young men by the shoulder and pulled him down behind the van, slapping him across the face.
At that moment, a small steel cylinder rolled into the courtyard, tinkling against the asphalt. “Down!” Hossein screamed, covering his eyes with his hands.
The courtyard turned bright as the noonday sun.
Harry was through the gate two seconds after the stun grenade went off, Tex following him in. Target to the left.
A burst of fire rippled from the Galil’s barrel and the man went down. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw another man helpless on the pavement, rubbing his eyes in agony.
Tex shot him twice and he stopped moving.
Reaching the line of vehicles, they separated, their movements practiced, almost choreographed.
A man was crouched behind the van, a rifle in his hands. He got off a wild burst, bullets fanning the air near Harry’s ear.
Harry fired a quick double-tap, both rounds entering the tango’s head. The rifle clattered to the asphalt as the corpse fell backward.
Silence fell over the courtyard, the silence of the grave. Four men dead. Harry and Tex exchanged glances, their rifles still held at the ready.
“Any sign of Hossein?” Harry asked cautiously, his eyes scanning the courtyard for a further threat.
Tex shook his head.
“Check the vehicles for the package,” Harry instructed. “I’ve got your back.”
“And as we work together, we will move this country into a bright future of hope and prosperity. Thank you all, and may God bless the United States of America!” With a wave and a brilliant smile for the cameras, President Hancock walked quickly off the platform, after four years still moving with the rugged, youthful athleticism that had endeared him to his supporters in the first campaign.
Cahill was waiting backstage and together they walked down the hall of the convention building. “Something’s going on, isn’t there, Ian?” Hancock demanded, undoing his necktie as they walked.
The only reply was a nod and the President sighed. “Let me have it.”
“We got a flash from Langley shortly after you went on-stage. They were able to locate the terrorist cell charged with transporting the bacteria into Israel.”
Hancock stopped dead in his tracks, a strange fire flashing in his eyes as he stared at Cahill. “They did?”
“Yes, Mr. President. As of our last update, fifteen minutes ago, an NCS strike team was in the process of executing the takedown.”
“
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t see fit to notify me of this?”
“This was a very important speech,” Cahill responded, baffled by Hancock’s response. “As I’m sure you can understand, it was imperative that you remain focused while delivering it.”
“Ian, I can give speeches till the Second Coming of Christ and none of it will matter if the Middle East goes up in smoke. Now get me an update. I want real-time intelligence on the developing situation, ASAP.”
Harry heard the van’s doors close behind him at long last, then Tex cleared his throat. “Nothing,” the big man said finally. “Nothing at all.”
“Then we’ll search the safehouse.”
Tex shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense for it to be concealed inside. They were leavin’.”
Silence reigned over the courtyard as the two men stood there. Indecision. It had been fatal in the past. At last Harry spoke. “Stay here, I’m going to check Asefi.”
He walked back out through the steel gates, his Galil rifle held at the ready. It was a testament to the violence that had wracked Ramallah for the last few years that no one had yet responded to the firefight.
The Iranian bodyguard lay there on the pavement, beside the corpse of the young
“I loved him,” Asefi whispered, his voice a faint, dying murmur. Tears of anger shone in his eyes as he glared up at Harry.
Harry did not respond for a moment, and when he did, he ignored the bodyguard’s anger over the death of his lover. “The bacteria isn’t here, Achmed,” he replied, dropping to one knee beside the dying man. “What can you tell me about that?”
Raising himself up on one elbow with a tremendous effort, Asefi spat in Harry’s face, bloody spittle striking him on the cheek.
Harry never blinked, staring at the Iranian with preternatural calm as the spittle dripped from his face. “The bacteria,” he repeated coldly. “Let’s have the truth this time.”
Asefi coughed, a bloody froth flecking his lips as he struggled to breathe. A smile twisted his features as he met Harry’s gaze. “You’re too late,” he replied, chuckling at the irony of the situation. His laughter was cut short by another fit of coughing and Harry was forced to lean closer to hear his next words.
“You thought you could play me, didn’t you? The terrorists are already in Al Quds…”
“Where?” Harry demanded, realizing that the man’s strength was ebbing fast. With a critical eye, he assessed and then rejected the possibility of stabilizing the bodyguard. He had aimed to kill.
A curse was Asefi’s only response. His body shuddered and then collapsed over the corpse of his lover, the two of them entwined in death…
Tex looked up as Harry returned to the courtyard, but with his characteristic reticence, he asked no questions. To his eyes the team leader looked worn, exhausted.
“We were rolled,” Harry said finally, his tone weary. Bitter. “The bacteria isn’t here. Never was.”
Tex accepted the statement without challenge. “Where to next?”
“We clear the building,” Harry replied, a grim determination creeping into his voice. “Maybe he was lying once again.”
Even as he spoke, he knew the fallacy of that argument. No, Asefi had been telling the truth this time. He had seen it in the dying man’s eyes. Still, there was no harm in checking. “Back me up,” he instructed. “I’ve got point.”
The two men took up positions outside the door of the safehouse and Harry tried the door handle. Unlocked.
He pushed the door open with the barrel of his rifle, following it in. They were in a long, dark hallway, their only illumination coming from a ceiling light in the room at the end.
A room to the left. Locked. Tex kicked it open and Harry entered, sweeping the bedroom with the muzzle of his rifle. All clear.
Two more rooms down the hallway were also cleared without incident. The place seemed deserted. Still leading the way, Harry entered the kitchen at the end of hall. And he stopped stock-still.
Farshid Hossein was seated calmly at a table in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the two of them without a flicker of fear or surprise on his countenance. An empty semiautomatic pistol lay on the table before him, pulled back to slide-lock. A satellite phone rested beside it.
