does Hossein want in exchange for his cooperation?”
“Amnesty, from the looks of it. He’s been on the internal Agency ‘Most Wanted’ list since 2006 and I think he would appreciate losing the distinction.”
“I’m sure. What ‘cooperation’ is he offering, precisely?”
“That is undetermined. The team currently has eyes on Harun Larijani, who seems to be doing a recon of the Temple Mount. The major has a history with Harun and apparently he believes he can offer some insight into this operation.”
“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?”
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…
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.”
“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.
“
Watching the screen above his head, Hossein smiled as the American director’s words came through the speaker. “
“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.”
