Pandora's grave

Harry had reached the fourth floor when his TACSAT rang. “Nichols.”

It was Tex’s voice. “Shooters have been terminated. Exfiltrating.”

“Are you clean?”

“That’s a roger. The rifle is still in my room, no prints. Handgun is on its way down the laundry chute. Likewise.”

“I’ll try to keep them off your back. See you stateside, brother.”

Gideon’s phone buzzed against his ribs and he flipped it open, cradling the Uzi in his free hand. “Laner.”

“This is Nichols. The shooters are neutralized. I repeat, the room is clear.”

“Good work,” the Israeli replied grimly. He rose up from behind the Hummer and slung the Uzi around his neck. Police vehicles were starting to set up a perimeter, sealing off the entrance of the resort.

“Gideon!”

He turned to see Sarah stumbling toward him, the Glock still in her hand. Her robe was torn and blackened with smoke, her hands and knees bloodied, her hair a mess. She had never looked more beautiful.

He reached out to embrace her, and she fell against him, her arms around his neck.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, tears starting in his eyes. “Thank God, darling, you’re alive.”

Sarah kissed him on the cheek, embracing him fiercely, her emotions roiling with the events of the previous fifteen minutes. Nathan Gur lay dead only a few scant yards away, but none of that seemed to matter at this very moment. Gideon was alive. He had survived.

All at once, her vision seemed to clear through the haze of tears. A figure, moving from the cover of the building behind Gideon, an M-4 carbine in his hands. The figure of a teenage boy, his face obscured by a mask.

It was a vision of extraordinary clarity. Time itself seemed to slow down as the teenager moved forward, the carbine coming up.

Her hand seemed to move of itself, the barrel of the Glock moving to cover the target. Oh so slowly.

“Allahu akbar!” the boy screamed, the sound of his voice breaking the spell that had fallen upon her. She pulled the trigger of the Glock roughly, the gun going off just inches from Gideon’s eardrum.

He staggered to one side, a hand clasped against his ear as she fired again and again, watching her bullets strike the boy, high in the chest. The teenager reeled back as slug after slug entered his body. Falling down to the pavement, his head lolling to one side, body splayed out like a broken doll.

Dying.

Glassy-eyed, she lowered the pistol and safed it, her movements mechanical. Target eliminated…

2:45 P.M. Tehran Time

Alborz Mountains

It would be a never-ending source of amazement to Thomas that some people considered horseback riding recreation. After four hours of riding through the mountains, he was suddenly and painfully aware of muscles he had previously known of in theory alone.

Estere reined in her horse at the top of the rise, glancing back at his progress. “Come on!”

His only reply was a glare as he rode abreast of her. “Stupid beast,” he muttered, swearing under his breath.

When he looked up, her eyes were flashing like dark coals of fire. “Bahoz was Sirvan’s horse,” came her stinging rebuke.

She fell silent, jerking the reins of the grey with an angry gesture. Thomas turned to follow as she turned back to the west, kicking her horse into a gallop.

1:13 P.M. Local Time

Eilat, Israel

“We were set up,” Harry stated, his tones low as he spoke into the TACSAT’s receiver. “They knew both the time and place of the meeting.”

“You’re sure?” Kranemeyer asked.

“Listen, boss, I don’t believe in coincidence. There is no such thing. They didn’t get up this morning and say, ‘Y’know, it would be fun to bomb Eilat today.’ They had a target, and that target was us. We’ve got a leak somewhere.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” came the noncommittal answer. “Zakiri and Sarami are deploying to Iraq this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“Parker is being extracted. He made contact two hours ago. I want team members on-site for the debrief.”

“Sounds like a plan. Keep an eye on Petras,” Harry added after a moment. “She takes a dim view of operators playing in her backyard.”

“To be sure. What’s Richards’ status?”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Gideon Laner approaching, flanked by two police officers. “Everything’s copacetic, sir. You’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.”

He pressed END before Kranemeyer could respond, turning to face the Israeli commando. “Your sweep turn up anything?”

Gideon nodded. “Harry, I’m going to have to ask you for your gun…”

7:13 A.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

The clinic was just starting to buzz with the shift change as Davood Sarami checked out. Hamid was waiting for him at the door, Davood’s gun belt and government-issue Glock in hand.

“Take these,” Hamid instructed. “How do you feel?”

“A little light-headed when I went to bed last night,” Davood replied, buckling the belt. “After-effects of the concussion, or so the nurse said. I feel fine right now.”

“Glad to hear it. We’ve got a plane to catch.”