"I'm here," he snapped.

"So what do you think? Can we come up?"

Alex actually glanced at his gun, wondering for a fleeting second if it wouldn't just be easier to end it right now.

"Alex!"

"Yeah, okay. Come on up."

"And can we bring Adelphia? She's been really worried about Oliver."

Alex finally exploded. "Oh, sure, Kate, bring Adelphia. And bring the freaking Monkey and Giraffe Club too. And while you're at it, why the h.e.l.l don't you pop over to the White House and s.n.a.t.c.h the president. I bet he'd get a real kick kick out of all this. And he'll probably give you a ride up here on Air Force One. And be sure and give him my name so he knows exactly whose out of all this. And he'll probably give you a ride up here on Air Force One. And be sure and give him my name so he knows exactly whose a.s.s a.s.s he'll be reaming out when he gets here!" he'll be reaming out when he gets here!"

Kate's voice was irritatingly calm. "Okay, I'm hanging up now. We'll see you tomorrow."

The phone went dead, and Alex plopped back on the bed just as someone knocked on his door.

"Ford, time to hit it. Let's go." It was his squad leader. "Ford, you ready?" he said again more loudly.

Alex jumped up and opened the door. His squad leader stared back at him. "You okay?"

"Never better," Alex said.

Darkness was gathering as Tom Hemingway walked through the streets of a small town an hour outside of Frankfurt, Germany. He pa.s.sed through the charming shopping district, alongside a Gothic-style cathedral, ducked down a side street and entered an apartment building. He took the lift three flights up, rapped on the door of the fourth flat down the hall and was told to enter.

There were no lights on, and yet Hemingway almost instantly focused on one corner of the room that was almost completely dark.

"I see your sixth sense has not failed you, Tom," the man said as he stepped forward with a smile. An Arab, he was not dressed in a djellaba djellaba but in a two-piece business suit, although he wore a turban around his head. He motioned for Hemingway to sit in a chair next to a small table. The man sat across from him. Hemingway sensed the presence of others but said nothing about this. but in a two-piece business suit, although he wore a turban around his head. He motioned for Hemingway to sit in a chair next to a small table. The man sat across from him. Hemingway sensed the presence of others but said nothing about this.

The Arab sat back and rested his hands on the arms of his chair. "Your father was an excellent man and a great friend of mine for nearly thirty years. He knew us; he took the time to learn our language, religion and cultures. No one does that today unfortunately."

"He was special," Hemingway agreed. "Very special."

The man took a small cup of water off the table between them and drank from it. He offered one to Hemingway but he declined. The Arab handed a piece of paper over to Hemingway. "As agreed," the Arab said. Hemingway put the doc.u.ment away in his pocket without looking at it.

"I'm sure you put a great deal of thought into it," Hemingway said.

"I have been thinking about these things my whole life."

"You will ensure that no one claims responsibility?"

The Arab nodded. "It is done. I take it that my people have been satisfactory to work with?"

"It is a testament to their loyalty to you that they have done everything asked of them without question."

"What happened was not solely for your benefit. Al-Zawahiri, and others like him, they'd been seduced by your country. They had lost their ties to Islam." He paused. "You are confident about tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Attacking a superpower, that is something never to be done lightly."

"Superpowers are still made up of people."

The Arab shook his head. "We are very very different people, different in ways your country refuses to recognize." different people, different in ways your country refuses to recognize."

"The more we're different, perhaps the more we're the same. We all want peace."

"Excuse me for saying so, but that is your Buddhist bulls.h.i.t talking." The man took another sip of water. "America spends more on its military than all other countries in the world combined. combined. No country does this for protection, for peace, only aggression. Your president can push one b.u.t.ton, and the Arab world disappears in a mushroom cloud." No country does this for protection, for peace, only aggression. Your president can push one b.u.t.ton, and the Arab world disappears in a mushroom cloud."

"We have no reason to do that. Great strides have been made in the Middle East. Democracies are replacing dictatorships."

"Yes, replacing dictatorships that America America helped foster and support. And yet, in most cases, the democracies coming to power hate America more than the dictators they replaced. You went into Iraq not understanding its history or its culture. America seemed amazed that Great Britain took a land called Mesopotamia and artificially created a country it called Iraq. And that its population is composed of Shiites and Sunnis and Kurds and dozens of other groups that are not known to get along with one another. Did you really think you would waltz in and save the Iraqis and everything would be peaceful?" He held up his hand. "And one cannot 'bomb' people into a democracy. That comes from the ground up, not the sky down. Muslims going to the voting booths pa.s.s the bomb craters that took their families. Do you think the possibility of having an American-style democracy will ever make them forget who killed their husbands, wives and children?" helped foster and support. And yet, in most cases, the democracies coming to power hate America more than the dictators they replaced. You went into Iraq not understanding its history or its culture. America seemed amazed that Great Britain took a land called Mesopotamia and artificially created a country it called Iraq. And that its population is composed of Shiites and Sunnis and Kurds and dozens of other groups that are not known to get along with one another. Did you really think you would waltz in and save the Iraqis and everything would be peaceful?" He held up his hand. "And one cannot 'bomb' people into a democracy. That comes from the ground up, not the sky down. Muslims going to the voting booths pa.s.s the bomb craters that took their families. Do you think the possibility of having an American-style democracy will ever make them forget who killed their husbands, wives and children?"

"My country needs to recognize that there are many ways to be free. I fear that we still see the only way to resolve things is country needs to recognize that there are many ways to be free. I fear that we still see the only way to resolve things is our our way." way."

The Arab took another sip of water. "It is a nice sentiment, Tom, but not one, I think, that is shared by your leaders. Mighty G.o.d could vanquish your army with one sweep of his hand. Yet we mortal mortal Arabs simply cannot beat you militarily with all your money and weapons. And we see American Arabs simply cannot beat you militarily with all your money and weapons. And we see American businesses businesses and American and American pipelines pipelines marching behind the great American armies. You say your goal is a free world. Well, Africa has more dictators than the Middle East, and the genocide there is far worse. Yet I see no American tanks blasting their way through that land. But, of course, the Middle East has far more marching behind the great American armies. You say your goal is a free world. Well, Africa has more dictators than the Middle East, and the genocide there is far worse. Yet I see no American tanks blasting their way through that land. But, of course, the Middle East has far more oil oil. Do not think we poor desert savages aren't aware that America's goals are less than altruistic, Tom. At least allow us that courtesy."

"Freedom is is a good thing, my friend. And America is the world's most free country." a good thing, my friend. And America is the world's most free country."

"Really? A country that had slaves slaves for two hundred and fifty years and kept the black man de facto enslaved for a hundred more? But I have also seen your style of freedom personally. Over fifty years ago Iran had a for two hundred and fifty years and kept the black man de facto enslaved for a hundred more? But I have also seen your style of freedom personally. Over fifty years ago Iran had a democratically democratically elected prime minister who had the effrontery to nationalize the petroleum industry. American oil companies were hardly pleased. So your CIA helped overthrow the government and reinstall the puppet shah. His pathetic love of Western ways led to the Iranian revolution, and all hope for elected prime minister who had the effrontery to nationalize the petroleum industry. American oil companies were hardly pleased. So your CIA helped overthrow the government and reinstall the puppet shah. His pathetic love of Western ways led to the Iranian revolution, and all hope for real real democracy ended there. America has played these games all over the globe, from Chile to Pakistan. The Western world's policies have led directly to the slaughter of countless millions across the world." He paused and studied Hemingway closely. "So if the new government in Iraq is not to America's liking?" democracy ended there. America has played these games all over the globe, from Chile to Pakistan. The Western world's policies have led directly to the slaughter of countless millions across the world." He paused and studied Hemingway closely. "So if the new government in Iraq is not to America's liking?"

"And yet I know that you believe in freedom," Hemingway said quietly. "As a young boy I sat and listened to you and my father discuss such things."

"It is true that I have fought my whole life for certain freedoms that are in keeping with the word of G.o.d. I see clearly the benefits of people having a strong voice in their lives. I do not agree with how Muslim women are treated in some Arab countries. And it sickens me to see grand palaces rising next to mud huts. The Muslim world has many problems, and we need to address them. Yet is it really freedom when someone else else tells you what you should be seeking? And why doesn't it work both ways, Tom? America represents less than five percent of the earth's population yet consumes tells you what you should be seeking? And why doesn't it work both ways, Tom? America represents less than five percent of the earth's population yet consumes one-quarter one-quarter of its energy. Poor nations cannot get the energy they need, and their citizens suffer and die because America takes so much. So should these countries of its energy. Poor nations cannot get the energy they need, and their citizens suffer and die because America takes so much. So should these countries invade invade the great energy the great energy dictator dictator America and make it use less oil and gas? Would the U.S. like that?" America and make it use less oil and gas? Would the U.S. like that?"

"If you feel that way, can I ask why you're helping me?"

The man shrugged. "It is simple. For every American killed, hundreds of Arabs die. Arab suicide bombers are now slaughtering their brethren brethren by the thousands. We are weakening ourselves with every new explosion and playing right into the hands of the United States." He paused and took another sip of water. "The Western press is fixated on suicide bombers killing themselves so that they can enter paradise. But G.o.d says that to by the thousands. We are weakening ourselves with every new explosion and playing right into the hands of the United States." He paused and took another sip of water. "The Western press is fixated on suicide bombers killing themselves so that they can enter paradise. But G.o.d says that to save save lives is a great thing. To save one life is to save lives is a great thing. To save one life is to save many many. Do we have to be slaughtered to enter paradise? Why can't Muslims enjoy a peaceful life on earth, believe in G.o.d and serve him and enter paradise that way? In the Western world the young ones grow up in peace. Do our our children not deserve that right?" children not deserve that right?"

"Of course they do," Hemingway said.

"Your country is asking the impossible, you know this. Before the 1970s energy crisis America did not care about the Middle East, other than the Arab versus Israeli issue. Then 9/11 happened and you attacked the Taliban. I have no issue with that. In your place I would have done the same thing. Yet the goal you seek now, turning the entire Middle East into a democracy overnight, is madness. You ask us to do in years years what it took you what it took you centuries centuries to accomplish." He paused. "And it is not simply a question of Islam against the West. For thousands of years Arab nations developed customs and cultures inextricably tied to a desert climate with few natural resources, often with the law of the tribe as their base, and the men as their leaders. For a very long time America had no problem with that. And now they do, of course and thus, according to you, we must change. Immediately. So far a hundred thousand Iraqis have died and the country is in chaos. I cannot applaud the progress, Tom. I really can't." to accomplish." He paused. "And it is not simply a question of Islam against the West. For thousands of years Arab nations developed customs and cultures inextricably tied to a desert climate with few natural resources, often with the law of the tribe as their base, and the men as their leaders. For a very long time America had no problem with that. And now they do, of course and thus, according to you, we must change. Immediately. So far a hundred thousand Iraqis have died and the country is in chaos. I cannot applaud the progress, Tom. I really can't."

"I can only do my best. If it doesn't work, what will have been lost?"

"Many good lives, that is what will be lost, Tom," the Arab said sternly.

"And that is no different than what's happening right now," Hemingway replied.

"You have an answer for everything. Just like your father. It was in Beijing that he was killed?"

Hemingway nodded.

"Surely not the Chinese, though. They're vicious but hardly stupid."

Hemingway shrugged. "I have my suspicions. Officially, it was never solved."

"It is interesting about the Chinese, Tom. They will one day replace America as the world's largest economy. They have an army ten times ten times the size of yours, and it is growing stronger and more technologically advanced every day. They have the capability to hit the United States with nuclear weapons. They kill and enslave millions of their own people, and yet you call them friends, while America crushes the Arab world under the pretense of freeing us. Do you know what we Arabs say? We say, go and 'free' your friends, the Chinese. But America does not do this. Why? Because the Chinese will not fight back with rifles and car bombs as we Muslims are forced to. Thus, you leave them alone. And you call them friends." the size of yours, and it is growing stronger and more technologically advanced every day. They have the capability to hit the United States with nuclear weapons. They kill and enslave millions of their own people, and yet you call them friends, while America crushes the Arab world under the pretense of freeing us. Do you know what we Arabs say? We say, go and 'free' your friends, the Chinese. But America does not do this. Why? Because the Chinese will not fight back with rifles and car bombs as we Muslims are forced to. Thus, you leave them alone. And you call them friends."

"My father didn't think of them as all that friendly actually."

"A wise man. He has gone on to a better world now."

"I'm an atheist. So I'm not sure where he's gone on to."

The Arab stared at him in sadness. "It is an insult to yourself not to believe in G.o.d, Tom."

"I believe in myself."

"But when your physical being ceases to exist, where does that leave you?" The Arab paused and said, "With nothing."

"It is my my freedom to make that choice," Hemingway said firmly. freedom to make that choice," Hemingway said firmly.

The Arab rose from his chair. "Good-bye, Tom, and good luck. We will not see each other again."

A few minutes later Hemingway was walking along the sidewalk back to his rental car. He looked at the sheet of paper his friend had given him, translating the Arabic in his head. The man had had thought things out very carefully. thought things out very carefully.

Hemingway was on a flight out of Frankfurt that night and would be in New York eight hours later. He looked at the clear sky and wondered if there were as many G.o.ds as there were stars. According to some religions, there might be. The answers really didn't matter to him. No G.o.d had ever answered his prayers. To Hemingway that was more than adequate proof that there was no such being.

Several thousand miles away across the Atlantic, Captain Jack gazed up at the same sky and also pondered the events of the next day. Everything was done and only awaited the arrival of James Brennan and company. As a last measure all laptops used by the members of his operation had been destroyed. There would be no more movie chat room discussions. He would actually miss them.

Later that evening Captain Jack drove into the parking lot of Pittsburgh International Airport. He dropped off his car and headed for the terminal. His official itinerary was fairly straightforward: Pittsburgh to Chicago O'Hare; O'Hare to Honolulu; and Honolulu to American Samoa, where a puddle jumper would take him to his precious island.

His work in Brennan was done. He would not stay for the actual mission. That would be a little too tight even for him. And yet while his work here was finished, in other respects it was just beginning. And now it was time to activate his contingency plan. His partnership with Tom Hemingway was officially over, though the latter didn't know it. It was fun while it lasted, Tom. It was fun while it lasted, Tom. He now worked for the North Koreans. He now worked for the North Koreans.

Captain Jack checked in for his flight but kept his bag, which was small enough to carry on. He went to a bar to have a drink. Afterward, he hit the restroom. From there he wandered the airport and then headed to the security lines. Yet instead of going through security he exited the airport, went to a different parking lot and picked up a car waiting for him there. He headed south.

Djamila sat at the kitchen table in her apartment and wrote the date and time of her death in her journal. She wondered how accurate she would be. If she did die tomorrow, her journal would be found. Perhaps they would publish it in the paper, along with her full name, which she wrote next to her time of death. Then, for some reason, she erased it. Would there be a possibility that she would survive tomorrow?

She stood by the open window and looked out, letting the gentle breeze wash over her, and smelled air that held the fragrance of cut gra.s.s, a relatively new sensation for her. It was quiet, peaceful here. No bombs or gunfire. She could see people walking together, talking. An old man sat on the front steps of the building smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She could hear the peals of laughter of children from the small playground nearby. Djamila was young with her whole life ahead of her. Yet she slowly closed the window and drew herself back into the dark shadows of her apartment.

"Do not let me fail you," she quietly asked G.o.d. "Do not let me fail you."

Barely twenty minutes from Djamila's apartment, Adnan al-Rimi had just completed his last prayer of the day. As Djamila had, he'd lingered over his words with G.o.d too.

He rolled up his prayer rug and put it away. Adnan only performed his prayers twice a day, at dawn and in the evening. He was a reluctant follower of Ramadan, his belly had been empty for too many years to starve it. Over the years he'd had the occasional cigarette and alcoholic drink. He had never made the pilgrimage to Mecca because he couldn't afford the trip. And yet he considered himself a faithful Muslim because he worked hard, helped others in need, never cheated, never lied. But he had killed. He had killed in the name of G.o.d, to defend Islam, to protect his way of life. Sometimes it seemed his entire existence consisted of three elements: working, praying and fighting. He had worked hard to ensure that his children would not have to fight, would not have to blow themselves and others up to prove a point. But his children were all dead. The violence had reached them despite their father's attempt to keep them safe.

Now Adnan had only one more task ahead of him.

With his eyes shut, Adnan paced off the dimensions of the hospital corridor in his apartment. He went down the hall, turned right, went fourteen paces down and moved right, opened the door and simulated going down eight steps, hitting a landing, turning and going down eight more, down the hall and reaching the exit door. Then he did it again. And again.

Afterward, Adnan removed his shirt and looked at his body in the bathroom mirror. Though his physique was still impressive, there was a frailty beneath the muscle that more resembled an old man than someone in the prime of life. The numerous external injuries he'd suffered over the years had healed. Inside, though, the scars were permanent.

He sat on his bed and withdrew from his wallet ten photos that he arranged in front of him. They were crumpled, faded reminders of his family. He lingered over each, recalling moments of peace and love. And horror. As when his father had been beheaded by the Saudis, for what amounted to a misdemeanor. It usually took two whacks with the sword to behead someone. Yet Adnan's father had a very thick neck, and it had taken three strokes to sever it, an event eight-year-old Adnan had been forced to watch. Few people could have gone through these memories without shedding at least a few tears; however, Adnan's eyes remained dry. And yet his fingers trembled as he kissed the fading images of his dead children.

A few minutes later Adnan put on his coat and left his apartment. The bike ride into downtown Brennan went quickly. He chained his bicycle to a rack and started walking. His path took him in front of Mercy Hospital, where he briefly glanced at his place of employment, at least until tomorrow. Then his gaze darted to the apartment building across the street where he knew the two Afghans were checking and rechecking their weapons, because they were methodical and obsessive men, as all good snipers had to be.

Adnan continued walking, turned down one street and then another and finally slipped into an alley. He rapped twice on the door. He heard nothing. Then he called out in Farsi. Footsteps approached, and he heard Ahmed's voice answer in Farsi.

"What is it you want, Adnan?"

"To talk."

"I am busy."

"Everything should be done, Ahmed. Is there a problem?"

The door opened and Ahmed scowled at him. "I have no problems," Ahmed said, but he stepped back for Adnan to enter the garage.

"I thought it wise to go over things one more time," Adnan said as he sat on a stool next to the workbench. His gaze took in the vehicle that would play such an important role the next day. He nodded at it. "It looks good, Ahmed. You have done well."

"Tomorrow will see whether we have done well or not," Ahmed answered.

He and Adnan spent twenty minutes going over their a.s.signed tasks.

"I am not worried about us," Ahmed said sullenly. "It is this woman who troubles me. Who is she? What is her training?"

"That is not your concern," Adnan answered. "If she was picked for this, she will do her job well."

"Women are only good for having babies and to cook and clean."

"You are living in the past, my friend," Adnan said.

"The Muslim past was glorious. We had the best of everything."

"The world has moved past us, Ahmed. For Muslims to be truly great again we must move with it. Show the world what we can do. And we can do much."

Ahmed spat on the floor. "That is what I think of the world. They can just leave us alone."

"We will see after tomorrow who is right."

Ahmed slowly shook his head. "You trust in things too much. You trust the American who leads us too much."

"He may be an American, but he is brave and knows what he is doing." He gazed sternly at the Iranian.

"I will do my my job," Ahmed finally said. job," Ahmed finally said.

"Yes, you will," Adnan answered as he rose to leave. "Because I will be right there to ensure that you do."

"You think I need an Iraqi Iraqi babysitting me," Ahmed said fiercely. babysitting me," Ahmed said fiercely.

"Tomorrow we are not Iraqi or Iranian or Afghani," Adnan replied. "We are all Muslims, following G.o.d."

"Do not question my faith, Adnan," Ahmed said in a dangerous tone.

"I question nothing. Only G.o.d has the right to question the souls of his people." Adnan went to the door but then turned back. "I will see you tomorrow, Ahmed."

"I will see you in paradise," Ahmed answered.