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Mashrawi didn’t stop.
The man was steadily approaching the X. Any closer and a sniper was going to take him out. Marcus suddenly wondered if he had calculated enough distance. What if the bomb the Pakistani had implanted in this man was more powerful than the one in London? Could it kill them all, even from there?
“Snipers, hold your fire,” Marcus ordered over his radio. “I’ve got this.”
“I don’t understand,” Mashrawi shouted. “Whatever is the problem, Agent Ryker? You know me. You vetted me. You invited me to be here today.”
As Marcus tried to figure how best to respond, knowing his every move was being broadcast to the world, Mashrawi kept talking.
“I apologize —to all of you —for being late. But as you know, Agent Ryker, I have not been myself since my dental surgery on Wednesday. I have been on heavy painkillers, and they have been hard on my stomach and my heart.”
Mashrawi crossed the X and kept coming. Five feet closer. Ten feet. At fifteen feet, Marcus drew his weapon and aimed it at the man’s forehead. Tomer did the same. And Mashrawi suddenly stopped.
“You didn’t have dental surgery, Dr. Mashrawi,” Marcus shouted back.
“What are you talking about? Of course I did. Ask my dentist. He removed one of my wisdom teeth, and he did an emergency root canal.”
It was a bizarre conversation to be having on live television, especially given the high-powered people behind him and all those watching in capitals around the globe. But Marcus continued.
“Is Daoud Husseini your dentist?”
“Yes, that’s him. Call him. Ask him. He will verify everything.”
“I don’t need to call him.”
“Why not?”
“I just came from his office —he’s dead.”
Mashrawi looked shocked. Marcus couldn’t tell if the reaction was genuine or feigned, but it struck him as genuine.
“Your friend Mohammed al-Qassab shot him in the head,” Marcus continued.
“Who?”
“Your Kairos handler.”
“My what? What in the world are you talking about, Agent Ryker? What nonsense is this?”
Marcus ignored the question. “Dr. Haqqani is also dead.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Yes, you do. He’s the man who performed your surgery. The man who implanted a bomb inside your chest cavity. The bomb you came here today to detonate.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Agent Ryker. I have come to do no such thing. Now please, put that gun away and let us continue this historic event. You’re embarrassing yourself and your country.”
“It’s over, Hussam,” Marcus replied. “Al-Qassab told me everything. I arrested him thirty minutes ago. It’s time to surrender before anyone gets hurt.”
Mashrawi’s expression suddenly changed. He looked like a caged animal. He scanned the crowd. He spotted the sharpshooters with their rifles pointed at him. He saw other agents now with weapons drawn. And he turned to the cameras.
“It is all lies,” he shouted. “Everything this man says, it’s all lies.”
Then he appealed to the Saudi king.
“Your Majesty, this is the persecution we have suffered as devout Muslims, as good Arabs, as faithful Palestinians. Don’t believe these men. They are liars. They don’t want you to make peace. They want to foment war between us, a religious war that will rage for a thousand years.”
Mashrawi began to move again. He began to walk forward. Again Marcus shouted at him to stop immediately or he would be shot dead.
“Do you see this, Your Majesty? Do you hear them, the unbelievers trampling on our holy grounds? I am not a suicide bomber. I am not a terrorist.”
Marcus took three steps forward and then stopped. “Then prove it, Dr. Mashrawi —to me, the king, and the entire world, right now.”
“Just tell me how, Agent Ryker. Nothing would make me happier than to prove you wrong, to humiliate you before the entire world. Do you think I’m wearing a suicide vest under these robes? Is that what you think?”
“Take off your robe,” Marcus shouted.
Mashrawi did. “See, Agent Ryker —no vest.”
“Take off your shirt,” Marcus replied.
Mashrawi stood there for a moment, defiant. But then, to Marcus’s surprise, he unbuttoned his light-blue oxford dress shirt and threw it to the ground. Now he was standing only in a white T-shirt and a pair of tan khaki pants.
“What should I do now, Agent Ryker?” the cleric sneered. “Shall I strip naked for you, for the whole world? Is this how Muslims are to be treated here on our sacred space? Is this what the American peace plan means for Palestinians? More humiliation, more degradation?”