The Project 01 - White Jade

narcissist."
    "Whatever he is, he's not going to brush us off. You're going to Israel. You find something that threatens Rice's security, give it to Shin Bet and the Secret Service. They've got the manpower, let them handle it. You leave today."
    "I always wanted to see Jerusalem. Maybe I'll get a little sightseeing in."
    She set the pen down and folded her hands. " It's not a vacation, Nick. You're booked into the same hotel as the President as part of his party , right outside the Old City. T he Israelis may not let you keep your weapon. They're sensitive about guns and you're not Secret Service. "
    "Who's the source over there ?"
    "His name is Arshak Arslanian. He has a shop in the Armenian Quarter." She slid the manila folder across her desk. "His photo and info is in there."
    Harker turned to Selena. "Selena, you continue with Ronnie this afternoon."
    Ronnie was the third member of Nick's team. He was just back from visiting his family on the Navajo Reservation in Arizona. He'd been coaching Selena. Physical training, weapons, codes, the tricks of personal survival. All the things that might give her a chance to make it through the next year.
    Harker tapped her pen and looked at Nick. "You'll need a lot of time to clear security. You'd better get going."

CHAPTER TWO

    The sweet scent of Jasmine vines wafted through the open window of a crumbling tenement in the Old City of Damascus. A man bent over a wooden table with a soldering iron. He wiped sweat away from his forehead with the frayed sleeve of his shirt and concentrated on his task.
    Another man watched from a sagging couch pushed against one of the stained yellow walls. He wore a dark suit of European cut. His crisp, white shirt was open at the collar.
    The man on the couch had a face that was blank, forgettable. His features were smooth and calm, as if life had never quite reached the surface. It was hot in the apartment, but the man was not sweating. His eyebrows were unnoticeable above his colorless eyes. His nose seemed to disappear into the vagueness of his features. His lips were a thin, invisible line.
    The man at the table was called Ibrahim. The man on the couch was called the Visitor, but Ibrahim didn't know that. It was better that way.
    The bomb was almost finished. It was a very fine bomb, perhaps the best Ibrahim had ever made, and he had made many. He was well known throughout the terrorist network. If you wanted something unusual, reliable and easily concealed , with the most destructive result, you sought out the Syrian.
    Anyone with a simple knowledge of electronics could build a suicide vest or a roadside device, but few could do what Ibrahim did. The truth of his skill was easy to see. He still owned almost all of his fingers and both eyes, no mean feat for an old bomb maker.
    He soldered the final connection. He set the iron down and allowed himself to relax.
    "It is ready?"
    The man in the suit spoke in Arabic, his voice quiet, pleasant. He got off the couch, looked over the bomb maker's shoulder. Ibrahim tried to place the accent. German, perhaps.
    Ibrahim took an unfiltered cigarette from a crumpled yellow pack, held it in nicotine stained fingers and lit it. The harsh tobacco smoke formed a blue cloud as he exhaled. The man in the suit concealed his disapproval.
    "Yes, ready. When you place the charge, set and activate the timer. There is a twenty-four hour window."
    Ibrahim showed his guest the arming device, small like a woman's wrist watch. A red arrow was etched on the bezel surrounding the dial. The face was marked for twenty four hours. A second, smaller ring within the first was divided into twelve five minute increments.
    "Set the hour by rotating the outer ring clockwise. Then, set the inner ring counter clockwise for fine adjustment. You can reset until you press this button. After that, no. The timer will run until your mark is reached. The bomb is safe until the time chosen. Then, boom."
    The Visitor nodded.
    "Give me the pack."
    The Visitor handed Ibrahim a backpack. Bright yellow letters over a yellow and green ram's head imprint spelled out Colorado State University on the flap. Inside were socks, two tee shirts, a teaspoon or two of beach sand, a pair of hiking shorts, postcards, dirty underwear, a pair of Dockers, a package of condoms, sandals and a water bottle.
    There were also two books. One was a popular paperback listing hostels and restaurants in Israel. The other was a hardbound travel guide to the holy