Why had Rasouli wanted to meet this man? Was he an intermediary? Or, more likely, was Rasouli trying to recruit him as a double agent? Despite the poverty most of the people in this country endured, the government was very rich, with pockets deep enough to tempt saints and angels. The sniper had seen that firsthand in the absurd amount of money Rasouli had paid to have her team provide security for half an hour in a coffee shop.

“Oracle, give me a probability estimate on Ledger’s loyalty.”

“That question lacks specificity.”

“Based on Joseph Ledger’s psych profiles, can he be bought? Could Rasouli buy him away from the DMS?

“Unknown.”

“But we can’t discount it?”

“That would be unwise.”

She peered through the scope. Ledger was still sitting on the floor with his dog. Was he crying? The blowing curtains on Ledger’s window made it impossible to tell, but the American looked like he had something on his cheeks. Tears or dog slobber?

“How dangerous is this man?”

“To others or to himself?”

The question did not surprise the sniper. She was more than half-convinced the marks on Ledger’s cheeks were not there because of his dog.

“As a fighter and field agent,” she said.

“According to psych profiles and all other available data, Captain Joseph Edwin Ledger should be considered a Class-A threat.”

The sniper found that very interesting.

There was movement. Ledger abruptly straightened and looked at the closed door against which he sat. Then he and the dog climbed quickly to their feet. Ledger reached inside his jacket but after a moment brought his hand away without a gun. It was clear that someone had just knocked on the door, and it seemed apparent from Ledger’s body language that the visitor was expected.

But who was it?

Rasouli?

Another of St. Germaine’s agents? The Sabbatarians?

Or one of those unholy bastards in the Red Order?

“Oracle. Stand by.”

“Standing by.”

As Ledger reached for the door handle, the sniper leaned her shoulder against the stock of the rifle. Her slender finger stroked the cold metal rim of the trigger guard.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Golden Oasis Hotel

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 8:47 a.m.

When the delivery man knocked on the door I nearly jumped out of my skin. I leapt to my feet and spun toward the door. Ghost gave a low growl and took up a defensive stance next to me. He was too tactful to mention that I spent five seconds scrabbling inside my jacket for a pistol I wasn’t carrying.

I peered through the peephole and saw a teenage boy in a kufi.