Pandora's grave

The Kurd spoke sharply in his native tongue and the guerrillas began to scatter, taking up defensive positions farther down the mountain. In a few moments, it was only the three of them standing there by the tree.

“The time has come for us to part,” Badir announced, turning back to Thomas.

Thomas nodded in reply, but the old man wasn’t done.

“My granddaughter will guide you to the border,” he continued. “In a cave twelve kilometers to the west you will find two horses. They are young and strong, and should make the journey easily.”

“I do not know how I could repay this kindness,” Thomas responded formally.

“I do,” was Badir’s blunt reply. “I want you to escort Estere across the border to Qandil Mount. Our people are there and she can find safety in their ranks.”

“But what about you?” Estere exclaimed, seizing hold of the old man’s arm, anger not unmixed with grief in her voice.

A burst of rifle fire from down the mountainside served as the answer to her question. Badir unslung the Kalishnikov from his shoulder, extending the stock with a single, purposeful motion.

“I am a soldier!” she hissed, fighting back tears as he turned away from her. “My place is here!”

The old shepherd cast a final look back over his shoulder. “If you are to be counted a soldier, you must follow the orders you have been given. Take our friend to the Qandil. Do not return.”

5:00 A.M.

Isfahan, Iran

Hossein was standing on the steps of the mosque when his cellphone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen before answering. It was the Supreme Leader.

“Good morning.”

“I don’t think so,” came the reply, sending a chill down the major’s spine. “It’s begun…”

7:13 A.M. Local Time

Eilat, Israel

The job had taken all night, but it was done at last. Farouk leaned forward, placing his laptop on the hood of the explosives-filled Jeep Grand Cherokee.

“You will drive here along the road,” he instructed, tracing an imaginary line across the on-screen map. “Then turn into the Hotels Zone. Park here-approximately two hundred meters from the Crowne Plaza Hotel. You will await my call to close in on your target, which will be approximately-here.”

A young jihadist from the Eilat cell nodded, his face pale with excitement. Farouk turned away to hide a smile of contempt.

It would be the young man’s first and last mission. He had been chosen for a reason. Simply put, he had not shown enough skill to justify continuing his training. So, he was expendable.

The Hezbollah leader fingered the cellphone in the pocket of his jeans. The bomb was wired for remote detonation should the boy’s nerve fail at the last moment of the suicide mission, as it often did.

Sad, he mused, that devotion to Allah should waver in the face of death. Had they not read the sacred verses of the Quran?

7:59 A.M.

The Crowne Plaza Hotel

Eilat, Israel

“I think I’ve got it here.”

“What is it, Sarah?” Gideon asked, still focused on the Uzi submachine gun he was loading.

“I’ve got the name,” the young woman replied, looking up from her laptop.“Nichols is registered here at the Crowne Plaza under the name Joseph Isaac. Fifth floor, room 347.”

Laner laid the gun on the bed and crossed the hotel room to stand behind her, his hand resting easily on her shoulder. “Good work-how hard was he to find?”

“Not hard,” she responded, smiling up at him as she touched his fingers lightly. “The hotel system was an easy job-a relatively simple firewall backed by Blowfish encryption. Once in, they scan the photo IDs provided at the desk and store them on the intranet. It was just a matter of cross-referencing the photos with our database and Nichols came up. Apparently, he’s a low-level diplomat with the U.S. State Department, because he’s traveling under a diplomatic passport.”

Gideon chuckled, his hand moving to stroke her mane of dark hair. “Not the last time I checked.”

He walked back across the room and replaced the Uzi in its specially-designed briefcase, casting an affectionate glance back at the young woman as she returned to her work.

In addition to being the resident tech expert, Sarah Halevy was a bat leveyha, an escort agent whose task on this particular assignment consisted of posing as his spouse.

They had worked together before, and although official Mossad regulations prohibited romantic entanglements between personnel, in reality it prevented very little. Gideon cast a glance around the room where they had spent the night and smiled with the realization. They had moved beyond acting a long time ago.

“Do we have confirmation from Chaim and Yossi?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sarah replied without looking up. “They are in position as of 0300 hours. Currently-Eiland has the gun.”

10:08 A.M. Tehran Time

The Alborz Mountains

Iran