48

David had never felt guilty holding a pistol before.

Now he did.

He’d had no time to think through what his newfound faith meant to his job, and there was no one to ask, at least not now. What would Birjandi tell him? What about Marseille? Then again, Charlie Harper might be the closer analogy. He’d been an NOC. He’d been trained at the Farm to kill without a moment’s hesitation. He’d surely been told again and again, “This is war, and you’re the good guy, and he’s the enemy—never confuse the two.” It was true, even wise, as far as it went. But had Charlie been a follower of Jesus when he’d served in the CIA? David seriously doubted that. His life, sadly, showed no evidence of having been changed. And he hadn’t raised Marseille to love Jesus. She certainly hadn’t been a true follower of Christ when they’d been together in Canada. Marseille seemed to have come to faith in college, or maybe late in high school, but not as a child. Maybe Charlie Harper was no help at all.

He peeked through the small window in the exit door. There was no one in the hallway. He was free to move. But when he glanced down at his phone, he noticed a new complication. As he looked at the thermal images from the Predator, it appeared as if the men in rooms 201 and 203 were passing through walls, back and forth. It took him a moment, but then he realized that the door between the two rooms, which were side by side, had to be open. Now he was even more at risk of killing Khan by accident.

“We have a problem,” he whispered.

“You don’t know which one is Khan,” Eva replied as if reading his mind.

“Right. I don’t want to go in there and pull out the wrong guy or accidentally blow him away.”

“Actually, you’ve got another problem,” Eva said.

“What?”

“I’ve got NSA covering all the phones in those two rooms. They say Khan just took a call from someone at the missile base. They need him back immediately. They’re not going to be in those rooms for long.”

Yaghoubi’s phone began to vibrate in David’s pocket. They were looking for him to get the truck and take them back to the base. David was out of time. He had to move now.

“Do you see which one is making a call right now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Eva said.

“Is that Khan’s phone?”

“No. Why?”

“Whoever it is, he’s calling Yaghoubi. They’re about to leave. This is my last chance. What should I do?”

Eva had an idea. “Call Khan,” she said.

“What? Are you crazy? He doesn’t know who I am.”

“No, use Yaghoubi’s phone. Dial him just before you enter the room. Whoever’s on the phone when you go in will be him.”

“Okay, that’s good. Now, look, can NSA jam or cut off the other mobile numbers so none of those guys can call out?”

Eva said yes, but it would take a few minutes.

“Do it now. Yaghoubi’s phone is ringing again. They’re getting desperate. I have to move.”

David was about to head down the hall.

“Wait!” Eva yelled.

Startled by her vehemence, he stopped, backed into the stairwell again, and pressed against the wall, not knowing why. A moment later, the door to room 201 opened, and someone came out.

“Who is that?” David whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“It can’t be Khan,” David said. “They wouldn’t let him move by himself.”

Whoever it was came down the hall, pushed the button for the elevator, and waited. David debated what he’d do if the man came into the stairwell. At least he’d have the element of surprise.

But it didn’t happen. The elevator bell rang, the door opened, and the security guy got in.

That created a new problem. Once he got to the parking garage and found the tire flat and didn’t find Yaghoubi, he’d know something was wrong. He’d alert someone, and then what would David do?

There was nothing left to think about, David decided. This was war. These people weren’t innocent civilians. They were terrorists. They were working for an apocalyptic, genocidal regime. They were working for a false messiah. They were trying to kill six million innocent civilians in Israel and 300 million more if they could ever reach the United States. He didn’t want to kill them, but they were armed and hostile, and if he had to do it, he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. He didn’t have the luxury.

He glanced back down the hall. It was clear, so he adjusted his headset and moved quickly and quietly through the exit door, the pistol in his right hand, his left hand dialing Khan. It started ringing. He pulled out the key and slowly inserted it into the door of 203.

“Hey, man, where are you?” Khan said.

“I’m here now,” David said, muffling his voice slightly and turning the key.

“Where?”

“You ready?”

“What?”

David shoved the phone in his jacket pocket. Then he turned the handle and kicked the door in and entered the room quickly. One of the security detail wheeled around. The look of shock on his face registered instantly. He went for his weapon and David put two rounds into his forehead, dropping the man instantly. The second man dove through the open door between the two rooms, shouting in Farsi, “Get down! Get down!” David saw him jump on Khan and pull him to the floor between the beds. Khan’s phone went flying.

David pivoted around the corner and squeezed off a shot, but it missed and shattered a lamp on the nightstand. He pulled back behind the wall as the security man fired two shots, then two more. David waited a fraction of a second, then spun around the corner again and squeezed off two shots of his own. Someone screamed out in pain. Blood splattered all over the wall and the bedspreads. David didn’t hesitate. He charged into the room and saw the security man grabbing his shoulder and writhing in pain. But at that moment, the man turned and saw David’s face. His eyes went wide. He raised his weapon again and David double-tapped him in the head.

Now Khan was screaming.

David couldn’t tell if he, too, had been hit, but he pointed the pistol at Khan’s face, which was covered in blood.

“Silence,” he commanded in Urdu, “or you’re next.”

Khan appeared stunned to hear his native language and shut his mouth. David, suddenly grateful for the trips into Pakistan when Zalinsky had him working with Mobilink and hunting al Qaeda operatives, pointed to the pistol on the floor and told Khan to kick it to him. Khan did as he was told. David picked up the pistol, removed the magazine and put it in his pocket, then tossed the gun.

“Get up—move,” he ordered.

Khan stood to his feet, trembling.

“Use a pillowcase. Wipe the blood off your face and hands.”

Khan complied.

“Now get your phone—and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Khan walked over by the desk and picked up his phone.

“Toss it to me.” David caught the phone and put it in his jacket pocket. “Now stand there for a moment.”

Again, Khan obeyed. David now backed into Room 203 and glanced at the two dead men on the floor. They weren’t moving, but he put another round into each of them, just to be sure. Neither so much as twitched. He quickly cleared their weapons, took their magazines, wallets, keys, and IDs and put them in a pillowcase, tied the end of the case in a knot, and tossed the bundle to Khan.

“Come here,” David ordered, careful to keep his voice down.

Khan cautiously stepped into 203. His hands were trembling.

“Stop.” He checked to make sure his Bluetooth was still on. It was.

“Where’s the fourth man?” he asked Eva.

“He’s at the SUV, checking out the tire, looking around,” Eva replied.

“His phone is jammed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Is the hallway clear?”

“It is for now.”

“Okay, we’re coming out.”

David looked at Khan. “Move. Now. Or I will put a bullet through your skull. Open the door. Turn right. Go quickly down to the end of the hall and into the stairwell. I’ll be right behind you.”

Khan opened the door, and they started moving rapidly. David practically pushed the man through the exit, then down the stairs. They burst out onto the first floor, and to David’s shock the lobby was full. A tour bus was parked outside, and dozens of senior citizens were milling about. What stunned David most, though, was the sight of two uniformed military officers checking in at the front desk. The noise of the stairwell door opening so quickly and slamming against the wall shocked everyone and drew their attention, including the officers. Their eyes went wide and David assumed they were staring into Khan’s terrified eyes. This was not going as planned.

Instantly the officers drew their weapons. David fired two rounds at each, felling one of them but only wounding the other. He pushed Khan down the back hallway.

“Go, go, go!” he yelled in Urdu, then heard the explosion of a .45-caliber pistol behind him.

The rounds went high, but David couldn’t take any chances. He pushed Khan through the exit door, then wheeled around and tried to fire back at the officer, but he was out of ammunition. He hit the deck as the man shot two more rounds, and he could hear the bullets whizzing over his head. He quickly scrambled out the back exit, pulling a second magazine from his pocket, ejecting the spent magazine, and reloading. He reached the Peugeot just as the officer crashed through the door. David ducked behind the trunk of the car, then popped out and put four rounds in the man’s chest.

With no time to waste, he grabbed Khan, unlocked the car, and threw him in the backseat.

“Get on the floor, facedown, and don’t get up!” he ordered, again in Urdu.

He hadn’t thought of how to keep Khan restrained or quiet. He had nothing to tie his hands, nothing to stuff in his mouth. He couldn’t afford the risk of Khan knocking him out as he drove or seizing him by the throat or, God forbid, jumping out of the moving car. He needed this prisoner alive above all else. He needed to interrogate him quickly and find out everything he knew about the warheads and their locations. But under no circumstances could he let Khan escape or take the initiative.

He didn’t want to do it, but he had no time and no choice. He fired a bullet into the back of Khan’s right knee.

The man screamed in pain, but he wasn’t going anywhere.