Jihad

CHAPTER 7

William Rubens looked up at the large screen at the front of the Art Room, watching the feed from one of the security cameras in the Istanbul hospital. If there was a commercial computer system in the world that Rubens’ team of computer specialists couldn’t break into, they hadn’t found it yet. Conveniently for Desk Three, the hospital’s security videos shared the same mainframe that housed its impressive — though not entirely secure — patient information system, where Asad’s vital signs were just now being recorded by a special set of instruments.

Contrary to the calculations of the experts who’d said the accident wouldn’t produce any real injuries, the driver of Asad bin Taysr’s car had suffered a compound leg fracture, but otherwise everything was proceeding smoothly. Lia had indicated that Asad had been stunned but not hurt, exactly as planned. Now, however, Rubens realized that the terror leader’s blood pressure numbers were not what they had expected. He walked up the wide steps at the center of the Art Room to a set of consoles where an NSA doctor was monitoring the situation, standing by to give the team advice if needed.

“Asad’s blood pressure — is it wrong?” he asked.

“It’s low,” said the doctor. “It’s the opposite of what was supposed to happen from the drugs Lia gave him. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the knockout gas.”

“I see.”

“If it’s a reaction, I wouldn’t want to give him any more anesthetic. It might kill him.”

“On the other hand, he may really have a severe head injury requiring surgery,” said Rubens.

“Yes, that’s the problem.”