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For several seconds, Marcus could see nothing.

The air was thick with smoke. He could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The wicked stench of burned flesh permeated the mountain. But eventually Marcus raised his head and scanned the ghastly scene.

Bits of limestone and body parts were raining down from the sky. Where Mashrawi had been standing, there was nothing but a smoking crater. To his right, Marcus could see the TV cameras had been completely blown off the risers. Behind him, Marcus saw bodyguards lying on their protectees. No one was moving, and for a moment, Marcus feared they were all dead.

Crawling off of Tomer, he asked the Israeli if he was okay but wasn’t sure the man could hear him, since he could barely hear himself. He asked again. Tomer didn’t immediately respond, not verbally, anyway. But slowly he began to move his arms and hands and was soon brushing off the debris that had fallen on him and waving away the smoke and ash still heavy in the air.

Marcus climbed to his feet and pulled Tomer to his. The Israeli began coughing violently. Marcus did a quick check to see if Tomer had sustained any serious injuries. He certainly had numerous cuts on his face and hands. They both did, but beyond that they weren’t bleeding, and best of all, they were alive.

When Tomer stopped coughing and said he was fine, Marcus slapped him on the back and staggered through the haze toward the entrance to the Dome of the Rock. As he did, he saw others finally beginning to move. The chief of the Royal Guards was helping the king to his feet. Several Secret Service agents were doing the same for President Clarke, as were the Shin Bet with Prime Minister Eitan. A moment later, Marcus spotted Geoff Stone helping Secretary Whitney to her feet. They, too, were alive, as were the Grand Mufti and Senator Dayton, both of whom were already back on their feet.

But Annie was not. Marcus rushed to her side. She was breathing, but her hands and arms and face were covered with contusions. She was lying on her back, faceup, her eyes closed, and Marcus wondered if she had been knocked out by the blast.

“Annie, can you hear me? It’s me. It’s Marcus. Do you know where you are?”

She did not reply, did not even move, and he felt a rising panic. She couldn’t be dead. Not Annie. Not after all she had already come through. Marcus had already lost too many people he was supposed to protect. He could not bear to lose another.

Taking one of her hands with one of his, he gently wiped ash and bits of rock from her eyes and mouth with his other.

“Hey, you all right? Can you hear me? Come on, Annie, wake up.”

Marcus’s hearing was beginning to return, and soon he could hear the urgent radio chatter coming through his earpiece. He heard Roseboro dispatching more agents to create a protective cordon around POTUS and to seal off the gates to the Temple Mount immediately. A moment later, he was informing the team to clear the courtyard on the north side of the plaza because Marine One was inbound.

Dayton spotted them and ran to their side. He took Annie’s other hand, pushed several strands of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pleaded with her to wake up, promising her that everything would be okay, that everyone was safe, that everyone had lived, and that she would too.

Soon, the distinctive green-and-white Sikorsky helicopter came into view, and what hearing Marcus had recovered was deafened by the roar of its rotors. Finally, just as Marine One touched down behind them, Annie’s eyes fluttered open. The senator kept talking to her, though it was impossible to hear him.

Marcus tried to call over the radio for medical assistance but couldn’t be heard. Yet as the principals and their bodyguards were being helped into the president’s helicopter —and two more identical Sikorskys approached from the south —a team of IDF medics came running over to Marcus’s side. They, too, did a quick check to see if Annie was bleeding anywhere but her face, arms, and hands and confirmed that she was not. They checked her pulse, gave her several shots, and hooked up an IV. As a precaution, they also put her in a neck brace, slid a wooden board under her, and strapped her down just in case she had a neck or back injury.

The moment POTUS and the other principals were aboard, Marine One lifted off, flying away in a rotating formation with the other two Sikorskys, creating an airborne shell game designed to confuse any more would-be assassins as to which chopper the president and the others were actually in. When they were gone, an IDF Black Hawk helicopter roared into view. As it landed, the medics carried Annie directly to it and carefully loaded her on board. The senator climbed in next, never leaving her side.

Marcus did not climb in. He wanted to, but it was not his place. His friends were in good hands now, but he still had a job to do. He was moved as he saw Annie’s eyes fill with tears. She was not only conscious now but slowly taking in the enormity of what had just happened.

“Thank you,” she silently mouthed to him over the cacophony, as the side door of the chopper slammed shut.

Marcus stepped back several yards. He watched as the Black Hawk lifted off the plaza, hovered about forty feet off the ground, rotated slightly toward the southwest, and then streaked off across the skyline of the Old City, toward Hadassah hospital.

“You’re welcome,” he said under his breath as the chopper vanished into the December clouds.

Just then, Tomer came up behind him and put his hand on Marcus’s back. “Hey,” the Israeli said.

Marcus turned. “Hey yourself,” he replied.

“You all right?”

Marcus thought about the question but had no idea how to answer it. He thought about losing Elena and Lars. He thought about losing Nick and Carter Emerson and almost losing Pete and Jenny Morris. He pictured Kailea Curtis taking a bullet and Annie Stewart being flown off the Temple Mount. He thought, too, about the look in Maya Emerson’s eyes the last time he’d seen her.

“No,” he confessed. “But I will be.”