Before the vehicle even came to a stop, the doors were open and they were out. The team hit the ground running in a single-file beeline for Room 122.

“This is Red Team,” Mahoney radioed on the fly. “We’re going in!”

This had to be Al Ayla.

“FBI! OPEN UP!” Mahoney shouted.

At the same time, a forty-pound battering ram took out the motel room door in one swing. That was the extent of their “knock and announce.”

Before Mahoney was even inside, he saw the bathroom door slam closed at the far end of the otherwise empty room. He went for it, with Samuels at his back.

Totten and Behrenberg fanned out, checking the beds, the closet, the pile of luggage in the corner. A string of white laundry was suspended across the alcove. These people had been living here for a while.

Mahoney’s boot heel was all he needed to obliterate the cheap bathroom lock. The door flew open and he found them there, all four, cowering inside.

It looked a hell of a lot like a family to him. There was a mother, father, and two teenaged boys. The parents barricaded the younger two with their bodies, while the boys squatted in the tub.

All four of them had trickles of blood running down their chins. Oh, Jesus God!

“Hands! Show me your hands!” Mahoney screamed, waving his MP5 in their faces. Samuels repeated the order in Arabic, but nobody moved. They clutched at one another, watching with dark eyes that were wide, but not scared. These people were ready to die.

“Command, this is Red Team. We’ve found all four suspects in the bathroom. I can’t say for sure, but I think they just downed suicide capsules. Cyanide, probably. Requesting immediate medical assistance.”

“We need these people alive,” the unit commander came back.

No shit, Mahoney thought. The whole operation was worth only as much as the intel it uncovered. He motioned Samuels farther inside. “See if you can get some vitals.”

The mother and one of the boys started to convulse first. When Samuels tried to reach them, the other two scrambled over to get in his way. All four were wheezing badly, as if their breath was coming through the tiniest of straws.

“Where are the damn EMTs?” Mahoney radioed.

But then Totten called out from the other room.

“Hold that thought, boss,” he said. “We’ve got another problem.”

Mahoney turned around to see Totten on his stomach, looking at something under one of the beds.

“I’ve got eyeballs on some kind of gray brick,” he said. “Looks wired. I think we need to get the hell out of here pronto!”

Mahoney didn’t wait. “Totten, Behrenberg! Go — now! Samuels, grab one of these people. Whoever’s going to make it.”

Samuels reached for one of the boys. When he did, the mother put her hand in his way. She smiled, her teeth stained bright cherry red with oxygenated blood. In her shaking fist was a small cylindrical detonator.