Coleman's heart quickened and his chest tightened a bit as the helicopter started to slow. He'd gone through this drill hundreds of times and it never changed. He'd seen men die fast-roping in near perfect conditions. It was not something to be done half-assed. It was a task that needed to be performed with great care and focus.

The second Coleman heard the Go word from the pilot he chucked the thick rope out the door and tore off his in-flight headset.

Without hesitation he reached for the rope with one hand and then the other. Coleman launched himself out the door, pulled the rope close to his chest, and then loosened his grip. He dropped like a stone for the first thirty feet and then with ten feet to go he put on the clamps and slowed his descent.

His boots broke the surface of the stream and he stopped knee deep in water. Coleman moved away from the rope, bringing his suppressed MP-10 up and sweeping the banks of the stream, his NVGs piercing the dark recesses of the area. Over his earpiece, he heard each of his men call out as they hit the ground, announcing they were clear.

In the wake of the rotor wash the men moved quickly through the water to a predetermined rallying point on the east bank of the stream.

The Pave Hawk rotated 180 degrees as the ropes were pulled back up, and then started its descent back toward the ocean. Normally the ropes would have been dropped and left behind, but Coleman and his men didn't have the time to gather and bury them. They needed to get to their mountaintop before the sun came up.

The entire insertion took less than ten seconds. Coleman and his men moved out immediately, never looking up at the chopper as it left the area. Wicker took the point, followed by Coleman and then Hackett and Stroble. They moved in the stream carefully, picking their way through the rocks, their eyes and ears receptive to the slightest sign that they were not alone; their first order of business, to put as much distance between themselves and the infiltration point as possible.

The Philippine Army helicopter approached the island from the southwest, the edge of the rising sun casting an orange glow across the thin horizon. Rapp sat in the back of the Bell UH-1 Huey with a Special Force's colonel from General Rizal's staff. Rizal did not like the idea of sending Rapp into General Moro's camp unaccompanied, so he had sent along his most trusted aide to make sure nothing happened to the mysterious American.

Rapp wasn't crazy about having someone looking over his shoulder, but he had to admit, if anything went wrong it would be nice to have a high-ranking Philippine Special Force's officer around to settle things down. Rizal had assured him that Colonel Barboza was not a fan of General Moro. Barboza had served under Moro and was highly suspicious of his actions. The proof that Rapp had brought with him had confirmed some of what he suspected and much more.

Fortunately, Colonel Barboza wasn't a big talker. Rapp had been with him now for over two hours and the officer had scarcely spoken a word. They'd boarded General Rizal's jet back in Manila just before 4:00 A.M. and flown to Surigao in the Central Philippines. They then jumped onboard the Huey for the relatively short flight over to Dinagat Island.

Rapp had made only two calls on his secure satellite phone during that time. Both had been to Irene Kennedy. One confirmed that McMahon was in position to keep an eye on Ambassador Cox and the second confirmed that Coleman's team had been successfully inserted.

Whether or not they were in place was still unknown. Rapp had the ability to contact them directly, but resisted the urge. Having spent most of his career in the field, he understood that they'd let him know their situation as soon as they were able. The plan was for Coleman to call him when he was in position.

TWENTY.

David had been given very simple instructions. At 6:00 P.M., when the narrow streets of Jerusalem were choked with traffic, he was to be dropped off at the All Nations Church on Jericho Road and then walk north. His Range Rover pulled up in front of the church fifteen seconds early. David took a moment to gather himself and then after thanking his driver he stepped from the vehicle and onto the curb. He was resplendent in an expensive, dark-blue four-button Italian suit, white dress shirt, sans tie, and black shoes.

His eyes were covered with chic black sunglasses and his thick black hair was slicked back behind his ears.

David's classic good looks ensured that he always stood out in a crowd, but waiting in front of the church, within view of the Al Aqsa Mosque, holding two identical attachИ cases, he drew even more looks than usual. He set the two cases down, and fished out a pack of cigarettes.

After lighting one, he stood there trying to look relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette. He took a few earnest drags and surveyed the area. The church that he was parked in front of was a favorite tourist spot for Christians. The All Nations Church, or The Church of the Agony, as it was known by the old-timers, was not the ideal place to start such a journey.

Having grown up in the city, David couldn't help but be aware of the three religions. Each of them, he had noticed from an early age, loved to commemorate pain and suffering, but none of them more so than the Christians. David looked up at the ornate pediment that sat atop the church's colonnade. The gilded mosaic depicted the Agony of Christ as he prayed to his father the night before he was to be crucified.

David glanced to the north at the small Garden of Gethsemane and its well-tended olive trees. They marked the spot where Jesus was betrayed by Judas and arrested. As the believers of the fourth major religion would have said, he was surrounded by bad karma.

He had little doubt that his Palestinian cohorts knew little of Christianity and Judaism, and what they did know were mostly lies propagated by racist caliphs, imams and sheiks. The Jews were of course the most savaged. The Muslim leaders repeatedly told their flock that during Passover Jews sacrificed young Palestinian children and drank their blood.

The ludicrous and unchallenged lies perpetuated themselves from one generation to the next. David looked to the place where Jesus had been betrayed. He knew of no Palestinian clever enough to intentionally start this journey from a place of such biblical importance. Besides, if they had the slightest clue that he had met with the head of Mossad, they would simply grab him and torture him until he revealed everything.

They would never play some elaborate game. It was not the way of his people. They were too driven by emotion.

The early evening sun was still fairly high in the sky as he looked up and down the street. They were out there watching him; Palestinians and Israelis alike. David hoped that Ben Freidman wasn't so dumb as to try to trail him for the entire journey. Security for such a meeting was very tight. If the people who were to transport him got even the slightest whiff that they were being followed, they might easily abort.

Tonight's meeting, though, would be a bit different from the usual.

They were all waiting on him this time, like greedy little children. They wanted their cash and that meant they would take risks to make sure he got there. Still, David wondered what Freidman and his spies from Mossad were up to. David had specified that no transponders be placed in the attachИ cases. The reason for this was obvious. The security people in charge of the meeting would be carrying countermeasures that would detect just such a device. Freidman would know that, but David knew that Freidman would also never trust him enough to just let him wander off with fourteen pounds of plastic explosives.