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He kept the scope of the rifle centered on the chest of the first man, waiting. After seven minutes, the second man turned away, walking to the tailgate of the truck and dropping his pants to urinate.

Raphael didn’t hesitate. He broke the trigger, hearing nothing but awoofof air. The small arrow hit the man in the throat. He looked confused for a moment, grabbed the fletching protruding from his neck, then fell over.

Raphael didn’t even wait to see the results, bending over and loading another arrow. If his shot didn’t work, it was irrelevant. Either they both died, or he’d be on the run.

He raised back up, saw the urinating man zip up his pants, then circle back around the truck, confused about the disappearance of his partner. He said something in Arabic, looking left and right, and Raphael squeezed the trigger again.

And missed.

The arrow clipped his neck at the jugular, causing him to spin, but didn’t bring him down. He screamed and Raphael jumped up, racing toward him.

The man had a hand to his throat, shocked at what was happening, but was willing to fight. He saw Raphael and let go of his throat, releasing a torrent of blood as he snatched a knife from his belt.

He snarled and raised it in a saber grip. Raphael blocked the arm, tackling him and pinning the hand with the weapon to the ground. The man thrashed below him, but Raphael knew the massive amount of blood spraying from the wound would be the difference between victory and death. He made no attempt at further damage, just holding the man on the ground.

Eventually, the loss of blood took its toll, and the man quit struggling, a slow-motion affair where his instincts wanted to continue the fight for survival, but his brain gave up.

Raphael waited for a moment, then stood up. He went to the truck, found the keys, and backed it out of the way, then returned to the Land Cruiser down the slope.

He surprised Tariq and the driver outside the vehicle, causing Tariq to literally jump when he appeared. He said, “Let’s go. It’s open.”

The driver got behind the wheel of the SUV, and the headlights illuminated Raphael’s body. Tariq saw the blood coating his arms and took a step back. Raphael said, “What? It’s open. Let’s go.”

Tariq slid into the passenger seat, saying, “Okay, okay. We’ll go.”

Raphael got in the backseat, seeing Leonardo grinning. He said, “Just like old times, huh?”

Raphael opened a pack of wet wipes and began cleaning off the blood, saying, “Almost. I never got this much blood on me.”

Tariq said, “Are you sure we can pass?”

Raphael held up a wet wipe, coated in red. He said, “Yes. Let’s go.”

Chapter 59

Inside our hotel room TOC, I watched George Wolffe pace about through my screen. He should have been sitting in front of the camera, but he was not.

He advanced to his computer and said, “That’s all you got? You penetrated an embassy for a sovereign state and that’sallyou got?”

I said, “Hey, sir, let’s be honest here. They’re just pretending. They aren’t arealsovereign state. It’s like someone saying they’re a member of special operations and then you find out the guy is just an interpreter.”

My joke went over like a lead balloon. His eyes bulged and he said, “You took out three men.Three men!And this is all you got out of it? How am I supposed to take this back to the president?”

“Sir, this is enough to find a thread. We know two of the Turtles went to Lebanon, and we have a name. We also know the serial killer in charge of them is in Israel for an important speech from Israel’s prime minister at Megiddo—otherwise known as Armageddon, as in the final battle between good and evil in the Bible—and he’s got some crazy theory about starting the End of Days. That’s enough to start the hunt.”

“What do you propose? What do you think you can do with this?”

“Well, first of all, I have two Israeli assassins with me who are being paid by the Mossad. Israel isn’t going to be an issue, because that Megiddo speech isn’t for a couple of days. Plenty of time. Secondly, I have the name of a Hezbollah smuggler—a guy called Tariq—and aman who can find him. I contacted Samir al-Atrash, the man I told you about earlier. He’s willing to help, and is doing research on the name as we speak.”

He shook his head and said, “I don’t have authorization for the Hezbollah contact just yet. You can’t use him.”

I balled my fists and said, “Can you guys pull your head out of your ass at least once? The guy isn’t Hezbollah. He’s Druze. I mean, really, I have a television here. I see the attacks coming from the Houthis in Yemen into Saudi Arabia and the rockets from the Gaza Strip. Iran is flexing its muscle, and it’s only a matter of time until Hezbollah is ordered to do the same from Lebanon. When that happens, we won’t be able to turn this off.”

Wolffe glowered on the screen, saying, “We work within a world of walls, a land of give-and-take. We get our authority from the duly constituted officials under the United States Constitution, and those walls have served our nation well. I need authority before continuing.”

I said, “Sir, the entire Taskforce is already outside our own constitution. What are you talking about? Why are you waiting for permission?”

He said, “I get that, which is precisely why I’m not breaking through more walls without authority. Do you understand?”