At first he dismissed the possibility. A terrorist travelling under a false identity would rather emulate a gray sparrow than a peacock. But a reverse strategy could be at play-deflecting suspicion by defying expectations. Gideon glanced at the photograph stuffed inside his helmet. Even though Al-Mazir had gained considerable weight since the snapshot had been taken, his facial features were yet to completely melt into his pudginess. And the reception by the Arabs confirmed his identity, especially the extended embrace he used to pat down his host for weapons.

Gideon slipped on the full-face helmet and said, “The Frogs let him in. He’s in the second car.”

The built-in speakers inside his helmet crackled with Bathsheba’s voice. “I see him.”

“ Go!” He exited through the sliding doors just as her BMW K1 motorbike took off with a hushed exhaust rumble.

In the padded back seat of the Renault, Hassan pulled a silver thermos from a pouch, unscrewed the top, and poured coffee into a porcelain cup. The rich aroma filled the car.

“ Ah!” Al-Mazir sniffed at the edge of the cup. “The real thing!”

“ Abu Yusef brewed it especially for you,” Hassan said. “Black, twice-boiled, no sugar.”

He sipped and smacked his lips. “Perfect!”

“ My uncle told me it was your only luxury back in Beirut, when the PLO fought a holy jihad for Palestine.”

“ I’m still fighting.” Al-Mazir glanced at the young man. “I’ve kept alive the spirit of Beirut, continued to spill the Jews’ blood.”

“ You have been wise. We all see it now, after the Oslo treachery of Arafat-”

“Don’t mention that name!” Al-Mazir took another sip and held the thick brew in his mouth before swallowing. “So how is my dear comrade?”

“Abu Yusef is eager to see you. He prays that you join us soon.”

“With my courageous followers, yes?”

Hassan blushed. He straightened the lapels of his tailored suit. “ Insha’Allah.”