41

Al-Masri exited the cave and strode through the courtyard.

With his bodyguards flanking him, he entered a set of connecting concrete bunkers, all of which were infested by rats and devoid of furniture or books or clothing or any signs of human civilization. Motioning for his men to stay put in one of the outer rooms, the Egyptian passed through a wooden door that was barely on its hinges, then through yet another door more securely fastened, until he finally came to a room that had once served as an office.

The floor was covered with broken glass from windows that had been smashed out long before. At the far end of the room was a weathered wooden desk that had seen better days. On it sat an olive-green backpack. Behind the desk was a rickety office chair whose springs had rusted and whose upholstery was ripped. On the wall was pinned a faded map of the Levant, with pencil markings noting the locations of other Hezbollah strongholds that, like this one, had been abandoned years before for better and more strategic facilities.

Al-Masri closed and locked the door behind him. Finally alone, he plunked down in the chair, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and stared up at the water-stained ceiling. He glanced at his watch. He knew it was time to let his contacts know just how wildly he had succeeded and come to an agreement on next steps.

But first things first.

Al-Masri unzipped the backpack. The interior was filled with mobile phones. He counted and scrutinized each one to make sure he had them all. There were some things he could trust his men with. This was not one of them. None of them had any idea that they were not actually executing orders from the Sheikh. He had told them they were, and as loyal foot soldiers, they had believed him. It had been a lie, but a necessary one. Most likely none of them would have ever agreed to execute the mission if they truly understood what they were involved in. Which was why he hadn’t told them.

Might one or more begin to suspect that something was amiss, given that they had not brought the hostages directly to Hezbollah’s central command in Beirut, or even to one of its major bases in the Bekaa Valley, but to a facility that hadn’t been used by the organization in more than ten years? Yes, it was possible. That was why he had ordered all the men to hand in their phones and agree to go “radio silent” until the operation was over. Now, as an insurance policy, al-Masri removed the SIM cards from the phones and smashed them with his boot.

All but one—his brother’s. This he put in his pocket for safekeeping.

As he took another drag on his cigarette, his thoughts drifted to the Sheikh and his inner circle of sycophants and cowards. How he would love to be a fly on the wall of their war room. They had to be apoplectic. None of them had any idea what al-Masri had been planning. They certainly had not authorized this mission. Nor were they prepared for the blowback. But they had to be under tremendous pressure from their puppet masters in Tehran to explain themselves and produce whatever hostages the mullahs thought they now had in their possession. At this, al-Masri couldn’t help but smile. It served them right.

Throughout the region and certainly throughout Zionist territory, Hezbollah, its suicide squadrons, and its missile force were feared. But al-Masri thought the truth was the Sheikh and the ayatollahs back in Iran were terrified of the Jews. Why else had they refused to engage the Zionists since 2006? Why had they done everything possible to avoid a Third Lebanon War? If the Sheikh and the Supreme Leader and all their minions with all their resources believed their own rhetoric, why had they not wiped Israel off the map already?

Left to their own devices, Hezbollah would never have opened fire on the Israelis. The border would still be quiet. The Shias of southern Lebanon would still be dirt-poor, and the criminal Zionists would still be getting filthy rich with each and every passing day.

Now al-Masri opened the desk drawer and pulled out a box. Inside was a brand-new satellite phone, the very one he had stashed there the week before when he had come to make all the necessary preparations.

Taking several more drags, he powered up the phone, then dialed a number from memory.