Pandora's Grave (57 page)

“That’s all? Insight? What do you think, Barney?”

The weary DCS glanced up from his seat on the couch across the room. “I say take him up on it.”

“You think it’s worth it?”

Kranemeyer massaged the stump of his knee and leaned back against the pillows. His prosthesis lay beside the couch. “For what he’s offering right now? No. But what if we turn him?”

“It would never work,” Lay shot back. “He’s too closely tied to Isfahani, now. He’d be executed the moment he returned to Tehran.”

“I’m not talking Tehran. For the last year, the Clandestine Service has been trying to get an operative underground in Somalia, to infiltrate the pirate groups there. We’ve lost three people trying to get a man inside. Who better than a former IRGC major with terrorist ties?”

8:59 A.M. Local Time

The bell tower

Jerusalem

He should have had a spotter. That was protocol, would have been the way they’d have done things—except for Davood’s betrayal.

He’d been on the gun for twenty minutes already. Thomas took his eye off the scope for a moment, closing his eyes to rest them. They hurt, red from lack of sleep and stress.

He felt something move behind him, and the next moment the bells began to ring, striking the hour as they had for over a century.

The noise was deafening. Thomas curled up in a ball next to the rifle, hands pressed tightly against his ears. It felt as though his head was going to explode, but the clangor continued as the bells swung back and forth, drowning out everything else…

9:02 A.M.

The Haram al-Sharif

There are things which are well-nigh unavoidable, moments when instinct overrrides training. The impulse to turn toward an explosion is one of those things, the desire to observe the source of the danger overruling everything else.

And so it was. As the shock wave of a second explosion rippled through the Old City, both Hamid and Tex turned, instinctively looking for cover, for the source of the noise.

A pillar of smoke rose from the north, in the Muslim Quarter near the edge of the Haram al-Sharif. The crowd around them seemed to freeze, stop-motion, in shock and fear.

The terrorists had struck again. Hamid swore as men beside him gasped in surprise. It would be only moments before panic seized the crowd and he looked around, his eyes searching the courtyard for their target. For Larijani.

He was nowhere to be seen. “FULLBACK to GUNHAND, do you have eyes on the subject?”

A moment, and Tex’s voice came over his headset. “Negative, FULLBACK, I lost him in the crowd near the museum. The explosion…”

“Same here,” Hamid retorted angrily, jostling his way through the moving crowd. Curses in Arabic, Turkish, and a dozen other languages resounded in his ears as he elbowed worshipers out of his path. “LONGBOW, I need a twenty on the target. Give me some good news.”

Nothing. “LONGBOW, do you copy?”

“Say again, FULLBACK?” Thomas responded after a moment.

“I need a twenty on Harun Larijani. Tell me you have him.”

A pregnant pause, then came the answer. “Sorry, FULLBACK. I lost him a couple minutes ago, when these blasted bells struck the hour.”

1:15 A.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“Tell me we’re not being snookered,” David Lay ordered, tossing the print-out onto Kranemeyer’s desk. “This just came over the wires from Reuters.”

The DCS looked over the headline. “They’ve had a second bomb go off—in the Muslim quarter. What are you saying?”

Lay sighed, glancing out the window at the D.C. skyline. “What if this is the real attack? What if the plot against the Temple Mount was a red herring, misdirection?”

“It’s not,” Kranemeyer replied with a shake of the head. “There’s something real about what we were told, despite the source.”

He glanced at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the video uplink should be ready.”

Leaving the DCIA, Bernard Kranemeyer made his way down to the op-center, swiping his keycard at the door.

“Everything ready?”

A bedraggled Carter nodded without a word and led the DCS to a nearby workstation. “Here we go.”

The analyst leaned over Kranemeyer’s shoulder, tapping a command into the keyboard. A moment later, the satellite uplink synchronized. The video quality wasn’t much above what a webcam would provide, but it was workable.

“
Salaam alaikum
, Hossein
effendi
.”

9:21 A.M. Local Time

The Haram al-Sharif

Jerusalem

Watching the screen above his head, Hossein smiled as the American director’s words came through the speaker. “
Alaikum salaam
. I am informed that you have a deal for me.”

“That is correct.”

“And the terms? I provide you with information for my freedom?”

On-screen, the American shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be quite that simple. To let a man of your reputation go free… We need more.”

Harry watched Hossein’s face, trying to read him. “Yes?” the Iranian asked finally.

“Simply put,” Kranemeyer continued, “we need you to come work for us. A man of your background and reputation could be very useful in certain parts of the world.”

Real alarm entered Hossein’s eyes. “You are mad if you want me to go back to Tehran. I am of no use to you dead.”

“Rest assured—we are not fools,” the DCS replied tersely.

“Then where?”

“Where has not been decided, but Somalia is on the short list.”

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire, as you Americans say. My answer is ‘no’.” A shrewd look crossed the major’s face and he glanced from Harry to the screen. “I’m not interested in being a pawn the rest of my life. I want political asylum, a new identity, and money. The deal you must have offered Asefi.”

The request had to have caught Kranemeyer by surprise, but Harry could see no signs of it on his face. No question about it, the DCS could play poker.

“And what do you have to offer that would justify such a bargain?”

Hossein smiled. “BEHDIN. The pure and faithful one. It is the codename of an Iranian sleeper agent who has penetrated your vaunted Clandestine Service.”

In that moment, Harry was glad he had sent Davood out of the room. “This man has been activated by Tehran and is currently deployed as a member of one of your strike teams,” Hossein continued. “Give me what I have requested and I will identify him for you, before he can wreak further havoc.”

Kranemeyer’s poker face cracked into a hard smile. “I’m sorry if that was your best card, major, but it’s not good enough. We were already aware of the sleeper agent. He’s on the team with you as we speak.”

A glance at the Iranian’s expression showed that the shot had struck home, confirming the FBI’s suspicions of Davood. He shrugged. “Somalia it is then.”

“I believe we have a deal,” the DCS replied, grinning like a man who had just drawn to an inside straight.

At that moment, Harry’s headset crackled with static. “FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX, we have a visual on the subject. He’s heading toward the Gate of the Chain. Advise takedown.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Take him, but do it quietly.”

When he turned back, the screen above them was black. Kranemeyer was gone. Harry placed a hand on the major’s shoulder and spoke, his voice cold and hard. “Time to start earning your pay.”

9:26 A.M.

Mossad Headquarters

Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

“What is it, Mordecai?” General Shoham asked, entering Mossad’s analysis department. “Did you find something on the bombings?”

The analyst nodded, gesturing toward his screen. “I did, and it’s not good. We have a claim of responsibility.”

“Who wants the credit now?”

A website was loaded on the Mossad screens, displaying multiple webpages in separate windows. “The Lions of Jehovah,” Mordecai responded, indicating their logo with his cursor.

“Refresh my memory. That name is familiar. Why?” Shoham asked, leaning closer to the screen.

“Because it should be. They’re a hard-right Zionist group founded during the Second Intifada. Fiercely opposed to any concept of a two-state solution, they draw most of their support from the neo-evangelical community in the U.S.”

“Any history of direct action?”

“The closest they’ve ever come was when they blew up five of the bulldozers Sharon ordered in on the Gaza settlements. No casualties, just equipment damage, but their founder, Rabbi Benjamin Arel, went to prison. He got out—two months ago.”

“ ‘To drive the Arab from the lands of God’,” Shoham breathed, reading from the top of the page. “All right. Find out where Arel is now. We’ll want to pull him in for questioning.”

An aide hurried in, holding a secure satphone in his hand. “Lt. Laner on the phone for you, sir.”

“Give it here,” Shoham ordered, composing himself. He had enough to deal with without handling these lunatics. “Lieutenant?”

“Sir, we’re looking at a situation,” Laner began, his voice hushed, tense. “The word on the street is that Jews were responsible for the attacks.”

The general hesitated for a long moment before responding. “Here’s what’s worse. They’re right…”

9:29 A.M.

A café

Jerusalem

Taking a final sip of tea, Fayood al-Farouk returned the cup to its saucer and typed the last two commands into his laptop, tapping the ENTER key at the end of the sequence. The next moment, the commands went racing across the cafe’s Wi-Fi into the ether.

With any luck, the Lions of Jehovah wouldn’t even know they had been hacked until after Mossad showed up at their door. An archived copy of the website and the video claiming responsibility had already been sent to Al-Jazeera for dissemination across the house of Islam…

9:31 A.M.

Haram al-Sharif

Jerusalem

“GUNHAND, you have a policeman at your eight o’clock,” Hamid advised, keeping his voice low as he pushed his way through the crowd, toward Harun. “Recommend that I make the snatch.”

“Taking up overwatch, FULLBACK,” the Texan acknowledged.

The al-Magribah Gate was only a hundred feet away, maybe less. The window of opportunity was closing. Time to move. Hamid’s hand closed around the suppressed .45 Glock in the pocket of his jacket.

He saw Harun glance around once more, the anxious look still in his eyes. Careful, but not careful enough.

He had run out of options. In desperation, he had placed a fourth phone call to the secure line of the Ayatollah Isfahani, but someone else had answered the phone and he’d hung up in panic.

Someone was watching. Someone was always watching. Harun could feel their eyes boring into his back. Farouk would be expecting him back soon enough.

Suddenly, without warning, a hand closed over his arm and the barrel of a gun jabbed into his ribs.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” a voice admonished in perfect Farsi and Harun froze, fighting the impulse to face his stalker…

“FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX,” Hamid’s voice came over Harry’s headset, “Grab successful. I repeat, I have the subject. Proceeding to your location.”

“Good work,” Harry replied, turning to Major Hossein. “I need you to convince him that it’s in his best interests to cooperate with us. You’re sure that he’s not ideologically invested in this?”

“Harun?” Hossein shook his head. “He’s not a jihadist. He doesn’t have the stomach for it. Give me a lever, and he’ll move.”

“Good. One other thing,” Harry added, a shamefaced grin spreading across his countenance, “I don’t speak a word of Farsi, so I’ll be relying on you to communicate with him during the entire interrogation.”

9:36 A.M.

The Madrasa al-Karimiyya

Jerusalem

It was a stately building—an Islamic school, or
madrasa
, dating back to the Mameluke rule of Jerusalem in the 14th century, built only thirty years after the expulsion of the Crusaders from Palestine by al-Malik al-Ashraf al-Khalil.

It had been the second target of the Lions of Jehovah. Gideon and his men deployed through the gathering crowd—listening carefully, observing. Eavesdropping to be blunt.

The bomb had been planted in the empty assembly hall of the
madrasa
, and the upper floor had caved in upon it. Whoever had chosen the target had known what they were doing. The entire ground floor of the school was considered sacred, an extension of the al-Haram, and the mood of the crowd was growing violent…

9:41 A.M.

The Haram al-Sharif

“You are with the Americans, yes?” Harun asked, half-turning back to look at his “escort”.

He received no reply from the grim-faced man at his side as they hustled across the courtyard of the Masjid al-Aqsa. After a moment of uncertainty, Harun decided to take his fate in his own hands. “The bacteria is already in place, within the masjid. I am willing to cooperate with your team—tell them what they need to know to find it.”

Harry was watching the pair as they approached the stairs leading down and around to the surveillance center. So far, so good. Tex was still deployed in the courtyard, making sure Harun wasn’t being followed.

They made it to the staircase, then abruptly went out of camera range. And didn’t reappear. “What’s going on?” Harry demanded, glancing at Abdul Ali, the Jordanian.

The bodyguard glanced from the screens to a map in front of him. “There’s a dead spot right there, ten feet in length. They will reemerge on screen H19, near the bottom of the stairs. Almost outside our door.”

Seconds passed, and nothing. Then minutes, and still no sign of Hamid or his prisoner. Impatiently, Harry activated his radio. “EAGLE SIX to FULLBACK, do you copy?”