Crescent Dawn (Dirk Pitt 21)

Maria nodded in reply.

“And the Dome of the Rock?” he asked, tension apparent in his voice.

“The Dome’s sacred stone is itself situated on bedrock, but the main tunnel does underlie the structure. Another tunnel approaches the al-Aqsa Mosque, in addition to other points on the grounds. That is, if Suleiman’s maps are accurate, which they have proven to be so far.”

The Palestinian’s face turned pale as his initial excitement turned to trepidation.

“I do not wish to tread beneath the site of the sacred rock,” he said solemnly.

“That will not be necessary,” Maria replied. “Your work is finished.”

As she spoke, she reached into her pack and retrieved a compact Beretta pistol, which she leveled at the startled Palestinian.

Unlike her brother, Maria felt no rush or thrill at taking the life of another. In fact, she felt nothing at all. Committing murder was the emotional equivalent of changing her socks or eating a bowl of soup. They were at different ends of the sociopathic scale, products of abusive childhoods and genetic homogeneity, but they had both ended up as remorseless killers.

The pistol barked twice, sending a pair of slugs into al-Khatib’s chest as the echo of the shots reverberated loudly through the chamber. The relic hunter dropped to his knees, a momentary look of incomprehension in his eyes, before he fell over dead. Maria calmly walked over and removed the envelope of banknotes from his pocket and stuffed it in her pack. Then she glanced at her watch.

“We have less than an hour before the explosives are to be delivered,” she said to the Janissary. “Let us survey the quarry and select our sites.”

Stepping over the dead man’s body, she retrieved his lantern, then quickly scurried off into the dark.

45

IT WAS NEARING TEN O’CLOCK WHEN SOPHIE PULLED INTO a small dirt lot outside the northeast wall of the Old City and parked behind a closed dress shop. Across the road and down a short hill was the northern tip of the Muslim cemetery, which meandered south across a widening gulch as part of the Kidron Valley headlands. Shutting off the ignition, she turned to Dirk, who gazed at her from the passenger seat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “Most night operations turn out to be a boring exercise in futility.”

Dirk smiled as he nodded his head. “I’m not one to waste the chance for a stroll in the moonlight with a beautiful girl.”

Sophie suppressed a laugh. “You’re the only one I know who could find something romantic in a stakeout.”

But she had to admit to similar feelings. They had enjoyed an intimate dinner at a quiet Armenian café inside the Jaffa Gate, and as the evening progressed she developed a compelling desire to cancel the surveillance operation and invite him to her apartment instead. She quelled the notion, knowing the prospect of obtaining potential information about the killers of agent Holder was much too important.

“It’s not like Sam to be late,” she said, checking her watch, then gazing out the window for his vehicle.

A minute later, her cell phone vibrated, and she answered, speaking animatedly in Hebrew.

“It was Sam,” she said after hanging up. “He was in an auto accident.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes. Apparently a van filled with Christian pilgrims missed a turn and drove into him. He’s okay, but his car is wrecked. He thinks a few elderly tourists might be injured, so it’s going to take a while to clean up. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to get here for another hour.”

“Then I guess we better start without him,” Dirk replied, opening the door and climbing out of the car. Sophie followed him, opening the trunk and removing a pair of night vision binoculars, which she strung around her neck. Then she leaned over and opened a large leather case that was lying flat in the

trunk. Inside was a weathered, government-issue Tavor TAR-21 assault rifle. Sophie slid in a fully loaded clip and chambered the first round, then slid the weapon over her shoulder.

“Armed for bear this time, I see,” Dirk remarked.

“After Caesarea, I will always be better armed,” she said, her voice filled with resolve.

“Why not let the Shin Bet handle the stakeout if you suspect the Lebanese smugglers are involved?”

“I considered that,” she replied, “but the tip was rather flimsy. We’re most likely dealing with some ragtag teenage pothunters who probably won’t even show up.”

“That would be all right with me,” Dirk said with a wink as he grabbed her hand.

They crossed the road and hiked down the embankment that spilled into the cemetery. Sophie stopped and scanned the grounds with her binoculars.