“The same. There are-there were rifts to be exploited. The potential for actionable intelligence, if not regime change on a massive scale.”
The Jeep was still parked in the same place, Harry noticed, a sense of disquiet growing inside him. Something didn’t seem right. From where he sat, he could see the driver out of the corner of his eye, still seated behind the wheel. He hadn’t moved.
There were no passengers.
“May I ask why it had to be Tal?” he asked. “Why did he need to be in-country?”
“Isfahani has a passion for archaeology that is only surpassed by his love of Persia. It was necessary to place Dr. Tal inside Iran so that they would have a reason for communication.”
“Code, I take it?”
“To be sure. And something went wrong,” Laner added.
“I see.”
“We lost all contact with the archaeologists on the 13th, after an odd distress call was received from Tal. As you know, satellite imagery showed the Iranian Revolutionary Guards setting up a base camp on the plateau near the dig.”
Harry’s face didn’t change, though inside he was chuckling. The Israeli had lost none of his wiles. “How would I know that?” he inquired innocently, casting a sideways glance toward the entrance of the resort. The Jeep was still there. The driver still inside.
“As you said earlier, Harry, let’s cut the bull,” Gideon replied, his voice level. “You know I’m right.”
“I know you’re fishing,” came the reply. Harry held up his hand as the Israeli started to continue. “I know this is a sensitive question, but-”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
“First off, you didn’t tell me that you would have surveillance teams in place, shadowing my every movement.”
Gideon laughed. “I would have considered it an insult to your professionalism to have done so. You know the score.”
“That I do,” Harry replied evenly, gesturing with a quick jerk of his head. “Tell me, the guy in the Jeep, is he one of yours?”
Laner looked toward the entrance of the Crowne Park Plaza resort, his eyes narrowing as they focused in on the parked vehicle. “No. Been there for awhile?”
“Long enough to make me uncomfortable,” Harry replied.
The two men exchanged glances, an almost telepathic communication. “Sarah,” Gideon began, turning his head toward her, “be a love and get Yossi on the phone.”
Sarah nodded and reached over to where her cover-up lay on the chair, extracting a satellite phone from a pocket of the robe.
“Everything going all right?” Yossi asked, motioning for Chaim to take the gun. “We got worried when your comm unit went off-line.”
“The American spotted the wire,” Sarah replied, irritation in her voice. “We may have a problem-I need you to scope out the entrance. See the Jeep there about fifty feet from the entrance?”
Sarah listened for a couple moments, then turned off the phone. “The driver is a young Arab, probably late teens, early twenties. Yossi says he keeps looking down, as though he’s checking his watch.”
“Fits the profile,” Harry said finally.
“Yossi says they can take him out if you give the word,” the young woman added. “Chaim’s got a clean shot.”
Gideon shook his head. “We need more than that. Send Nathan over to check it out. Why don’t you go along to provide back-up,” he amended, after a moment’s thought.
Sarah nodded, pulling on the robe over her swimsuit. Harry cleared his throat, an odd grin spreading across his face. “Why don’t you take your handbag? Might not hurt to have that Glock.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it, shooting Harry a dirty look.
Sweat was streaming in rivulets down his face, the sun heating the interior of the closed-up Grand Cherokee to an almost unbearable temperature. He tapped the steering wheel nervously, endeavoring to bring the verses of the Quran to remembrance. They would give him strength.
The cell phone lay silent in his pocket.
He could see the meeting place from where he sat, could see his targets. So close. And yet the phone remained silent.
“I’m moving.” Nathan Gur stepped through the pedestrian entrance of the resort, his hand slipped deep inside the pocket of his photographer’s vest, fingers wrapped around the butt of his Beretta 92.
The Jeep Wagoner was about fifty meters ahead of him, engine running and windows tightly closed. The young Israeli agent took a deep breath and began to move through the crowd. Toward his target.
About forty feet behind Gur, Sarah Halevy emerged from the resort, her handbag slung across her chest, the Glock easily accessible. How the American had seen it, she didn’t know. Gideon had told her Nichols was good, but his perception still took her off-guard. It was almost uncanny.
She banished the thoughts from her mind, focusing on the task at hand. The distance between her and Nathan was increasing-his bulk making it easier for him to elbow his way through the crowd.
