All of Marseille’s joy turned to shock. She turned to Lexi’s parents and shook her head. But before Marseille could say a word to them or ask Murray any more questions, Mrs. Walsh collapsed to the ground, wailing in a manner Marseille had never heard before and would never forget.
Najjar was rolling his half-full grocery cart toward the dairy section to pick up a few gallons of milk when he first realized that there was hardly anyone in the store. There had been at least a dozen shoppers, maybe a few more, when he’d first entered, but now he couldn’t find a soul. Not even a clerk or a stock boy.
His heart began to pound. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. His palms felt sweaty, and he forgot about the milk. Something was very wrong. He wanted to tell himself that he was imagining it, that he was becoming paranoid, but he knew his instincts were not misleading him. Without making any sudden movements, he cautiously maneuvered his cart down an aisle that gave him a peek out the main windows in the front of the store, and it was then that he saw the flashing lights and heard the screeching tires as more and more police cars arrived on the scene.
Just then, milliseconds after his brain began to consider if not truly comprehend what might be happening, members of the SWAT team rushed into the store from all directions. Clad in black jumpsuits and black helmets, they had automatic weapons trained on his head.
“Najjar Malik, put your hands in the air!” their commander shouted. “Put your hands in the air where we can see them, or you will be fired upon!”
Trembling, Najjar did as he was told. He had no idea how they had found him, but found him they had, and he feared for what was coming next.
35
Back at the safe house, David pulled out his phone and noticed three new tweets from Dr. Najjar Malik, the most wanted Iranian in the world. The first was in Farsi. The second was in Arabic. The third was in English. All three said the same thing.
I’m not ashamed of #gospel, cause it’s the pwr of God that brings salvation 2 all who believe: 1st 2 the Jew, then 2 the Gentile /Rmns 1:16
David continued to be amazed by how radically Christ had changed Najjar in such a short period of time from a devout Twelver committed to the return of the Twelfth Imam to an even more devoted follower of Jesus doing everything he could to share the gospel with the Islamic world. He said a quick prayer for Najjar and his family — for their safety and for the Lord to use them to reach millions — and then he forced himself to refocus on the priorities at hand.
He made a quick call to Zalinsky to coordinate his next moves and learned that Langley had now positively identified the two Mossad agents in their custody as Tolik Shalev, twenty-six, and Gal Rinat, twenty-five. David directed Fox and Mays to take both Israelis to the holding room, where they could neither escape nor witness any of the team’s sensitive discussions. He also directed Crenshaw to provide Rinat, the wounded Israeli, whatever additional medical attention he required.
“Whatever you do, don’t let him die,” David ordered.
“Wait a minute,” said Shalev. “You’re making a mistake.”
“You mean we should let your man die?”
Shalev ignored the crack and argued that they should evacuate Rinat out of the country. He would likely need surgery and soon. “But you should take me with you,” Shalev added. “I can help you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” David snapped and turned back to Fox and Mays. “Get him out of here.”
“No, wait, really,” Shalev insisted. “Look, yes, we’re both with the Mossad. There’s no point pretending we’re not. You know our names, our ages, and I’m sure you know a lot more. You also know our mission, and it’s the same as yours — to hunt down these two last warheads and neutralize them before the Mahdi can fire them at our country. Now I think you know exactly where these weapons are — or at least where they’re heading and how they’re getting there. I think you pulled a treasure trove off Omid’s computer, information that could save millions of Israelis’ lives. So I’m pleading with you. Don’t lock me up. Let me help you stop these madmen before it’s too late.”
“The answer is no, Tolik,” David replied. “I have my orders. Now let’s move.”
“I can help you.”
“Right now you’re just slowing us down.”
“Wait, wait — what if I told you we have a double agent deep inside the Iranian nuclear program?” Shalev asked as Mays began to lead him toward the doorway.
His colleague’s eyes grew wide. “No, don’t listen to him,” Rinat insisted. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Sheket, Gal,” Shalev shot back, ordering his deputy in Hebrew to be silent.
“You have no authorization to do this,” Rinat argued.
But Shalev wouldn’t hear of it. He lowered his voice and rattled off a few heated lines in Hebrew before turning back to David and returning to English. “Listen to me. Please. Listen to reason. How do you think my country pulled off such a precise preemptive strike against the Iranian warheads?”
“If it was so precise, then why did you miss two?” David asked.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Shalev said. “We knew where those warheads were because someone told us. Someone inside. Deep inside. A mole. A mole who reports directly to us. Obviously someone moved the other two warheads before our fighter jets could get there. But at the time our man inside called in the locations, they were accurate. How else could Prime Minister Naphtali have ordered those strikes? He couldn’t afford to guess. He had to know. And he did know.”
“So what are you saying?” David pressed. “Cut to the chase.”
“I’m saying Gal and I aren’t really hunting the warheads,” Shalev replied. “We’re hunting for our mole. If we can find him, we can find the warheads. If we can’t, then there is no reasonable hope for my country. Now America is our best ally. You’ve always been there for us. And I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that we are together now, you and I — the men in this room. This is not a mistake. This is a sign from God. Please, let us work together. Let me help you. There’s no more time to work apart.”
Marseille helped the Walshes back inside. She wondered if she should call 911. Lexi’s mom was hysterical and had locked herself in her room, wailing uncontrollably and refusing to come out. Lexi’s father sat at the kitchen table unable or unwilling to speak. He was so pale and so shaky that Marseille feared he might suffer a heart attack from the stress and grief. Yet he would not let Marseille do anything to console him, nor was he doing anything to console his wife.
She glanced at her watch. It was now clear that if she didn’t leave for the airport immediately, she was going to miss her flight back to Portland. But how could she possibly leave these two alone right now? Either or both of them were capable of doing harm to themselves or to each other, and given the recent trauma of finding her own father after he had committed suicide, Marseille knew she had to stay. She riffled through several kitchen drawers and soon found a notebook that seemed to have doubled as a wedding planner. Inside, she found a directory of addresses and phone numbers of family members and close friends, all of whom had been invited to the wedding. Marseille scrolled to the end and found the number for Jan Walsh — Mr. Walsh’s older sister — who lived in DeWitt, a town not far away. She dialed the number, got Jan on the line, and relayed the tragic news about Lexi and Chris as gently as she could. Then she explained how much trouble Sharon and Richard were in.