He said, “Tell me the final target, now.”
Omar said, “First, we complete the mission. Then I’ll tell you.”
Exasperated, the Ghost said, “What difference is the order? It’s not like you can video the execution on your cell phone and put it on the web from here. These killings aren’t going to make the news for days.”
Omar appeared torn, the Ghost seeing the logic of what he said was inescapable. Finally, Omar said, “Okay. Do you know what a dirty bomb is?”
The Ghost felt the hairs rise on his neck. He said, “Yes, of course. A radiation bomb. It renders areas uninhabitable.”
“Well, that’s the final strike. The Pasdaran was given some of the highly enriched uranium from the nuclear program. We smuggled it into Palestine, and we have men building a bomb big enough to create a crater full of poison. It will be a strike unlike any other.”
The Ghost heard Omar’s voice rise as he finished, a fervent look on his face. The Ghost turned to the fire and held out his hands, saying, “What is the target?”
“The IDF. The hated members of the IDF. The ones who continually torture your people, treating them like dogs.”
“How will you get it into Isreal? Palestine is ringed with walls and fences.”
“We’re not taking it to the Little Satan. We’re bringing Little Satan to the bomb.”
And the Ghost’s greatest fears were realized. The predator had been correct. They were going to set off a bomb of incalculable fear inside the West Bank, thereby bringing incalculable misery onto the population.
He turned around and found Omar holding his pistol aimed at the Ghost’s heart. Omar said, “They told me you wouldn’t continue. I honestly didn’t believe them, but I can see you have other ideas right now.”
The Ghost raised his hands, wishing he’d kept on his suicide vest, if only as makeshift body armor that would prevent Omar from pulling the trigger. He said, “You know this will only bring grief to the people who live there. Yes, they get treated like dogs now, but after this they’ll be wishing for the return of that treatment.”
“A few must suffer to cause the destruction of the Little Satan.”
“Like Gaza? Your minions pricked Israel with what you call a gloriousstrike, and it led to the total destruction of the entire strip. What did you gain from that? Other than tales of martyrdom.”
Omar said, “Yes! Yes! Itwasglorious. And this will be even more so. Eventually, Israel will be pushed into the sea by the oppression they bring.”
“By the bones of men better than yourself. You don’t have the courage to be ashahid, but you’re willing to make tens of thousands of them out of women and children who have no choice.”
Omar’s face curled into a sneer. “So the mighty Ghost doesn’t have the stomach for the true fight. The command was correct. But you’ll be happy to know, you’ll be the first of a long line of martyrs. I won’t tell them of your treachery. They’ll sing songs about you for centuries.”
The Ghost sank to his knees, saying, “I have the courage. Place the barrel on my forehead. Prove you’re worthy of taking my life.”
Omar said, “You don’t think I can do it?”
The Ghost closed his eyes, saying, “Prove you can. For once in your life, do something besides preach.”
He heard the shuffle of feet, then felt the barrel pressed into his forehead. Omar said, “Inshallah, I will see you again. Your people truly owe you a—”
The Ghost clapped his hands over the pistol frame and jerked his head to the right, the gun going off next to his ear. He leapt up, trying to force the weapon away from his body. It went off again, and what felt like a bat slammed into his thigh, throwing his leg backwards.
He fell to the ground, still gripping the pistol, bringing Omar down with him, off-balance. The Ghost violently twisted the barrel, pointing it back towards Omar’s body. The Ghost felt Omar’s trigger finger break, and kept twisting. Omar screamed, frantically trying to regain control. The Ghost jammed his thumb into the trigger guard and mashed the trigger. The gun went off, hitting Omar in the chest.
He staggered backwards, letting go of the pistol. The Ghost rotated the pistol, took a two-handed grip, and walked to him. On his knees, Omar held up his hands, saying, “Please, please.”
The Ghost put the barrel on his forehead and said, “You’ll be the first martyr. They’ll sing about you.” And pulled the trigger.
The body toppled to the ground and the Ghost exhaled. He checked his thigh, finding the bullet had dug a gouge of flesh, but hadn’t penetrated. He turned around and saw the three hostages staring at him in fear.
He walked to them, the pistol in his hand, and, in Arabic, the Israeli prime minister said, “You don’t want to do this. I heard what you said, and you’re right about the pain and suffering.”
Taken aback, the Ghost said, “You speak Arabic?”
“Yes, I do.”
