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Track suit looked at Raphael, pointed his pistol, and said, “Get your other man out here, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

The words were still hanging in the air when his head exploded like a watermelon thrown off a roof. Camouflage man whirled, and he met the same fate, his head absorbing two rounds from a Glock 19. He dropped, and Leonardo appeared from the other side of the Land Cruiser.

Raphael sagged a bit, then said, “Good shooting.”

Tariq said, “What have you done? They’re Hezbollah. We’re all dead now.”

Raphael went back to the Land Cruiser saying, “You were dead the minute you got in the vehicle with me.”

He dug around the backseat, came back out, and tossed the hood he’d been forced to wear earlier. He said, “Put that on. Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you.”

Chapter 63

Garrett heard the alarm go off and rolled over, the jet lag still kicking him in the butt. He sat up, put his feet on the floor, then thought about just getting back in bed. Today was nothing more than an orientation day, with the Knights’ members meeting the other church groups who had gathered for the trip to Megiddo. The day was beginning with breakfast, and then would include scripted tourist events designed to inculcate in the group of visitors an undying support for the state of Israel.

He showered, dressed, then took his Thuraya sat phone and went to the window to let it find a satellite. It connected, but he had no messages. He was beginning to worry about the mission in Syria. The last he’d heard, they had landed in Lebanon, but that had been over twenty-four hours ago. If they had failed, the only thing left was Michelangelo, and Garrett wasn’t sure his attack would be enough. It was a failsafe, last-chance attempt. He thought about calling them, but understood the risks involved.

Satellite phones in Syria were routinely monitored by a plethora of intelligence agencies, both from the West and the East, not to mention the Assad regime itself. He decided to leave the phone on the windowsill and see if he had a message when he returned.

He went downstairs to the breakfast event, meeting the Grand Master and the other men of the Knights of Malta entourage, then met the other organizations who had traveled for the event, most evangelical megachurches based in the United States, all incredibly happy to be invited.

He did his best to keep up appearances, and honestly didn’t have much trouble doing so, as the true anointed Knights of his group were the ones people wanted to meet, not some nobody on the edges.

He heard plenty of people talking about the prophecies of the Bible, but none who would actually bring it about. And felt a calm by the words.

Toward the end of the breakfast, the Grand Master pulled him aside and said, “Spend today doing whatever security preparations you must, because tomorrow, I don’t want you to be a single blip on anyone’s radar.”

“Okay, sir. That’s my mission for today. And thank you for keeping me out of the mess of politics of this trip. You guys can enjoy the trip to Jerusalem. I’ll prepare the protection.”

Grand Master Chaucer said, “I can’t afford you to interrupt anything tomorrow. If it’s not settled today, it’s not getting settled. I’ll trust the Israelis for my protection.”

Garrett smiled and said, “It will be fine, sir. As we both know, the Lord will protect us.”

He left the breakfast and went to find Michelangelo. Going to his room, he pounded on the door. Michelangelo opened it, clearly hungover from the night before. Garrett barged in and said, “Can you not spend one night focused on the mission?”

Michelangelo rubbed his eyes and said, “What the hell, what time is it?”

Garrett said, “Close to ten in the morning. Is that too early for you?”

Now aggravated, Michelangelo said, “Iamfocused on the mission. But it’s not for two days.”

Garrett opened the drapes to his hotel room, the light spilling in and causing Michelangelo to wince. He said, “The tour today goes tothe Old City of Jerusalem. You’re going to be on it. I need you to find out how you can get into the Dome of the Rock. There are apparently specific entrance requirements, and you need to find out how to get your backpack inside.”

He said, “I’m going as a Muslim. Not a Christian.”

“Reconnaissance is reconnaissance. Pack your shit. Leave the explosives here, but take the backpack. Find out the security limits. And stay away from the cameras. When you go back, I don’t want them to make a connection with this visit.”

Michelangelo bobbed his head up and down, moving to the bathroom to clean up. He said, “What are you going to do?”

“Find out what the hell happened to Raphael and Leonardo.”

Garrett turned to leave the room, saying, “You’re good, right? You know what you have to do?”

Michelangelo said, “I’m good. I got it. I know what I need to do.”

Garrett nodded, and exited. He used the stairs to get back to his own room, checked the phone, and saw no messages. He held the phone in his hand, knowing he shouldn’t call, but also knew the rest of the mission was a waste of time if they were dead.

He dialed, waiting on the satellites to pick up the signal and transfer it back to earth.