Jihad

CHAPTER 1

The light blue Mercedes came around the comer a bit too fast, tires squealing as the driver tucked around a tour bus parked near Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar. Just then a cab spurted from the curb directly into the Mercedes’ path. The Mercedes veered to the left, but the way was blocked by another bus; before the driver could veer back, two of his tires blew. The car plowed into the side of a small panel truck, striking it so hard that the truck’s gas tank exploded with a gush of flames.

Or so it appeared from the Mercedes.

Most of the tourists and others nearby were too stunned to react, even to run away. But one devout woman who happened to be passing nearby saw the accident and rushed toward the flames, her long dress and chador fluttering in the wind as she ran. Dodging a vehicle that just slammed on its brakes, she ran to the Mercedes. As she reached it, a fireball rose from the tour bus, exploding above with a boom that shook the entire block.

“So far, so good,” said Jeff Rockman, watching the disaster unfold on the large screen at the front of Desk Three’s op center, commonly known as the Art Room.

“We have a considerable distance to go, Mr. Rockman,” replied William Rubens, who as the number two man in the National Security Agency ran Desk Three, colloquially known as Deep Black. “Please direct your attention to Ms. DeFrancesca and keep your color commentary to yourself.”