The Crimson Code. Rachel Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ not listening at all.

      By late afternoon, figures were arriving. None held the mind-numbing counts that had come from the tsunami in the Indian Ocean the previous Christmas, but though the numbers were smaller, the details were just as horrifying. These bombings had not been an act of God. As the acts of men, they were heinous beyond belief, worse even than the Twin Towers in scope. “Black Christmas,” as the networks had begun to call it, would undoubtedly go into the annals of history along with 9/11.

      Renate sat at her desk, her demeanor a cloak of ice, as if she had frozen every feeling. Tom checked on her frequently, but she never looked up, choosing instead to keep working at the computer, seeking backdoor information.

      They were all doing the same. They all had informants, covert contacts in their old agencies, a collective net cast around the world. Weeks ago they had begun to detect signs that a major terrorist operation was in the works, but they had been unable to pin it down. Equally ominous, no one was claiming responsibility. Usually terrorists were all too eager to step forward and thumb their noses at the world.

      Silence reigned. From the dust and the fire came only the cries of victims.

      So far, heads of state had been quiet, as if awaiting information before speaking. Only the pope had released a brief message, speaking of martyrdom, grief, consolation and forgiveness.

      Forgiveness. Tom doubted that there would be much of that for a while.

      Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

      Betrayal.

      Ahmed Ahsami curled his fists in anger as he watched the reports on three television screens. The BBC, CNN and Al Jazeera were unanimous in their focus on the cathedral bombings, with the other work—the real work, carried out by real soldiers—given only a passing mention. He felt the anger burn in his belly like a white-hot flame.

      Betrayed.

      He never should have trusted them. Fanatics could not advance the cause of Islam. But he had made a deal with the devil, and the devil would have his due.

      Three years of careful planning had been turned to dust, and worse, in the past twelve hours. Three years of arguing, cajoling, convincing his Islamic brothers that they would have to walk a new path if ever they wanted true peace and freedom. Three years of reconnaissance, recruiting, training and more training, to create a network of special operations teams truly worthy of the banner of Allah. Three years directed toward a single goal, a day that would mark forever the ascendance of Islam as a major military and political power.

      Betrayed.

      On a desk beside him sat a DVD, a DVD the world would never see. It was to have been delivered to the offices of Al Jazeera two hours ago. By now the world would have known the name of Saif Alsharaawi…the Sword of the East. By now the world would have seen the face of Ahmed Ahsami, the face of moderation and determination, every word in his speech carefully crafted.

      True justice, true peace, cannot be bought with the blood of innocents…. Islam, like its cousins Christianity and Judaism, deplores the taking of innocent life…. We have shown that we can strike legitimate military and economic targets anywhere, at any time, and that we can do so with justice in our hearts and Allah on our lips…. We ask only that the West leave the Islamic people to govern ourselves, by our own beliefs and our own standards, to pursue our own dreams with the guidance of Allah….

      The speech was to have been an olive branch, offered up with the sincerity of a people who had received too much injustice and renounced delivering more. The days of Al Qaeda and Hezbollah, of suicide bombings intended to cause the greatest possible loss of life, were past. Islam could not stand with its feet in a pool of blood. If he and his brothers were to win this war of ideas, they would have to do so by complying with the true will of Allah…and the laws of war.

      These were the arguments he had made again and again, as he had risen to the top ranks of Saif Alsharaawi. He had personally approved every target, vetting each for military legitimacy. Oil rigs and pipelines, the nuclear weapons plants, the New York Stock Exchange—the heart of Western materialism—all of those, and the other targets he had intended to strike, were selected after careful evaluation.

      The forces of Islam could not match the West in terms of nuclear weapons, guided missiles, aircraft or warships. Ahmed knew that and accepted it. Indeed, he had decided to make that mismatch a cornerstone of his planning. For while he might lack high-tech hardware, he could more than match his opponent in special operations forces: carefully selected, highly trained, highly disciplined and highly motivated. They would be Saif Alsharaawi, the Sword of the East, a surgical strike weapon capable of winning military victory without sacrificing political or moral legitimacy.

      But he had not had enough strike teams for today’s attacks, and so he had made and forged what was to have been an alliance of mutual gain. And his allies had betrayed him.

      Worse, they had betrayed Islam. For as efficient as his teams had been, the bombings of the cathedrals had wiped out any possibility of moderation. And the West would strike back not at his allies, but at Islam. The senseless bombing of churches would accomplish nothing except to continue and intensify the Fourth Crusade already being waged against his people.

      Ahmed knew what he had to do. And once his anger had passed, he would find a way to do exactly that.

      He would turn their betrayal against them.

      Moab, Jordan, 1230 B.C.

      “It is time.”

      The young Levite, Elezar, looked at Moses with something akin to fear. The youth was not yet old enough to become a priest, so he was still serving Moses and learning the holy ways, as he had been since his twelfth year. Serving a man who spoke with the Lord through the fire and smoke was often unnerving.

      But nothing was as unnerving as this announcement, for it meant that Moses was about to die. Elezar could not imagine a world without Moses. Could not imagine that his own revered great-grandfather Eleazar was fit to take Moses’s place. Eleazar was a great priest, true, and could enter the tabernacle that held the terrifying Ark without injury or death but…

      Moses was everything to these people, though they often failed to recognize it. They were a stubborn people, difficult to please, often quick to grumble when Moses was not there to steer them. Elezar tried hard not to be that way himself. But now he wanted to cry out to the Lord against the sentence that had been set on Moses.

      “Come,” said Moses, picking up a staff and waving the young man to do the same. “We must climb Mount Nebo.”

      Leaving the encampment on the plain behind them, they began to climb into the Pisgah Mountains toward Nebo, the highest peak. Elezar half expected to hear the rumble of the Lord’s voice, or see fire atop the peak as his ancestors had seen at Mount Sinai. Which was really not Mount Sinai, but Moses would not tell him where it really was, and none remained among the tribes who could recall, for all who had set out from Egypt with Moses were now dead.

      After a long, hot climb, they reached the top of Mount Nebo. Moses spread his arms wide as if to embrace the breathtaking view.

      “There, Elezar, you see? There is the land that was promised to the sons of Israel. I will not enter with the tribes, nor will you.”

      Elezar stiffened. “But I thought…”

      Moses turned to him, his eyes kinder than Elezar had ever seen them.

      “Let СКАЧАТЬ