Pandora's grave

“A city?” Asefi demanded, the earth seeming to swim beneath his feet. He leaned forward, his hands against the hood of the car. “What are you saying?”

“Nablus is what I’m talking about. One of the largest cities of the West Bank. Thousands of Palestinians are going to die and it’s going to be your pretext for war. That crap about the Temple Mount was just that, a smokescreen to divert our efforts.”

“No, no, I told you the truth,” the bodyguard replied desperately, a cold sweat breaking forth upon his body. Everything he had said was a lie, but-Nablus? Nothing made sense. “I swear it.”

“You swear it, Achmed? Then tell me, why are your people in the Hammam al-Shifa of Nablus?”

Asefi shook his head. “I don’t know. By the beard of the Prophet, I don’t know!”

The American took a step closer, thumbing off the safety of the Colt. The metallic snick resounded in his ears like a death knell and he felt himself stiffen. “Wrong answer, Achmed. I’ve had it with your lies. Last chance. Why is Farshid Hossein in Nablus?”

“I don’t know,” Asefi repeated, his pride the only thing left keeping him on his feet. Another moment and his life would be snuffed out. The American’s face was expressionless, void of emotion. A death mask.

A minute passed, then another as Harry stared into the Iranian’s eyes through his gunsights. Truth was written there for him. Whatever else Asefi might be concealing, he knew nothing about Nablus. He’d seen what he needed to see.

He lowered the pistol and gestured to Achmed. “Back in the car, please.”

The Iranian obeyed numbly, his legs seeming on the verge of collapse, and Harry watched him, fishing in his pocket for the satphone. Their leads were wearing thin…

8:37 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“Anything on the hammam?” Carter asked, hurrying into Carol Chambers’ cubicle with another sheaf of papers. She looked up and shook her head. “Precious little.”

“They need something,” he retorted, almost snapping at her. She glanced into his bloodshot eyes and let it pass. He was running on fumes. They all were.

He ran his fingers through his already-tousled hair. “Building schematics?”

“Ron, the Hammam al-Shifa was built in 1624,” Carol replied. “I can’t even find a floor plan.”

“So, we’re sending them in blind.” He stared past her, at the satellite feed displayed on her workstation. “Something’s not right here. I can just feel it.”

4:40 P.M. Local Time

The road to Nablus

The West Bank

Harry stood along the side of the highway, watching as an old Dodge Caravan pulled off the road toward him.

As it neared, he could see the face of Avraham Najeri behind the wheel and he made a small hand gesture, directing the weapons dealer onto the side road.

Thoughts of his first meeting with Najeri flashed through his mind as he followed him along the road, waiting as he shifted the Dodge into park.

Harry had been a young agent then, barely two years in the field. Najeri, God only knew-the Arab had always seemed ageless. Objective: the forced extradition of a Chechen war criminal from the Gaza Strip. The dealer’s advice had been invaluable then.

So little had changed. As Harry approached, he could see the small statue of the Virgin Mary standing erect on the dashboard. A symbol that carried a risk of its own in this land, but Najeri was undeterred. And still alive.

“Salaam alaikum, my friend,” the weapons dealer greeted him, stepping out of the SUV. Blessings and peace be upon you.

“Alaikum salaam.”

“It’s been far too long. You are well?”

“I am,” Harry replied, seeing the look of uncertainty in Najeri’s eyes. The expectation that he would see others with Harry.

It wasn’t going to happen. Asefi was bound and gagged in the trunk of the car and Tex…well, Tex was conveniently elsewhere.

“Good, good,” Najeri chuckled. “And your family?”

It was an old sally, and they both knew it. “As I’ve told you before, I have no family, Avraham. That’s unchanged.” That lie was an old one as well, but he had no intention of discussing his personal affairs with the man.

Together, they worked to transfer the weapons from one car to another, with Najeri keeping up a running conversation regarding the weather, politics, and the general state of affairs in the Palestinian authority.

“A pleasure to do business with you, my old friend,” Harry said finally, placing the last bag of equipment in the back seat of the car.

The little man chuckled once again. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. But do tell your employers that I do not make a practice of these deliveries.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Harry replied amiably, watching as the weapons dealer walked back toward his vehicle. The engine started and he made a u-turn on the dusty road, heading back the way he came.

Harry waited until the SUV was out of sight, then raised a hand to his ear. A moment later, Tex appeared, a cloth-wrapped object in his hand.