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Before they did, Palmer said, “Wait, sir, how are they going? What’s the cover status?”

Wolffe said, “They’re going as Israelis.”

“Seriously? Does Israel know?”

Wolffe shut down his laptop, then turned to President Hannister, ignoring Palmer. He said, “Sir, I don’t know who in Israel is read on to this, but Aaron and Shoshana are providing the support, and Bahrain recently signed a peace deal with Israel. They’re sure it’s not an issue, and Pike is game. Trust the man on the ground.”

Palmer said, “That’s asking for compromise not only from the operation, but from Israel. Before, this was just a reconnaissance operation. Now you’re asking for Omega when the last one ended up with a dead target. Given the target was provided by the Israelis, they’ve got to be looking into that, and if they don’t know, and find out an American team was operating as Israelis, they’ll lose their minds. Israel will throw us under the bus as soon as they can.”

Wolffe said, “The Israeli passports Pike’s team is using came from the Mossad. Someone there already knows they’re operational.”

Palmer threw his hands in the air and said, “Someone with power? Or some Mossad lunatic who’s operating outside of its own charter? There’s a big difference between one lone operative going off the reservation to provide passports and the sanctioning of an operation with the blessing of Israel’s version of the national command authority.”

Wolffe said, “It is what it is. You’re afraid of the compromise, but not the impending casualty. If we do nothing, and another American diplomat is killed, what then? We’re out of threads to chase, and looking at war. Even if thisisIran, stopping the assassination in and of itself should be enough to launch.”

Hannister said, “I agree. The benefits outweigh the risks. Anyone else have an issue with this?”

Palmer held his tongue, and the room remained quiet. Hannister gave it a moment, then said, “Okay. Tell Pike it’s a go.” He turned to Kerry Bostwick, the director of the CIA, and said, “Keep your ear to the ground with Mossad. Any hint of them exposing this, I want to know.”

Kerry grumbled, “Fat lot of good that’ll do. So far, they haven’t told me squat.”

President Hannister ignored him, returning to Wolffe. “Tell Pike to get me something. The pressure is growing exponentially. I’ll have to respond to the death of our diplomat in Italy regardless. I can’t let that go even if it’snotIran. No way can I allow the murder of one of my people. It will show nothing but appeasement that Iran will use even if they didn’t execute the mission. Worst case, Iran sees it as a signal that they can attack with impunity. Right now, I can get away with some air strikes against Keta’ib targets in Syria, but eventually it’s going to get worse.”

Wolffe nodded and said, “I’ll get it done.”

Hannister flicked his head to the SECDEF and said, “I’ve already got the Fifth Fleet on alert. Tell Pike to keep me from using it, because that’s where this is headed.”

Chapter 28

Donatello took the Coke that Salim offered him, raised it for a sip, then surveyed the men around him. Jamal and Khalid were both barely in their twenties and looked like they hadn’t been fed in a week. Wearing ratty T-shirts, jeans, and Adidas shower shoes, they didn’t give him much confidence. Especially since they seemed to be more enamored with the video games in Salim’s apartment than the mission itself.

The man known as Khan seemed more competent, if not a little savage. Donatello wasn’t sure of his skill, but was convinced of his propensity for violence.

The leader, Salim, also appeared solid, if a bit effeminate. He was definitely intelligent, and constantly surveying his surroundings, like a wolf afraid something was going to take its meal. Not necessarily jumpy, but wary of anything that entered his domain. Donatello thought that a plus and something he could leverage, even as it had caused the linkup to become overly complicated.

He’d flown into Saudi Arabia’s King Fahd International Airport and had immediately encountered problems. It turned out that the Kingdom didn’t recognize the diplomatic passport of the Knights of Malta. They’d almost turned him away until he’d brought out his actual Croatian passport. He’d already used his cover story about working with a charitable organization in Khobar—a story that the Knights of Malta passport was supposed to backstop.

He knew that if the shifting of passports had raised their suspicions, and they’d done any checking at all on his cover story, he was dead in the water. They did not, more concerned with him purchasing a visa than why he was visiting. They’d taken his picture and fingerprints, then allowed him to go on his way, but he knew he was flagged within the Kingdom now.

Luckily, he wasn’t doing any work inside the country. He’d rented a car and driven to Khobar, then ran into more trouble trying to exit Saudi Arabia via the causeway to Bahrain. The immigration officer ran his passport through the scanner, saw he’d arrived on the same day, and demanded to know why he’d landed in Saudi Arabia if he intended to travel to Bahrain. Donatello told him that the flight was cheaper. The man seemed satisfied until he saw that Donatello had no visa for Bahrain, causing more questions.

Falling back on his Special Forces interrogation training and years of experience in hostile places, Donatello fended off each one expertly, until he was presented with the final hurdle—a negative COVID test. He had one just in case something like this happened, but hadn’t been asked to present it upon arrival in the airport and knew from research that, due to vaccines, a quarantine was no longer in place in either KSA or Bahrain. Apparently, either this man hadn’t been apprised of the updates or he was simply busting Donatello’s balls, but after presenting the negative PCR test he was grudgingly allowed to leave.

He drove across the causeway, reaching what looked like a tollbooth on a turnpike, the overhang spanning all the lanes of the causeway with a sign proclaiming “Immigration.” He waited in a line of cars, inching forward, then finally reached a booth with an immigration officer.

He didn’t even bother to try his Knights passport, instead presenting his Croatian one, telling the officer he was working in Khobar and simply visiting for a few days as a tourist, a common occurrence. He’dbeen forced to purchase another visa to allow him entry, and was on his way.

As instructed, he’d driven to the first interchange and exited, heading south until he saw a modern gas station called Oil King. He parked and went inside to a counter serving soft-serve ice cream, being careful not to glance around. He knew he was now under surveillance. He ordered a chocolate cone and was told they only had vanilla. Saying he didn’t like vanilla, he thanked the vendor, exited the store, and went to an ATM station that looked like a phone booth on steroids. He entered, closed the door, and pretended to use the machine, killing time.

Eventually, a man approached and stood outside, waiting on him to finish. He feigned frustration, then exited the booth. In English, the man said, “Is it not working?”

Donatello said, “Not for me.”

The elaborate bona fides dance over, the man stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Salim. Come. Leave your rental here. We’ll pick it up after we’re done.”

He’d let Donatello retrieve his overnight bag, then led him to a beat-up white Hyundai, opening the passenger door.

They returned to the expressway and Salim said, “What’s your name?”