“The network is built to handle the data load of streaming video, but we just added our software on top of that. You might start experiencing black-outs from certain screens, it might crash the system altogether.”
“Seventy percent now.”
“We can dial back the speed of the search,” she added. “That would reduce the load on the central processing unit.”
“How much longer would that take? We’re at seventy-two percent.”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
The big man shook his head grimly. “We don’t have that kind of time.”
“Are any of Husayni’s people in the room with you?”
“Negative, they’re in the next room over at the moment. Why?”
“Well, if the Mufti’s security service starts having to investigate mainframe glitches, they’re going to realize we piggy-backed onto their system. You can’t hide software like this forever.” Carol cleared her throat. “That is not desirable.”
“Desirability be hanged,” Tex snarled. “We’re going to red-line this thing.”
Images flickered across the screen as the software sped about its business, searching through the assembled crowd. Usage creeping to seventy-six percent.
It was a dangerous gamble, but none of the other choices were viable. The Texan knew that. If there were known terrorists in the crowd, they needed to know it, in the next few minutes if at all possible.
Seventy-nine percent. A screen above Tex’s head to the left flickered and went black, losing its signal. Losing his coverage of the al-Magribah gate, he realized, mentally reviewing the data before him.
Another two screens went black almost simultaneously as the CPU usage topped eighty-one percent, denying him a view of the crowd around the Dome of Yusuf Agha, toward the west near the Islamic Museum.
Two of the Jordanian bodyguards came hurtling through the door. “What’s going on?”
A loud, insistent beep came from the computer, a face morphing onto the screen, pulled from the crowd directly in front of al-Aqsa, near el-Kas, the fountain of ablution. FAYOOD HAMZA AL-FAROUK.
“We’ve got a face,” he announced, bending over the console. “He’s here. The man himself.”
“Get word to LONGBOW,” an unexpected voice ordered. Tex turned to find Harry standing in the doorway, his face drained of all its color, the empty pistol still clasped in his right hand. Not thirty minutes had passed since the two men had parted, but the team leader looked ten years older.
“The radio is secure to use once more,” Harry said, walking across the room to take command. “The traitor is dead.”
“EAGLE SIX to LONGBOW, we have a target.”
Thomas came instantly alert at the sound of Harry’s voice on the radio network. “What’s going on, EAGLE SIX?”
“Fayood Hamza al-Farouk. He’s in the crowd near el-Kas, the fountain. He’s wearing a checkered
Ignoring the young woman’s glance in his direction, Thomas focused in on the scope, swiveling the Barrett toward the designated spot. The lens picked out the black-and-white pattern of al-Farouk’s
“VISDENT confirmed, EAGLE SIX. I have eyes on Fayood Al-Farouk.” Thomas centered the cross-hairs on the terrorist’s face, his index finger to the side, held carefully away from the Barrett’s trigger. “He’s wearing a bulky jacket, his hands in his pockets.”
Thomas’s eyes slid over Farouk’s body, remembering the photos he had been shown. Something had changed. It was more than just the jacket, which was justified by the cool north breeze wafting over the city. There was something different.
His scope drifted lower, along the torso. Something had changed, something was wrong. A sudden weight gain.
“EAGLE SIX, I think I have our fourth canister…”
One minute before noon. One minute before the canisters within the masjid were to release their deadly bacteria into the air.
Farouk smiled, his arms at his sides. The bacteria he carried had been divided into three small pressurized canisters, wrapped around his mid-section along with five pounds of Semtex. This was the
In the wake of his bombing, the victims would be transported to hospitals and emergency clinics around the city, spreading the plague with them. The Jewish doctors would be among the first to die, along with their patients. And that would only be the start of the epidemic. Only the start of the war…
The fires of jihad would envelop the world and the world would be remade in those refining fires. Remade in the image of Allah, the most glorified, the most high. His prophet, the Twelfth Imam, peace be upon him, ruling over all of mankind.
A beautiful vision. He heard the muezzin begin the call to prayer and spread out his prayer mat, falling to his knees toward Mecca. The mullahs commanded that every prayer be prayed as though it were one’s last, but Al- Farouk smiled as his forehead touched the fringe of the mat. This would be.
Harry shoved a fresh magazine into the butt of the Colt before stepping out onto the courtyard, racking the slide to chamber a round. It was time to finish this. Tex followed him into the open air of the courtyard as the crowd rose to their feet after the completion of the first
Emotion had left him back there in the deserted stables of Solomon, along with remorse. Gone was everything except a terrible sense of purpose.
Harry saw the
As the second
It was then that he saw the face. A face burned into his memory ever since BEHDIN had sent him the classified CIA personnel files, not four days before.
They were coming to stop him, but it would be futile.
The detonator was in his coat pocket, securely compressed in his fist. A dead man’s switch. The moment his fingers released their grip, the bomb would detonate. Nothing could stop the will of Allah. He smiled through the crowd, his eyes locking with the American’s in a look of mutual recognition…
