93

GHAT, LIBYA

Abu Nakba could not sleep.

He lay in his bed for a while, staring at the motionless ceiling fan. It was far too chilly to use a fan, at least at night. It was only in the midsixties. If anything, he reasoned, it was time to turn on his space heater. Kicking off the single wool blanket he was using, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipped on his sandals, reached for his cane to steady himself, and with a great deal of effort, got himself to his feet.

He padded over to the wall in his light cotton robe, plugged in the space heater, and turned it on. Then he worked his way over to his wardrobe and found a shawl to put over his shoulders. He thought about going into his study to watch the latest news. The images of the ongoing missile war between the Zionists and Hezbollah were a great comfort to him—especially the scenes of wounded children, crying, pleading for their mothers, searching desperately for their fathers. And this was just the beginning. So much more was coming.

He was a son of the desert, and its vast expanse now drew him out onto the balcony. Bundling up under the shawl, he took a seat in his favorite chair and looked out at the shifting, swirling sands bathed in the bluish tint of the nearly full moon. The pain from the catastrophe in Jerusalem—his beloved al-Quds—was still fresh. That operation had taken so much planning and had offered so much promise. The leaders of the United States, Israel, and Saudi Arabia. In one place. At the same time. With a Kairos operative in position to take them all out. Yet the mission had failed. He still could not accept it. Yes, the money was still flowing. Yes, the Iranians and the Turks and even the Russians were still pleased with all his success. Hamdi Yaşar kept insisting that they had accomplished much to be proud of. But Hamdi was wrong. Al Qaeda had taken down two American skyscrapers. The Taliban had bogged down the Americans in Afghanistan for two decades. The Islamic State had waged outright genocide and, however briefly, had established a fully operational caliphate. What had Abu Nakba and his men achieved in comparison?

Sabotaging the Saudi peace treaty with the Zionists would be progress. But there was so much more he had in his heart to do. Why, then, was he being thwarted at every turn? How had the Americans and the Zionists repeatedly turned the tables on Kairos? True, they had suffered losses, but not nearly enough. And time and time again, the trail led back to one man. One American. One special agent.

Marcus Johannes Ryker.

The Russians suspected him of taking out their president, prime minister, and FSB chief. The Iranians were convinced he had prevented them from successfully transferring North Korean nuclear warheads to their shores. And then, of course, he had shown up on the Haram al-Sharif during the peace summit.

Abu Nakba found himself shivering in the cool night air. Yet he delighted in the news that Hamdi Yaşar had given him just before bed. It seemed too good to be true. The pictures were clear. The video images did not lie. The man calling himself Thomas Millner was, Hamdi insisted, actually Marcus Ryker.

Abu Nakba had not believed him at first. But a careful comparison of the proof-of-life images that their man in Lebanon had provided with images of Ryker on the Temple Mount and in numerous newspaper and magazine accounts afterward was unmistakable. The Kairos leader had no qualms about paying millions to have this man in his hands. He would readily have paid a hundred times more than al-Masri was demanding.

And yet something was wrong. Abu Nakba could not put his finger on it. But something was nagging at him, robbing him of his sleep.

Rising back to his feet, he reentered his bedroom and headed for his study in the room next door, where he took a seat behind his desk and dialed Hamdi Yaşar in Doha.

Despite the hour, the man answered immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. But something is troubling my spirit.”

“What is it, Father?”

“When was the last time you talked to our friend in Lebanon?”

There was a slight pause. “Why?”

“I’m not sure, but I have an uneasy feeling.”

“Yes?”

“Call him.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“And say what?”

“Ask him about our packages. Make sure they are ready for delivery.”