replied, illustrating with his hands.
The bodyguard nodded. “Already here, or still to be delivered?”
“We don’t have that intel,” Harry admitted. “What exactly are the limitations of your system here?”
“Limitations? What do you mean?”
“Dead space,” Hamid interjected, stepping forward to stand by the bank of screens. “Do you have a map showing the areas not covered by the surveillance cameras?”
“Ah, yes. One was drawn up a year ago.” The Jordanian barked an order in Arabic and one of the security guards left the room, in search of the map. Ali smiled tightly. “It should be here shortly.”
Thomas entered the church from the west, coming through the bustling market of the Muristan. Above the door was an exquisitely carved lamb, a symbol of righteousness and peace.
Peace. Jerusalem meant the “city of peace”. Some might have considered the appellation prophetic, but it struck Thomas as little more than a bad joke. Jerusalem had been the territory of men like him for millennia, and he had nothing to do with peace.
He paused at the entrance, his hand brushing against the cool limestone of a pillar. As he hesitated, a young Western couple entered the church ahead of him, the girl smiling as she passed him. She reminded him of someone, maybe a girl he had known back in the States. He hoped she would survive the day.
Collecting his thoughts, he entered the narthex on their heels. Walls rose high on either side of him, culminating in a magnificently vaulted stone ceiling.
It had been years since he had darkened the door of a church. Not since he’d crashed the wedding of his half-sister, he realized with a smile of amusement. But here he was.
A middle-aged Palestinian man stood at the door to the main sanctuary, apparently the doorman. As Thomas stood looking around, he saw him give the girl a white scarf to cover her bare shoulders before she entered the main part of the church.
Here goes. Thomas took a deep breath and crossed the room, sticking out a hand. “Name’s Warner, sir. Jerry Warner, photographer for
“The crowds are already gathering,” Harry observed grimly, monitoring the bank of screens in the small surveillance center.
Davood nodded, standing by his shoulder. “It’s a pilgrimage for many. I’ve always wanted to come here myself. Here and Mecca.”
“The
Hamid looked up from the screens on the opposite end of the room. “The last time I got a vacation to go on
“Priorities, man.” A sharp, brittle laugh was forced from Harry’s lips. “Gotta have priorities.”
Tex cleared his throat a few feet away. “We’ve got a face, people. Near the al-Magribah Gate.”
“Who?” Harry demanded, crossing the room in two strides.
“Right here-in the crowd. It looks like Shirazi’s nephew.”
The frozen image was fuzzy, indistinct. Harry whirled on Ali. “Is there a way to get a higher res on this thing?”
The Jordanian nodded, elbowing the two of them aside as he bent over the keyboard, tapping in commands. “Here we go.”
The camera zoomed in close, the image clearing up as it did so. Even so, the face was turned half- away.
“I think we’ve got a match,” Harry said finally. “Tex, Hamid, I want the two of you to get topside. Shadow this joker, but don’t take him. Yet. Ali, where did you put the major?”
“In the next room,” the bodyguard replied.
“Bring him in here, please. I have a few questions to ask him.”
The moment the door closed behind Ali, Harry’s hand flew to his ear, keying the headset radio. “Come in, LONGBOW. Do you copy?”
He leaned against the side of the tower. “Yeah, I copy, EAGLE SIX.”
“Are you in position?”
“Negative, EAGLE SIX. I’m half-way up. My credentials were accepted by the probst.”
“Good. All right, we’ve got a face in the crowd near the south gate. Harun Larijani. How soon are you going to be set up?”
“Ten minutes,” Thomas replied, looking up at the bells once more. His heart was pounding against his chest from the exertion and his injured side was throbbing with every step he took. He was being optimistic. “Maybe eight if I push it.”
“Make it five, LONGBOW. We need you in place.”
For all appearances, it could have been another ordinary Friday, but it wasn’t-all because of Farouk. Harun rubbed sweaty palms against his trousers as he elbowed his way through the gathering crowd. This was a final reconnaissance, a test to see if the Jews would deny him access to the Haram al-Sharif. They had been known to turn away young Muslim men before.
There had to be a way to stop this. Only a little over three hours remained until the canisters would start to disperse the bio-agent through the corridors of the masjid.
It was too late to speculate what might have happened if he had made a different choice. His choice had been made back in those mountains, vomiting the contents of his stomach out on the cold, hard ground. He saw those Kurds every time he closed his eyes.
To kill a man in the heat of battle was one thing. But not this.
The Americans were here, somewhere. But he couldn’t take the chance, not with one of them being a traitor.
He was growing paranoid-he knew that. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling. Eyes seemed to follow him through the crowd. Watching eyes lurking in every passing face. His choice had been made, and his fingers trembled at the thought. It was going to kill him…
“Subject is moving toward el-Kas, the fountain,” Hamid breathed into his headset microphone, his eyes following Harun Larijani.
“Roger that, FULLBACK,” came the Texan’s gruff acknowledgment. “I’m on him.”
Moving in tandem, the agents maintained a careful following distance, keeping in sight of their quarry. Trees
