Harry saw the look on Farouk’s face, realized what was about to happen. His pistol was in his hand, but the distance was too far, too many innocents in the way. No clear shot. No way to stop something that had become inevitable.
He raised his hand to his ear, his voice cold as ice.
“EAGLE SIX to LONGBOW, take him out.”
The cross-hairs of the Barrett M98B centered on Farouk’s temple and Thomas took up the slack of the trigger, squeezing methodically. The match trigger broke cleanly at one and a half pounds of pressure and the rifle recoiled back into his shoulder as the shot echoed out over the Old City of Jerusalem. The city of peace…
The.338 Lapua Magnum bullet shot from the Barrett’s muzzle at a speed of 2,750 feet per second, striking its target almost before the sound had reached his ears.
Farouk’s head exploded like a ripe melon, blood and brains spraying over the surrounding worshipers as he went down. He never had a chance to react, no final words, no prayers for mercy. Quite literally, the 300-grain slug was the last thing to enter his mind.
He went down hard, legs flailing in their death throes against the stone of the courtyard. And there he lay, the nerveless fingers of his right hand tangled in the folds of his coat pocket, still pressed firmly against the detonator. The bomb didn’t go off.
The muezzin stopped in mid-prayer, the crowd reacting in frozen horror to sudden death in their midst. In those first few seconds, it must have appeared as though the victim had been struck down by lightning from on high.
Then pandemonium broke loose. Harry elbowed his way through the scattering throng, reaching Farouk’s body moments after his fall. Tex was already there, on his knees beside the fallen terrorist, working through the wires that encircled Farouk’s waist.
Behind them, Husayni’s security personnel began to spread out across the Haram al-Sharif, forming a rough perimeter.
A few yards to the left, el-Kas, the fountain of ablution, continued to gurgle peacefully, its purifying waters splashing and glistening in the sun. A sharp contrast to the pandemonium that surrounded it.
Harry looked around once more, his eyes alert for trouble, then he pulled his jacket open and shoved the.45 back into its holster.
Time to stand down. Reaching up, Harry activated his earpiece radio. “EAGLE SIX to LONGBOW, it’s time for you to leave. Exfil before they lock this city down. Standard E amp;E protocols apply.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Thomas’s voice came back through the speaker in Harry’s ear. “What happened to FULLBACK?”
“I killed him,” Harry responded quietly, looking across the courtyard. He disconnected the comm radio without another word, seeing Hamid’s face before his eyes. The way he had looked lying there. He heard Tex’s voice distantly and looked back at the big man. “What?”
“The bomb’s been disarmed.”
Harry ran a hand over his forehead, unable to find the words to express his feelings at that moment. His legs felt suddenly rubbery, weak as the adrenaline left his body.
Unusually, Tex was still talking. “I found this cellphone in his jacket. Doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the bomb, but Langley might want to take a look at it.”
Harry barely heard him. The threat had been neutralized…
“We’ve got a situation developing on the Temple Mount,” Shoham’s aide announced, appearing without warning in the doorway of his office.
The general looked up. “What’s going on?”
“A man in the crowd gathered for prayer at al-Aqsa mosque was shot by a sniper. The security forces of the Mufti have cordoned off the area and aren’t letting anyone through. Our personnel have been pushed back toward the Gate of the Chain.”
“The Lions of Jehovah,” Shoham snarled, a grimace contorting his features. “Blast it! Do they have any idea where the sniper is?”
“No, sir.”
“Get Laner on the phone ASAP.”
Despite the best efforts of both the Israeli police and Husayni’s men, the situation was far from being under control. Both sides now seemed to be engaged in a Mexican standoff about a hundred yards from the front of al- Aqsa, tensions growing by the minute.
“It seemed to come from somewhere in the Christian quarter,” Gideon responded, struggling to hear the general on the other end of the connection. “My guess would be one of the church towers in the area was used as a sniper hide. I sent Yossi and Chaim over there right after the shot. If he’s smart, he’ll shoot and scoot, but they might find something worthwhile.”
“Right now,” Shoham replied, “I want you to focus on the situation there on the Temple Mount. Get things settled, get Husayni’s bully boys to stand down. We can’t have this spreading to the streets.”
Gideon took another look across the wide plaza and nodded grimly. Easier said than done. “Roger that…”
It was time to go. Thomas left the Barrett laying where it was, the magazine still inserted. There was no way he could make it out of the city carrying it.
He drew his combat knife from its ankle sheath and motioned toward the girl, kneeling beside her and carefully slicing the zip ties that had bound her wrists and ankles.
“Go home,” he whispered, looking into her eyes. Her expression didn’t change, as though she had withdrawn to some place deep within herself. Gone was the uncertainty, the regret he had seen earlier, replaced by a dangerous calm. A sense of purpose.
None of that mattered now. With a sigh, Thomas rose, sheathing the knife and turning his back on her. Four steps toward the stairs and he heard the girl move, heard the lethal scrape of metal against stone.
Beretta already drawn, he turned back to see the rifle cradled in her arms, the long, black barrel swinging toward him as she fumbled with the safety.
She looked up to see the pistol leveled in his hand and froze, fear and surprise washing over her face as she realized she’d been played.
The grim tableau lasted only moments. The Beretta coughed twice, 9mm slugs striking her center-of-mass, hammer blows to the chest knocking her back. Her legs went out from under her and she sprawled onto the balcony, dying.
