“And the target?”
“Al Quds, or Jerusalem as you call it. The al-Aqsa mosque,” Asefi replied calmly. “During Friday prayers.”
Harry sat there for a moment, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing.
“You’re sure?” he asked. “A biological attack on the Temple Mount will kill thousands of Muslims. It doesn’t make sense.”
Asefi shrugged. “You can believe what you will, but it does not change what is true. The murder of Muslims at worship, in a place guarded by the Jews. It will be a pretext for war.”
“Dear God,” Harry whispered. “He’s going to set the Middle East on fire.”
A sigh escaped the Iranian’s lips as he glanced out the window. “ You mean the world…”
She entered the log-in verification for the third time, then clicked OK on the screen that appeared. A moment later, the adjusted balance appeared, minus the eight million dollars. In and out. Everything according to plan.
“It’s done,” Carol announced in a tired voice, looking over toward Carter’s workstation. “The Agency gives with one hand and takes with the other. Situation normal.”
She rose and retrieved her purse. “Now, to home and to bed. Don’t try calling me again, Ron. My phone will be off.”
“I’m headed home too,” he responded with a grin. “We’ve earned some sleep.” He looked at the dregs of coffee at the bottom of his mug and grimaced. “And a fresh brew of coffee in the morning.”
A phone rang somewhere in the bowels of the op-center and they exchanged glances. A couple moments later, Daniel Lasker appeared, his face grim in the glow of the electronics.
“Carol,” he announced without preamble, “I want you to call the DCIA and DCS. Get them out of bed and in here at once. Ron, get me a run-down of our assets in the East Mediterranean, focusing on support structure in Lebanon and Israel. I’ll see everyone in Conference Room #5 at 0200 hours for a complete mission briefing. Have your sitreps ready and with you.”
And then he was gone, down the hallway.
Carol sighed. Ron rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and glanced speculatively at the empty coffee mug on his desk. “Well, that’s the end of sleep for the night. What’s the name of the new guy?”
“Ames?”
“Yeah, Ames. Send him down to the cafeteria for coffee. We’re gonna need it.”
Chapter Fifteen
There was a satisfied expression on President Hancock’s face as he stepped into the limousine. It had been a successful evening, a fundraising dinner attended by a who’s who list of Hollywood celebrities. He enjoyed a great deal of support on the West Coast, and this was turning out to be a good trip.
Hancock took his seat and smiled into the eyes of the starlet who already sat within, his hand closing over hers. The evening was yet young.
“Mr. President,” a voice broke in upon his thoughts. His head jerked up to see the head of his Secret Service detail, Curt Hawkins, with a phone in his hand. “I have David Lay on the phone, sir. He says it’s urgent.”
“Isn’t it always,” Hancock retorted in disgust. “I have briefing in five hours, can’t it wait till then?”
The agent shook his head. “That’s a negative, Mr. President.”
“All right, give it here.”
Hawkins shot a pointed look in the direction of the actress and the President sighed, kissing her on the cheek. “Give me a moment, darling.”
Another agent escorted her from the vehicle as he picked up the phone.“Hello, David.”
“Mr. President, we have a situation.”
“More of your agents in trouble, director?” Hancock suggested. “You’ve already disrupted my evening, so get to the point.”
“The Iranians have a commando team in Israel, planning to deploy the biological weapon within the next twenty-four hours.”
“How did this happen?”
“We’re still determining that. The fact is that they are in-country, and planning to hit the crowd worshiping at the al-Aqsa mosque during Friday prayers”
“Killing Muslims? Why?”
“It’s a
“No.”
There was a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the line, then David Lay asked, “Why on earth not, Mr. President?”
“You speak of a
“And how might we do that, sir?”
There was an edge to Hancock’s voice when he spoke again. “Ever since I took office, I’ve heard you before Congress justifying the budget of your Clandestine Service, Lay. Maybe it’s time your men started earning their keep.”
“So, we’re supposed to put a team on the ground within the borders of an allied country, take out the terrorists and escape without detection?” Harry asked, glancing across the lobby to where Asefi still sat.
There was a faint crackle of static on the connection and then Kranemeyer responded, “That’s correct. Can you do it, Harry?”
“Sure as there’s a Santa Claus. Why doesn’t the President just order a missile strike? Sat coverage shows the Land Rover to still be in the Golan, collateral damage would be kept to a minimum.”
“We suggested that. Too much of a footprint, he says. Has to be people on the ground.”
“Yeah, well, you might remind him that humans leave footprints too. That’s where the term originated.”
“Tick-tock, Harry. Are we getting anywhere with this conversation?”
“My men are still alive,” Harry shot back. “I want the President to understand the potential fallout of what he’s ordering. We don’t have the luxury of loose border security, so we’ll have to get creative.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“There is,” he replied. “We’re not using the team. Tex and I will go in, across the border. Contact Avraham Najeri and have him meet us in Hebron with the necessary equipment.”
“Harry, we’ve got a minimum of five terrorists, possibly more, with a bio-weapon. Less than twenty-four hours to search and destroy. Can you do that with a team of two?”
“It’s all about footprint, remember. Two people. Bring Najeri up to speed and we’ll work things from our
