House of Spies (Gabriel Allon #17)(107)

Expert opinion was divided, too. The drone teams analyzed the recordings of Saladin’s initial flight from the camp, along with the live video and sensory data. The data pointed to number three with high probability, though one junior analyst was convinced that Saladin was not in any of the SUVs, that he had fled the camp on foot and was now making his way across the desert alone.

“He walks with a limp,” remarked Uzi Navot caustically. “He’ll be out there longer than Moses and the Jews of Egypt.”

In the end it was left to Kyle Taylor—a veteran operations officer who had overseen more than two hundred successful drone strikes in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Libya, Yemen, and Somalia—to make the final call. He did so swiftly and decisively and without bothering to consult with Adrian Carter. At 5:47 p.m. Washington time, 10:47 p.m. in Morocco, the order passed to the drone teams to ready the ordnance. Seventy-four seconds later, two of the Toyota Land Cruisers, the first and the third, exploded in a blinding flash of white light. Uzi Navot was the only one in the Black Hole or the White House Situation Room who wasn’t watching.



The sound of the explosions reached the camp a second or two after the burst of light on the horizon. Keller and Mikhail had already drawn their Berettas by the time Jean-Luc Martel entered the tent.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

“I might,” answered Keller.

“That would be a miscalculation on your part.” Martel glanced to the north and asked, “What just happened out there?”

“Sounded like thunder to me.”

“I don’t think Mohammad is liable to believe that. Not after what his Iraqi friend told him before he left.”

“And what was that?”

“That Dmitri and Sophie Antonov are Israeli agents who were sent here to kill him.”

“I hope you disabused Mohammad of that notion.”

“I tried,” said Martel.

“Is that why he gave you that gun?”

“What gun?”

“The one in the right-hand pocket of your jacket.” Keller managed a smile. “The drones never blink.”

Martel extracted the weapon slowly.

“An FN Five-seven,” said Keller.

“The standard-issue sidearm of the SAS.”

“Actually, we call it the Regiment.” Keller was holding the Beretta with both hands. He released his left and stretched it toward Martel. “I’ll take that.”

The Frenchman only smiled.

“You’re not thinking about doing something foolish, are you, Jean-Luc?”

“I did that once already. Now I’m going to look after myself.” He glanced at Olivia, who was sitting at the edge of the bed next to Natalie. “And her, of course.”

Keller lowered the gun. “Tell Mohammad I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So he can hear my offer.”

“Your offer? And what would that be?”

“Our safe passage in exchange for the lives of Mohammad and his men.”

Martel emitted a low, bitter laugh. “You seem to have misread your situation. You’re the one who has several Kalashnikovs pointed at you, not me.”

“But I have a drone,” said Keller. “And if anything happens to us, the drone is going to turn Mohammad into a pile of ash. You, too.”

“Predator drones carry two Hellfire missiles. And I’m quite certain I heard two explosions just now.”

“There’s another drone above us.”

“Is there really?”

“How did I know there was a gun in your pocket?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You’d better hope so.”

Martel approached Keller slowly and stared directly into his eyes. “Let me explain what’s about to happen,” he said quietly. “I’m going to leave here with Olivia. And then Mohammad’s men are going to cut you and your friends to pieces with AK-47 fire.”

Keller said nothing.

“You’re not so tough without the don’s protection, are you?”

“You’re a dead man.”

“Whatever you say.”

Martel turned away from Keller and reached a hand toward Olivia. She sat motionless next to Natalie.

Martel’s eyes narrowed in rage. “How much did they pay you to betray me, my love? I know you didn’t do it out of the goodness of your heart. You haven’t got one.”

He seized Olivia’s arm, but she tore it from his grasp.

“How noble of you,” Martel said acidly. Then he placed the barrel of the FN to the side of her head. “Get on your feet.”

Keller raised his gun and leveled it at Martel’s chest.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me? If you do that, we all die.”

Keller was silent.

“You don’t believe me? Pull the trigger,” said Martel. “See what happens next.”



In the Black Hole at Langley, only Uzi Navot was watching the Sentinel’s shot of the scene unfolding at the camp. Everyone else in the room was staring, transfixed, at the adjoining screen, where the wreckage of two Land Cruisers was burning brightly on the floor of the Sahara. But they were not the only vehicles to suffer damage in the strike. The driver of the second SUV had lost control after the explosions and had collided at high speed with an outcropping of desert rock. Badly damaged, the vehicle now lay on its passenger side, its headlamps still aglow. There appeared to be two men inside. In the ninety seconds since the crash, neither had moved.