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to snatch Frederick Gottlieb, the Hamas and Hezbollah gunrunner they had been tracking for months. Then the call came. And she could not say no. Glenn had saved her life long ago. There had been plenty of opportunity for her American friend to call in the marker the last twenty years but he never had. In fact, Kitra had come to the conclusion, after the first decade passed, that Glenn never would. But when she saw Glenn’s number on her phone, she knew. Knew before answering. Glenn would never have interrupted an operation without good cause. Which meant whatever had happened was serious, and the only way Glenn could make her change the operation plans was to drop the debt in her lap.
    â€œWhat do you need?” Kitra had said.
    â€œI have an agent in duress.”
    â€œI have spent a lot of personal time planning this operation.”
    â€œI wouldn’t call you if I didn’t need you. Besides, you’re a bit old for fieldwork.”
    Kitra had smirked. “Yes, but I like the . . . what would you call it? Juice.”
    â€œYeah, I know the feeling.”
    Glenn spent the next ­couple of minutes giving all the details he had. Once he was done, Kitra assured him the agent would be found. Then she hung up and ordered her team off the gunrunner.
    Simon, Isaac, and Ehud. Her team. All of them were young but experienced. They knew better than to question their director’s orders. Within moments of breaking off the snatch-­and-­grab operation, they were in the Land Rover and heading toward Ur without uttering a sound. She knew she would not gain the same type of response from her husband in retirement. She had already compiled quite a work list for him. Getting him to do the work, though, was another story.
    â€œDirector, I see the vehicles,” Ehud said.
    Kitra leaned forward so she could better see through the windshield. A Lincoln Town Car and a Renault, just as Glenn had said. Both shot to pieces.
    â€œStop thirty feet short.”
    Ehud pulled over but kept the engine running. Kitra, Isaac, and Simon eased out of the Land Rover, Negev light machine guns in their hands. She surveyed the surrounding area. Quiet. No traffic. A small blessing.
    Kitra walked toward the cars. The other two followed. Ehud remained in the Land Rover, ready to speed up and extract them if anyone launched an ambush.
    As they grew closer, Kitra smelled cordite and gasoline. She scanned the cars’ bodies. There was plenty of blood, but if anyone had been killed, the assailants took the corpses.
    They were lucky automobiles hadn’t been incinerated. That’s what she would have done. Flares and gasoline. A grenade in each car if he had zero time.
    Kitra moved to the driver’s side of the Lincoln, opened the door and reached in underneath the seat. Her hand found the item she was looking for and she pulled it out. Right where Glenn said it would be. Straightening up, she held the cell phone at her side.
    She scrolled through the call history. Glenn’s number. The agent’s text alerting Glenn that he was in duress. A note entry.
    Hmmm.
    Kitra opened the note. It read: A. Haddad . Nothing else.
    She frowned, closed the cell phone and slipped it into her pocket.
    â€œBack to the car.”
    Kitra led, and Simon and Isaac followed.
    Inside the Land Rover, Ehud asked her, “Where to now, Director?”
    â€œFurther up the road,” Kitra said. “To the construction site.”
    E hud parked the Land Rover in a makeshift lot next to a ­couple of work trucks. Again they left him behind to keep the car running. This time they did not bring the Negevs. Instead they would rely on pistols tucked away under their shirts. Kitra led the way into the site, passing construction workers and large earth-­moving equipment. The engines of generators knocked hard, reverberating across the desert floor. They sounded like they needed maintenance. They looked like they could use a mercy