I.

The sheik scrolled through the video one more time. It was amazing what one could miss on initial viewings, but which revealed itself very readily in slo-mo. Images. The Islamic prohibition against images of living beings was well considered, he thought. They caused nothing but trouble – look at Facebook! The ruin of countless young men and women, however convenient for recruiting and other purposes. But they could be useful. He settled on a frame, looking at it. The woman was staring up at the sky. Over a few frames in the sequence she had slightly adjusted herself to face the helicopter windows more directly. As if she were deliberately showing herself to them. He put it in pause, stared at her face. Her expression was intent, but not what he would call fearful. Searching. Looking for something to reassure her. Not glowering at what surely must be the arrival of an enemy. He sped ahead to the chaos, when she was running around, assisting Red - it was true, she had saved his life - who was yelling at her, instructions, something. She disappeared into the tent, the camera was off of her, but very quickly – he timed it on the video editing software timeline, thirty-nine seconds, she had gotten the weapon, presumably loaded it unless Red kept it in that state, unlikely, cut her firing slit, and fired it.

He had no doubt that Faisal would have chosen a remarkable woman for his mate, but that remarkable?

Well, he had planned to check her history in more detail for public relations reasons. He left the frozen frame on the screen and punched a number on his phone.

II.

Rivka, in her office at Mossad headquarters on King Saul Boulevard, also hit replay. The few words played again. "Annie Walker here…" Her colleague stared across the desk at her. "So the CIA is in this mess as well? When we did not even know about it?" Rivka spread out her hands. "You know Lavin. He has always been, shall we say, effective but unpredictable."

"Who else knows about this?"

"You, me, and the operator assigned to monitor Lavin's leftover electronics."

"Sequester that person. There is nothing else?"

"No. Nothing. I will let you know immediately if anything else arises."

"Do so." She watched as her colleague left the room. He had not sworn her personally to greater than usual secrecy, which was fortunate.

III.

"Joan? Got a minute?" Auggie asked at her doorway.

"Sure. What's up?"

"Not sure. Maybe nothing."

"It rarely is…"

"Yeah, especially in this direction. I almost got a phone call recently."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, a ping and no connection. I capture those and periodically check them. This one came in a week ago."

"Just a ping?"

"From a place called Shahback Matti."

"Fill me in."

"Not much to say. It's an area of salt flats on the southeastern coast of the Arabian peninsula. Sparsely populated by people or cell phones." Speaking of phones, Joan's intercom awoke at that moment. Her secretary announced the caller. Auggie raised his eyebrows and since Joan didn't chase him out, felt for the back of the chair in front of her desk.

IV.

The room in the center of a mountain was a place meant for quiet, serious conversation and analysis in an atmosphere of perfect safety. In less serious situations they joked about going into the mountain instead of up the mountain for wisdom. So the vigorous swearing that was flying back and forth among the handful of men seemed out of place. In front of the oldest of them were several bound volumes of what in most cases could be considered old-fashioned computer print outs on continuous paper. "Enough!" The room fell silent. "I do not see it as a betrayal. I have read all this. Every word. Have any of you? Maybe this is for the best. Maybe, given the ambiguity we have seen in the last few weeks, maybe it is even reassuring." There was grumbling. Someone called him a romantic. He had been called much worse, and probably would be again before this was over. His was the minority opinion, again, but since he had been right in the last instance, as the sole voice against the attack, he had something to negotiate with. "He has completely exposed himself. To us and, he may believe, - and he still might be right, whatever we think - even to them. Still he has apparently moved forward with what we need. I say we observe. Then we decide. Not before. Do I need to remind you what is at stake here? That only he can give to us? " That settled them. For the moment, he had won the argument. He hoped it would hold. It didn't.

"He has already betrayed us. Bringing her in in the first place. He also knows what is at stake. And still he did it! I don't care if she is a supposed ally or not – that only made the risk greater. He knew this!"

He tried again . "And we knew the man we were sending out to do this for us. A man who has shown that he fits in every way the divine dictate, that when we send a man to spy out the land, he should be a prince among men. We find and persuade and send out such a man and we are surprised when he does not behave ignobly? We are surprised that he reaches out to save someone dear to him? And then we attempt to punish him for it? We should have extracted the woman as soon as she came to our attention and allowed this to go no further."

One of the other men interjected. "If - If! we believe that this is not an unusually adept plot by the CIA to infiltrate our operations. This woman was placed on the border, after seeking him out in Israel, and then she very conveniently is calling out for his help? And this plea just happens to find its way to the right places? Come on. The CIA are colluding with the Saudis for reasons of their own, most likely to keep us from taking the action we need to take. Perhaps they think it will interfere with oil field productivity. This woman is not some lost love, she is an experienced operative who has completely seduced him and is clearly pursuing her own ends, and he has fallen for it and taken her right into the heart of it."

"Yes," another voice joined in. "There is evidence – I believe enough – that he has been compromised. Even converted, if you will. At best he has behaved irrationally – what good did beating her do? Hardly a "noble prince", I am sorry. And these recent attacks – needless. They have nothing to do with our operation. We have no choice but to terminate. The risks are too great."

"We have driven a man mad and now we go to shoot him down like a rabid dog?"

"Once rabid, it does not matter how they got that way. We must do what needs to be done."

"Yes, I agree!" he said firmly, to startle them. It worked, a little. "And what needs to be done can only be done by his hand, or we go back to the beginning. Will you go in his place? Or you? Or you? Do you have a man ready who could? Do you?" There was quiet for an instant, then more dissension. Lavin was worth more than the roomful of them, he thought. But that might not be enough to keep him alive; these baying hounds smelled blood.

Possibly, he could assuage them by persuading them to take someone else's blood instead.