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to America, but you must tell me what you know. Then we can make a good plan."
    Nizar studied Ferris's face, trying to make up his mind. Then he did the one thing Ferris didn't expect. He fell to the floor and kissed Ferris's hand. There were tears in his eyes. That's how scared he was that Zarqawi's people were going to kill him.
    "Tell me what you know," said Ferris, slowly and evenly. "Then I can help you. Tell me the thing that will make my big boss back in Washington, the president, most happy."
    Nizar closed his eyes. He knew what it was. This was the only card he had to play. Ferris reached out his hand and touched the Iraqi man on the forehead, as if he were healing him. He'd never done that before with anyone in his life, but in the moment, it felt right.
    "They wanted me to leave Iraq," said Nizar.
    "Yes," said Ferris. "You told me that. Why did they want you to leave Iraq?"
    "Because of my training, with the Moukhabarat. I know how to make bombs. I know how to run operations. I have all the training. They said they needed it, for the operations in Europe. The car bombs. That is their plan, for car bombs in Europe, just like Baghdad. But they do not have enough people. They needed me." He stopped, frightened to continue.
    "Who needed you?" Ferris looked him in the eyes and then repeated it. "Who needed you, Nizar? Tell me, or I will leave now."
    "The man who runs Al Qaeda's new network. The one who is planning the bombings in Europe. The one who frightens the Americans the most. The people here are in touch with him. They wanted to send me to him."
    "And who is that?"
    Nizar fell silent again. He sat there, shaking his head--terrified and uncertain what to do.
    Ferris sensed he might lose him if he didn't act quickly. He rose from his chair, as if ready to walk out. "Come on, Bassam," he said. "We're leaving."
    Nizar said a word, but his voice was barely audible.
    "Speak up," said Ferris.
    "Suleiman," he whispered. "That is not his real name, but that is the name they give him. Suleiman the Magnificent. He is the planner."
    Oh my God, thought Ferris. This is it. How are we going to keep this guy alive?

4
    BALAD, IRAQ
    F ERRIS CALLED E D H OFFMAN ON his satellite phone from the derelict house near the Tigris. It would be four in the morning back in Washington, but that didn't matter. Hoffman would be furious if he hadn't been awakened, when he found out what Ferris had. He routed the call through the NE Division ops center. The watch officer sounded peeved, as if he had been interrupted from the solitaire game on his computer. But he put the call through to Hoffman at home.
    "What the fuck?" were Hoffman's first words. And then: "What time is it?"
    "Sorry to wake you up," said Ferris. "But I think we may have found the real thing out here in Dodge City."
    "Oh yeah?" said Hoffman, now fully awake. "What have you got?"
    "I am debriefing an Iraqi walk-in. He's a Sunni from Samara who used to work for Saddam's intelligence service. He's part of Al Qaeda in Iraq now, or at least he was until a few days ago when they told him they needed him for car-bomb duty. Now he's on the run. He just told me something pretty interesting."
    "Yeah? Okay. I'm waiting."
    "He said that Al Queda was going to send him outside, to connect up with the man planning their operations in Europe. They're building a network to do car bombings in Europe. At least he says they are. He had a name for the planner. He called him Suleiman."
    "You're right. That is pretty damn interesting." Hoffman let out a low growl of excitement. "What else did he say?"
    "Shit. Isn't that enough? I want to get him out, Ed. We need to debrief him carefully."
    "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
    "I said I want to get him out. If he stays here, he's a dead man. I told him I would get him out if he gave me the goodies."
    "No fucking way. This guy is gold. Milk him now. But you've got to leave him in place for a while so we can see his network. Put one of the Preds on him. We can