The pickup stopped a hundred feet from the CIA officers. Khan stepped out as Holm walked toward the SUV’s passenger side. Lautner and other security officers followed, their pistols holstered. Cota had told them no rifles. Too intimidating.

The front passenger door opened. Rashid stepped out, careful to make sure his gown didn’t touch the pickup’s muddy side panels. “Doctor—”

He stepped toward her. “Miss Simmons, salaam aleikum—”

Before he finished the greeting, she knew. His face was even thinner than it had been in Karachi. But under his windbreaker, his body was thicker. Squarer. Whoever had built the vest had done a good job. It wasn’t obvious. If it had been obvious, Khan would have been sure, instead of just worried.

But it was there.

Rashid took another step toward her. His eyes opened wide. He smiled. She saw he wanted her to know. He wasn’t nervous either. He was ready. He was looking forward to this.

“Bomb!” Holm yelled. “Bomb!” No time to say anything else. She pushed Cota aside and down—

Behind her the security officers reached for their pistols—

They were all too late.

Ahmad Rashid, code name Marburg, reached under his sweater and pushed the detonator on his suicide vest. The seven pounds of Semtex strapped to his body blew. The blast wave tore Marci Holm into pieces so small that her remains could be identified only by her wedding ring. It ripped off the back of Manny Cota’s head. It killed seven other CIA officers, including Tom Lautner. Marci’s body partly protected him from the blast. He might have survived, but the overpressure wave caught him awkwardly and snapped his neck. Six other officers were seriously wounded, Ted Khan worst of all. The explosion blasted the 4Runner’s windshield into shards that cut up his eyes before he could blink. In a way he was lucky. He couldn’t see what had happened to his face.