18:40 / 6:40 P.M. GST
Nicole was furiously typing on her laptop keyboard. Team Yod’s com system was glitching, causing it to sound like they were talking through a sock in a tunnel underwater. Peter was demanding that she resolve the problem, and she was doing her best. Unfortunately, there was a very good chance that the problem lay not on her end but with the phone itself.
There was a knock on the door, and Kevin opened it. She heard male voices greeting each other. She supposed this was the second of the Kidon teams who would be making the actual hit. She’d never seen actual assassins before, and she was curious to learn what they looked like. But she was in emergency mode, so she kept her back to them. Her curiosity could be sated once Peter could talk with Team Yod again.
Then she heard one of the hit men laugh, and she froze. She knew that laugh. She’d laughed along with it. That laugh had brought joy to her life. The man who owned that laugh had also disappeared from her life. She’d convinced herself she was done with him. She thought she’d moved on. But in this moment, she realized that, deep down, she’d never gotten over Nir Tavor.
Come on, you knew this might happen one day. You can’t lose sight of why you’re here. And you absolutely cannot let him know you’re in this room. He’s got a job to do. If you distract him, you could get him killed. Asher warned you about that, and it was never more true than in this moment.
“Annabelle, you get the coms fixed yet?” Peter called.
She shook her head emphatically. One of the men quietly made a joke about her name, and the rest of the team, including Nir, laughed. Nicole flushed with embarrassment.
Ten minutes later, Yod’s coms cleared up. Peter thanked her, and she waved her hand even though she knew the fix wasn’t due to anything she’d done. That’s the thing about tech. Sometimes it stops working for no reason, then it remedies itself for that same no reason.
She needed an excuse not to turn around, so she allowed her fingers to frantically fly across the keyboard like she was doing something important, even though in truth she was just writing code to create a little blue and red frog that would hop across the bottom of her screen.
At 19:15, Peter announced, “I’m leaving. As some of you already know, due to previous experiences, it would be particularly unfortunate if I were apprehended here in the Gulf. Kevin is in charge. God speed to you all.”
Thirty minutes later, Team Yod announced, “Plasma Screen has finished his meeting and is heading back in the direction of the hotel. If he takes a straight route, he’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
“Acknowledged.” Then Kevin dialed a different number.
“Gail,” came the answer.
“Is housekeeping still in the hallway?”
“Affirmative.”
Five minutes ago, hotel staff had wheeled a cart to a room four doors down from the target’s and begun cleaning. Gail had left room 237 and was monitoring the situation from the elevator alcove.
“Beautiful,” Kevin sneered. “Well, Plasma Screen is on his way, so keep me informed.”
“Root.”
“Get ready, guys. As soon as she’s gone, you’re going in.”
E11 FREEWAY, DUBAI, UAE—19:50 / 7:50 P.M. GST
The evening could not have gone better. The banker had agreed to finance the surveillance equipment, albeit at a ridiculous rate of interest. But at least the deal was done. Then his Iranian contact was not feeling well, so he left dinner after the appetizers were served. Mahmoud had taken the time to celebrate alone with a steak of Wagyu beef and a fine bottle of wine. He’d even ordered Assidat Al Boubar for dessert. The pumpkin pudding was the perfect conclusion to a great day.
“Drive me around some,” he said to his driver. “Let me see the city lights.”
Although lying down back in his room was all he’d wanted to do earlier, now he couldn’t imagine just locking himself away. When he next met with the Hamas leadership, he would be hailed as a hero. So many think weapons are what make the difference in the fight, but often the rest of the equipment matters the most. You could have the finest rifle in the world, but it would be useless if you couldn’t see where to aim it.
Because of the brilliant deal he’d just pulled off, the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades would be able to clearly spot their Jewish targets before they pulled their triggers. What is it they call it in the West? He smiled. That’s right. A game changer.
Mahmoud took a sip of the San Pellegrino his driver had left in the cupholder. Admiring the lights of the city, he thought, Next month I’ll have to come back. But instead of working, I’ll come to play.