even the bloodstain on the driver’s door. This age of the world was ending. No one was ever going to trace this vehicle to him or to the Hashashin. At this range, the cab would not survive the hour anyway.
“I didn’t see your dad in that taxi.” Drake was standing in the back of the pickup with the crate’s lid open against the cab.
Nick pulled open the driver’s-side door. “He wasn’t there. Hop down and get in. I think I know where to find him. A place called the American Colony.”
Drake didn’t move. He folded his arms defiantly.
“Drake, come on!”
“We can’t, boss. We don’t have time to play hunches.”
Nick stood there with the door open another moment. His gaze shifted to the east, toward a thin line of low clouds, burned orange by the rising sun. The eclipse was coming. Drake was right. He hung his head in frustration. Then he reached into the cab, pulled out an M4 rifle he had taken from the patrol, and slammed the door shut again.
“Good choice,” said Drake, unfolding his arms. “Now get up here and tell me what I’m dealing with.”
Nick climbed into the back. Inside the crate were four miniature UAVs, each drone two feet square with four enclosed rotors, all stacked on a short pole launcher. Titanium plates reinforced the flattened corners of their rugged, olive drab frames. “This UAV system is called SWARM,” said Nick, removing a mini-tablet computer from the foam wall of the case. “Synchronized wireless aerial reconnaissance machines. They are multipurpose, but this set is fitted out to complement a helicopter-borne radiation detector. At best, a chopper system can narrow the search for a radiation source down to a city block. SWARM is the next step. Once the helicopter finds the area, three of these UAVs work in concert to triangulate the exact position.”
Drake rapped a knuckle on the side of the top drone. “And the fourth? The payload looks different.”
“That one has a high-def camera. It hovers over the target for real-time video.” Nick toyed with the tablet screen as he spoke. A green LED lit up on each drone, indicating linkup with the controller. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the helicopter to find the general area. These UAVs were designed to search one city block. Our search area is equivalent to a hundred.”
Drake lifted a hand to shield his eyes and looked out toward the Old City. “So we’re hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“A needle that will go off in”—Nick checked his watch—“fifty-two minutes.” He flipped a switch on each UAV. The rotors hummed to life, and the little aircraft hovered on the pole, separated by a couple of inches each.
He handed the mini-tablet to Drake. “You have control. Use the green toggle to—”
The UAVs shot up into the air, almost knocking Nick out of the truck.
Drake laughed. “I think I can figure it out.”
“Right.” Nick glowered at his teammate. “Let’s get moving.”
They entered the worn stone streets of Old Jerusalem at the Jaffa gate, looking like an Israeli guard and an American tourist. Despite his bravado, Drake had a little trouble walking and controlling the SWARM at the same time. He bumped into several people in the crowd, none of whom noticed the quiet formation of four remote-control aircraft hovering two hundred feet over their heads.
After the big operative nearly ran down a small but very loud French woman, Nick took the tablet away. He locked a set of crosshairs onto his teammate. The central bird, the one with the high-def camera, took up a position directly above them. “There,” he said, handing it back. “Now they will follow wherever you go. We can release them when they get a whiff of the radiation.”
Drake looked down at his own image under the crosshairs. “Creepy.”
When they reached an open square inside the gates, Nick activated his SATCOM earpiece. “Lighthouse, any help?”
Molly was ready for him, but she didn’t have good news. “Sorry, Nightmare. We couldn’t get satellite coverage over Israel, not under State’s nose. However, based on your previous encounters with the Hashashin, you can expect two or three hostiles. One will have the bomb, plus one or two outriggers, armed with knives and machine guns. Watch the top floors and the crowds.”
Drake turned in a slow circle, searching the rooftops for snipers. “I hate these guys.”
“And the target?” asked Nick.
“Unknown. Too many potentials in the area. I’d start with the most famous crusader church in town.”
Drake’s Catholic upbringing rose to the surface. “The Church of St. Anne.”
“Correct,” said Molly.
Nick nodded. “I’ll buy that. Big crusader church. It definitely makes a statement. We can scan east from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on the way.”
“How much time?” asked Drake, squinting up at the drones hovering high above.
Nick checked his watch. The eclipse had already started. “If we’re right about the bomb, every man woman and child in this crowded city has less than forty-five minutes to live.”
CHAPTER 71
Over the next twelve minutes, Nick and Drake used the SWARM to scan seven holy sites, working northeast from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to the Church of St. Anne.
The UAVs found nothing.
The small plaza in front of St. Anne’s was nearly empty. There, the outer wall of the Old City rose high above the street, blocking the view of the eastern sky. The tourists had moved elsewhere to see the sun. “We’re running out of time,” said Drake, slumping into a plastic chair at an open-air café.
Nick sat down across the table and waved the waiter away. “We haven’t scanned a tenth of the city. This isn’t working. We have too much ground to cover.”