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feel.
    He was lucky to have escaped so easily. God had delivered him from calamity, from the Devil himself, to preserve his mission. In a few days, Asad bin Taysr would lead Islam to the next stage in its historical battle with the demonic West. His blows would strike at the heart of the western economies, sweeping away the foundation of their oppression against Islam. The strikes would not be as symbolic as the glorious raid on the World Trade Center and Pentagon in America on 9/11, peace be with the souls of the brave martyrs who had carried it out. But it would be more devastating. Their economies would crumble.
    “Find out what this medication is.” Asad handed over the prescription to Abd Katib, the chief of his bodyguards. “And get me some.”
    “Yes, sheik. It will be done.”
    “The others?”
    “The driver is still in the hospital. He broke his leg and his face was burned by the air bag.”
    The driver had joined them in southern Turkey; though a Saudi who had been recommended by a trusted associate, Asad did not know him well enough to gauge how far he could be trusted.
    “He is a liability in the hospital,” said Asad.
    “That will be taken care of before the sun goes down.”
    “His widow will be told that he was a martyr. He was a soldier of God, and peace be upon him.”

CHAPTER 14
     
    “THEY WANT TO kill the driver,” Marie Telach said, pushing the microphone of her headset away from her face. “What do you want to do?”
    Rubens stared at the screen, which showed the feed from Tommy Karr’s Volkswagen as he drove through the streets of Istanbul. It had been many years since Rubens was in Turkey, but at least from what he saw on the screen, little had changed. Past and present bumped up against each other in a dusty jumble. Minarets rose over cascades of domes, but what drew the eye were the billboards for credit cards and Western cigarettes.
    “How long has the driver been with Asad?” asked Rubens.
    “He met Asad and the bodyguards just over the Syrian border. The CIA has nothing on him, not even a name.”
    This didn’t mean that the man was unimportant. The CIA was notorious for its ignorance.
    “If he’s to be of any use, he would need to see that they wanted to kill him,” Rubens told Telach.
    “That’ll be tricky. We’ll need to use the backup teams.”
    The Red Lion operation was a Desk Three venture, but the Deep Black field team was too small to insure success in the event something went wrong. Several teams of backup surveillance people and resources like small boats and planes were scattered around the Istanbul area. Coordinated by the Art Room, the individual units had limited knowledge of the operation to help insure secrecy. Security was so great that the CIA agents and paramilitaries on standby had not participated in the extensive rehearsals.
    “Where are our operatives now?” Rubens asked Telach.
    “Tommy and Dean are in separate cars, tracking Asad,” said Telach. “We assume they’re en route to a safe house.”
    “Lia?”
    “Just picked up Dr. Ramil and is heading to his hotel.”
    “If the others don’t need her, have her arrange to meet one of the CIA teams near the hospital. You can see the driver’s room through the security network?”
    “Yes.”
    “Lia should plan something to snatch the driver—but the danger he is in has to be clear.”

CHAPTER 15
     
    LIA HAD THE cab stop at the Four Seasons, a deluxe hotel in the Sultanahmet area of old Istanbul, the center of the city’s main tourist attractions. She paid the driver, rounding up the tip to the next whole lira, then joined Ramil on the sidewalk. The doctor seemed spent, his face white and drawn.
    “You all right?” she asked.
    “Tired. Did you change my hotel?”
    “We’re going to walk around this way,” said Lia, pointing to the right. “I want to make sure the hotel isn’t being watched before we go in.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    They walked down the cobblestone street, turning up the