29

ATHENS, GREECE

Hamdi Yaşar stared at his phone.

He recognized the city and country codes. The text had come from occupied East Jerusalem. The number belonged to an elderly cobbler whom he was paying $10,000 a month via a Swiss numbered account to establish a Kairos cell in Jerusalem. But the message itself was from the shoemaker’s first serious recruit, Hussam Mashrawi, the executive director of the Waqf.

The cobbler and Mashrawi had been talking secretly for the better part of a year. The conversations had gone so well that the cobbler had asked Yaşar to meet with Mashrawi in Cairo. The meeting had taken place just two months earlier, and Yaşar had been astonished by the man’s passion for the cause and eagerness to help. He wanted no money. Nor, after this initial meeting, did he desire any direct contact. He said he felt it would be more suitable to pass messages through the shoemaker. Yaşar had agreed.

But now this. Was it really possible that the American president was heading to Jerusalem? If true, it was surely a gift from Allah. But how could they possibly take advantage of it? Yaşar’s hands were full. He had multiple complicated operations under way, and he needed to maintain his cover as a senior producer for a major Arab news network. The murders of the American deputy secretary of state and her would-be replacement were making a big splash. The next attacks, if they succeeded, would be even bigger. But this? The leader of the Great Satan in Jerusalem —at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, no less? If they could really take out Clarke —or even seriously wound him —in al-Quds of all places, they would accomplish more than al Qaeda or the Taliban or Hamas or Islamic Jihad or Hezbollah or ISIS or any of their competitors ever had.

Yet how? Kairos had only the beginnings of a cell in Palestine. Al-Qassab could coordinate. They had eyes and ears on the ground. They had some logistical support. But it was hardly enough. They needed more manpower. They needed someone to pull the trigger. But who?

It was almost 4 a.m. in London when the door to the operating theater finally opened.

“How is she?” Maxim Sheripov asked.

“Fine,” said Dr. Ali Haqqani, still in his surgical garb.

“May I see her?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“Where is she?”

“In our recovery room and still unconscious.”

“How soon can I take her home?”

“I’d like to keep her here for observation at least until tomorrow morning. By that time, we’ll know if there’s any unusual bleeding or signs of infection.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see.”

“Can’t you be more precise? Our window is very narrow.”

“Perhaps you should have brought her sooner.”

“You have your orders, Doctor. I have mine.”

“Your sister needs to rest. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

“When can she go to work?”

“Monday at the earliest, maybe Tuesday. But she will still have pain.”

“Will it affect how she walks, how she moves, how she speaks?”

“If she follows my instructions to the letter, then most likely no.”

“You’re certain? Because the stakes —”

“I understand the stakes, young man —far better than you,” Haqqani snapped.

“I’m just saying that —”

“Your sister is healthy, and her faith is strong. But recovering from surgery is not an exact science. Every person reacts differently. It cannot be rushed.”

Maxim bristled. They had one chance at their target, and only one, and that moment was coming up way too fast.

“Doctor, I must ask one more thing.”

“What?”

“Is there any danger of the bomb going off . . . accidentally?”

“None whatsoever,” said the surgeon, walking over to a wall safe. He spun the tumbler back and forth several times, and the door popped open. He withdrew a small cardboard box and handed it to Maxim.

“What’s this?” Maxim asked.

“The detonator. The number is preset. You don’t know it. She doesn’t know it. You can’t share it with anyone else. Nor can she. Nor can I. When you’re both in position, all you have to do is power up the phone and hit speed-dial number five.”

“Five.”

“Yes —then you will have less than three seconds.”

“How close to the target does she need to be?”

“Your sister has almost four kilos of plastic explosives inside her. It’s the most I have ever used. She should get as close as she possibly can, but if everything works properly, everyone within a ten-meter range should die instantly.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Make sure you’re not followed leaving this place,” Haqqani said. “Or I swear to Allah, I will come and kill you myself.”