The Temple Mount Code by Charles Brokaw Read Free Book Online Page B

heavily, the man’s hold on the pistol loosened.
    With a quick twist, Davari slid the pistol free and popped it into his hand. He raised the pistol and fired by instinct.
    Three shots struck the approaching agent in the chest and threw him off stride. Davari fired two more rounds into the man’s left leg as he came down on that foot and he fell, sprawling into the alley. The colonel placed the pistol silencer under the chin of the man he was holding and pulled the trigger twice, blowing the top of his head off.
    Shoving the dead man from him, Davari strode toward the second agent. The man was trying to roll over onto his back and get a shot off. He managed to fire two rounds, but both missed, ricocheting off the alley wall.
    Davari shot two rounds into the man’s face and kicked the pistol away. Working quickly, he knelt and went through the men’s pockets, taking their IDs, cash, and personal effects, and dropping it all into his jacket pockets. He found a spare magazine on the big man and quickly changed out the one in his captured weapon. He kept the half-empty magazine, then picked up the other pistol and the spare magazine for it and switched that one to full capacity as well.
    He turned and headed for the end of the alley, thinking Lutfi had bolted and run and that he would kill the man if he ever saw him again. Then an ancient Russian sedan rounded the corner and headed toward him.
    Davari stepped out of the way and fisted the pistols in his jacket pockets.
    The car’s brakes squealed as the vehicle shuddered to a stop. Lufti stared through the bug-spattered windshield as Davari opened the passenger seat and got inside.
    ‘They’re dead?’
    ‘Yes. Go.’ Davari relaxed in the seat as Lutfi shifted into gear and drove over the dead men in the alley.
    Minutes later, Davari followed Lutfi into a pottery warehouse. They walked in silence to the back of the building, aided only by a flashlight Lutfi carried. Davari didn’t mind the darkness. He was armed, and he’d just emerged victorious from a confrontation. His blood sang.
    At the back of the warehouse, Lutfi stood against the back wall, then stamped his foot in a practiced rhythm. ‘If I didn’t do that, you would be dead.’
    A moment later, a section of the floor lifted, then slid noisily across the floor. Lutfi descended a narrow set of stairs into a small room. Three men armed with AK-47s stood at the bottom.
    They all wore olive drab pants, khaki shirts, and red berets. One was in his early forties, sallow-faced, with acne scars and a salt-and-pepper hair and beard. Commander Ahmad Meshal calmly smoked a cigarette and studied his guest.
    ‘Colonel Davari?’
    ‘I am.’
    Meshal stood his ground. ‘Commander Meshal.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You have blood on your face and on your shirt.’
    ‘There was trouble.’
    ‘What kind of trouble?’
    ‘I was picked up at the airport by two men. They moved and acted like Mossad agents.’
    Meshal glanced at Lutfi.
    ‘They did not follow me.’ Fear etched Lutfi’s face. ‘They were there when I arrived.’
    ‘As I said, they picked me up at the airport.’
    Davari glanced around. There did not appear to be any other exits. A wire shelf on the wall to his left held a small selection of food. Next to it, a curtain covered the far half of the wall. A laptop computer and other equipment sat on a card table in the corner. A stack of magazines sat on the floor.
    ‘May I borrow your table?’ He nodded at the card table.
    ‘Of course.’
    On the table, Davari spread out the IDs and papers he’d collected from the men he’d killed. ‘These are probably fake, but we have experts who can tell who did the work. If I may use your computer.’
    ‘Please do.’
    Davari used the scanner to copy the IDs and papers onto the laptop, then used an encryption sequence from a Web site the Quds Force had set up for him. Then he uploaded the images to another Web site accessed by the Quds intelligence division. He