Ganani turned back toward the stakeout and knew immediately that something had happened while she’d been talking to Brodsky. Haddid stood at the window, his nose pressed close to the glass.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Zuabi’s man was in the car behind them. He drove past. Now the main problem is there.” Haddid pointed toward the guest residency.
Ganani traced his line of sight. She was too far away for any shot accuracy. If this was a normal operation, she would be shutting things down.
“Agent Jordan should have called,” Haddid said.
“She may be busy.” Ganani checked her phone. Two calls, both while she was dealing with the colonel. She reached for her gun bag. The GPS tracking in her phone was disabled, but she was sure Brodsky would have traced their call. “We need to move from here.”
“Why?” asked Haddid.
“By now, they know where we are. The enemy seems always to be one step ahead. We cannot take the chance anyone finds us here. Besides, we missed our opportunity.”
Haddid looked at her, incredulous. “Only a handful of you know where we are, and yet you want to run. You don’t trust your own team?”
Ganani’s hand stroked the stock of her gun. She picked it up and shoved it into its bag. “I don’t trust anyone.”
*
Jordan entered the hallway first. Following the jihadist proved easy. A blood smear on the beige carpet led to the right. One of her shots had hit its mark.
She tried remembering the apartment layout. The bedroom suite was to the right. The office was to the left. A row of floor-to-ceiling columns separated the living room, dining area, and kitchen from a walkway that stretched the length of the apartment. Somewhere inside was the secretary of state.
“Federal agents!” she yelled. Daugherty followed her through the doorway. Walker came on his heels.
Jordan pointed to the blood trail on the carpet and gestured that she would take the bedroom. Daugherty moved forward into the large main area and signaled Walker to move left.
Moving quickly along the backside of the columns, Jordan made her way toward the bedroom. The door stood ajar.
A woman screamed. A man shouted. Jordan sprinted down the hallway.
A shot exploded.
Reaching the door, Jordan could see an agent down. Pressing her back to the doorframe, she stepped over his legs and swiveled to find the secretary of state staring down the barrel of a gun.
“Stop or I kill her,” said the man from Sheikh Sa’ad.
Jordan stopped.
The Palestinian stared at her through the mirror over the dresser. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked pasty beneath the natural dark of his skin. Blood soaked his shirt near his abdomen.
Terror contorted the secretary’s face.
“Put your gun down,” the Palestinian ordered.
“That’s not going to happen,” Jordan said. “Not while you have a weapon pointed at the secretary. Why don’t you put your gun down and let me get you some help?”
“I will kill her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Jordan didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger.
A surprised look crossed the man’s face. A red spot bloomed on the back of his head. Blood and brains spattered the secretary’s travel suit, the ornate mirror, and the cherrywood dresser. The Palestinian stumbled and fell. The secretary dropped to the floor.
Jordan stepped forward and kicked his gun away. The man was dead. Quickly, she moved to the secretary, who cowered beside the bed. “Are you okay?”
The secretary’s hand was on her heart, and she sagged against the wall.
“Madam secretary?” Daugherty pushed past Jordan, followed by a crowd of agents. “Someone get a medic.”
Jordan allowed the chaos to surge past and then backed toward the door. Stepping over the dead Palestinian, she froze. All the training in the world could not have prepared her for the wave of guilt that washed over her. He was the second man she had killed in the past twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter that he considered himself a soldier or that he acted the part of the enemy. He was a husband, a father.
She felt a hand on her arm.
“We need to go,” Walker said.
Jordan turned away, stuffing the feelings deep. She knew they would resurface, but for now she needed to stay in control. She backtracked toward the residence entrance. Walker fell in behind.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
“Anywhere off the embassy grounds.” If they stayed, it wouldn’t take long for the Secret Service to isolate them and lock down personnel. They would be debriefed and the rest of their impromptu operation terminated.
At the entrance to the residence apartment, they found Taylor watching two medics crouching over Posner.
“How’s he doing?” Jordan asked.
Taylor shrugged. “Badly. He’s got a hole in his chest.”
She heard Posner wheeze, saw the bubbling blood, and knew his lung had collapsed.
“Jordan.” Daugherty’s voice boomed through the doorway behind her. “What the hell is going on?”
She quashed the desire to flee. “There isn’t time to explain, sir.”
“Make time.” Daugherty stepped around the medics, and they moved into the back hallway. While Taylor and Walker listened, she gave him the condensed version. She told the truth, omitting only a few of the details. She let him believe Haddid had escaped and didn’t tell him what she knew about Brodsky’s past. She did tell him about Brodsky’s connection to GG&B.
Daugherty worked his jaw muscle. “If you’re right, something big is about to happen.”
Jordan nodded.
“If you’re wrong—”
“I’m not.”
“They’re going to want to talk with you.” Daugherty jerked his head at the Secret Service agents gathering on the other side of Taylor and the medics. “If you’re going to walk out of here, you need to do it now.”
Jordan stared at her boss. “I have your permission to go?”
“I can’t protect you. And I don’t want to know anything about what you’re planning or where you’re going.”
Jordan knew he was hedging his bets. If she was right and able to stop whatever was about to go down, he would come out the hero. If she screwed up, he could make her the scapegoat.
“It’s called ‘plausible deniability.’”
Jordan looked back at the medics working on Posner. “I hope he makes it, sir.”
“You and me both.”
Taylor gripped her shoulders. “We need to go.”
They took the back stairs to the parking lot. The agents in sight were clustered near the front entrance. Walker had beaten them to the car.
“Get in.” Walker fired up the engine. “We’ll go out the back gate. There’ll be less traffic and fewer guards. With luck, the Secret Service hasn’t locked down the grounds.”
Jordan slid into the passenger seat, stared down at the blood on her hands, and struggled to get her emotions in check.
Walker threw the car into gear. “Where to?”
“Let’s take Taylor back to the Dizengoff Apartments. Maybe he and Lucy can get away before someone’s dispatched to pick them up. I’m sure Daugherty will try to hold them off.”
They were approaching the back gate, and Walker slowed the car. “Right now, we may have bigger fish to fry.”
Jordan watched a guard walk toward the car, his gun drawn, and realized she was covered in blood. Tucking her hands up into her sleeves, she crossed her arms over the front of her shirt.
“I need you to turn around and park the car,” the guard ordered. “We’re on lockdown. No one is being allowed on or off embassy grounds.”
“She’s the ARSO,” Walker said.
“I don’t care if she’s the secretary herself. My orders are to stop everyone.”
“I’m on it.” Walker tossed a salute before stepping on the gas.
The sedan shot forward, knocking the Marine guard off balance. The soldier scrambled to his feet and shouldered his rifle, a bullet striking the back fender.
“Give me your phones,” Walker said, careening around the next corner.
Jordan pulled hers from her pocket and handed it over. Taylor refused. “I have to make a call first.”
Walker pitched his phone and Jordan’s out the window, while Taylor dialed. With sirens echoing in the street behind him, Walker took one side street, then another, until it was clear they had lost the tail. Jordan could hear Taylor murmuring in the background, leaving a message, telling Lucy that he’d be home soon and not to worry.
“Dizengoff’s out,” Walker said. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”
“Why isn’t Lucy answering her phone?” The stress in Taylor’s voice jarred Jordan into action.
“Let me borrow your phone. I’ll send Ganani over there.”
*
Ganani knocked on the door of the Taylors’ apartment. No one answered. She knocked a second time and then forced the door. Entering with caution, she and Haddid went room to room, looking for signs of disturbance, finding none. Lucy’s computer sat on her desk, and her pink Coach handbag hung on the spoke of her chair. The TV was in its hutch. The apartment was empty, but more so than if someone had stepped out for a walk. It seemed deserted, as if no one had been there for hours. There was no lingering heat from the stove, the faucets were at room temperature, and the sink was dry.
“There are no signs of a break in,” Haddid said. “It looks like they went out.”
Ganani agreed. It didn’t make her feel any better. Her gut told her something was wrong. She signaled for Haddid to take a seat on the couch. Keeping him in her line of sight, she stepped out on the stair landing and called the colonel. He answered on the third ring.
“Where have you been, krolik?”
“I’ve been tracking the Palestinian, as you requested.” It was not the first time she had lied. She wondered how much information he had and who was feeding it to him. Right now, her bet was on Gidon Lotner.
“Did you find him?”
If she was correct, Lotner would have told him that the prisoner was with Jordan.
“No,” she said. “He is with the DSS agent, and she is missing.”
She could sense his satisfaction with her answer.
“Where are you now?” he asked.
Ganani was sure he knew that, too.
“At the Taylors’ apartment. The girl and Lotner are missing. I’m worried that something may have happened to them.”
“What makes you so sure anything has happened?”
“The girl’s pink purse is here. She never goes anywhere without it.”
The silence stretched. Finally, he spoke, his tone stern. “They are not your concern.”
“Someone needs to wait and verify that they return. That or notify the Americans and the Israeli police.”
“That’s not your job, Batya. Your job is to follow orders. It is time you come in. I’ll expect to see you within the hour.”
Knowing it would do no good to argue, she acquiesced. Then, hanging up, she walked to the kitchen and set her phone on the counter. “We must go, Haddid. He will send agents for me, for us. Perhaps he already has.”
Haddid pushed up from his seat. “What do we do now?”
“First? We need to buy a new phone.”
Ten minutes later, as the fountain kicked to life, raining down fire and water behind her, Ganani dialed Taylor’s phone number from a burner phone and got Jordan on the line.
“Lucy’s gone. There’s no sign of her or Lotner. No note, no indication of where they might be. I think Brodsky knew.”
“Do you have another phone?” Jordan asked.
“Yes.”
“Give me the number,” said Jordan.
Ganani rattled off the digits. “What now?”
“Ditch the phone,” said Jordan, “And meet us in Caesarea at two o’clock.”