“Call up Julia,” he said to one of the four Mossad techs sitting in front of a computer station in the center of the open, low-ceilinged room. The man glanced at Yoram Tzadik, the agent in charge of the operation. Tzadik nodded his approval. Then after a series of keystrokes, a headset was handed to Nir, and he slid it on.

He leaned forward on his fists, resting them on the table in front of him, and waited.

“Julia,” said a smoky, South African-accented voice, using one of the legend names for this operation. That one word was all it took for Nir to breathe a sigh of relief. Although Nicole le Roux was only 400 kilometers away, that distance was entirely in the Islamic Republic of Iran. She might as well have been on the other side of the world.

“Julia, Matt. Checking in.”

“So far, so good. Looking forward to a nice hot bath and a good stiff drink.”

“I’m guessing you’ll have better luck with the first than the second. Take care of yourself. Out.”

Nir pulled off the headset and handed it back to the tech, giving the young man a grateful tap on the back as he did so. Then with a twist of his wrist, he calculated the time difference between what he read on his G-Shock watch and Nicole’s probable ETA at the pickup point. At least her safety was now measured in hours rather than days.

For the first time that morning, he sat down.

Although he and Nicole lived in two different European countries, each leading a busy life, they found time to connect. Sometimes she visited him in Belgium. Often, he found an excuse to carry out business for his Antwerp-based diamond company near one of her photoshoot locales. Or he’d visit her in Milan, her home when she could be there. Somehow their eight-year relationship seemed to be working—though on paper, it shouldn’t be.

He was even starting to wonder if this South African, full-time model and part-time Mossad computer hacker could be “the one.”

And that was why he hadn’t wanted her to be part of this operation. It was too dangerous. Nicole wasn’t an operative. She’d never even shot a gun outside of a firing range. The closest she’d ever come to any sort of danger was as a target in a gun battle in South Africa before she was even part of the Mossad. Putting her in-country like this without any kind of ops experience could get her imprisoned or even killed. He had tried to persuade Tzadik to remove her from the operation. When that didn’t work, he’d yelled and cursed at the man. Finally, his superior had thrown him out of his office, threatening to pull him from the operation if he couldn’t control himself.