The silver-bearded man started to intone, calling to their faithful, and issuing dire warnings to any who would oppose them. He listed the sins of the captives, and then began to call for death to …

There was coughing from the assembled crowd, and silver beard waved his hands, probably yelling: cut, cut.

Sam snorted. “Just like Hollywood, isn’t it?”

“Damned amateurs.” Alex laughed softly. “Let’s not wait until they get it right.” He turned. “Adira, you’re up.”

The Mossad woman nodded. “Wait for my signal.” She walked calmly toward the French soldier, her dark niqab concealing her entire body and face. She was the only woman, and even though garbed, she caused heads to turn – women, even fighters, were not allowed to witness executions. Unless of course they were on the hit list that day.

The pilot watched her with trepidation. Sometimes individuals from the crowd would take it upon themselves to inflict some sort of minor torment on the prisoners, ensuring that their last few minutes before execution were as loathsome as possible.

Adira spoke to the man, who seemed shocked at first, but then nodded jerkily. He hung his head. The silver bearded man came forward to take Adira roughly by the arm. His face registered shock, probably because the arm he clasped was more muscular than his own.

Adira turned, wrenching her arm free, and lifted a hand to her face-covering, pulling it from her head. She grinned like a death’s head into his stunned face, then turned to the group, all now watching open-mouthed as she sucked in a deep breath.

“Am Yisrael Chai!” It was one of the battle cries of the Israeli forces, simply meaning, “Israel lives on!”

The silence on the riverbank was like a physical weight. The cameraman swung the lens toward her, and the bearded one grabbed for the AK47 slung over his shoulder.

Adira’s arm came out of the folds of her niqab holding one of her Baraks, which she fired point blank into his face. He was kicked backwards off his feet by the powerful handgun. She spun, picking up the barrel of fluid and heaved it toward the crowd, who had been cheering for the death of the captives only seconds before. Before it even landed among them, she fired several shots into the barrel. A single spark of a bullet piercing the steel ignited it like a firebomb, covering many of the audience, and sending them scuttling away like flaming roaches.

“Enjoy the show,” she yelled in Arabic.

Shock and confusion rooted the terrorists to the spot for only second, but by then Alex and Sam were already in among the butchers, smashing heads together and twisting necks so violently that the terrorists fell, still holding tightly to their brand-new knives that would never taste blood.