of Father Jerome, while Brother Ameen rode shotgun. Gracie felt a bubble of apprehension as she watched the gate creak open. She steeled herself and straightened up in her seat as the driver gave the throttle a gentle nudge and the Sharan rumbled out into the desert.
There were a few scattered cars and trucks parked on either side of the dusty trail that led away from the monastery. A few men loitered by each cluster of vehicles, talking, smoking, waiting. As their car got closer to the first group, Gracie turned to Father Jerome and raised his cassock’s hood over his head, shielding him from view. Yusuf’s brother-in-law kept calm, trying not to draw any attention to them as the Sharan cruised past slowly without eliciting more than a casual glance.
Gracie let out a small breath of relief. There weren’t many cars or trucks up ahead. A few more minutes, she guessed, and they’d be free and clear. They were less than a hundred yards out from the monastery’s gate when the road doglegged to the left by an old crumbling wall and a clutch of palm trees. A few more cars were parked there, with another bunch of men clustered against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the sun. Gracie felt a flutter in her gut as the driver slowed down to thread through the haphazardly strewn cars, which he managed without fuss—only to find a narrow ditch cutting across them. A lone man was walking toward them, alongside the trail, heading for the trees. Gracie spotted him and tensed up. She tried not to look over at him as the driver slowed right down to a crawl. They were halfway across the ditch when—just as Gracie feared—the passing man drew alongside them, and just as he glanced in, Father Jerome turned and looked sideways, casually, in his direction. It was enough.
The man reacted as if he’d been slapped. His relaxed features took on a sudden alarmed scowl as he put both hands against the car’s side window and leaned right in against the glass, trying to see in, side-stepping alongside them.
“He’s made us,” Gracie exclaimed. “Get us out of here—now.”
The driver glanced back, saw the man moving with them, and nudged the gas pedal. The Sharan’s engine whined as the rear tires bounced across the ditch and kept going. The man tried to keep up, but couldn’t, and quickly fell back into the car’s dusty trail. Gracie watched him drift away, but she knew they weren’t out of danger yet. Sure enough, she saw the man turn away and start running toward the cluster of men by the trees, waving his hands feverishly, trying to attract their attention. And then, he disappeared. She wasn’t sure what had happened, as her view was partially obstructed by the gear in the back of the car and the dust the car was kicking up behind it, but one moment he was there, running and waving and shouting, and then he was gone. She thought she saw him clasp his hands to his head and fall to the ground, almost as if a sudden spasm had crippled him, but she wasn’t sure. They weren’t about to stop and find out. The driver kept his foot pressed against the pedal, and fifteen minutes later, they were on the highway with a seemingly clear run to the airport.
And then Gracie’s satphone rang.
She’d been steeling herself to make that call to Ogilvy, to tell him about Finch, and thought he’d beat her to it. But as she reached for the phone, she didn’t recognize the number it was showing. She only recognized the prefix as that of an American cell phone.
“Hello?” she queried curiously.
“Miss Logan?” the voice boomed back. “We haven’t met yet, but my name is Darby. Reverend Nelson Darby. And I think I can help you.”
FOX TWO WATCHED the white people carrier streak away down the desert trail, then turned his binoculars back to the stricken man. He was still on the ground, writhing with pain, his hands pressed against his ears. Fox Two relaxed somewhat.
It had been a close call—but they’d been prepared.
He knew the agitator would be down for a while. They’d hit him with a potent blast, just to make sure. Fox Two was surprised the man hadn’t lost consciousness, though he knew he still might. Main thing was, he wasn’t going anywhere or saying anything. Not for a while, anyway. Which was all the time they needed.