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settlement.  
    A scream went up from a nearby house as a Falasha woman ran to the body, her weeping echoing through the streets as people began to gather around. There had been other violent episodes like this recently, but the police largely ignored the poor black community. They were mostly out of work and subsisting on state benefits with no political power to change things. But not for much longer, Avi swore to himself.  
    He checked the images. The license plate was partially obscured but definitely traceable. He immediately began the protocols to route his back door access into the surveillance databases around the world, skills taught to him by clandestine hacker groups in China. Whoever those men were, they would be dead before the end of the day and the weeping of their own women would echo the cries he heard now. For the internet had become Avi’s world, and online he could be whoever he wanted with power that most could only dream of.  
    As an Ethiopian, Avi could physically pass for one of the Sudanese Muslim extremists and this was the persona he adopted online and in his business meetings. In Israel, he used his Jewish identity and this was the origin of his codename, al-Hirbaa, the Chameleon. He was part of a network of extremists, men he had met in the terrorist camps of Sudan with links into the Al Qaeda network. But mostly each pursued their own agenda, for there was much money to be made in this new world of terrorism. The global financial crisis, the Arab Spring and increased political upheaval helped to camouflage what was going on behind the news, an on-going battle for the Middle East.  
    When he had presented a business case to his financial backers in Iran, they had laughed when he had talked about the Ark. “ How can it possibly be found in such a short time?” they had asked, for it had been lost for millennia. But he had convinced them with new studies and fresh leads, and the need to take a risk. For if Jerusalem went crazy during the Summit, the collateral damage would be considerable. He would whip up such a storm that the extremist Jews of Jerusalem would storm the Temple Mount to replace the Ark on the site of the Temple. It would spark a riot from the Muslims protecting it and with the tinderbox of international politics, it would be the catalyst to the next world war.  
    The terrorist organization had discussed the usual possibility of nuclear attacks on Israel, but it would be far easier, and perhaps more satisfying, to implode the country from within. For if extremist Jews stormed the el-Aqsa compound with the Ark of the Covenant and the intention of building a Third Temple, the Arab world would finally unite against them.  
    Avi’s phone rang. He rapidly activated the anti-tracking and voice alteration software before he clicked to answer. Natasha El-Behery's voice was calm and controlled.  
    “It seems we’re missing some information.”  
    Avi stayed silent. Seconds ticked by as he waited for more, a tactic he used to intimidate. Eventually it worked, as Natasha spoke again into the void.  
    “We can retrieve what we need,” she said, “but it will mean another trip to the Museum. It will be risky, given that security will be improved after the last attack.”
    “Do it,” Avi said in Egyptian Arabic. “You’re already late and the schedule cannot be compromised. You accepted an accelerated timeline for the bonus payment so I expect fast results.”  
    Avi ended the call as the brush of his mother’s broom returned once more to its rhythm. He had found the perfect freelancer in Natasha El-Behery, someone skilled and passionate but also crazy enough to try what others thought impossible. He had met her at an extremist camp in the desert of Nubia in northern Sudan. She was hard and fearless, definitely on the edge of sanity. He remembered how one evening at the camp a man had told Natasha that she had no right to be there. She was a woman, unclean and useless.