89

“Good job, gentlemen,” Jenny Morris said as she unveiled her face.

She brushed past her colleagues until she was staring into the stunned, haunted eyes of Abdel Rahman. Then she raised the silenced Glock in her right hand, put it to his forehead, and asked in flawless Arabic, “Where is the Egyptian?”

Rahman said nothing.

His eyes darted from face to face, then back to Jenny’s. The man was as bewildered as he was scared. A moment earlier, he had thought he was in the presence of friends, comrades, not simply fellow jihadists but Radwan Unit warriors who had come to help him. Now he had been blindsided and could barely process the notion of having been captured and interrogated by an American, much less a woman.

Jenny used this to her advantage while Donny Callaghan held the man, Geoff Stone handcuffed him, Tomer Ben Ami handcuffed and bandaged the wounded terrorist on the ground, and Noah Daniels watched their backs.

“Where is the Egyptian?” Jenny asked again.

Once again, Rahman said nothing, a look of defiance spreading across his face, replacing the fear, or trying to, anyway.

Jenny lowered the pistol from the man’s forehead. This single act caused Rahman to sag in relief. He exhaled loudly, then began sucking in deep breaths of air. But Jenny was not giving up. She was changing tactics. She aimed the Glock at his left foot and squeezed the trigger. The silenced 9mm bullet that spat out made barely a sound. But Rahman did. He screamed in pain, and Jenny aimed at his right foot.

“I have all night,” Jenny said. “You don’t.”

“I don’t know,” Rahman shrieked. “Truly—I have no idea where he is. You have to believe me.”

Jenny laughed. “But I don’t, habibi,” she told him. “And there are no points for lying to me.”

She squeezed the trigger again. Rahman collapsed, and Callaghan let him fall to the ground. The man’s hands were locked behind him. He certainly could not run. Not anymore. The only question was whether he was going to talk.

Jenny turned to Noah and asked him to find the phone—the one belonging to Tanzeel. She told Tomer to drag his prisoner off and find out what he knew. She then asked Geoff to head over to what was left of the garage, see if there were any vehicles in working order, and if so, pull them into the courtyard. The men all nodded and scrambled off to complete their assignments. As they did, Callaghan raised his M4 and scanned the area to make sure the three of them were truly alone and safe. When he was satisfied, he pulled the injured prisoner into a seated position.

“Look, Abdel, we know al-Masri was here with the rest of your squad,” Jenny explained. “We know he was headed north. We know he took the prisoners with him. Now we need to know where.”

“But I’ve already told you,” Rahman said through gritted teeth. “I have absolutely no idea where he is.”

“Don’t play games with me, Abdel. You know full well what I’m asking. Where is he heading? Where were you supposed to link up with him?” Jenny pointed her pistol at his left knee.

The threat worked, even faster than she had hoped.

“Beirut,” he said.

“Obviously,” Jenny reply. “But where?”

When Rahman hesitated, Jenny asked him another question.

“You understand, don’t you, that al-Masri betrayed you all?”

“That’s not true.”

She smiled. “Of course it is. Why do you think you are here while your boss and the three prisoners are safe in Beirut?”

Rahman said nothing. Jenny waited. Then the man finally blurted out, “The colonel told us to wait here until he called.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Has it rung?”

“Not yet.”

“Has it buzzed? Has he sent you a text?”

“No, not yet.”

“When did he leave?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“What time?”

“Just after sunrise.”

“How long does it take to get to Beirut, even with checkpoints—ninety minutes? Two hours?”

“Maybe.”

“Then why hasn’t he called?”

“What are you saying?” Rahman pushed back.

“I’m saying he double-crossed you. He was never going to call. The phone he gave you doesn’t even work.”

“That’s ridiculous,” snapped Rahman. “Of course it does.”

“Have you used it?”

“No.”

“You haven’t made any calls?”

“He ordered me not to.”

“Texts?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

“I just told you—he told me to put the phone in my pocket and to wait. So that’s what I did.”

Jenny shook her head. “The phone doesn’t even work,” she told him. “It has no SIM card in it. He was never going to call you. He was never going to give you the green light to come to Beirut to be with him or to get your money. Think about that, Abdel. He cut you loose.”

“That’s a lie,” Rahman shouted. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jenny asked Callaghan to extract the phone from the man’s pocket. Callaghan did and handed it to Jenny. She glanced at it, then showed it to Rahman.

“See, Abdel?” she said. “No signal. No SIM card. Al-Masri was never going to call.” She tossed Rahman’s phone on the ground, and the man stared at it dumbly.

“But there is a phone here that works perfectly,” she continued.

“What are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about, habibi, is the phone belonging to Tanzeel al-Masri. Remember him? In your haste to get back to Lebanon, you guys left him behind. The Israelis captured him, but don’t worry. He’s fine. Eating well. Sleeping in a cell by himself. Satellite television. A fitness room. He couldn’t be happier, and he’s been singing like a canary.”

Rahman winced.

“But that’s not really the point,” Jenny continued. “Tanzeel isn’t the problem. His brother is. His brother—your boss—left his in the little office over there. With a SIM card. With a signal. That’s how we found you. My colleague is over there right now retrieving it. But the colonel didn’t expect us to come in person. He expected the Israelis to find the signal and drop a couple of five-hundred-pound bombs on this place, blowing it to kingdom come and all of you men with it.”

Jenny let that thought sink in for a moment, then continued.

“There’s more, Abdel—the colonel didn’t just leave you to die; this whole operation has been one giant betrayal. You and your colleagues are loyal Shias. Loyal Lebanese. Faithful members of Hezbollah. But the Egyptian is not. This operation was not planned or sanctioned by the Sheikh. Oh, sure, the Sheikh is taking credit for it now. That’s because he doesn’t want to look foolish. The fact is, your boss planned this raid on his own. He’s working for someone else. Not the Sheikh. Not Hezbollah. Not the Radwan Unit. He’s got another agenda. He’s working for someone outside the country. We don’t know who yet. But we’re going to find out. And if you help us get our people back and capture the Egyptian, we’ll make it worth your while.”