Gabriel sat in the dirt at the edge of the pit and watched Lavon work. They had known each other since the Black September operation. Eli Lavon had been an ayin, a tracker. His job was to follow the terrorists and learn their habits. In many respects his assignment had been more dangerous even than Gabriel’s, for Lavon had sometimes been exposed to the terrorists for days and weeks on end with no backup. After the unit disbanded, he’d settled in Vienna and opened a small investigative bureau called Wartime Claims and Inquiries. Operating on a shoestring budget, he had managed to track down millions of dollars’ worth of looted Jewish assets and had played a significant role in prying a multibillion-dollar settlement from the banks of Switzerland. These days Lavon was working the dig at Megiddo and teaching archaeology part-time at Hebrew University.

“What have you got there, Eli?”

“A piece of pottery, I suspect.” A gust of wind took his wispy, unkempt hair and blew it across his forehead. “What about you?”

“A Saudi billionaire who’s trying to destroy the civilized world.”

“Haven’t they already done that?”

Gabriel smiled. “I need you, Eli. You know how to read balance sheets. You know how to follow the trail of money without anyone else knowing it.”

“Who’s the Saudi?”

“The chairman and CEO of Jihad Incorporated.”

“Does the chairman have a name?”

“Abdul Aziz al-Bakari.”

“Zizi al-Bakari?”

“One and the same.”

“I suppose this has something to do with Shamron?”

“And the Vatican.”

“What’s Zizi’s connection?”

Gabriel told him.

“I guess I don’t need to ask what you intend to do with bin Shafiq,” Lavon said. “Zizi’s business empire is enormous. Bin Shafiq could be operating from anywhere in the world. How are we going to find him?”

“We’re going to put an agent into Zizi’s inner circle and wait for bin Shafiq to walk into it.”

“An agent in Zizi’s camp?” Lavon shook his head. “Can’t be done.”

“Yes, it can.”

“How?”

“I’m going to find something Zizi wants,” Gabriel said. “And then I’m going to give it to him.”

“I’m listening.”

Gabriel sat down at the edge of the excavation trench with his legs dangling over the side and explained how he planned to penetrate Jihad Incorporated. From the bottom of the trench came sound of Lavon’s work—pick, pick, brush, brush, blow…

“Who’s the agent?” he asked when Gabriel had finished.

“I don’t have one yet.”

Lavon was silent for a moment—pick, pick, brush, brush, blow…

“What do you want from me?”