'If there's anybody actually in charge,' Mahmud added. 'Doesn't look very organized.'

Fouad stared at Al-Husseini's neck and head above the back of the driver's seat. 'It is time to join the pilgrims on foot,' Fouad said. They were wearing nondescript khakis. Amir pulled black berets from a duffel bag, complete with red and green chevrons, silver pins, and enameled Hajj security medallions. He handed around the insignia, authentic enough to pa.s.s at least an amateur inspection.

They finished quickly. Pilgrims overflowing onto the overpa.s.s peered through the minibus windows with sleepy curiosity. Al-Husseini glared back. 'This is not a good place to begin a search, if you are on foot,' he announced. Without warning, he started the bus and honking madly, with little regard for the crowd, he rejoined the flow of vehicles in the center lanes.

Their pace was still agonizingly slow. The entire world moved like thick jam. Outside, the temperature was already ninety-three degrees. The sun burned like a torch and a hot puff through the open windows instantly dried their sweatdamp hair.

Captain Periglas peered over Jane's shoulder. 'We must have fifteen thousand midges out there,' he said. 'Close-up and personal isn't working. We have a UAV at alt.i.tude taking some synthetic aperture radar scans-SAR. Let's get clever. We'll shoot ten or twenty high-rez radar images of the entire town, then use our visual search engine to locate every truck in the area above a certain size. That'll narrow it down a little.'

'Might work,' Dalrymple said when the captain had moved to another section of the TSC. 'We're pretty good at pickin' fleas from black sand.'

Jane was still searching for the phone signal when Dalrymple switched their gog displays to a fresh SAR scan of Mina. Combined with earlier scans from several angles, resolution was down to twenty centimeters. The ship's computers almost instantly drew more than a thousand red circles on the densely detailed false-color image. Jane focused on the grid defined by the King Abdul Aziz Overpa.s.s, then the road of the same name-just a few hundred yards from the boundary that defined Mina to pilgrims-and the King Khalid Overpa.s.s.

A fire had started just east of the Mina Mosque. The hotspot and plume of smoke was clearly visible as she switched between an infrared image and the SAR composite. The next IR image came in five minutes later and revealed that the fire had almost doubled in size and more fires had sprung up throughout the tent camp, some creeping to the vicinity of the Al Malim Mosque.

Supposedly the tents were fireproofed.

Something was going very wrong down there.

'Let's track any vehicle longer than ten meters,' the captain said. That reduced the number of circles down to a few hundred. 'Now compare with the latest scan and see how many of them are moving and how fast.'

Twenty-five were on the move. Most were crawling along in the general syrup of humanity and traffic.

'Get me a sat microwave contour of the same region. Let's see who's trying to break through the jamming.'

'Watch this,' Dalrymple said to Jane.

The display colors abruptly changed to red and green. Purple smudges of radiated microwave energy-minus the normal background for warm objects-spread quickly, combined, threatened to dominate, and then fixed-a huge bouquet covering nearly all of Mina. The computers selected for intensity, reducing the smudges to dots, then cross-referenced with the truck positions and attached five dots to moving vehicles longer than ten meters.

'Let's get some sharp-eyed midges on those trucks,' the captain ordered.

'So much for OSMOs,' Jane commented.

'It's that d.a.m.ned slaughterhouse,' Dalrymple said. 'We didn't take that into account. Too much blood and stuff in the air. And there's a lot of smoke. Jesus, look at the fires.'

'What's causing them?' Jane asked.

'Not a clue,' Dalrymple said.

Periglas leaned over Jane's shoulder again. He pointed to the northernmost expanse of the tents, tens of thousands of them. Jane zoomed in on the latest optical scan until she found herself staring down at blocky images of men with guns-soldiers? Security?-marching in groups of ten or twenty between rows of closely s.p.a.ced tents, followed by light armored vehicles.

'They're searching for somebody or something, and they don't seem to care what they torch or who they kill,' Periglas said.

Jane relayed this immediately to Rebecca.

'We can see them,' Rebecca said. 'They're not regulars-they're wearing khakis, robes, business suits-carrying every sort of weapon imaginable-we can't tell what the h.e.l.l authority they're working under.'

She turned to William, then to Fouad. Both were sitting on the right side of the minibus, toward the front, keeping an eye on a nearby band of gunmen paralleling their course. Amir and Mahmud took the rear, facing forward, their own guns held low so as not to attract attention. Al-Husseini wasn't able to drive much faster than the armed men could walk.

'Hold on,' William said.

'Fighting ahead,' Al-Husseini called over his shoulder. 'There is a roadblock.'

Bullets pinged off the masonry of a building to their left. This caused the armed men on their right to return fire-in all directions. The minibus came to an abrupt halt and Al-Husseini turned off the engine. The windows on the right side shattered. Grange crouched and frog-marched behind a seat. Rebecca was already flat on the ridged rubber matting that ran down the aisle. William crawled forward just in time to grab at Al-Husseini. With Fouad, he tried to keep the man from pushing the door open and fleeing. They struggled as more shots blew out the windshield and the remaining windows on their left. Bullets flew from all around. Men and women in the streets were shrieking.

'We must go!' Al-Husseini pleaded. 'They are brigands. They are here to disrupt the Hajj. We have guns-we must fight them!'

Fouad pushed him between two seats and he and William hemmed in the Saudi with their bodies. William twisted to stare down the aisle at Rebecca. More fire raked the roof, tearing up the liner and blowing out air conditioner vents. Pieces of plastic rained down.

Rebecca brushed away pebbles of gla.s.s and shouted forward, 'Fouad, what can you see?'

Jane clearly heard the nightmare outside the minibus. Dalrymple icily worked through his displays as Periglas spoke with Grange about the locations of the rest of Fouad's team. She didn't seem to have anything to do. With half-numb fingers, she resumed what she had been doing earlier-this time using the pinpoint locations of the five trucks they had tracked with the IR and SAR images. She demanded and received access to a high-alt.i.tude vehicle and narrowed the UAV and satellite sensors, breaking through the jamming just long enough to catch a burst of Hebrew, or what sounded like Hebrew, she couldn't be sure until the female translator in the United States spoke up.

'You have Yigal again,' the translator said. 'He's arguing with somebody. They can't communicate with the other trucks.'

Rebecca broke in. 'There's a truck up ahead. It can't be one of the trucks we're looking for. It's a flatbed, no cargo-but it's being stormed by a mob of armed men. The militia is concentrating fire on the truck and its driver.'

Grange spoke breathlessly from the minibus. 'I think we've been compromised. They may be looking for the same trucks we're looking for-'

The jamming became more intense and all the digital signals from the Meccan team dropped out.

'That's it,' Dalrymple said. 'Too much interference. Provisionals are pumping noise all over the valley.'

'Somebody doesn't trust us to get the job done,' Periglas observed dryly.

Jane stared helplessly at the UAV video feeds of Mina, the mountains, and Mecca itself.

David Grange pinned Al-Husseini with his own body and asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

'You told them we were coming and why we're here, didn't you?'

Al-Husseini, sweating profusely, stared up at Grange and shook his head. 'We should get out of here. They are shooting even pilgrims.'

'Yes, but there's method in their madness. They're looking for trucks-just like us. They don't know which trucks, so they're going to stop and shoot up every truck they find. Shooting up trucks at random won't solve anything. It could make things worse. You were not supposed to tell anyone.'

Al-Husseini grimaced at the pressure on his chest. The noise around the minibus had concentrated ahead of them, outside the blown-out windshield and beyond the makeshift barriers of overturned cars and battered steel drums. Roughlooking soldiers had come in from the side streets to gloat over the destruction. Fouad popped up to look ahead. The truck's driver, from what he could see, had been cut in half and his head was missing. His truck tires were shot-out and smoking.

'There's nothing, he was riding empty,' Fouad said. Amir and Mahmud had positioned themselves by the doors, guns ready, in case soldiers tried to board. So far, they were being ignored. The damage to the minibus had been collateral.

Grange placed his hands expertly on Al-Husseini's neck. The unkempt Saudi's eyes began to protrude, but he did not put up a fight-not yet. He could hardly move.

'Let's talk, man to man,' Grange said. 'We're here to save the Hajj. Bottom line; that's the truth. We told you as much. Did you or someone you worked with...'

'Who would believe you?' Al-Husseini said. 'All Americans hate Muslims. You feed the soldiers who are rioting in Mecca and Mina, killing pilgrims. They are your soldiers. You want all of Saudi Arabia for America. Kill me, that won't change things.'

Grange let go of his throat. 'f.u.c.k it. We're compromised,' he said.

Fouad leaned over Al-Husseini. 'Is that true?'

Al-Husseini stared up at him with bloodshot eyes. 'To die in Mecca is a blessing,' he said.

'To save Mecca...would that not be a greater blessing?'

Al-Husseini was remarkably calm. 'Jewish agents are in our city. You have brought infidels with you. It does not matter who eventually rules Mecca, you are not worthy of trust.'

Fouad rolled back and chuffed out his breath in disgust. 'It is so,' he murmured. 'Who can deny it? But if we do not find these Jews, Mecca will die. That is also truth. It is not what we want, not what you want.'

Al-Husseini looked away.

'Let's. .h.i.t the road,' Grange said, eyes rolling. 'Maybe Allah will guide us now.'

Rebecca tapped the side of her head. Jane Rowland was back in her ear. William and Fouad could hear her as well. Something was wrong with Grange's earnode and gogs and he heard nothing.

'-rerouting from low alt.i.tude. Still there, folks?'

'I hear and obey, oh mighty one,' Rebecca said. Then, to Al-Husseini and Grange, she added, 'Allah appears to be female today. Sorry to disappoint, boys.'

'We have a candidate vehicle,' Jane said. 'Five young men in a Volvo truck. They're leaving the scene of some major fighting and they can't talk to their other trucks. We're setting up a connection now. Can you follow the street signs?'

Fouad had memorized a map of Mecca. 'We can go wherever they are,' he said. To Grange, he said, 'The rest of you, leave the bus when it is clear.' Amir and Mahmud looked distressed, but Fouad waved them on. 'To die in Mecca is a blessing. We will all be together soon enough.'

Al-Husseini began to struggle. Amir and Mahmud helped Fouad restrain and gag him.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO.

Fouad Al-Husam waited a few minutes for the others to make their way across the street and hide in the entries of nearby apartment buildings. He held his finger to his lips and inserted his thumb between the man's cheek and the cloth gag.

'I understand why you did what you did,' he said softly. 'No matter now that it was wrong. In your place, I might have done the same.'

Al-Husseini's eyes were wild but Fouad stroked his matted, thinning hair with one hand. 'I do not think anybody knows how we feel. You are like my father in many ways. If I take away your gag...will you be quiet?'

Al-Husseini nodded.

'I will shoot you if you make a sound, understood?' Fouad said.

Al-Husseini tossed his head, Does it matter? Does it matter?

'Dignity matters. Timing matters. I know that you will do anything to stop us. And we truly are here to prevent an abomination. So...I can shoot you now, without dignity, trussed up like a sheep...'

Al-Husseini nodded slowly. He had been in bad situations before, Fouad suspected. Close to death, as well; though not so close as he was now.

Fouad loosened the gag.

'This is awkward,' Al-Husseini said, his voice low. 'I have lost everything-my family is in the Netherlands, the Custodians of the Holy Mosques have fled, and I am guilty of many crimes. If you are to be my executioner-'

Fouad said, 'We are not so far from the Mount of Mercy. You have done Hajj?'

Al-Husseini nodded. 'My family has lived in Jeddah for many decades. I first went as deputy to an old Hajji when I was fourteen. I performed Hajj myself when I was a young man, just married. My wife went with me.'

'I have not,' Fouad said, and sat beside Al-Husseini, drawing up his legs. 'This will not count, even if I die here.'

Al-Husseini regarded his killer with both wonder and growing alarm. 'I have always asked others to die with dignity. Now...I am weak. Can you not let me return to my family? I will say nothing.'

'My father would not have let you. And I cannot,' Fouad said. Both were speaking Arabic now.

'Forget our fathers and our history,' Al-Husseini said, starting up. Fouad pushed him gently back. 'This is no joke, no play-act!'

'The world is sick,' Fouad said. 'Dignity is the only answer. Here, at the heart of the world...G.o.d is surely great and most merciful, G.o.d understands all and forgives...'

Al-Husseini's lips moved in prayer but his eyes were searching for escape. There was no way around it, and no delaying. Fouad brought up his pistol and with one hand turned Al-Husseini's head.

At the last the older man went limp and let loose his water and closed his eyes. Then he apologized and began praying earnestly. Fouad gave him a few more seconds.

'Jesus,' William said, cringing at the single shot coming from the windowless minibus. Amir looked at him with narrowed eyes. The streets were almost deserted now and none of the few stragglers seemed to notice his exclamation.

'We're three long blocks from the first truck,' Rebecca said. 'Jane says there's an underground walkway nearby. Pilgrims are trying to get out of Mina as fast as possible.'

The ma.s.s of pilgrims had already shifted to the main roads through the center of Mina. Thousands had dropped their supply of pebbles as they fled. Small piles and scatters littered the street. Buses and cars had been abandoned, some blocking access to the smaller roving armored vehicles.

In the distance they heard the rumble of a tank chewing up pavement. A thick, ugly belch of diesel exhaust curled above the square gray blocks of new concrete apartments. The wind had died. Rebecca was watching the tank's filthy plume curl lazily in the still morning air. This would not be the best time to launch the rockets-even if the trucks had survived and were still on the move. But if Jane was right, and Winter had died, the rest of the Israeli extremists might be in disorder, desperate.

Jane directed them down a warren of alleys. William stumbled on a cobble and skidded on some pebbles, nearly falling. He caught himself and slammed up against a concrete wall. The sound of his harsh breath echoed from the gray buildings. Overhead, an old woman threw open a window and stared down on them, but quickly withdrew. Fresh bullet holes had pocked the walls.

'They've all gone mad,' Amir whispered as they pa.s.sed an elderly black man, his ihram ihram stained with blood, one leg crushed and impressed by a tire tread. stained with blood, one leg crushed and impressed by a tire tread.

Fouad spoke to their shipboard guides. 'The walkways are almost empty, just bodies. We see no truck.'

'We're updating,' Dalrymple said. 'Fresh UAV image coming in now. You should be seeing our midges. We see you you.'

They all looked up. Four bird-like craft zipped overhead at roof level, then curved out of sight. They heard the distant roar of a crowd on the move, more armored vehicles.

The plume from the tank had shifted. The wind was changing.

Rebecca and William stayed close to a wall of stones set in plaster. Rusted spikes topped the wall. A midge flitted over the wall and down the street. The images in their gogs flickered. Rebecca heard only digital slices of Jane saying, '...see you. Next street-heavy...'

Grange ran across the street and whipped off his gogs in disgust. 'Mine are useless. Getting anything?'

Rebecca shook her head, frowning. 'Hold on.'

'...there's a truck that meets...-scription...street east...'

'Maybe something east,' William said, 'next street over.'