They followed the gravel path, but soon lost track of the blood. Harvath tried the main office doors, as well as several of the windows, but everything was locked up tight, and there was no sign of any forced entry. Whoever he had shot was not inside the villa. That meant they had to be somewhere on the grounds outside.

Harvath and Meg hugged the building’s stone walls as they slowly worked their way around to the back. They kept trying every door and every window they came across, but just as in front, they were all securely locked.

Suddenly, as they neared the rear of the villa, they heard a shot, followed quickly by a muffled scream. It almost didn’t sound human. It was wild and fierce, like a trapped animal.

Harvath instructed Meg to try and raise the Italian Special Forces soldiers again. There was still no answer from them or the pilots.

They peered around the corner of the villa toward where the scream had come from. An enormous terra-cotta urn stood next to a short flight of flagstone steps. As they approached they could see the steps led down to a huge, half-open wooden door with its lock blown off.

“Wonderful,” whispered Harvath. “Another catacomb.”

He was half right. The door marked the entrance to the vineyard’s ancient cellar, where vintners used to store their wine until the maturation process was complete.

The lightbulbs, which hung over the steep stone steps leading to the cellar floor, had all been broken. Harvath used his free hand to feel along the wall as they descended, their shoes crunching on the shards of broken glass. At the bottom of the steps, the cellar branched out into two long, parallel corridors, one to the right and one to the left. Orderly rows of old wooden casks lined both sides. A faint light glowed from the end of the corridor on the right, where sounds of a scuffle could be heard. As quietly as they could, Harvath and Meg made their way in that direction.

They tried to stay within the shadows and protective cover of the casks for as long as possible. When they came to the end of the corridor, the tunnel widened briefly, and Harvath and Meg were met with an unbelievable sight.

Adara Nidal was on her hands and knees on the rough stone floor with a gun to the back of her head. The man holding the pistol was the most hideous thing Meg Cassidy had ever seen. His face was so deformed it seemed scarcely human. Harvath had no difficulty gazing on the man. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the face of Ari Schoen.

“Agent Harvath,” said Schoen as Harvath and Meg stepped out of the shadows and walked closer. “Israel owes you a great debt.”

“Last time I saw you, Ari, you were in a wheelchair. Helluva quick recovery, wouldn’t you say?”

“I have found that with my deformities, using the wheelchair makes me pitiable, as opposed to just being unbearable to look upon,” he replied.

“Your appearance and ambulatory abilities aside, I can’t help but feel I’ve been played here,” said Harvath, the Browning still grasped tightly in his hand.

“I don’t like to use the word play, Agent Harvath. It sounds so manipulative. I’d rather say that we have had a successful collaboration.”

“Collaboration?” said Harvath. “You used me to get to Adara.”

“If that’s the word you want to use, then we used each other.”

Harvath was nearing his limit. “What the hell you are doing here?”

“I’m here for the same reason you are. I followed a string of clues-”

“Bullshit. I don’t know how, but somehow you followed us.”

“I will admit, Agent Harvath, that when you logged on to the web site I gave you for the surveillance photos of Marcel Hamdi from your hotel on Capri, it made it easier for us to locate the island he was traveling to and of course to listen in on your conversations. That being said, I can’t give you all the credit. I have had a team very hard at work, tracking down every lead.”

Something was pounding at the back of Harvath’s mind. There was something about seeing Adara and Schoen together. There was a link somehow between them. Something about the photograph he had seen in Adara’s study in Libya and a photograph he had seen somewhere else flashed in Harvath’s mind. Could the other have been in Schoen’s office? That was it! Both Schoen and Adara had the same photograph. But why? What was the significance? What was the connection between these two?

“Most of the details of this woman’s life are inconsequential and reprehensible at best, but we all know where they lead. The records of her birth and her twin brother’s in an East German hospital were conveniently destroyed. As she showed the greatest promise of the two monster children, her private education in the West was secured and funded by her father-”

“You are not fit to speak of my father,” spat Adara.

Schoen ignored her and continued. “Are you aware, Agent Harvath,” he asked, “of this woman’s other recent accomplishments?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has been quite busy. In addition to reviving her father’s ailing organization, she has started another of her own. Why don’t you tell our American friends what you have been up to?”

“Go to hell,” she said.

“I will, don’t worry. And you are coming with me, but if you don’t feel like talking, maybe I should tell them.” Schoen pushed the pistol harder into the back of Adara’s head for emphasis as he said, “I’d like you to meet the mastermind, as well as the sole member of, the Hand of God organization.”

Harvath was floored, and Schoen saw it written across his face.

“Yes,” said Schoen, “she wasn’t above killing multitudes of her own people, as long as it united the Arab world against the Jews.”

“And killing Ali Hasan?”

“Would have all but assured the unity of the Arab states in a war against Israel. It was all very ingenious. Incredibly well thought out. It is a shame a woman this talented wasn’t working for us.”

“So, that explains the Galil I found outside,” said Harvath. “It would have been left behind for the Italian police as an added piece of evidence that an Israeli terrorist organization was behind the attack.”

“As well as this letter she was carrying,” said Schoen, removing it from his pocket and holding it up with his free hand for Harvath to see. “In it, the Hand of God organization takes full credit for killing Hasan. The world would have had no choice but to blame Israel for the assassination, and war would have been all but guaranteed.” Schoen placed the letter back in his pocket and cocked his pistol.

“Take it easy, Ari,” said Harvath.

“You think garbage like this deserves mercy?” asked Schoen.

There was no question that Schoen’s life had been ruined by the injuries he had suffered in operation Rapid Return, but there was something else happening here. There was something deeper about Adara Nidal that had unhinged him. Finally, it all made sense to Harvath.

“I want you to explain something to me.”

“First you explain something to me, Agent Harvath. Why do you pity her? How many of your people are dead because of what this animal and her brother have done?”

“Too many. Too many people who were important to me. How many people who were important to you?” said Harvath.

“Every Israeli who has died because of her is important to me,” replied Schoen, his body beginning to tremble with rage.

“But there is no one in particular. Your son went to Oxford, didn’t he? What was his name?”

“I don’t want to talk about my son.”

“What was his name?” repeated Harvath.

“No!” screamed Schoen.

“Daniel,” rasped Adara, so quietly at first no one could hear her. Then she spoke louder until there was no mistaking what she had said, “He was named Daniel!”

“How dare you speak his name!” yelled Schoen as he jerked his pistol back and struck her across the jaw.

“That’s enough,” said Harvath, raising his Browning and pointing it at Schoen’s head.