“This is not funny.” Eli looked at her from under heavy brows. “You should follow your captain’s orders, and his example.”

“Yeah, right.” She started to turn away but paused. “Come on, and I’m warning you; no distractions this time.” She laughed as she pulled her hood up once again.

Eli groaned and followed.

*

Alex and Adira sat outside at the café, several hundred feet down from their target building. There were a few other patrons inside, but they were the only ones seated on the street. Half a dozen other tables sat waiting for their food and drinks.

Adira had ordered coffees, and the dark thick rich liquid was poured at the table. A plate of dates was also set down for them. Alex lifted the small glass cup in the ornate gold holder to his lips.

“Whoa, like a triple espresso on steroids.”

Adira laughed softly, the sound muffled from under the folds of her niqab. “It’s Turkish style – brewed, rebrewed and then cardamom pods added. It enhances the flavor and strength. Why do you think they’re all wild eyed in these parts?”

Alex ate a date, and let his eyes travel down the street. “If that’s the right building, then I think we’ve missed the party.”

“Someone may be still inside, but I think you’re right. If nuclear weapons were being assembled and dispatched from that place I would have expected a fortress. Or at least a significant military presence.” She looked at the surrounding rooftops. “And much more security in the adjoining structures.”

“I think they’ve done what they needed to do, and then moved on. Still, we need to go in and check it out,” Alex said. “Front door is too visible from the street.” He looked along the rooftops; the buildings were jammed up against each other and all were of comparable height. “Be better to enter next door, and drop down through the roof.”

“Yes, this might work.” Adira faced the building, peering at the ancient Arabic writing on its façade. “What happened here? That writing is only on the one building. I can partly understand its words, but not its meaning.”

Alex remembered her translation of the script. “Praise those who are chosen to become the fire of god.” He turned to her. “And what better fire than a nuclear one?”

“Yes.” Adira continued to stare at the writing. She turned back. “It is time we take a small risk.”

The café owner was approached. “Enshallah, brother,” Adira said. “We are visiting relatives from over the far side of the city. My brother here,” she motioned to Alex, “is a teacher of languages, and was wondering about the writing on the wall.” She pointed one gloved hand at the Arabic script.