104

Al-Qassab had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the explosion.

As the building shook, he knew instantly what was happening. The Zionists had found him, and they had breached the door. The only question was how many commandos were pouring into the building and whether more were fast-roping from helicopters onto the roof.

Grabbing his Glock 9mm pistol, he came out of the bathroom stark naked. Reaching for the backpack on the bed, he pulled out his spare set of clothes. One of the Kairos operatives had stolen an Israeli police uniform, complete with utility belt, holster, boots, and sunglasses. Al-Qassab quickly put them on. He also grabbed a wallet and false set of papers from his backpack and stuffed these in his pockets, along with the satphone and the mobile phone set up to detonate the bomb inside Hussam Mashrawi.

Putting his pistol in the holster and spare magazines in his belt, al-Qassab now snatched the Uzi and raced to the closet. He climbed the ladder, pushed the hatch up, and thrust the barrel of the submachine gun into the chilly morning air, expecting to engage with Israeli forces. He spun around to the left, then quickly to his right, but to his astonishment, there was no one on the roof at all.

It could be a trap, he knew. There had to be snipers hiding on adjacent roofs, but so what if there were? A head shot would be fatal, but it would also be instant and thus far better than being captured and tortured and then paraded before the media as the first Kairos operative ever apprehended, and by the Zionists, no less. Tossing the Uzi through the hatch, he finished climbing the ladder, crawled onto the roof, and picked up the weapon again. Scanning the nearby rooftops and matching the scene in his mind with the video he’d taken earlier, he quickly mapped out a route and began to run.

Marcus slowly crept up the stairs.

He was moving more carefully now. If there were people on the second floor, surely they’d heard the explosion. If it was al-Qassab, he was armed and dangerous and waiting for them.

While Marcus wanted the man alive, he knew that might not be possible. If the man was wearing a suicide vest, Marcus would have just one shot —a head shot between the eyes —to take him out before he could push the button and detonate the bomb. If al-Qassab had actually undergone surgery to implant a body cavity bomb inside his chest, he might have a second or two more before the man could hit his speed dial and trigger the explosion. Unless he’d hit the speed dial already.

Wishing he had a stun grenade, but realizing time was of the essence, Marcus stopped creeping up the stairs. He sprinted up the remaining steps, pivoted around the corner, and burst onto the second floor with sound and fury. Why wait? Why give al-Qassab any extra time to think or act?

Sweeping the M4 from left to right, Marcus found no one in the hallway. He heard a television to his left and decided to break right, into the master bedroom, in case the running TV was designed to lure him to the left. Staying low, he kicked in the slightly open door, sweeping the weapon from right to left this time. Again he found nobody. Instead, he saw a half-empty backpack on the bed. Moving to the bathroom, he could see the steam, the water on the floor, and the discarded paramedic’s uniform. He checked under the bed and in the closet but found no one. It was clear. He was about to shout that when he heard Kailea yell from the living room.