The Gulfstream floated gracefully out of a clear starlit sky, and shortly after three that morning began its final approach to Palmachim Air Base, south of Tel Aviv. Slaton saw the blackness of the Mediterranean sweep past the window, followed by runway lights, and finally a rush of concrete before the tires kissed the earth—arriving within inches of the place and two minutes of the time that Nicolette had promised so many hours ago. That degree of exactitude and sureness, he knew, was about to come to an end.
The jet taxied hurriedly to a quiet corner of the airfield, and when it stopped he saw a long car in the shadow of a hangar. Bloch or Nurin? he wondered. The answer was fast in coming.
“Hello, Anton,” Slaton said, sliding into the limo’s backseat.
“The director sends his regrets,” Bloch replied. “He’s rather busy.”
“I can imagine.”
“A great deal has happened since you left France.”
“You could have sent a message—I’m sure the airplane was capable.”
“I thought it better to let you get some sleep on the flight.”
“Is it going to be that kind of night?”
Bloch gave a wistful sigh. “I think it is what I have come to cherish most about retirement—eight hours of uninterrupted sleep every night.”
“Except tonight.”
“We heard from Baland. The raid was a failure—the girl wasn’t there.”
Slaton’s gaze turned critical. “Did I make a mistake? Was it the wrong apartment?”
“Don’t worry—your instincts for the dark arts remain as reliable as ever. She was definitely there, and stayed for a time. The French recovered trace evidence of gunshot residue. There was also blood in the bathroom, along with some skin and hair that is being analyzed for DNA.”
“I doubt they’ll find any matches.”
“I would stake my dubious reputation against it.”
“So how did we lose track of her?”
“The katsas missed an exit, and obviously she became suspicious. There was a skylight in the roof, and she very conveniently kept a ladder in the flat. The roof in back is very near a neighboring building, and from there half the rooftops in Monceau come into play. I’m sure it was a planned contingency on her part.”
“I missed it too. The mistake is on me as much as anyone.”
“Now is not the time for recriminations. This woman, Malika, was there for a time. I think the response might have been quicker if Baland hadn’t insisted on leading the assault himself.”
“I’ll bet he’s disappointed.”
“He used a far stronger word—Nurin talked to him directly. The French have gone back to searching, but she’s gone to ground again. Another safe house, I would imagine. As far as anyone can tell, she’s working alone.”
“It will be awkward for Baland if she’s taken into custody.”
“Undoubtedly. But that is not our problem.”
The limo was already to the freeway, accelerating quickly on a nearly empty road. The city around them was in a deep sleep. Slaton asked, “Has Baland heard from Uday about the details of this exfiltration?”
“Not yet, but we expect contact soon … assuming he is still alive.”
“Do you have reason to believe otherwise?”
Bloch said, “The Americans run the best signals intelligence in Syria, and we asked them to pass along immediately anything relating to Aziz Uday. It didn’t take long. They isolated radio traffic and messages implying that the caliphate is looking for him—looking very hard.”
“That’s good—it supports the version of events Baland has given us. It means Uday really has defected.”
“That is our view as well. The Americans also mentioned that they’ve recorded an ‘event’ on certain internal servers within Raqqa. Virtually all ISIS comm networks appear to be either down or degraded.”
Slaton considered it. “So their wizard really did throw a wrench in his machine to cover his departure.”
“It would appear so.”
“I think I like this guy.”
“Good, because very soon you may be hauling him out of Syria on your back.”
* * *
While Anisa rushed from one workstation to another coordinating the search for Uday, Chadeh convened a meeting with two other men in a quiet corner of the mosque. She watched them discreetly, noticing that they’d taken with them printouts of the information Malika had sent earlier. There was a hushed argument, and the men gestured at different pages. Finally, Chadeh led the group back toward Anisa.
She held her breath as they approached.
“We have come to a decision,” he said. “This information Argu has sent us—it is useful. Unfortunately, any value will be lost if Uday manages to reach the West. We must initiate the first wave of attacks immediately.”
“Attacks?” Anisa repeated.
“We must strike these targets before the authorities are alerted. Use any cells or individuals in France who can be contacted.”
“But the database has been—”
“Enough!” Chadeh said, cutting her off with a slashing motion of his hand. “Your glorious database has proved a failure in the worst way. Surely other methods remain to contact our recruits in Europe.”
She thought about it. “There might still be paper files in the trash cans—unless Uday has seen to those as well.”
“Yes, that’s good. I can order commanders to spread the word among frontline units. Many of those from Europe will have contact numbers for friends and family members.”
Anisa nodded, conceding that Chadeh had a point. They were going back to square one, but it might be possible to muster a small force quickly. “How many teams will we need?” she asked.
Chadeh handed over the printout, and she saw certain paragraphs circled. “We have identified seven targets to be attacked, God willing.”
“So be it. I will work through the night. By tomorrow afternoon the orders will be sent.”
“No. You are to have this done by morning. That is not God’s will—it is mine.”
* * *
The Toyota was an hour beyond Palmyra when its headlights illuminated a fork in the road.
“Which road should I take?” Faisal asked.
“Have you seen any route numbers?” Uday asked.
“Road signs?” Faisal laughed. “You are not in England anymore, my brother.”
Uday tried to recall the route he’d traced with his finger over a map on a computer screen. He knew the caliphate still ran one roving checkpoint in this area, but he couldn’t remember exactly where it was supposed to be today. “Steer left,” he said, “away from Damascus.”
A straight line would have given a three-hundred-mile run from Raqqa to the Golan Heights, but his chosen route was necessarily longer to avoid villages and known trouble spots. The ground they’d traversed so far had until recently been controlled by the Islamic State—although “control” was a strong word anywhere in Syria these days. Map or not, Uday knew they were at the limits of the caliphate’s reach. Soon they would be crossing sparsely populated desert, and any encounters there would likely be with a local tribe, the sort who were happy to take a “transit tax.” Less likely, but of greater risk, was to run into Hezbollah or a squad of Assad’s thugs. The risks down any road here were measurable, although not much different from what Bedouin had faced since the days of Christ: tribal mistrust, difficult terrain, and a place where lines on maps were meaningless.
“Are you sure we have enough petrol?” Uday asked.
Faisal, who rarely had a care, flapped his hand in the air. “I am sure we can reach Nawa. There I will find more … have no worries. My brother is a big man, nearly a member of the Shura Council.” He chuckled, and when he looked in the mirror Uday and Sarah both smiled at him. As soon as Faisal looked away, Uday’s humor dissipated.
He said, “You realize that you can never go back to Raqqa.”
“Yes, I know,” Faisal replied, echoing their earlier conversation. He was a bachelor who’d moved to the city on Uday’s coattails, and seeing the limitations of driving a cab, he had done well administering a food-distribution center under the caliphate’s banner. In Nawa, Faisal would have to find something new. But then, he always did. The brothers had been raised on the tan shores of the Gulf of Oman, and from there launched into the world. They kept in touch with their extended family, cousins mostly, who asked guarded questions about what the brothers were doing in Syria. Uday was sure Faisal would be welcomed back in Muscat if it came to that. He, however, had his sights set farther west.
Uday’s ardor for the caliphate had long ago been beaten down by the brutality of the regime. It was his feelings for Sarah, however, that had put the idea of desertion into his mind. Once that choice was made, he’d tried to consider every consequence. He could think of only two people in Raqqa who might suffer reprisals for his defection. Both were in the car with him now.
He felt Sarah take his hand, and when he met her gaze Uday didn’t like what he saw—a woman trying to be brave.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I have planned everything.”
“How can we get across the Israeli border?” she asked in a hushed voice as the SUV groaned over deep ruts.
“I am making arrangements. If we can safely reach Nawa, I have friends there who will give us shelter for a day or two—Druze who are not aligned with the government.” The Golan had a well-earned reputation as an independent region, a place where tribal alignments were more fluid than in other governorates. Certain groups there even favored Israel, and the seemingly endless war in Syria had driven growing numbers across the border to apply for Israeli citizenship. It was dangerous territory, to be sure, but laced with an air of opportunity. “A man is going to come. He will guide us across the border.”
“But we are talking about Israel. They watch the Golan closely, and the U.N. keeps a buffer zone. How can we get through such defenses?”
“That is the beauty of it. The man who is coming to lead us out—he is Israeli. He will take us to safety.”
Sarah nodded thoughtfully, and he thought he might have seen a softening in her expression. Then all at once it went to stone. “Look!”
He followed her gaze through the front windshield. Two heavy trucks were blockading the road ahead. Both flew the black flag of the Islamic State.