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him closely. Up ahead, a checkpoint came into view. Four men stood next to a Toyota Hilux guarding the road, and one of them stepped off the concrete median as the Arab slowed the blue Toyota Cressida and rolled down the window.
    The young jihadist, dressed in black jeans and a blue Captain America T-shirt, stuck his head inside the window. “Where are you going?”
    â€œWe are going to see Latif,” al Qatar said simply.
    â€œI was not told of this,” the fighter replied, shaken by the mention of his commander’s name.
    â€œOf course you weren’t,” al Qatar sneered. “But if you value your life, I would let us through.”
    â€œThis road is closed.”
    â€œWhy don’t you call him on the radio and tell him that you won’t let us pass? I am sure he would love to hear that.”
    The young jihadist looked around, unsure of what to do. Finally, he nodded his head. “Very well.”
    As soon as the jihadist stepped off the street, al Qatar put the Toyota in gear and gently placed his foot on the accelerator. Once the car was moving, he pulled a cigarette from the center console and lit it with shaky hands.
    â€œI didn’t think they were going to let us pass,” he said.
    â€œRelax, I told you it would be okay,” Boland said.
    â€œYes, you did, and you were right.”
    Al Qatar sounded too complimentary, and Boland felt a flicker of suspicion. He knew al Qatar was a liar, but right now he was the only friend he had.
    Abu al Qatar wasn’t yet thirty years old, but he had been working for the CIA since he was twenty-three. He was the agency’s only asset in Syria. More to the point, he was its only link to Khalid al Hamas, and the CIA would give anything to capture the Iranian facilitator.
    â€œHow much farther?” Boland asked.
    â€œIt is not far; just at the end of the street.”
    â€œAre you sure they are both going to be there?”
    â€œYes, Latif is very interested in this meeting.”
    â€œTell me what you are going to do once we are inside.”
    â€œI will give the money to al Hamas,” he said, motioning to the duffel in the backseat.
    â€œAnd who am I?”
    â€œYour name is Hassan, and you speak for Emir Baghdadi in Iraq,” al Qatar answered for the hundredth time.
    â€œWhy am I here?”
    â€œYou have been sent to offer Latif a chance at an alliance.”
    â€œVery good.” Boland smiled. “What do you do when the shooting starts?”
    Al Qatar swerved gently to avoid a hole in the asphalt, and checked the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed. “When the shooting starts, I get on the ground and hope the other Americans don’t kill me,” he said finally.
    â€œListen to me: if you don’t pose a threat, they won’t hurt you,” Boland said.
    Al Qatar gave him a queer look, and again Boland felt his hackles rise. But he dismissed the spark of doubt as soon as it came. Al Qatar was a traitor, and as long as you kept that in the forefront of your mind, he’d never get the upper hand.

CHAPTER 6
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    R enee kept trying to get hold of Mason as the pitch of the Mi-17’s rotors began to change. She’d needed a situation report but was running out of time.
    Renee looked down the half-open ramp, where the caramel-colored sand was beginning to give way to the gray cityscape. She knew that Mason wasn’t prone to exaggeration, and if he was calling for an abort, she couldn’t fathom why they were ignoring him.
    â€œFive minutes,” the pilot said over the internal net.
    â€œGet ready,” Warchild yelled from his perch near the door gunner.
    Renee knew her team leader couldn’t care less what she had to say, but maybe if she could get Parker to listen, they could avoid flying into a hot LZ.
    â€œGround team is calling for an abort,” Renee shouted at Parker.
    The man frowned behind his dark sunglasses and ran