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Tomer smiled.

“He gave me his mobile number. I made it sound all boring and routine and unimportant and just something I needed so I could persuade my superiors to let me give him a little food, a little more rest. That kind of thing. And because of his youth and inexperience—and his feeling that he had successfully resisted all of my important questions—he talked. I think the smell of the lamb and the fresh coffee may have clinched the deal. But regardless, when we finished, I let him eat and then go back to his cell to get some real sleep while my team and I verified that he was telling me the truth.”

“Well, was he?” Geoff Stone asked.

“He was,” said Tomer. “I asked my guys to study all the calls made to and from Tanzeel’s mobile phone over the past six months. I was hoping this might lead me to his brother’s number and to others on the team. It did not. He’d been much more careful than I’d hoped. But then, to my shock, my guys told me that Tanzeel’s number is still active. The phone is still on. And we know exactly where it is.”

“Where?” Jenny asked.

Tomer picked up the remote again, and all eyes turned back to the screen. A map of Lebanon appeared, and the IDF chief of staff spoke again.

“That red dot near the coast is Tanzeel’s phone,” General Golan explained.

The Google Earth image zoomed in from thirty thousand feet down to just five hundred feet.

“The signal is coming from this building on the left,” Golan continued, “which is part of what we thought was an old abandoned Hezbollah training camp just north of the city of Tyre.”

Tomer punched more buttons. Several still images—all black-and-white—appeared in succession. These were no longer generic images from a Google satellite. These were classified photos that had been taken just ninety minutes earlier by an Israeli reconnaissance drone. And each showed the activity inside the camp.

“As you can see in this first photo, those are fresh tire tracks inside the compound,” the Ramatkal noted. “And not just one set, but two. These tracks on the left were made by a car—midsize, probably four-door, and judging by the tires either a Mercedes or an Audi. These other tracks here, on the right of the screen, were made by a truck, possibly by a jeep.”

Tomer clicked to another image.

“This photo shows the rear gate to the compound,” the general continued. “You can see clearly the dusty trail made by both vehicles as they exited the compound and turned right. The cloud disintegrates quickly, but they were clearly heading north. Best guess, they were heading to Highway 51, which would be the fastest route to Sidon, or more likely, Beirut.”

“So they’re gone,” Geoff said. “We missed them.”

“Not necessarily,” said the general.

Another image flashed up on the screen. This time it was a video clip showing two men walking around the camp. The video zoomed in, and it became clear the men were armed. When the clip ended, Tomer ran another. This had been taken on the other end of the compound, but it also showed two men walking, and they, too, were armed.

The Mossad chief spoke again. “We’ve been surveilling this place for the last ninety minutes. So far, we’ve seen eight men. All military age. All armed. They’re all wearing Hezbollah uniforms. They’re clearly doing patrols. They’re guarding something or someone. And Tanzeel’s phone is on and nearby.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Jenny. “Why take prisoners to an abandoned camp? And why so few men?”

“I don’t know,” Gilad admitted. “You’re right—it doesn’t make sense. If Tanzeel al-Masri was good enough, even at his young age, to qualify to be a Radwan operative, he ought to be smart enough not to leave his mobile phone on. Or even leave his SIM card in the phone. Certainly his brother taught him that.”

“It could be a trap,” Geoff said.

“It could,” Gilad agreed.

“Or a break,” said Noah.

“Look,” said the general, “in any other scenario, I’d simply send a pair of F-16s over the camp and take it out. But if there’s a chance—however remote—that our people are in that camp . . .”

Golan didn’t finish the thought.

Jenny Morris was about to finish it for him.

But Donny Callaghan beat her to it. “How soon can we leave?”