Pandora's grave

The city lights of Tel Aviv-Yafo glittered in the distance as the car sped down the divided highway toward the coast. The Romans had called this region the Via Maris. The Way of the Sea.

Harry dismissed the thought, a memory from a long-ago Sunday School lesson, turning his mind back to the telephone. Carter was talking.

“We’re in direct contact with Isfahani now. He’s agreed to probe further and come up with a current location for al-Farouk and the terrorist cell.”

“Make sure he doesn’t jeopardize his current status with his inquiries,” Harry cautioned, an unusual feeling of disquiet coming over him. “His relationship with the Grand Mufti is our only ticket into the compound.”

“Play ‘em close, Harry. We’re still looking into the connections there. Tahir al-din Husayni isn’t exactly known as a friend to the West.”

It wasn’t new information to Harry. He could remember when Husayni had been appointed as the Grand Mufti, the Sunni guardian of Islamic holy places in Jerusalem. At the time, he had been seen as a pawn of Fatah’s leadership, but over the years he had parlayed his considerable talents as an orator into something more. A power broker.

He had succeeded in settling the breach between Fatah and Hamas, channeling their energies away from each other and outward…

In the spring of 2012, he had survived a bomb planted in his car, an explosion that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Fatah, Hamas, Hezbollah, Mossad-the players behind the attack had never been identified, but Husayni had carried on, as indomitable as ever. As much as the faction leaders might have hated him, the man held the Arab street in thrall.

His sermons were fiery and inspiring, deploring the Jewish occupation in the house of Islam, but always stopping just short of calling for violence. He was what passed for a moderate, which was what made sharing operational details with him so dangerous. Roll the dice and guess which side he would back.

“Keep me posted,” Harry replied finally, glancing toward the Iranian major in the front seat. “We’ll be in position when the time comes.”

11:03 P.M.

The residence of the Grand Mufti

Jerusalem

The inside of Husayni’s residence was remarkably austere, reflective of a man who remembered his past-a simple lad tending sheep in the hills of Galilee. His lack of pretension, coupled with his passionate oratory, had won him the adoration of the Prophet’s people. Their shepherd. He brushed at a fancied piece of lint on his plain cotton trousers and leaned back in his wheelchair, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone.

“You’re the last person I would have expected this request to come from, Youssef,” he replied in Arabic, the language of Allah.

A moment passed, silence filling the void.

“Alliances change, Tahir,” the Ayatollah Isfahani responded. “Even the servants of the Prophet must adapt.”

“I understand that better than most, yet adaptability has never been among the chief virtues of our people. Have you ever questioned why we have suffered the people of Allah, the most glorified, the most high, to be divided thus? Divided by a thousand-year-old betrayal between chieftains?”

When Isfahani spoke again, there was a trace of humor in his voice. “You have bridged many divides in your life, my old friend, but this one is too much for even you.”

“Too much for the will of Allah?” Husayni asked, still completely serious. “I have received visions, Youssef. As long as this rift between Sunni and Shia continues to divide our people-we cannot receive the blessings of Allah, or expect the return of His promised one.”

“Then your answer is?”

The Mufti seemed surprised that the issue was still in question. “I will help your American friends-with certain conditions.”

His friend remained silent as Husayni continued to speak, outlining the terms of his agreement…

11:17 P.M.

US Naval Support Activity

Souda Bay, Crete

The windspeed was 28 knots as the C-130 taxied to the airfield’s only runway, blowing hard from the west.

“Tower to Titan Alpha 17, you are cleared for take-off. Gusts exceeding 40 knots have been recorded in the last twenty minutes. Please exercise caution.”

“Roger that, Tower,” Lt. Hanson replied, adjusting the straps of his flight harness. He pushed the throttles all the way in, feeling the Allison turboprops respond, revving to full power. Another check of the gauges and he took the flight controls from the co-pilot. “I have the bird.”

In the back of the aircraft, Hamid checked his equipment one more time, flashing Thomas a tight thumbs-up as they began to pick up speed. The airframe trembled in the teeth of the cross-wind, lifting briefly from the concrete, then slamming back down with a teeth-rattling jolt.