Pandora's Grave (56 page)

“What exactly are we looking for?” Husayni’s bodyguard asked, a short, stocky Jordanian by the name of Abdul Ali.

“According to Isfahani, we’re looking for four steel canisters, probably no bigger than a liter of soda,” Harry replied, illustrating with his hands.

The bodyguard nodded. “Already here, or still to be delivered?”

“We don’t have that intel,” Harry admitted. “What exactly are the limitations of your system here?”

“Limitations? What do you mean?”

“Dead space,” Hamid interjected, stepping forward to stand by the bank of screens. “Do you have a map showing the areas not covered by the surveillance cameras?”

“Ah, yes. One was drawn up a year ago.” The Jordanian barked an order in Arabic and one of the security guards left the room, in search of the map. Ali smiled tightly. “It should be here shortly.”

8:06 A.M.

The Church of the Redeemer

Jerusalem

Thomas entered the church from the west, coming through the bustling market of the Muristan. Above the door was an exquisitely carved lamb, a symbol of righteousness and peace.

Peace. Jerusalem meant the “city of peace”. Some might have considered the appellation prophetic, but it struck Thomas as little more than a bad joke. Jerusalem had been the territory of men like him for millennia, and he had nothing to do with peace.

He paused at the entrance, his hand brushing against the cool limestone of a pillar. As he hesitated, a young Western couple entered the church ahead of him, the girl smiling as she passed him. She reminded him of someone, maybe a girl he had known back in the States. He hoped she would survive the day.

Collecting his thoughts, he entered the narthex on their heels. Walls rose high on either side of him, culminating in a magnificently vaulted stone ceiling.

It had been years since he had darkened the door of a church. Not since he’d crashed the wedding of his half-sister, he realized with a smile of amusement. But here he was.

A middle-aged Palestinian man stood at the door to the main sanctuary, apparently the doorman. As Thomas stood looking around, he saw him give the girl a white scarf to cover her bare shoulders before she entered the main part of the church.

Here goes. Thomas took a deep breath and crossed the room, sticking out a hand. “Name’s Warner, sir. Jerry Warner, photographer for
Time
magazine. You were told to expect me?”

8:29 A.M.

The Haram al-Sharif

Jerusalem

“The crowds are already gathering,” Harry observed grimly, monitoring the bank of screens in the small surveillance center.

Davood nodded, standing by his shoulder. “It’s a pilgrimage for many. I’ve always wanted to come here myself. Here and Mecca.”

“The
hajj
?” Harry asked, a seemingly idle question.

Hamid looked up from the screens on the opposite end of the room. “The last time I got a vacation to go on
hajj
the Ravens were playing the Super Bowl. So I went to Florida instead.”

“Priorities, man.” A sharp, brittle laugh was forced from Harry’s lips. “Gotta have priorities.”

Tex cleared his throat a few feet away. “We’ve got a face, people. Near the al-Magribah Gate.”

“Who?” Harry demanded, crossing the room in two strides.

“Right here—in the crowd. It looks like Shirazi’s nephew.”

The frozen image was fuzzy, indistinct. Harry whirled on Ali. “Is there a way to get a higher res on this thing?”

The Jordanian nodded, elbowing the two of them aside as he bent over the keyboard, tapping in commands. “Here we go.”

The camera zoomed in close, the image clearing up as it did so. Even so, the face was turned half-away.

“I think we’ve got a match,” Harry said finally. “Tex, Hamid, I want the two of you to get topside. Shadow this joker, but don’t take him. Yet. Ali, where did you put the major?”

“In the next room,” the bodyguard replied.

“Bring him in here, please. I have a few questions to ask him.”

The moment the door closed behind Ali, Harry’s hand flew to his ear, keying the headset radio. “Come in, LONGBOW. Do you copy?”

8:32 A.M.

The Church of the Redeemer

One hundred and seven. One hundred and eight. One hundred and nine
. Panting, Thomas paused on the hundred and tenth step of the narrow spiral staircase, gazing up at the bells hanging far above him. He had made it well past the half-way point. At that moment, his headset crackled with static. “Come in, LONGBOW. Do you copy?”

He leaned against the side of the tower. “Yeah, I copy, EAGLE SIX.”

“Are you in position?”

“Negative, EAGLE SIX. I’m half-way up. My credentials were accepted by the probst.”

“Good. All right, we’ve got a face in the crowd near the south gate. Harun Larijani. How soon are you going to be set up?”

“Ten minutes,” Thomas replied, looking up at the bells once more. His heart was pounding against his chest from the exertion and his injured side was throbbing with every step he took. He was being optimistic. “Maybe eight if I push it.”

“Make it five, LONGBOW. We need you in place.”

8:36 A.M.

The Haram al-Sharif

For all appearances, it could have been another ordinary Friday, but it wasn’t—all because of Farouk. Harun rubbed sweaty palms against his trousers as he elbowed his way through the gathering crowd. This was a final reconnaissance, a test to see if the Jews would deny him access to the Haram al-Sharif. They had been known to turn away young Muslim men before.

There had to be a way to stop this. Only a little over three hours remained until the canisters would start to disperse the bio-agent through the corridors of the masjid.

It was too late to speculate what might have happened if he had made a different choice. His choice had been made back in those mountains, vomiting the contents of his stomach out on the cold, hard ground. He saw those Kurds every time he closed his eyes.

To kill a man in the heat of battle was one thing. But not this.

The Americans were here, somewhere. But he couldn’t take the chance, not with one of them being a traitor.

He was growing paranoid—he knew that. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling. Eyes seemed to follow him through the crowd. Watching eyes lurking in every passing face. His choice had been made, and his fingers trembled at the thought. It was going to kill him…

“Subject is moving toward el-Kas, the fountain,” Hamid breathed into his headset microphone, his eyes following Harun Larijani.

“Roger that, FULLBACK,” came the Texan’s gruff acknowledgment. “I’m on him.”

Moving in tandem, the agents maintained a careful following distance, keeping in sight of their quarry. Trees shaded parts of the Haram al-Sharif and Hamid marked his position as they passed an aged tree known as the “Prophet’s olive tree”.

“Do you make any escorts? Is he alone?”

“Undetermined. One possible at your one o’clock. LONGBOW, are you in position?”

8:38 A.M.

The Church of the Redeemer

“Almost,” Thomas whispered, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side. His fingers flew as he removed the false bottom from his camera case, lifting out the Barrett M98B in two pieces, a Leupold Mark IV scope mounted along the upper.

He had done this so many times. So many places. Despite his weakness, he could have done it with his eyes closed. Leaning back against the tower stone, he reassembled the sniper rifle and slapped a full 10-round mag of .338 Lapua into the magazine well.

Extending the bipod under the barrel, he moved from the steps into the belfry, taking up his position. A waist-high railing surmounted the balcony, walls of white limestone anchoring each corner of the tower. Beside him hung the three bells, engraved in German. His hand brushed over the cool bronze of the smallest bell, tracing the lettering with his fingers. “
Das Jerusalem, das Droben ist. Das ist die Freie. Die ist unser aller Mutter. Gal 4,26 1897” But Jerusalem is free and she is our mother
.

Free indeed, Thomas snorted, not recognizing the quotation. Held in bondage by violence and terror was more like it.

The view was amazing. From where he stood he could look down upon the entire Old City, along with much of the rest of Jerusalem. Looking to the south, he saw the Tower of David upon the wall of old Jerusalem, its stone construction having weathered the tempest of well-nigh three thousand years. Off to the west, the double sky-blue domes of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. To the north, far in the distance rose the heights of Mt. Scopus and the new skyscrapers that were being built around Jerusalem. A city of commerce and life. Peace? Anything but.

Lying prone upon the balcony, his body half-concealed in the shadow of the tower, Thomas turned his attention to the east, toward the Dome of the Rock and the surrounding enclosure. Sweeping the area with the massive 14x scope, he quickly picked out the details pointed out by Hamid and Tex. There. He focused in on a face, recognizable from the photos he had been shown. Harun Larijani.

The proprietary BORS software system on the scope was turned on, feeding him targeting data. He settled the cross-hairs just above Harun’s right shoulder and keyed his mike. “LONGBOW to FULLBACK, I have eyes on the target.”

11:46 P.M. Central Time

The Hilton

Columbus, Ohio

“No!” President Hancock shouted, turning from the window to glare at his chief of staff. “I have made my orders clear and I want them to be followed.”

Ian Cahill shook his head. “I don’t understand your opposition to this, Mr. President. The CIA has laid out the case clearly. Once the meeting with Tahir Husayni was authorized, we tipped our hand. There’s no going back.”

Hancock swore softly, passing a hand over his forehead. “There is no such thing as a singular course, Ian. There are always choices, and I have made mine. Here—now, a month before the election, this administration must
not
be tied to a crisis in the Middle East.”

“We’re already tied to it!” Cahill exclaimed. “Mr. President, I warned you when you first took office not to play these type of games with the Agency. David Lay is an old hand. Trust me, try to pull the rug out from under him, and he will retaliate.”

“He needs to be taken down a peg or two,” Hancock nodded.

Cahill snorted. “That has been tried in the past, and on the whole, I wouldn’t advise it as a strategy.”

“Well, if you’re doing such a great job of strategy, why are we trailing in the polls?”

“As a wise man once said, ‘It’s the economy, stupid’,” the chief of staff retorted. “Until oil prices normalize, you’re in trouble.”

“The price of oil can be handled,” Hancock replied forcefully.

“How?”

The President looked up, as though jarred from his thoughts. Rattled. “I don’t know. Release oil from the Strategic Reserve or something. Just do me a favor and get the CIA out of Jerusalem!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Cahill sighed. “Let me place another call to Langley.”

8:48 A.M. Local Time

Haram al-Sharif

Jerusalem

“Subject is heading toward the Islamic Museum.” Harry stared at the surveillance screens as Hamid continued to speak. “Body language is nervous, EAGLE SIX, he’s checking his back every few seconds. Closing the following distance without him bolting is going to be difficult.”

“Then hold where you are,” Harry replied, glancing over at Farshid Hossein. The major sat a few feet away, leaning back in an office chair. His posture was relaxed, the look on his face one of peace, if not complete boredom.

“LONGBOW to EAGLE SIX, the target is sweating profusely,” Thomas announced. Harry couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

“You can see that?”

“Listen, a 14x Leupold and I can count the drops for you. Interested?”

“The child is not up to this,” Hossein interjected quietly.

“What do you mean?” Harry demanded, swiveling toward the major.

Hossein cleared his throat. “Harun and I have a history. We have worked together in the past, before my—my untimely death.”

Anger flashed in Harry’s eyes. “And you didn’t tell us?”

The major shrugged. “I was under the impression that I was your prisoner. If you want a spirit of mutual cooperation, then you will have to treat me accordingly.”

“We had a deal,” Harry hissed, leaning forward in his chair.

“Your deal,” Hossein began, “was with the Ayatollah Isfahani—not with me. In the end, we are focused on a shared objective.”

“I doubt that.”

Hossein snorted. “My objective is to prevent the release of this toxin—without sacrificing my own life on the altar of the ‘greater good’, if at all possible. I need assurances that I will not spend the rest of my life rotting in an American prison after all this is over.”

For a moment, Harry seemed to consider his words. “We
could
use your help. I will contact my superiors at Langley.”

12:55 A.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“So, our prodigal’s TACSAT is working once more?” David Lay asked with an ironic smile.

Ron Carter cocked his head to the side, staring hard at the DCIA. “I understood Nichols to be following your orders to the letter.”

“He is,” Lay acknowledged with a frown. “I’m sure you understand the necessity of this being deniable. What does Hossein want in exchange for his cooperation?”

“Amnesty, from the looks of it. He’s been on the internal Agency ‘Most Wanted’ list since 2006 and I think he would appreciate losing the distinction.”

“I’m sure. What ‘cooperation’ is he offering, precisely?”

“That is undetermined. The team currently has eyes on Harun Larijani, who seems to be doing a recon of the Temple Mount. The major has a history with Harun and apparently he believes he can offer some insight into this operation.”