92

Rahman had not made one map.

He had made two.

One laid out the grounds of the airport, where exactly the terminal was located, what was around it, where the doors were, and the location of the guards and the cameras. The other sketched out the terminal’s floorplan, what section the rented storage compartment was in, where the exits were, and where the cameras, restrooms, and stairwells were. As Jenny kept asking more questions, the man kept adding more details. When she was satisfied that she had all that she needed—or, at least, all that he remembered—she told Callaghan to put the handcuffs back on. Abdel Rahman might have been shot in both feet. He was in no position to run, but he was, after all, still a trained killer, and this was no time to take chances.

Once the cuffs were on, Jenny moved fast. Before Rahman realized what was happening, she had shoved a needle in his neck. The drugs kicked in quickly, and the man was soon out cold.

“Tomer, talk to me,” she said into her headset. “How’s your guy doing?”

“I just put him out,” the Israeli radioed back.

“Did he talk first?”

“A little.”

“What did you get?” Jenny pressed.

“Name, rank, ID number—the basics.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, he did tell me there were thirty men in their platoon when they set out Saturday morning.”

“How many did Ryker and Curtis take out on the border?”

“We found fifteen bodies plus the guy we captured.”

“Tanzeel.”

“Right.”

“So they lost half their guys in the initial attack?”

“Exactly,” Tomer confirmed.

“And how many are headed to Beirut?”

“He said six.”

“So aside from him and this Rahman guy, there should be six more bodies in this compound—am I getting that right?”

“I believe you are.”

“Okay, hold on,” Jenny said. “Stone, you there?”

“Roger that.”

“Find us any wheels?”

“There’s a cargo van here—a Mazda Bongo—that I managed to get running. I found a Toyota and a Ford, as well, but they are pretty much KIA.”

“Can we make it to Beirut in the Mazda?”

“I think so.”

“How much fuel does it have?”

“Half a tank.”

“That should be fine—stand by,” Jenny said, then radioed Noah to get a sitrep.

Noah filled her in, along with the rest of the team who were listening, on what he had found. When he was finished, there was dead silence.

“Hair?” Jenny finally asked.

“Yeah, hair—lots of it—all jet-black.”

“I don’t understand.”

“By the looks of it, and the amount, someone shaved their head.”

“Al-Masri?”

“That’s my guess.”

“But why?”

“I have no idea,” Noah said.

“I do,” Donny Callaghan said over the headset, even though he was standing right next to her. “To improve his chances at bluffing his way through the checkpoints.”

Jenny nodded and even smiled. “You might be right.”

“Yeah,” said Geoff Stone. “Which raises a good question—how are we getting through checkpoints? Or are we heading back out to sea?”

“No, going by water will take too long,” Jenny said. “Meet me in the courtyard, all of you—I have an idea.”

Ten minutes later, they were all in the van.

They quickly pulled away from the compound, heading for the junction to Route 51. No sooner had they gotten on the highway than Geoff Stone heard a pair of Israeli fighter jets approaching from the west. Then he heard the telltale high-pitched whistles, if only for a split second. The pilots had fired. The missiles were inbound. Geoff covered his ears and braced for impact.

Suddenly the entirety of the compound was obliterated in a massive fireball. The shock waves made the van shudder and weave. Despite the protection from his hands, the concussion nearly blew out Geoff’s eardrums. And then came the second wave and then a third.

The entire team, except for Tomer, who was driving, craned their necks to watch the spectacle behind them, roaring flames shooting forty, fifty, sixty feet into the night sky. Geoff couldn’t help but watch as well. It had been years since he had been on the battlefield, and he marveled at both the split-second timing and the simple rationale of the strike. The Israeli leadership back at the Kirya had obviously been watching them via a live drone feed. Once Tomer had given General Golan and his team the word, the F-16s were on the scene almost instantly. Three strikes might have seemed like overkill. But that was the point. Any Hezbollah forces who were on their way there would find nothing left. Not them. Not their prisoners. Not even the remains of Tanzeel’s phone.