The Lance

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

In one of the windowless detention cells below Shin Bet Headquarters, Khalid recited his prayers. Even here, imprisoned by the Jewish occupiers, he could still face Mecca and find the strength that had deserted him earlier. He shuddered, remembering the look in the eyes of the Jew as he whispered the things he would do to Khalid's family. Surely the Jew was a demon, a jinn sent to test him. Allah, the All Compassionate and All Merciful, would forgive Khalid for his cowardice. He rose from his prayers. A metal view slot opened in the steel door of his cell.

Someone peered in. The slot shut. Khalid heard bolts being drawn, a murmured conversation. He sat down on the bare metal ledge bolted to the wall that served as table, chair and bunk and waited. Khalid was passive. He knew it was futile to think of physical resistance. He swallowed and thought of his family, and prepared to be interrogated.

Ín'sh'allah. As God wills.

The man who entered the cell wore an army uniform. He closed the door behind him. His face was bland, almost featureless, almost kind. He held a covered box in his left hand.

"You are hungry?" the man said.

Khalid shrugged, ready for a blow, a lie, a trick. There was no trusting these Israeli dogs. The man's Arabic was fluent, with a hint of an accent.

"You have been helpful," the man said. "I've brought something to show our appreciation." He reached into the box with his right hand.

The silenced pistol spat once and a small, dark hole appeared in Khalid's forehead. He never felt the second shot that entered his ear.

The Visitor replaced the pistol in the box. He lifted Khalid's body onto the narrow bunk and turned his face to the wall. Anyone looking in would see a sleeping prisoner. The Visitor left the cell and closed the door, bolting it after him. Five minutes later he had disappeared into the crowds on the street outside. Another soldier, hurrying to his appointment with the god of war.

Back in his apartment, the Visitor made a call.

"It's done."

"Good. Your time there is finished." A brief silence. "You failed with the agent."

"It was unavoidable. I lost three people. He is a worthy adversary."

"It doesn't matter. Return to Washington. Call when you are settled."

The Visitor could hear an opera playing in the background, something by Wagner.

"Yes."

The Visitor broke the connection, smashed the phone with his heel. He began packing. When he was done, he sat on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, his mind soaring to a summer meadow high in the Bavarian Alps.