Brad Thor, master of suspense and New York Times bestselling author of The First Commandment, returns with his highest-voltage thriller to date. In a pulse-pounding, adrenaline-charged tour de force, Navy SEAL turned covert Homeland Security operative Scot Harvath must race to locate an ancient secret that has the power to stop militant Islam dead in its tracks.June 632 A.D.: Deep within the Uranah Valley of Mount Arafat in Mecca, the Prophet Mohammed shares with his closest companions a final and startling revelation. Within days, he is assassinated.September 1789: U.S. Minister to France Thomas Jefferson, who is charged with forging a truce with the violent Muslim pirates of the Barbary Coast, makes a shocking discovery – one that could forever impact the world's relationship with Islam.Present day: When a car bomb explodes outside a Parisian café, Scot Harvath is thrust back into the life he has tried so desperately to leave behind.Saving the intended victim of the attack, Harvath becomes party to an amazing and perilous race to uncover a secret so powerful that militant Islam could be defeated once and for all without firing another shot, dropping another bomb, or launching another covert action.But as desperate as the American government is to have the information brought to light, there are powerful forces aligned against it – men who are just as determined that Mohammed's mysterious final revelation continue to remain hidden forever.What Jason Bourne was to the Cold War, Scot Harvath is to the War on Terror. Brad Thor has created "the perfect all-American hero for the post September 11 world" (Nelson DeMille) and will keep readers glued to the pages as he once again takes them across the globe on a heart-pounding chase where the stakes are higher than they have ever been before.
The seventh book in the Scot Harvath series
For Jeff and Jennifer, Jean and Dan -
four of the most courageous people I know
“Let no one of you say that he has acquired the entire Koran, for how does he know that it is all? Much of the Koran has been lost; thus let him say, ‘I have acquired of it what is available.’”
– Ibn Umar al-Khattab, 7th-century companion of Mohammed and 2nd Muslim Caliph
JEFFERSON MEMORIAL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SUNDAY EVENING
Andrew Salam stepped out from behind the bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson and asked, “Are you alone?”
Twenty-three-year-old Nura Khalifa nodded.
Her thick, dark hair spilled over her shoulders, stopping just above her breasts. Beneath her thin jacket, he could make out the curves of her body, the narrowness of her waist. For a moment, he believed he could even smell her perfume, though it was more likely the scent of cherry blossoms blown by a faint breeze across the tidal basin. He shouldn’t be meeting her at night and alone like this. It was a mistake.
Actually, the mistake was allowing his lust for her to cloud his judgment. Salam knew better. She was a gorgeous, desirable woman, but she was also his asset. He had recruited her and he was responsible for the tenor of their relationship. No matter how perfect he thought they could be for each other, no matter how badly he wanted to feel, just once, her lips and that body pressed against his as he buried his nose in the nape of her neck and drank in the smell of her, he couldn’t crumble. FBI agents controlled their emotions, not the other way around.
Shutting out his desire, Andrew Salam remained professional. “Why did you contact me?”
“Because I needed to see you,” said Nura as she moved toward him.
He thought about holding out his hand to stop her. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself if she got any closer. Then he saw the tears that stained her face and, without thinking, opened up his arms.
Nura came to him and he pulled her into his chest. As she sobbed, his head fell to the crown of her head and he allowed his face to brush against her hair. He was playing with fire.
As quickly as he had allowed her to come to him, he knew it was wrong and he gently pushed her away until he was holding her by both shoulders at arm’s length. “What happened?”
“My uncle’s the target,” she stammered.
Salam was stunned. “Are you sure?”
“I think they’ve already hired the assassin.”
“Hold on, Nura. People just don’t go out and hire assassins,” began Salam, but she interrupted him.
“They said the threat has grown too great and it needs to be dealt with, now.”
Salam bent down so he could look into her eyes. “Did they mention your uncle by name?”
“No, but they didn’t have to. I
“How do you know?”
“They’ve been asking lots of questions about him and what he’s working on. Andrew, we have to do something. We have to find him and warn him.
“We will,” said Salam as he looked around. “I promise. But first, I need to know everything you’ve heard, no matter how small.”
Nura was trembling.
“How did you get here?” he asked as he removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“I took the Metro, why?”
Though the couple had the memorial all to themselves at this time of night, Salam was uncomfortable about being out in the open. He had a strange feeling that they were being watched. “I’d feel better if we went someplace else. My car is parked nearby. Are you up to taking a walk?”
Nura nodded and Salam put his arm around her as they exited the statue chamber.
While they walked, Nura began to fill him in on what she had learned. Salam listened, but his mind was drifting.
Had he been paying attention to more than just how good she felt pressed up against him, he might have had time to react to the two men who sprung from the shadows.
ROME, ITALY
MONDAY EVENING
The Italian Centre for Photoreproduction, Binding, and Restoration of State Archives, also known as the CFLR, was located in an unassuming postmodern office building three blocks from the Tiber River at 14 Via Costanza Baudana Vaccolini. It boasted one of the world’s leading archival preservation facilities, as well as a young deputy assistant director named Alessandro Lombardi who was eager to begin his evening.
“
Dr. Marwan Khalifa, a distinguished Koranic scholar in his early sixties with a handsome face and neatly trimmed beard, looked up from the desk he was working at. “Yes, Alessandro?”
The Italian adopted his most charming smile and asked, “Tonight, we finish early?”
