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Palestinian Sunni, should raise a ruckus if he wanted to live.
    “What do you want?”
    The Ghost went into supplication mode, knowing his frail-looking physique would help.
    “I’m supposed to meet someone at a coffee shop, but I’m having trouble finding it.”
    He gave the name of the shop, along with the names of the men he was to meet. Immediately, the man’s posture changed. He turned and barked into a radio. When he returned, he was polite.
    “This way. They are waiting.”
    The guard led him through an alley, glancing back to make sure the Ghost followed. Possibly trying to figure out why this frail Palestinian was meeting the top tier of Hezbollah’s military wing. He didn’t care. He’d long since given up on posturing, letting his actions speak for him.
    There was no doubt in his mind that, should things get dangerous, he had an even chance of living to see tomorrow, and a fifty-fifty chance was better than most of the odds he had faced. It would mean he would have to kill this man-boy, but he’d be able to do it.
    Unlike the schoolyard fights he’d lost as a kid, where the ultimate victory was the bully shoving his face into some offal, this would mean death, and every human, no matter how tough in a simple fistfight, was at heart a frail beast when the object was killing. No armor, no fangs, no poison. A pathetic sack of flesh with a multitude of vulnerable points. If one knew where to strike.
    As in the past, his physique gave his Hezbollah guide enough confidence to let down his guard, which would be his undoing, should it be necessary. Unlike the toughs on the street, he’d been in the cauldron. Killed with all manner of weapons, including none at all.

7
    K nuckles gunned the engine to get out of the kill zone, ignoring the questions coming through his earpiece. When there was a break in the radio traffic from Blaine, he simply said, “Stand by,” and switched from the command to the operational net, giving everyone else the situation as he knew it, and further instructions. “Johnny, collapse on the house. The girl’s the new target. Decoy, set up a trigger for Johnny’s team. Follow the girl. She’s going to meet up with Crusty.”
    Retro had his knee in the back of the guy they’d ripped off the moped, going through his pockets. He pulled out a cell phone, and rapidly found the last-called number, reading it out to Knuckles.
    Back on command net, Knuckles gave an abbreviated SITREP. Before Blaine could ask a question, Knuckles said, “Got a number I need a lock on. And I mean
now
.”
    Knuckles waited, knowing that Blaine was pulling his hair out, wanting to cut the whole mission, but also knowing he wouldn’t do it with a chance of success. Although that success was now looking pretty damn slim.
    After a pause, Blaine said, “Give it to me.”
    Yes.
Knuckles read it off and gave his location.
    While it was being run, Blaine said, “What’s your heat state?”
    “Probably pretty bad, but nothing overt as far as I can see. Why?”
    “I’m thinking we don’t push this. We pull back and wait for him to surface.”
    “Sir, he
knew
he was being hunted. It was a pretty elaborate ruse. We need to get him
now,
and not just because he’s a terrorist. We can’t let him talk to anyone else. We still have a thread in the girl, and maybe the phone.”
    “You know he tossed that phone the minute the moped guy said he was going down.”
    “Maybe. Maybe not. And we have the girl. Get Birdseye in the air.”
    The entire force was in Tunisia ostensibly conducting geographic surveys in the El Borma oil fields near the border with Algeria. As such, they had a Piper Navajo aircraft with them equipped for “aerial photography” to “facilitate” follow-on seismic surveys. In reality, the bird was specially equipped for man hunting, and included unique optics that might be needed now.
    “Save that bullet. If I launch the bird, he’s going to do one lap around the city, then fly to the