Jordan bounced her hands off of Walker’s headrest. “In the car behind us, the white Renault. The driver is from Sheikh Sa’ad.”
Walker hit the brakes and their car lurched to a stop. Throwing it into reverse, he powered backward toward the vehicle.
The driver jumped into his car and accelerated, pulling sharply to the right.
Walker skid the car to a stop. Shifting gears, he cranked the wheel hard and hit the gas. The car surged forward before he slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a beige car that had pulled into their path. Jordan lurched forward, catching hard against the seatbelt.
Hitting the horn, Walker shifted back into reverse and spewed gravel as he snaked backward. Once he had enough clearance, he stopped and ground the transmission into first gear.
Jordan kept her eyes on the man from Sheikh Sa’ad and listened for the shot. If Haddid had identified him, Ganani would take him out.
The Renault sped through the parking lot. No shot came.
Unclipping her seatbelt, Jordan leapt from the car and started running.
“Halt!” A sharp whistle from behind stopped her cold. She turned. Two Marines who had been lounging in the shade of the guardhouse ran toward her, weapons drawn.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the lead Marine yelled.
“We have a terrorist on the grounds,” she said. “He’s getting away.”
If she moved, Jordan knew the Marine would shoot her.
“Turn around.” The Marine advanced, signaling her back toward the car. The second Marine already had Walker and Taylor spread eagle across the hood.
“I’m DSS,” Jordan said. “Check my credentials.”
“Confiscate her weapon,” the Marine ordered, snatching her badge from her outstretched hand. He studied the shield.
By now, a crowd was gathering and the Renault had disappeared. Not wanting to spark a panic, Jordan spoke, keeping her voice low. “The man who came through the gate behind us, the one in the Renault—he is a terrorist. He is headed to the secretary of state’s quarters.”
“What did she say?” asked the Marine overseeing the others.
The soldier with her credentials suddenly shouldered his weapon and snapped to attention. “Ma’am, Special Agent Jordan, ma’am.”
Jordan took back her gun and snatched her badge from his hand. “Notify Daugherty that we have a situation, and notify the secretary of state’s convoy to pull up and wait for orders.”
“It’s too late, ma’am,” said the first Marine. “She arrived early, nearly a half-hour ago.”
Walker jumped back into the car and cranked the engine. Taylor slid into the passenger seat. Jordan climbed into the back and rolled down her window. “Get a warning to Dan Posner. Tell him there’s a man on site who is gunning for him.”
Walker goosed the gas, and her words were taken by air. Speeding across the parking lot, she kept her eyes on the cars, searching for any sign. She spotted at least five similar vehicles in the lot. Walker pulled up behind the guest residence and locked up the brakes.
“Where the fuck did he go?” Jordan yelled, out of the car before Walker had ground to a stop. Then she spotted the car ten feet away, abandoned, the driver’s side door standing open.
Jordan started forward and then stopped. “Do you think there’s a bomb?”
“Possibly,” Walker answered.
“Taylor, stay in the car.” Jordan scanned area. There was no sign of the suspect. Several Secret Service agents wearing black suits and dark shades approached, guns drawn. The Marines held their ground in front of the doors. The mood was high alert.
A female agent advanced. “This is a restricted area.”
Jordan flashed her badge. “Where did the man who was driving this car go?”
“Inside. He works in the residence.”
“Which door?” Walker asked.
“I didn’t see where he went.”
“Can you reach Dan Posner?” asked Jordan.
“He should be on com.”
“Get a message to him. Tell him someone’s gunning for him. And get someone out here to check out this car. It might be rigged.” Jordan shouted to Walker. “Head to the front and alert the security detail. Secure all the exits. I’ll take the back.” Then, heading for the side entrance, she shouted back to Taylor. “Get Daugherty on the line! Make sure he knows what’s happened and that someone warns Posner.”
Jordan broke into a jog. If she knew Posner, he’d be upstairs, in the air conditioning, as up close and personal with the secretary of state as he could get. The agent assigned to the side door nodded as Jordan flashed her credentials.
“Did a man enter here in the last few minutes?” she asked.
“More than one. They all had passes.”
“I’m looking for one in particular.” She gave the description.
“He just came through.”
Jordan drew her gun. “Call for backup.”
Counting to two, she pushed open the door. The entrance led into a stairwell, and she quickly cleared the area. Approaching the door to the main floor, she stayed clear of the window and signaled the agent behind her that she was going to open the door. He took a stance. She counted down three on her fingers.
The hallway was empty.
“Do you know where Dan Posner is stationed?” she asked.
“Upstairs, outside the secretary’s suite.”
“Can you raise him on the com?”
The DSS agent spoke into his mic, listened, and shook his head. “He’s not answering, but Daugherty did. He says to wait for backup.”
Posner would be dead if they waited. For all she knew, he was already dead. “There isn’t time. Tell Daugherty I’m going in.”
Bounding up the stairs, she fished out her badge and waved it across the fire door glass. No shots rang out, so she ventured a look through the window.
The door opened into a hallway leading to a wide landing at the top of the main stairs. Contrary to Israeli utilitarian style, this floor of the residence bore soft, beige Berber carpet and Putnam ivory-colored walls—textures and a palette more suited to American tastes.
Jordan traveled the floor layout from memory. The secretary’s suite was through an entrance to the left, off of the large foyer. Halfway down the hallway on the right were two doors: one to a maid’s closet and the other to a small office. No agents were visible.
Yanking open the fire door, she stepped into the hall. Without the filter of glass, the light in the corridor seemed sharper, edgier. Voices traveled up from the lower floor, the insurgency not yet registered by the agents stationed out front.
Gun ready, Jordan pressed her back to the wall and moved swiftly down the hallway. The carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps, giving her the element of surprise.
Nearing the landing, she spotted Posner and the other agent posted to the upstairs foyer kneeling against the far wall. The man from Sheikh Sa’ad stood with his back to her.
From this vantage point, Jordan could see that Posner looked scared. He had his fingers laced behind his head and a “please don’t kill me” look in his eyes.
“Tell me your name, infidel.” The Arab cracked Posner’s jaw with the butt of his gun. The man had found his target and didn’t even know it.
“Who wants to know?” Posner said.
“I do.” The Arab hit him again. “It is my honor to die here today, but I want to know who I take with me.”
“Up yours.”
With the third strike, Jordan heard teeth shatter. Blood spurted from Posner’s mouth. From the stairwell came the sound of a door buckling. Agents had breached the outside side door.
Shouting ensued. Footsteps hammered up the stairs.
The terrorist’s finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. Jordan’s mind flashed to Jabel Mukaber, where she had killed the man attacking Ganani. She had the same shot here. She could kill the Palestinian, but it meant the possibility of killing Posner. Not such a tough decision this time.
Posner’s eyes widened. The terrorist moved left as Jordan squeezed off a round. The bullet hit the drywall inches above Posner’s head.
The Arab turned and fired. Jordan flattened herself to the wall.
She moved to return fire when a shot echoed in the foyer. A red spot bloomed on Posner’s shoulder. Shock marred his features.
The second agent lunged forward to tackle the Palestinian. He dodged sideways, and the agent sprawled on the floor. The Palestinian pressed his gun to the back of the agent’s head, and Jordan squeezed off another round.
The bullet winged the man from Sheikh Sa’ad. He grabbed his arm and then fired wildly in her direction. She returned fire, and he threw himself through the doorway of the secretary’s residence. Posner lunged for the man and missed, sprawling across the carpet and blocking Jordan’s path.
“Your mission is over,” Jordan shouted in Arabic.
“I may have failed Zuabi,” the man said, his voice traveling down the hallway to the secretary of state’s residence. “But with Allah’s blessing, no one can stop that which is yet to come. May the people of Israel shrivel like grapes in the sun.”
Posner hadn’t moved. Footsteps banged up the stairs, and then Daugherty was behind her, his bulky frame casting a wide shadow across the carpet. “Where is he, Jordan?”
She gestured toward the guest residence.
Together, they grabbed Posner by the feet and dragged him to the side. He was still breathing. She rolled him over. A hole in his chest bubbled with blood. Posner gasped for air. Jordan pressed her hand over the hole and tried to staunch the bleeding.
“We need a medic!” she shouted. Posner writhed in pain.
“Leave him!” Daugherty yelled.
She struggled with the choice, but it was the job. An agent put his life on the line for those he had sworn to protect. Posner knew the score.
More footsteps and suddenly Taylor appeared beside her. He was supposed to be in the car.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’m helping.” He scooped his hands beneath hers, taking over with Posner. “I’ve got this.”
Jordan scrambled to her feet and took up position with Daugherty on either side of the entryway to the private residence.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Let’s go then, on the count of three.”