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  Gerrit nodded. “I know the Iranians must be involved, based upon what we’ve been able to pick up over the last few weeks—including this Syrian contact you uncovered. But that still doesn’t get us any closer to the target here in Syria.”

  “Give me a minute.” Max pointed to the map. “See this section in the southeastern part of the airport, segregated and protected from the main terminal?”

  “Yeah,” Gerrit said, looking closer. “It seems like some kind of military installation.”

  Pulling out a laptop with a satellite connection, Max activated the computer and hit Google Earth. “Now, look closer at this screen. This is not real time, but the current aircraft at that site is consistent with our own satellite feeds.”

  Gerrit moved closer. “What are these small planes all lined up together wing to wing?”

  “They are assigned to Syria’s 29th Brigade at the military ramp housed at Damascus International. And these”—Max pointed to the smaller aircraft Gerrit mentioned a few moments earlier—”are An-26 aircraft the Syrians use for electronic warfare.”

  Gerrit jerked his head up and stared at Max. “You think they’d launch from this location?”

  “If they have the electronic systems we suspect, they’d most likely start from this location and direct their attack straight toward our border.”

  “Wouldn’t that be suicide? You could take them out before they ever got near your installations.”

  Max shook his head. “Not if they scramble our electronics.”

  “You mean like you did to them in 2008?”

  “No comment. But if—and this is a big if—they had the technology and got it close enough, we would be very vulnerable. Once they blinded us, they could target their missiles wherever they wanted.”

  “Aren’t they concerned you might launch the Samson Option?” Gerrit heard during his military training and university classes about nuclear deterrent programs, including Israeli’s so-called Samson Option. Though the Israelis refused to acknowledge or deny their nuclear weapons program, they continued to allow the world to believe—in a policy dubbed nuclear ambiguity—that any nation that threatened Jewish extinction through military attack would face massive nuclear retaliation.

  “You know I can’t comment on that, Gerrit. But I will tell you that my country will do everything in its power to eliminate them before they wipe out our defense system. We’d have nothing left to lose. If even one country broke through our defenses, the other Arab countries would be on us like sharks smelling blood. We cannot appear to be weak, not for a moment.”

  Shakeela stood with her arms folded. “You cannot speak for all Arabs…or Persians, Max. There are those wishing peace.”

  “You’re Iranian, right?” Max asked. “I’m not speaking for all people, Shakeela. But you have to admit that Israel has her fair share of enemies in the Arab world. In your own country, fanatics like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad calling for the extermination of my people.”

  “I am an American. Born and raised,” Shakeela said, eyes flashing. “Don’t link me to people like that dirtbag.”

  “Okay, okay.” Max held up his hands. “I meant no offense. But look at it from my perspective. Where do your loyalties lie in this conflict?”

  “With my country—the United States of America. And don’t you ever question my loyalties again.”

  One of Max’s men slowly raised his weapon. Max looked at the man and shook his head. The man obediently lowered his weapon, but Gerrit saw the man’s index finger still rested on the trigger.

  “And to which God do you pray, Shakeela?” Max asked, a bit testy. “Allah or the One True God.”

  Shakeela tensed, fists clenched. “Who I pray to—if I pray at all—is none of your damn business. All that matters is whether I support my country and her allies. Do you really want to make me an enemy?”

  Max and Shakeela stared at each other without blinking.

  Alena gave Gerrit a tense look. He nodded and gestured toward the door with his chin. “Hey, let’s take a break and let everyone cool down. We’re here to work together. Let’s relax for a few minutes and figure out what our next move should be.”

  As he walked toward the door leading outside, he felt all eyes on him. He felt the level of distrust each person harbored in that room. Would they be able to work together? The Arab-Israeli conflict had been going on for thousands of years, almost since the beginning of time. Would they be able to put differences aside for a few days to fight for a common good?

  A Jew, a Muslim, and a Christian, and here I am trying to be a peacemaker. And what did he believe in? Gerrit thought about that question, but could not come up with an answer. There had to be a reason for all the evil he’d seen in this world. And here he found himself in a part of the world where men continued to kill each other over what—God?

  How ironic! Each stood on some kind of moral high ground that justified killing others in the name of their god.

  He had sworn—as a U.S. Marine and as a Seattle police officer—to protect his country from all enemies, foreign and domestic. He intended to do just that. So help him…God? Until now, he had never thought about the full implication of those words.

  Chapter 40

  March 2

  Gerrit walked outside to get fresh air and to escape the tension inside. A moment later, he heard Alena follow. They walked over to the orange trees and stood in the shade watching the house. “We are a long way from home, Alena.”

  “You forget where I come from.” She smiled. A moment later, she added, “And how is your wife?”

  “Right now, she and Max are about to start the Crusades all over again.” He wanted to avoid the topic of Shakeela, but he knew Alena harbored questions. She probably wouldn’t leave it alone. “And how is your husband?”

  “Touché.”

  “I haven’t heard a word about Joe. Have you?”

  Alena shook her head. “I’m hoping Willy or the others will get back to us if there is any news.”

  Jack promised to monitor Joe’s progress from his position in Tel Aviv. So far, no word.

  He saw one of the sentries moving among the trees. The air seemed clear, and except for the traffic moving on the highway some distance away, there was little noise to disturb their solitude. “Do you know what Max’s game plan might be? As far as I can tell, he has a location pinned down but no way for us to get inside and verify except by some source he has yet to identify.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and looked off to her right through the trees. A break between several fruit trees allowed them to see the next farm. The ground had been turned over in anticipation of the next planting season. “As you noticed, he does not trust Shakeela. He has always been one to keep things close, to reveal plans when he feels the time is right.”

  “That raises two questions,” Gerrit said. “First, why is Max running this operation without consultation with the rest of us? And second, do you trust Shakeela?”

  “Regarding your wife,” Alena said, curtly, “She’s Iranian. I am Jewish. Can you see where we might have some trust issues?”

  “Shakeela is an American. A CIA agent. She’s been vetted by the best for security clearances.”

  Alena grimaced. “And Obama’s Department of Homeland Security was found to be taking the advice of Muslim Brotherhood operatives who had ingratiated themselves within your government. So, to answer your question, the judge is still out.”

  “The judge…do you mean the jury’s still out?” He started to laugh, but he saw she was upset.

  “You trust her?”

  Before he could answer, Gerrit spotted Shakeela emerging from the house. She glanced around, saw them standing in the shadows, and moved in their direction. “Short answer, yeah.”

  Shakeela drew closer before Alena could respond. “I think we have a serious problem, Gerrit. I never thought I’d have to prove myself to this group.”

  “You don’t.” Gerrit stole a quick look toward Alena.

/>   Shakeela looked at Alena. “Do I have to prove myself to you, too?”

  Gerrit watched the two women staring at each other.

  Alena took her time before answering. “You have to look at it from where Max is standing. He’s from Israel. You—your family—are Iranians. I am Jewish. At some level, it is reasonable to wonder whose side you might be on if it came down to those two countries fighting each other.”

  Shakeela pointed a finger at her. “I told you, I am an American. I have risked my life on practically every continent in the world to protect my country. I have lost friends in the fight against terrorism. I will probably lose more. How can anyone question my loyalty? And what about you, Alena? How long did you live in Russia? Yes, I looked up your file. Quite interesting. After growing up in Russia, you moved to Israel where you served with IDF and Mossad? Whose side would you defend if it came down to the best interest of Israel or the U.S.? And why should we trust you?”

  A whistle from the house interrupted an uncomfortable silence. It was Max. “Come back in and let’s get this wrapped up.”

  Stiffly, both women turned and walked toward the farmhouse. As Gerrit trailed behind, his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw Willy’s ID. “Hey, it is great to hear a friendly voice,” he said, as Alena and Shakeela looked back sharply. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Mr. G. Remember that idiot who met with your main guy in Hawaii?” Clearly Willy was trying to be discreet, but anyone familiar with this case would know he meant the meeting Brandimir had with Scott Henderson, the scientist-turn-traitor.

  “I remember, Willy.”

  “Well, I flagged the scientist’s stuff—credit cards, cell phones, even his Facebook and Twitter accounts. Guess where the traitor is right now?”

  “I haven’t a clue, but you’re about to tell me?”

  “That lowlife is just a few miles away from you. I’m sending the information to your cell. I’m surprised your new spook friends didn’t have this information.”

  “You’re good, Willy.”

  “Yes I am, Mr. G.”

  “Let me know if there’s any change in his location.”

  “You bet.”

  Gerrit paused for a moment. “Any word on Joe?”

  All the humor in Willy’s voice evaporated as if someone shoved a pin into a helium-filled balloon. “Nah, not a word, Mr. G. Will you let me know if you hear anything?”

  “You got it, Willy. And thanks for the information.”

  “Stay safe, and give Alena a hug for me.”

  Gerrit entered the farmhouse and sensed the tension had not let up since the break. Max was standing near the table, scowling. Alena and Shakeela stood at opposite ends of the room, staring out the window. Max’s men had moved out of the room, probably fed up with all the drama. Gerrit wished he could join them.

  Max glanced up as Gerrit entered. “Okay, since we are all back, let’s get this briefing underway.”

  Edging toward the table, Gerrit kept a watchful eye on the others. As he waited for them to gather, he raised his cell phone and saw the message from Willy. He scrolled down, activating the text, then pocketed the phone. “Before we start, Max, let me throw another piece of intel on the table.” He shared the information on the importance of Scott Henderson and Willy’s last known address for the scientist.

  “He’s here? In Damascus?” Max looked incredulous.

  “Willy has his location pinpointed in the Old City. This answers several questions for us.”

  Shakeela leaned on the table. “We know how they’re going to break through Israel’s defenses.”

  Gerrit nodded. “And we know who they’re going to use to verify the system works. They may even use this clown on the raid.”

  “Exactly,” Max said, enthusiastically looking at the others. “And the fact that he is, in Damascus tells me that we are targeting the right location. They are going to use one of the An-26s from Syria’s 29th Brigade to make this happen.”

  “How can you tell they’ll only use one plane?”

  Doubt seemed to cross Max’s face. “Good point, Gerrit. I would imagine the Russians are only willing to supply one system through the Iranians, and they would send in this guy to make sure that that system operates as expected.”

  Gerrit stared at the map, thinking.

  Alena seemed to sense Gerrit wasn’t buying it. “What is wrong with that option?”

  “I keep coming back to the main problem I have with all this. Why would al-Assad risk attacking Israel when he has so many problems at home? It would be more prudent to wait until he got his own house in order, before taking on enemies beyond his border.”

  “Maybe it’s his way of defying world opinion,” Shakeela said. “After all, he will have Iran and others backing him up on the raid. Right?”

  “Maybe,” Gerrit said, “but the fact that they’d only use one system flies in the face of sound military doctrine.”

  Max gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

  Gerrit glanced at the others. “Murphy’s Law that says that ‘anything that can go wrong will go wrong.’ Well, the military has found this to be true when it comes to weapons, communications, and critical equipment. They’ve learned the hard way that it is always wise to build in redundancy to make sure the job gets done. Why are the Syrians relying on only one system for such an important mission?”

  “Maybe they have no other choice,” Max said. “Maybe they are working with a one-of-a-kind system that can’t be duplicated right now.”

  “Then why not wait until they have a contingency plan? To me, this just smacks of insanity.” Gerrit frowned.

  “Maybe that is what we’re dealing with,” Alena said. “President al-Assad may feel he has been pushed into a corner with all the international attention. Perhaps he feels he must get back control. A matter of honor. Of respect.”

  “So he’s risking World War III to gain respect?” Gerrit asked. “I never read the man as being that crazy. President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Yes. This guy? I don’t think so.”

  Max seemed frustrated. “So, tell me what you think this all means.”

  “Until we know for sure,” Gerrit said, “I don’t think we can go forward. We need to pull together more intel on their operation and then make a decision.”

  Max straightened up and peered over at Gerrit. “Time’s running out. If we can’t discover what is happening real soon, the matter will be taken out of our hands. Others in my government are ready to take swift action. We may find ourselves in the middle of another war.”

  Chapter 41

  March 2

  Damascus, Syria

  Atash Hassan sat deep within the Al-Nawfara coffee shop, enjoying the company of strangers. This was one of the oldest shops still offering services of one of the last professional hakawati, Arabic storytellers. He watched as the hakawati hypnotized the customers with another artful tale about a time and place when Syria ruled this part of the world.

  Times have changed, even for this three-hundred-year-old café. A recent ban on smoking indoors drove many customers—desiring to smoke the narghile along with sips of their coffee—outside in the shade of the tree-lined street. Atash could smell the aroma of honeyed-flavored tobacco, called Mu’assel, as it passed through a water basin before the smokers inhaled. These customers had been forced to sit outside, away from the earshot of the storyteller, which greatly affected the money flow into the café and into the storyteller’s pockets.

  Still, he liked to come to this place when he visited Damascus, a place hidden behind the historic Umayyad Mosque. When he had the time, Atash enjoyed a stroll through the Souq al-Hamidiyya marketplace, straddling an area between the mosque and the new city. It allowed him to take a trip back in time, a time when Persia and her neighbors in the Middle East ruled the world with an iron fist. When Allah’s warriors pushed iron-clad crusaders all the way back to their European shores. This place reminded him of those moments in history when his people stood proud
against the world.

  He did not have time to take a stroll today. As he took another sip of coffee, he saw his Syrian counterpart—Raed al-Azmah—looking uneasy as he approached the table. Atash gestured for Raed to take the seat next to him.

  “You think it is wise to meet here? In this public place?” Raed lowered himself in the chair, scanning the crowd.

  “Just two old friends enjoying a cup of coffee together. What could be the harm in that?” Atash’s smile masked the contempt he had for this man. “I have others watching for us. We may talk freely here as long as we lower our voices.”

  Raed hurriedly looked around, obviously trying to figure out who might be working for Atash. His expression told Atash that the Syrian did not spot the people he’d strategically placed in this café. If a Syrian intelligence officer could not spot Atash’s operatives, then he knew others would not pick up on them either.

  “Tell me,” Atash said, leaning closer to Raed. “Have you been able to make progress on your end? Are they ready?”

  Raed lowered his voice. “I have set it up as you requested. The equipment will be in place, and I have pilots on standby. Just tell me when you want it to go forward.”

  “Not yet, my friend. I will let you know twenty-four hours before it is time. Will that be sufficient?”

  Raed nodded. “Yes. But if things go wrong, if they do not come through, I have plans to leave the country.”

  “I understand. If it does not go as planned, you and I will need to leave together.”

  “Have you arranged for the funds?”

  “Ah. The money. It will be waiting for you at that time. When I give the word, half of the amount will be wired to your account. And the other half will be sent when the mission is complete. This is how I do business. Agreed?”