He slipped the loaded gun into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back, and checked his mobile phone. Then he stared out his window at the endless lights of Casablanca.
“What are you thinking?” asked the younger man.
“I’m thinking that you need to drive faster.”
“I’ve never driven a chief before.”
The older man smiled.
“Is that all you were thinking?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because it looked to me as though you were pulling a trigger.”
“Which hand?”
“Left,” said the younger man. “It was definitely the left.”
The older man looked out the window. “How many times?”
63
The Middle Atlas Mountains, Morocco
The phone moved steadily south, across the lowlands around Fez, toward the slopes of the Middle Atlas. They could not be sure it was actually in the possession of Nazir Bensaïd. Now that the drones were gone, they had no eyes on the target, and neither the NSA nor Unit 8200 had been able to activate the phone’s microphone or camera. For all they knew, the device was on the back of a flatbed truck, and Nazir Bensaïd was somewhere in the labyrinth of Fez’s ancient medina.
It was half past one in the morning when the phone reached the Berber town of Imouzzer. Its pace of travel slowed as it moved along the town’s main street. Gabriel, who was receiving updates from Adrian Carter, wondered whether the brass ring was already within his reach. There was much about a place like Imouzzer, he thought, for a fugitive to find appealing. It was small enough so that Westerners were easily visible, but sufficiently busy to allow a robed man to move about unnoticed. The uninhabited peaks of the Middle Atlas were close, should the fugitive feel the need to flee, and the delights of Fez were but an hour’s car ride away. An image formed in Gabriel’s mind—a tall, powerfully built man in a hooded djellaba, limping through the narrow alleys of the medina.
But at 1:35 a.m. the phone left Imouzzer and, increasing its pace, made for Ifrane, an artificial holiday town that looked as though it had been plucked from the Alps and dropped in North Africa. Once again, Gabriel allowed himself to wonder whether they were close. This time he dressed the prize in different clothing—trousers and a woolen sweater instead of a djellaba—and imagined him passing the winter after the attack on Washington in the comfort of a Swiss-style hotel. But when the phone departed Ifrane, Gabriel covered the image in a layer of obliterating paint and waited for the next update from Adrian Carter at the Black Hole.
“Faster,” he said. “You have to drive faster.”
“I’m driving as fast as I can,” answered Yaakov.
“Not you,” said Gabriel. “Him.”
The next town on the phone’s path was Azrou. There it turned onto the N13, the main highway linking the Middle Atlas Mountains with the Sahara, the same road on which Keller, Mikhail, Natalie, and Dina were now headed north. It passed through a chain of tiny Berber villages—Timahdite, Aït Oufella, Boulaajoul—before finally coming to rest a few hundred yards from the town of Zaida, under what circumstances they could only imagine. A house, a fortress, a camel-hair tent in an open field strewn with boulders. Ten interminable minutes elapsed before a text message appeared on Mohammad Bakkar’s phone. Keller read it aloud to Gabriel.
“Nazir says the brother is very badly injured.”
“What a shame.”
“He says he needs a doctor soon. Otherwise, he might not live.”
“The best possible outcome.”
“You’re not thinking about letting nature take its course?”
“Not for a minute,” said Gabriel. “Tell him that the doctor is on his way. Tell him he’s coming from Fez.”
There was a moment of silence while Natalie composed the message in Arabic and sent it. A few seconds later Gabriel heard the ping of the reply.
“Alhamdulillah,” said Keller.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Gabriel heard another ping. “What does it say?”
“He wants to know where I am.”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends.”
“He thinks I’m—”
“Yes, I know,” said Gabriel. “Tell him it took you longer than expected to arrange transport. Tell him you’ll be there in two hours, maybe less.”
There was another silence while Natalie sent the message.
“Any reply?”
“No.”
“Is he working on one?”
“Doesn’t seem to be.”
“Tell him you’re concerned about the brother’s safety.”
A few seconds passed. Then Keller said, “Sent.”
“Now ask him how many brothers are with him at the riad.”
After another exchange of messages, Keller said, “Four.”
“Ask him whether they have guns to protect themselves from the infidels.”
A moment later they had their answer.
“Sounds to me as though they’re well armed,” said Keller. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“No more questions. The bird will be able to tell us everything else we need to know.”
“Where are you now?”
Gabriel looked out the window at the darkened landscape. “Mars,” he said gloomily. “You?”
“A little village called Kerrandou. It’s about sixty or seventy miles from Zaida. If there are no more roadblocks, we’ll be there in ninety minutes.”
“We’ll be right behind you.”
Gabriel severed the connection and rang the Black Hole at Langley.
“We’ve got him,” he told Adrian Carter.
“The bird will be overhead at four o’clock your time.”
“You’re sure?”
“Don’t worry. It’s a spy satellite,” said Carter. “There’s not a lot of unexpected traffic up there.”
64
Zaida, Morocco
It was a drab and dusty town of low brown buildings. The shops and cafés along the wide main street were tightly shuttered, and at that hour there was no sign of life except for three men waiting at a crumbling bus shelter. A Jeep Cherokee filled with Western faces was worthy of their undivided attention. Their dour expressions made it clear that outsiders were not welcome, especially at half past three in the morning.
“Looks like Saladin’s kind of place,” said Keller.
“Think they know about the tall Iraqi who’s been living on the east side of town?” asked Mikhail.
“I doubt it.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a look at the property while we’re passing through.”
“Too risky. Better to wait for the bird.”
Dina drove through the rest of the town without slowing and emerged into the bleak, treeless countryside. About a mile and a half north was a dirt road that led to a small lake, the kind of spot where a Moroccan family might spread a blanket on a cool autumn day and forget their troubles for a few hours. Dina switched off the engine while Keller rang Gabriel and told him where they could be found. A few minutes later they heard from Nazir Bensaïd via text. It seemed the brother’s condition was worsening. When would the doctor arrive? Soon, Natalie assured him. Inshallah.
“Here they come,” said Dina.
She flashed the headlights, and the approaching car turned off the highway and stopped. Keller and Natalie walked over and slid into the backseat. Keller checked the time on Mohammad Bakkar’s phone. It was 3:45.
“Fancy meeting you here. How was the drive?”
Neither Gabriel nor Yaakov responded.
Keller stared out the window. “I wonder what’s keeping Mohammad and that doctor.”
“Maybe he had car trouble,” suggested Gabriel.
“Or left leg trouble,” quipped Keller. “Or maybe he’s having trouble thinking straight.”
He checked the phone again: 3:46 . . .
“Think the Moroccans have found the camp yet?”
“I?
??d say so.”
“Think they’ve identified any of the victims?”
“One or two.”
“Pretty big story, don’t you imagine? A major hashish producer and a French hotelier found dead together.”
“Almost as big as a failed American drone strike on Moroccan soil.”
“I wonder how long it will take to become public. Because if it does . . .”
Keller left the thought unfinished.
3:47 . . .
Gabriel rang Carter at the stroke of four. Another ten minutes elapsed while the cameras and sensory devices of the satellite assessed the target.
“It’s a walled compound. One substantial structure, two smaller outbuildings.”
“How walled?”
“It’s hard to tell how high it is, especially in darkness. You’ll have to take a drive past the place or use your imagination.”
“Is the gate open or closed?”
“Closed,” said Carter. “And Nazir Bensaïd’s Renault is definitely there.”
“How many men?”
“Two outside, three inside. All in the primary structure. They’re tightly grouped.”
“Keeping watch over an injured man.”
“Looks like it.”
“Where are they in the house?”
“Second level, southeast corner.”
“Facing Mecca.”
“There’s a lot of other heat in that room,” said Carter. “Kyle thinks it’s computer equipment.”
“And heaven knows Kyle is never wrong.”
“It’s possible you’ve found the compound where he’s been directing the attacks. The crown jewels of the network are liable to be on those computers.”
“Are you suggesting we gather up as much as we can carry?”
“Might not be a bad idea.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Looks like he’s got a couple of dogs inside the walls. Big ones,” added Carter.
Gabriel swore softly. His fear of the canine was well known within the international brotherhood of spies.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” said Carter sympathetically.
“What kind of self-respecting Muslim extremist would keep dogs in his home?”
“The kind who doesn’t trust cats to warn him of an intrusion. And one more thing,” said Carter. “The NSA has been listening in on the Moroccan police and military.”
“And?”
“They know damn well that we carried out a drone strike on their soil last night. And they know that Mohammad Bakkar and Jean-Luc Martel are dead.”
“How long before they go public?”
“If I had to guess, the Moroccan people will be hearing about this over their Froot Loops.”
“Then maybe we should change the subject.”
“We?”
“Let me know if there is any movement at the compound.”
Gabriel hung up.
“Any problems?” asked Keller.
“Two dogs and a locked gate.”
“Can’t do much about the dogs, but the gate shouldn’t be a problem.”
Keller handed Mohammad Bakkar’s phone to Natalie, who composed the message and sent it to Nazir Bensaïd inside the compound. The reply was a few seconds in coming.
“Done,” she said.
Gabriel and Yaakov had carried more than just computers and secure communications equipment from the House of Spies in Casablanca. They had also taken two .45-caliber Jericho pistols and two Uzi Pro compact submachine guns. Gabriel gave Yaakov one of each, and Natalie an Uzi Pro. He kept only a Jericho for himself.
“The perfect self-defense weapon,” said Keller.
“Also perfect for eliminating those who offer unwanted advice.”
“I don’t want to get in the middle of family business, but—”
“Then don’t,” said Gabriel.
Keller made a show of thought. “How many dogs are in that compound? Was it one or two?”
Gabriel said nothing.
“Let Mikhail and me handle it. Or better yet,” said Keller, “let’s send Yaakov in there alone. He looks like he’s done this sort of thing a time or two.”
Yaakov expertly rammed a magazine into the Uzi Pro and looked at Gabriel. “He has a point, boss.”
“Not you, too.”
“That satellite can tell us only so much. What it can’t tell us is whether there are spider holes in the compound, or whether those boys are wearing explosive vests.”
“Then we should assume they are.”
Yaakov placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “You’re not some kid anymore. You’re the chief now. Let the three of us take care of it. You stay here with—”
“With the women?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Yaakov. “But someone needs to look after them.”
“Dina was in the IDF, just like the rest of us. She can look after herself.”
“But—”
“Duly noted, Yaakov. Are you going to drive, or should I handle it?”
Yaakov hesitated, then slid behind the wheel. Mikhail dropped into the front passenger seat, Gabriel and Keller into the back. Natalie watched as the car set off toward Zaida. Then she walked over to the Jeep Cherokee and climbed into the passenger seat. She placed the Uzi Pro on the floor between her feet and checked the time on Mohammad Bakkar’s phone. It was 4:11.
“Maybe we should listen to the news.”
Dina switched on the radio and searched the airwaves for something that sounded like a morning newscast. At the sound of a male voice, she stopped and looked at Natalie.
“He’s reading verses from the Koran.”
Dina rotated the tuner again. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she talking about?”
“The weather.”
“What’s the forecast?”
“Hot.”
“I’ll say.”
Natalie laughed quietly. “Do you remember that day at Nahalal?” she asked after a moment. “The day I tried to say no to all this?”
Dina smiled at the memory. “And now look at you. You’re one of us.”
A truck passed on the highway. Then another. The stars in the eastern half of the sky were beginning to dim.
“What was he like?” asked Dina.
“Who?”
“Saladin.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Natalie checked the time again. “In a few minutes, he’ll be dead.”
65
Zaida, Morocco
Like small villages the world over, Zaida was not by nature a late sleeper. One of the cafés on the main square was open for business, and a smoking Fez-bound coach was taking on passengers at the shelter opposite. The stench of diesel exhaust poured into the car as Yaakov, swerving to avoid a stray goat, drove past. His speed was ideal. Not too fast. More important, observed Gabriel, not too slow. One hand rested lightly on the wheel, the other lay motionless on the shift. By contrast, Mikhail was drumming his fingers on the center console. Keller, however, seemed entirely oblivious to what was about to occur. Indeed, were it not for the Kalashnikov lying across his thighs, he might have been a tourist on a sightseeing excursion in an exotic land.
“Can’t you at least pretend to be a little worried?” said Gabriel.
“About what?”
“That gun, for one thing. It looks a museum piece.”
“A damn fine weapon, the Kalashnikov. Besides, it worked just fine at the camp in the desert. Just ask your friend Dmitri Antonov. He’ll tell you.”
But Mikhail wasn’t listening; he was still drumming his fingers on the console.
“Is there any way you can make him stop?” asked Keller.
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.”
Yaakov removed his right hand from the shift and placed it atop Mikhail’s. The fingers went still.
“Much obliged,” said Keller.
A few yards beyond the square the to
wn dwindled. They crossed a dry creek bed and entered a nether region separating civilization and wilderness. A few broken buildings rose from the brown earth on both sides of the highway, and off to the east, an island in a sea of stones, was the compound. From a distance, it was impossible to tell what it was—a home, a factory, a secret government installation, the hiding place of the world’s most dangerous terrorist. Its outer walls looked to be about ten or twelve feet high and were topped by spirals of concertina wire. The private track connecting it to the highway was unpaved, ensuring that any approaching vehicle would make a great deal of noise and raise a cloud of dust.
Gabriel brought a phone to his ear. It was connected to Adrian Carter at Langley.
“Can you see us?”
“You’re hard to miss.”
“Any change?”
“Two outside, three inside. They’re in the same room. One of them hasn’t moved in a while.”
Gabriel lowered the phone. Yaakov was staring at him in the rearview mirror.
“Once we make the turn,” he said, “we lose all element of surprise.”
“But we’re not going to surprise them, Yaakov. We’re expected.”
Yaakov guided the car onto the private road and started toward the compound.
“Switch on your high beams,” instructed Gabriel.
Yaakov did as he was told, illuminating the harsh, rocky landscape with white light. “They see us now.”
Gabriel raised a second phone to his ear, the one connected to Natalie, and told her to ring the doorbell.
Natalie had preloaded the text onto Mohammad Bakkar’s phone. Now, on Gabriel’s command, she thumbed it into the ether.
“Well?” he asked.
“He’s working on the reply.”
The message finally appeared.
“He says they’ll open the gate.”
“How nice of them. But tell them to hurry. The doctor is very anxious to see the brother.”
Natalie sent the message on Bakkar’s Samsung. Then she switched her own phone to speaker mode and waited for the sound of gunfire.
By then, Gabriel was already talking to Adrian Carter at Langley.
“Any change?”