“I’m aware of the consensus.”

“You’re so worried about him, why’d you meet him one-on-one?”

“I had security across the hall.”

“We have a chance here to catch a guy we’ve been chasing a long time. End of story.”

Three e-mails later, she had set the meeting for Holux. As Cota had suggested, Rashid would cross into Afghanistan alone and meet a CIA pickup at Batawul, a village east of the camp.

BACK AT LANGLEY, the geeks in the Division of Science and Technology worked on trackers. A transmitter hidden inside a pill would have to be a low-powered radio unit that could be monitored only at close range. The DST preferred to hide a satellite transponder inside a heart monitor. When Rashid delivered the monitor to al-Zawahiri, satellites would autolock on him.

The night before the meeting, Holm couldn’t sleep. Around three a.m., she gave up, turned on a lamp. Her husband sat up, stretched his arms as if he’d been asleep, though she knew he hadn’t. “What if we’re wrong?”

“He’s already given us a bunch of guys. He’s proven himself.”

“I know I’m being irrational. Maybe it doesn’t make sense unless you’re a woman. But we’ve all had one of them. In college if you’re lucky, high school if you’re not. He’s older, picks you up at a bar. Doesn’t try to take you home that night. Gets your number, takes you to dinner, and he’s got a nice car. He’s so polite. Charming. Not like the stupid boys you know. You’re happy you dressed up for him. Then after dinner he takes you back to his place for a drink, and before you know it your skirt is off, and whether you want it or not, it’s happening. And when it’s done, he never calls again—”

“Did this happen to you?”

“I told you we’ve all had one of them. The point is, that’s the feeling Marburg gives me. He’s too good. Do anything to get in our pants.”

“Make sure they pat him down tomorrow. Before he gets inside.”