Stephen England - Pandora's grave

“What’s going on?” Kranemeyer repeated.

The DCIA looked drained. “The last forty minutes have been just lovely. Simply put, people, the Israelis know we have a team on the ground. An hour ago, they filed a formal complaint with our embassy in Tel Aviv.”

Carter leaned forward until his hands rested on the front of the desk. “How?”

“Shapiro’s still working on that. My best guess would be that cameras picked him up as he crossed back in from the West Bank earlier tonight. The Israelis use a great deal of facial-recognition software and he’s hardly an unknown entity over there.”

“Do they have any idea where he is now?” This from Kranemeyer.

“If they do, they’re not telling.”

The DCS snorted. “If they had that card, they’d be sure to play it. I’d say we’re in the clear for the moment.”

“That’s not the official stance of the White House,” Lay replied with a shake of the head. “The politicos have made their position plain.”

“What’s the word from on high?”

“We’re to conduct a circumspect withdrawal.”

“And they’ve informed Israeli intelligence of the impending attack?”

“No-apparently they feel it would damage U.S.-Israeli relations if it were known that we had withheld this information up until this point.”

An oath escaped Kranemeyer’s lips. “Do they now? Then what’s the story supposed to be?”

Lay shrugged. “The Israelis handed it to us. They also know about Farshid Hossein, and the official line is that it was a prisoner snatch. The State Department has agreed to let Israeli interrogators have a go at him, starting next week.”

“This is madness.”

Lay pursed his lips. “I know. But their ways are ever higher than our ways. Get the word out to the field team.”

6:51 A.M. Local Time

The residence of the Grand Mufti

Jerusalem

“So, your name is Floyd Craig?” Tahir Husayni asked, passing the identification back to his bodyguard.

“That’s right. US State Department.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Craig, though I doubt that is your real name. I trust my bodyguards weren’t unduly rough.”

“No worries,” Harry shook his head with a smile. “I was due for a prostate examination anyway.”

A laugh escaped Husayni’s lips. “I have been told that you need something from me?”

Harry nodded. “Your cooperation, primarily. We need covert access to the Haram al-Sharif.”

The cleric seemed to consider the question for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “You know there are people in this city who would kill us both for merely talking together.”

“ ‘I am for peace: but when I speak, they are for war’”, quoted Harry, his eyes fixed on Husayni’s face.

A quiet smile crossed the older man’s lips. “From the songs of Davood, the shepherd king. See, we are not as different as some would have us believe, are we?”

“Men of principle can always find common ground,” Harry replied glibly. “Or, in our case, a common enemy.”

“Ah, yes. The common enemy. You and I both know it is an ancient ploy. You would ask that I trust you?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I would not. We both know that suspicion, not trust, is the coin of our realm. In this case, it’s a simple exchange. Give us the access we need, and we’ll make your problem go away.”

“The problem you say exists.”

“I understand your skepticism,” Harry nodded. “In the end it’s your choice. A few hours and we’ll know. Do you want to risk your people and your city on us being wrong?”

“Or lying?”

“Or lying.”

A silence fell over the room as Husayni regarded him with a coolly appraising glance. Assessment. Decision. A minute passed, then two-a high-stakes game of chicken playing out between the two men.

Finally the cleric smiled, propelling his wheelchair forward from behind the desk until he sat directly in front of Harry. “My men will escort you and your team to the Haram al-Sharif. We have a security center located beneath the prayer room of Omar. You will be able to review security footage and I would insist that your non-Muslim team members remain there for the course of the operation.”

Harry looked out the window at the light of the morning sun streaming into the courtyard. Day had dawned. “Agreed.”

At that moment, as if to punctuate his words, the muffled crump of an explosion reverberated from somewhere to the north. Weapons drawn, Husayni’s bodyguards moved to protect their principal.

Harry exchanged a grim look with the cleric.

“It’s begun.”

7:05 A.M.

Mossad Headquarters

Tel-Aviv-Yafo, Israel

“Where was the blast?” General Shoham demanded, coming through the code-protected revolving door of the Mossad watch center.

The watch officer looked up. “Based on what we can determine, the bomb went off in a shop in the Souk el-Qattanin . First responders just arrived on the scene, but the building is in danger of collapsing completely.”

“The wool market?” Shoham asked, incredulous. “In the Muslim Quarter?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a Friday-the market would be almost empty. What are we looking at here, a suicide bomber?”

“We don’t know yet, sir. The initial reports are sketchy, almost worthless when it comes right down to it. The IDF is moving troops into place to cordon off the area.”

The general shook his head. “That’s a mistake. We’ll look like we have something to hide. Where’s Laner and the team?”

“I don’t know,” the watch officer replied. “Eli!”

An analyst glanced up from the next workstation. “Lt. Laner is estimated to arrive in Jerusalem within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Get him on the phone,” Shoham ordered crisply, taking the watch officer by the shoulder and steering him away from the floor of the center. “Open a secure line with the Prime Minister. Do it now.”

7:08 A.M.

The residence of the Grand Mufti

Jerusalem

“I’ll be in a gray Suburban with three of Husayni’s bodyguards. Follow us to the haram ,” Harry instructed, the TACSAT tucked against his shoulder as he buttoned his shirt. “I’ll be in contact with Tex. Now, our rules of engage-”

“Harry, will you listen for a minute,” Hamid interrupted, irritation permeating his tones. “We’re through.”

“What?”

“The mission has been scrubbed. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall of the guardhouse. “They’re letting Mossad handle it.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line. “They have briefed Mossad, haven’t they?” Harry repeated, after a moment.

“No, Harry, they haven’t. I got it from Carter-it’s direct from the President. He pulled the mission after receiving a formal complaint from the Israelis regarding our presence in the area.”

“A political decision,” Harry whispered bitterly, his mind racing. “They don’t realize it’s already started.”

“I know, I heard the explosion. It came from the north-northeast, the Muslim Quarter.”

Harry looked over at Husayni’s bodyguards and came to his decision in a trice. “Are you with me?”

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“Probably. Are you in?”

A long sigh escaped Hamid’s lips, then he chuckled.“We’ve been working together for what, ten years? I’d follow you to hell.”

“Good,” Harry shot back. “Because that’s exactly where we’re going.”

11:25 P.M. Eastern Time