He motioned to Tex and together the three men dropped to the ground, working their way along behind the parked cars.
From behind the walls of the courtyard they could hear a vehicle engine idling. Maybe more than one. Time was short.
Lying on his belly under a parked truck, Harry rubbed a hand across his eyes, scanning the perimeter for weaknesses-for the proverbial chink in the armor.
At length, he nudged Tex with an elbow. “There’s a gap in the coverage of the security cameras. If we time it right, I can get in close to the gate before the camera turns back this way.”
“You up to a sprint?”
Harry grinned, forcing himself to ignore his tired muscles. “Don’t have that much choice, now do I?”
“You got that right,” the big man replied simply. “Go with God.”
One, two, three-four! Harry was up and moving, his feet pounding across the street, toward the looming shelter of the courtyard wall. Unbidden, his mind flickered back to his childhood Little League, sliding for his first base at the age of seven. The euphoric adrenaline flowing through his body.
Sliding for home plate.
The stakes here defied comparison. The security camera started to swivel back toward him. And with one final desperate burst of energy, he hurled himself toward the wall, sliding across the rough asphalt.
He rolled onto his back in the shadow of the wall, gasping for breath, the assault rifle clutched in his skinned hands.
Now voices added themselves to the cacophony of engine noise, barely intelligible amidst the racket. It sounded like Farsi, he realized after another moment’s reflection. Orders barked back and forth.
Then footsteps, boots thudding against asphalt on the other side of the reinforced metal gate. The rattle of a padlock.
Shifting his rifle to his left hand, Harry drew the suppressed.45 from his jacket, aiming it at the opening.
The gate swung outward as though in slow motion. The man that emerged was dressed in the traditional garb of a Palestinian fellah. An AK-47 was cradled in his arms as he pulled the gate fully open, his back turned toward the CIA men.
Harry didn’t wait for him to turn around. This wasn’t a Western movie. There were no white hats. No honor in this. His arm came up, the big Colt an extension of his hand. A part of him.
Asefi’s breath caught as the fellah’s face turned toward him, and in the gathering twilight he recognized the man. One of the Ayatollah’s young scholars from Qom. They had been lovers once, in a better day. A beautiful boy.
He tried to rise, tried to scream out a warning, but the words turned to dust in his throat. He saw the gun rise in the American’s hand, a terrible certainty.
The sound of the suppressed.45 was more like that of a nail driver than a gun and so it was. A nail in his coffin.
The bullet struck the young man in the back of the head and an anguished scream broke from Asefi’s lips as his lover crumpled to the ground, a shattered wreck.
Dead. He felt as though his heart had been torn out. Time itself seemed to slow down as he rose, evading the big man’s hand by only inches. Tears ran down his face as he ran forward, his vision reduced to nothing but the American in front of him.
Asefi saw him look up, saw the surprise on his face. Surprise quickly melting away to resolution as the gun came up.
He wasn’t going to make it. He knew that when he saw the pistol aimed at his chest. Deep down he had known it before he even started running. Cold as fate.
Two.45-caliber hollowpointed slugs tore into his chest, piercing a lung and mushrooming into his body.
Falling. He threw out a hand to catch himself as the asphalt came rushing up to meet him, but his body was no longer responding to the dictates of his mind.
Darkness…
Hossein heard the muffled shot, recognized it for what it was. He saw the body of the young scholar crumple into the street.
They were here.
“Fall back!” he bellowed, grasping the situation in a trice. There were too many unknowns to risk pitched battle.
His orders fell on deaf ears. His men stood exposed in the open, staring at the corpse of their fallen comrade in open-mouthed shock. Scholars, he fumed bitterly. Only Mustafa reacted in accordance with his training, taking shelter behind the engine block of the van, his rifle unslung.
Hossein hurried forward to the screen of vehicles, taking command of the situation. He grabbed one of the young men by the shoulder and pulled him down behind the van, slapping him across the face.
At that moment, a small steel cylinder rolled into the courtyard, tinkling against the asphalt. “Down!” Hossein screamed, covering his eyes with his hands.
The courtyard turned bright as the noonday sun.
Harry was through the gate two seconds after the stun grenade went off, Tex following him in. Target to the left.
A burst of fire rippled from the Galil’s barrel and the man went down. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw another man helpless on the pavement, rubbing his eyes in agony.
Tex shot him twice and he stopped moving.
Reaching the line of vehicles, they separated, their movements practiced, almost choreographed. Danse macabre.
A man was crouched behind the van, a rifle in his hands. He got off a wild burst, bullets fanning the air near Harry’s ear.
Harry fired a quick double-tap, both rounds entering the tango’s head. The rifle clattered to the asphalt as the corpse fell backward.
Silence fell over the courtyard, the silence of the grave. Four men dead. Harry and Tex exchanged glances, their rifles still held at the ready.
“Any sign of Hossein?” Harry asked cautiously, his eyes scanning the courtyard for a further threat.
Tex shook his head.
“Check the vehicles for the package,” Harry instructed. “I’ve got your back.”
10:35 A.M. Central Time
Columbus, Ohio
“And as we work together, we will move this country into a bright future of hope and prosperity. Thank you all, and may God bless the United States of America!” With a wave and a brilliant smile for the cameras, President Hancock walked quickly off the platform, after four years still moving with the rugged, youthful athleticism that had endeared him to his supporters in the first campaign.
Cahill was waiting backstage and together they walked down the hall of the convention building. “Something’s going on, isn’t there, Ian?” Hancock demanded, undoing his necktie as they walked.
The only reply was a nod and the President sighed. “Let me have it.”
“We got a flash from Langley shortly after you went on-stage. They were able to locate the terrorist cell charged with transporting the bacteria into Israel.”
Hancock stopped dead in his tracks, a strange fire flashing in his eyes as he stared at Cahill. “They did?”
“Yes, Mr. President. As of our last update, fifteen minutes ago, an NCS strike team was in the process of executing the takedown.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t see fit to notify me of this?”
“This was a very important speech,” Cahill responded, baffled by Hancock’s response. “As I’m sure you can understand, it was imperative that you remain focused while delivering it.”
“Ian, I can give speeches till the Second Coming of Christ and none of it will matter if the Middle East goes up in smoke. Now get me an update. I want real-time intelligence on the developing situation, ASAP.”
7:39 P.M. Local Time
The safehouse
Ramallah