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seventy years of age, but there was a youthfulness in his manner and an edge of wariness. Eilat would not have been surprised if the man had carried a revolver, as he himself carried his desert knife.
    The holy man walked slowly between the great supports in the vaulted area, and the Iraqi fell into step with him. “Perhaps,” began the cleric, “you should begin by telling me why I, or any of my colleagues, should trust you.”
    Eilat smiled. Then he said slowly, “In my line of work, there must always be some risk. But I am here to offer you my services for an extended period of time. I expect to be highly paid, because I have a unique service to offer. But you may feel I ought not to be paid until my tasks for you are complete.”
    “That was not quite what I meant,” replied the hojjat . “I was asking, Why? Why should we listen to you? Who are you? How can we know you are not working for a foreign government? How can we know you are not an enemy of Iran? What proof have you that we should confide in you in any way at all?”
    “Sir, I will tell you as much as I can without placing myself in more danger than I already am.”
    “Very well, please do.”
    “I have spent almost all of my working career operating on behalf of my government under deep cover in other countries. I have taken some very large risks, and I have occasionally struck a savage blow against the West on behalf of the Nation of Islam.”
    “Are you a terrorist?”
    “Nossir. I am always connected with the military.”
    “Are you Syrian, or perhaps Libyan?”
    “Nossir. I am an Iraqi.”
    “And do you intend to return to Iraq should your mission for us be completed?”
    Eilat elected to use a term of high respect, and he replied, “No, mullah. I will never return to Iraq. I would not be permitted to do that, except for them to kill me. And anyway, I hate Iraq. I would rather be dead than ever set foot in the place.”
    “So would I,” replied the hojjat. “ And what has happened to make you so bitter? What have they done to this loyal servant of Saddam’s regime who stands here with me today?”
    “They presented me with a medal, sir, for my long, untiring efforts on their behalf. And that same night the President sent two of his palace guards to assassinate me.”
    “I see they were not successful?”
    “Nossir. They were not. But it was close. I had to kill one of them in order to escape.”
    “Are you publicly wanted?”
    “I do not believe so, sir. They would never admit anything like that. But I imagine you have sources in Baghdad. And I expect someone will confirm to you that Eilat One is missing, and wanted, and is believed to have left the country.”
    “Do you have a valid passport that I can see?”
    “I do. Iraqi and old. But for obvious reasons I have placed tape over my real name. I do not wish you to know that yet, but the photograph and other details are all accurate.”
    “Very well. Might I ask you also whether you seek to engage in terrorist action against the U.S.A. and the West for fundamental reasons? Or, because you intend to carry out your attacks in such a way, the blame will surely be leveled at Iraq.”
    Eilat was momentarily shaken by the directness of the question, and indeed by the acute observation of his interrogator. But he knew that to hesitate would be fatal. He replied instantly. “Both.”
    The cleric walked slowly forward. But he was silent for more than a minute before he asked, “Have you ever attacked a target in the West in, shall we say, a high-profile way?”
    “Yessir.”
    “Do they search for you? Are you a man wanted not just in Iraq, but by nations all over the world?”
    “I cannot say, sir. No one ever mentioned that I was wanted by the United States. But I should not be terribly surprised if I was. Although I have no idea whether they have any clue as to my identity.”
    “I share that with them, of course.”
    “Yessir.”
    “Well, Eilat…I must tell you that I shall