Teeth of the Tiger

was all that he actually knew.

That thought startled him, too. Did he just express doubt in his Faith? No, not that. Not that, exactly. Just a random thought. There is no God but Allah and Mohammed is His messenger, he chanted in his own mind, expressing the Shahada, which was the very foundation of Islam. No, he couldn't deny his Faith now. His Faith had brought him across the world, to the very location of his martyrdom. His Faith had raised and nurtured his life, through childhood, through the anger of his father, into the very home of the infidels who spat upon Islam and nurtured the Israelis, there to affirm his Faith with his life. And his death, probably. Almost certainly, unless Allah Himself desired otherwise. Because all things in life were written by Allah's Own Hand…

* * *

The alarm went off just before six. Brian knocked on his brother's door.

'Wake up, G-man. We're wasting sunlight.'

'Is that a fact?' Dominic observed from the far end of the corridor. 'Beat ya, Aldo!' Which was a first.

'Then let's get it done, Enzo,' Brian responded, and together they headed outside. An hour and a quarter later, they were back and at the breakfast table.

'It's a good day to be alive,' Brian observed with his first sip of coffee.

'The Marine Corps must brainwash your ass, bro,' Dominic observed, with a sip of his own.

'No, the endorphins just kick in. That's how the human body lies to itself.'

'You grow out of it,' Alexander told them. 'All ready for your little field exercise?'

'Yes, Sergeant Major,' Brian replied with a smile. 'We get to whack Michelle for lunch.'

'Only if you can track her without being spotted.'

'It would be easier in the woods, you know. I'm trained in that particular skill.'

'Brian, what do you think we've been doing here?' Pete inquired gently.

'Oh, is that what it is?'

'First get new shoes,' Dominic advised.

'Yeah, I know. These are just about dead.' The canvas uppers were separating from the rubber bottoms, and the bottoms were pretty shot, too. He hated doing it. He'd put a lot of miles in his running shoes, and a man can be sentimental about such things, which was frequently a matter of annoyance to his spouse.

'We'll hit the mall early. Foot Locker right next to the place they rent strollers,' Dom reminded his brother.

'Yeah, I know. Okay, Pete, any advice on Michelle?' Brian asked. 'You know, if we're out on a mission, we usually get a mission brief.'

'That's a fair question, Captain. I'd suggest you look for her at Victoria's Secret, just across from The Gap. If you get close enough without being spotted, you win. If she says your name when you're more than ten feet away, you lose.'

'This isn't strictly fair,' Dominic pointed out. 'She knows what we look like — especially height and weight. A real bad guy wouldn't have that information in his pocket. You can fake being taller, but not being shorter.'

'And my ankles can't take high heels, y'know?' Brian added.

'You don't have the legs for it anyway, Aldo,' Alexander needled. 'Who ever said this job was easy?'

Except we still don't know what the fucking job is, Brian didn't respond. 'Fair enough, we improvise, adapt, and overcome.'

'Who are you now, Dirty Harry?' Dominic asked, finishing off his McMuffin.

'In the Corps, he's our favorite civilian, bro. Probably would have made a pretty good gunny.'

'Especially with his.44 Smith.'

'Kinda noisy for a handgun. Kinda tough on the hand, too. Except maybe the Auto-Mag. Ever shot one of those?'

'No, but I handled the one in the gun locker at Quantico. Damned thing ought to come with a trailer to haul it around with, but I bet it makes nice holes.'

'Yeah, but if you want to conceal it, you better be Hulk Hogan.'

'I hear that, Aldo.' As a practical matter, the fanny packs they used didn't so much conceal a pistol as make it more convenient to carry. Any cop knew what it was on first sight, though few civilians recognized it. Both brothers carried a loaded pistol and a spare magazine in their packs, when they wore them. Pete wanted them to do so today just to make it harder to track Michelle Peters without being spotted. Well, you expected such things of training officers, didn't you?

* * *

The same day began five miles away at Holiday Inn Express, and on this day, unlike the others, they all unrolled their prayer rugs and, as one man, said their morning Salat for what they all expected to be the last time. It took but a few minutes and then they all washed, to purify themselves for their task. Zuhayr even took the time to shave around his new beard, neatly trimming the part he wanted to wear into eternity, until, when satisfied, he dressed.

It wasn't until they were completely ready that they realized it was hours short of the proper time. Abdullah walked up the hill to Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast and coffee, this time even returning with a newspaper, which circulated its way around both rooms while the men drank their coffee and smoked their cigarettes.

Fanatics they might seem to their enemies, but they remained human, and the tension of the moment was unpleasant, and getting only worse by the minute. The coffee only pumped more caffeine into their systems, making hands shake and eyes narrow on the TV news. They checked their watches every few seconds, willing unsuccessfully for the hands to turn faster around the dials, then drank more of the coffee.

* * *

'Now we're getting excited, too?' Jack asked Tony at The Campus. He gestured at his workstation. 'What's here that I don't see, buddy?'

Wills rocked back in his chair. 'It's a combination of things. Maybe it's real. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe it's just a construct in the minds of professional analysts. You know how you tell what it really is?'

'Wait a week, look back, and see if anything actually happened?'

That was enough to make Tony Wills laugh. 'Junior, you are learning the spook business. Jesus, I've seen more predictions go wrong in the intelligence business than they have on Preakness day at Pimlico. You see, unless you do know, you just don't know, but people in the business don't like to think that way.'

'I remember when I was a kid, Dad used to get in shitty moods sometimes—'

'He was in CIA during the Cold War. The big shots were always asking for predictions that nobody could really give — at least not that meant anything. Your father was usually the guy who said, 'Wait awhile and you'll see for yourselves,' and that really pissed them off, but, you know, he was usually right, and there weren't any disasters on his watch.'

'Will I ever be that good?'

'It's a lot to hope for, kid, but you never know. You're lucky to be here. At least the Senator knows what 'don't know' means. It means his people are honest, and they know they're not God.'

'Yeah, I remember that from the White House. It always amazed me how many people in D.C. thought they really were.'

* * *

Dominic did the driving. It was a pleasant three or four miles down the hillside into town.

'Victoria's Secret? Suppose we'll bag her buying a nightie?' Brian wondered.

'We can only dream,' Dominic said, turning left onto Rio Road. 'We're early. Get your shoes first?'

'Makes sense. Park by the Belk's men's store.'

'Roger that, Skipper.'

* * *

'Is it time?' Rafi asked. He'd done so three times in the past thirty minutes.

Mustafa checked his watch: 11:48. Close enough. He nodded.

'My friends, pack your things.'

Their weapons were not loaded, but placed inside shopping bags. Assembled, they were too bulky and too obvious. Each man had twelve loaded magazines, with thirty rounds each, taped together in six pairs. Every weapon