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The flight time from Beirut to Rome was three hours and thirty-five minutes.

While Noah worked on bypassing the phone’s password, the rest of the group compared notes on what they had learned about al-Masri and the myriad reasons why they all agreed with Marcus’s assessment that the man had gone rogue. They disagreed, however, on whom he was working for.

Jenny argued the most likely suspect was Iran. Her reasons were simple. They had known their Supreme Leader was dying. A succession process could get messy. As a result of American-led sanctions, Iran’s economy had been tanking before the pandemic and the collapse in oil prices. Now it was in the toilet. The regime needed to distract people’s attention from the country’s mounting internal problems. Plus they were itching to throw a monkey wrench into the Israeli-Saudi peace process. What better way than to instigate a war between Israel and the Arabs?

Tomer, however, was not convinced. To be sure, they had conclusive evidence that the commander of the Revolutionary Guard Corps had ordered Sheikh al-Hussaini to launch his missiles at Israel once the hostages were taken and once the head of Israel’s Northern Command took it upon himself to initiate the Hannibal Protocol. But they also had strong circumstantial evidence that both the Sheikh and the powers that be in Tehran were caught off guard by the border raid.

“Besides,” he noted, “if Iran had wanted the Sheikh to launch such a raid, all they had to do was ask.”

“Perhaps they were trying to go around the Sheikh,” Jenny suggested.

“Okay, but why?”

To this, she had no answer.

Tomer had his own theory. To him, it was far more likely that this was a Kairos operation, an attempt both to retaliate against Marcus for having thwarted their suicide bomber plot on the Temple Mount during the Israeli-Saudi summit and to drive a nail in the coffin of the peace process once and for all.

“Just look at the pattern,” he said as they soared over the Med at thirty-four thousand feet. “The most daring terror attacks against Israel and the U.S. in the last few years—bar none—have been the work of Kairos.”

“True,” said Marcus, “but maybe not this time.”

“Why not? Besides Iran, who wants you dead more than Kairos?”

“Actually, the list is getting rather long,” Geoff quipped.

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” said Marcus. “But in this case, there was no way either Iran or Kairos could know I was going to be in that convoy at that moment. They couldn’t have even known I was in Israel. The trip wasn’t publicized, and my role certainly wasn’t.”

“Maybe they’re tracking you,” said Tomer.

“Maybe, but then they should have hit me in Washington, which would be far easier than on the Lebanese border. No, I don’t buy it.”

“Then who do you think al-Masri was working for?” Tomer asked.

“I don’t know,” Marcus said. “And that’s what worries me.”

Geoff Stone chimed in. “What about the Turks?”

“What about them?” asked Jenny.

“I’m prepping for a trip I’m supposed to take with Secretary Whitney next month. I’ve been getting read in on everything Langley and DIA and NSA have gathered on the Turks, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“Go on,” said Marcus.

“Have any of you guys taken a good, close look at Ahmet Mustafa?” Geoff asked.

“The Turkish president?” Jenny asked.

“Exactly,” Geoff said.

Gilad said nothing. The others shook their heads.

“This is one spooky dude—sees himself as a sultan, rebuilding the glories of the old Ottoman Empire—wants to make Istanbul the epicenter of the next Caliphate, the vortex of all Sunni radicals around the world. He’s totally capable of pulling off something like this. He’s got tons of ambition. Tons of money. A huge population . . .”

“How many?” Jenny asked.

“About 82 million,” Geoff replied. “Plus he’s got the second-biggest military in NATO behind the U.S. Huge spy service. Hates us. Hates you all in Israel. So why not?”

Jenny took that one. “Well, you just said it—he’s a Sunni. Yes, he’s pulling together the Brotherhood, Hamas, and other radicals under his roof, but they’re all Sunni. Hezbollah is Shia.”

“But where were we an hour ago?” Geoff asked. “The Turkish Air cargo terminal in Hezbollah-controlled Beirut. On a Turkish Airbus. In the belly of a plane heading to the largest city in Turkey. You don’t think there’s a connection there?”

Marcus was intrigued. It was an interesting argument and one he had not thought of himself. But he still was not sure who had kidnapped him or why, and he was determined to find out. He turned back to Asher Gilad. “Sir, what about you?”

Israel’s legendary spy chief did not respond right away. Rather, he got up and stretched in the aisle for a moment, then poured himself another glass of champagne, having finished his first.

“I certainly agree with you, Miss Morris, that Iran has the most to gain here,” Gilad began. “Your logic is sound, but Agent Ryker is correct—there are far easier ways to get at him, and it would have been all but impossible to know he would be at that exact spot on the border at that exact moment. No, I don’t think al-Masri was targeting Marcus. And besides, if he was, then he would have known who he was dealing with and never would have let him escape. Nor would he have fed the name Thomas Millner to the Sheikh. It’s clear to me al-Masri was going for Israelis. The fact that he bagged two Americans—and thought he had three—was purely serendipitous.”

“Then who?” asked Jenny.

“Well, the Turkish theory is imaginative,” Gilad conceded. “But I have seen no evidence that ‘the Sultan,’ as you call him, Agent Stone, is ready to take direct action against us. He’s too clever for that. He would use a proxy, a cutout, but even then it would be awfully risky.”

“You’re saying it’s inconceivable?” asked Geoff, a touch defensive.

“No, but maybe a bit premature,” Gilad replied. “Under Ahmet Mustafa, Turkey is definitely swinging to the dark side. I grant you that. But I don’t see him taking this level of action against us. It’s just too soon.”

“So,” said Jenny, “you think it’s Kairos.”