was thankful that European bartenders didn’t expect tips because he wasn’t in the mood to show his gratitude.
He wasn’t really in the mood for the drinks either, but he needed something to dilute the bitterness that scalded the back of his throat. He’d been lied to by some of the best, but Selome Nagast was world-class. He had fallen for her story from the moment she sat next to him on the plane, and all along he should have known it was a setup.
“Bitch,” he muttered, more angry at himself than at her. He grabbed his two cases and started back down the concourse.
If he couldn’t trust Selome or Prescott “Call me Bill” Hyde, he was totally alone. For all he knew, the man sent to meet him in Africa, Habte Makkonen, was being paid to put a knife between his ribs at the arrival gate.
Nearing the departure area again, Mercer studied the crowd. Selome sat with her back to him, her face in a one-quarter profile, looking out the windows at the white and blue jetliner waiting to take her to Israel and her shadowy masters. Knowing that his earliest suspicions were correct deepened his black mood. He took up a position where he could watch her while shielded from her view.
He considered the connection between Harry’s abduction by Beruit-linked terrorists with an Israeli agent trying to gain his trust. Mercer knew the Israelis were interested in all aspects of terrorism that might affect their country, but how did Harry — and for that matter, himself — fit into the mix? Whatever the relation, he knew the consequences were potentially deadly. In the Middle East, being caught between Arab and Israeli could be a death sentence. When threatened, both sides tended to shoot first and apologize for the innocents caught in the cross fire later. If ever.
How did a generations-long war between Muslim and Jew affect what he was trying to accomplish in Eritrea? he wondered. There was the possibility of billions of dollars if he could find a diamond-bearing pipe, but how could Israel or a Muslim extremist group benefit from such wealth when it was located a thousand miles away from the Mideast? His answer slipped away with Selome as she walked down the embarkation tunnel.
Mercer jerked his head upward at a ceiling-mounted speaker when he thought he heard his name. The message was repeated, translated from Italian to English in the same female monotone. “Passenger Dr. Philip Mercer, please pick up a white phone for a message.”
There was a bank of phones a few paces away.
“This is Philip Mercer.”
“
Oh, Jesus! His stomach tightened, and an adrenal surge made his limbs tingle. “Is Harry okay?”
“What happened at Dulles will not go unpunished, but you will not suffer the consequences. Harry White will pay. Consider that I’m not going to kill him outright as your final warning. If you make any attempt to find him or assault us, he will die more horribly than you can imagine.”
Th call had come just seconds after Selome had left the waiting area, Mercer realized, and that couldn’t be a coincidence. Two ideas sprang to his mind. Harry’s kidnappers didn’t want Selome to know that Mercer was still in the airport following her and…
Mercer started looking around the concourse, searching for someone on one of the countless pay phones or speaking into a cellular model.
“Well done, Dr. Mercer. You are being watched. I am nearby and if you continue to look for me, I promise that Harry White won’t live to see the sun set tonight.”
Mercer froze. The kidnapper was only a few paces away. He could almost feel eyes on the back of his neck, and unconsciously he slouched, trying to present as small a target as possible. He knew they weren’t after his life — it was an instinctive gesture.
“Since I didn’t want her around when I contacted you, you’ve probably guessed that I also have a warning about the nubile Miss Nagast. All I have to say is that if she is harmed in any way, if you confront her with your discovery about her Israeli connection, or if you try to back out on your deal with her and Prescott Hyde, Harry White will die.
“You may not believe this, but she is the only person you can trust right now. You and she share the same goal, Dr. Mercer. And that is my goal as well. We can all work together to find that diamond mine or I can work alone and you and Selome Nagast and Harry White will be cast aside like so much garbage. The choice is yours. Nod your head if you understand.”
Mercer did as ordered, though he really didn’t understand at all.
“You will be contacted again at the Ambasoira Hotel in two days. A protocol will be established at that time for us to receive updates on your progress. And remember, Miss Nagast is your strongest ally.
“After I hang up, you are to remain where you are. Do not turn around. Another member of my team is watching you as well. If he sees you twitch, you will not leave this airport alive.”
The phone went dead and Mercer stood unmoving for a few moments, waiting for the caller to get out of visual range. He didn’t believe that there was another watcher, but he wasn’t about to test it.
Ibriham was fifty yards away, watching Mercer through a camera’s zoom lens, the cellular phone already in his jacket pocket. Mercer waited as ordered. The leader of the College Park operation grunted with satisfaction and casually turned away, merging with the ebb and flow of the crowds.
He had remained in America following the disastrous extraction of Harry White to sever any possible connections between his team and the airport shoot-out. Still, it was only a matter of time before their presence and their identifications were made by the FBI. The men who lost their lives and the weapons they’d left behind would certainly betray them. Ibriham could only hope the carefully laid false clues, the guns and the languages they’d intentionally used when taking White, would lead the Federal Bureau down a long tangent.
Ibriham had stayed at a Washington area hotel, keeping a rough watch on Mercer following the Dulles fiasco. It took a little work to catch the same flight to Rome on such short notice, but he had a crack staff backing him at home.
Like any experienced field operative, he knew that even the best plans fell apart soon after the opening gambit. One can anticipate the initial moves of an opponent, plan contingencies a dozen moves in advance, but when the counter finally comes, and from an unexpected quarter, the game must be rethought immediately, an entirely new strategy developed and executed without delay.
When he had started, he was an entire game ahead of Philip Mercer but the American was catching up fast. Ibriham still had the advantage, but he no longer knew how long he could keep it. Extending his protection to Selome Nagast was a calculated risk, one that could backfire all too easily. Ibriham and his team were walking a fine line — he’d known that since accepting this mission — and every day and with every new development it got more perilous.
Yet if Mercer found the mine, Ibriham couldn’t calculate how much it would mean to his people. Certainly it would redouble their commitment to their God, not just in the Middle East, but all over the world — to actually possess a relic from the past, lost for thousands of years, a piece of history that had been fabled for eons. The Prophet of the one true God had heard His words and took them to his people and it was just possible that Ibriham could get the exact text handed to man through divine locution.
He heard a disturbance behind him and turned to see the source. As he did, a scream tore across the general hum of conversation on the concourse. Behind him, a man had pulled a short-nosed machine pistol from under his jacket. Ibriham had no time to react before the man pulled the trigger, firing indiscriminately.
Unknown to him, the watcher of Philip Mercer had himself been watched.
The ferocity and surprise of the attack startled him for less than a second. His training took over as his brain went on automatic. The first few rounds went wild, tearing into the floor and the wall to Ibriham’s right, a television monitor exploding in a shower of glass and sparks. Ibriham dove to his left, hitting the carpet and rolling away from the spray of bullets, but he was too exposed to make it to cover alive. And without a weapon of his own, he had no defense. He saw the gunman adjust his aim, zeroing in. One woman took two slugs in the chest that punched her backward as though she’d been a puppet on a string.
Two more people went down, slick blood splashing the floor in obscene stains. Ibriham rolled again, catching a moment’s respite behind the fallen body of an overweight man in a tan trench coat. Four quick rounds pounded
