The Black Widow

“You did,” he admitted. “And then you betrayed it. And for that, Maimonides, you will die tonight.”

There was a silence in the room, but not in the sky above. From beneath her death shroud, Natalie asked one final question of her own. How had Saladin known that she was not real? He gave her no answer, for he was listening once again to the drone of the aircraft. She followed the tap and scrape of his slow journey across the room to the front door of the cottage. It was the last she ever heard of him.

He stood for several moments outside in the drive, his face tilted toward the sky. There was no moon but the night was bright with stars and very quiet except for the plane. It took some time for him to locate it, for its wingtip navigation lights were dimmed. Only the beat of its single propeller betrayed its location. It was flying a steady orbit around the little valley, at an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Finally, when it reached the northernmost point, it turned due east, toward Washington, and then disappeared. Instinctively, Saladin believed the plane was trouble. They had failed him only once, his instincts. They had told him that a woman named Leila, a gifted doctor who claimed to be a Palestinian, could be trusted, even loved. Soon, the woman would be given the death she deserved.

His face was still lifted toward the heavens. Yes, the stars were bright this night, but not as bright as the stars of the desert. If he hoped to see them again, he had to leave now. Soon there would be another war — a war that would end with the defeat of the armies of Rome, in a town called Dabiq. There was no way the American president could avoid this war, he thought. Not after tonight.

He climbed into the BMW, started the engine, and entered his destination into the navigation system. It advised him to proceed to a road it recognized. Saladin did so, like the surveillance aircraft, with his lights doused, following the dirt-and-gravel road over the rim of the little valley and across the pasture to Hume Road. The navigation system instructed him to turn to the left and make his way back to I-66. Saladin, trusting his instincts, turned right instead. After a moment he switched on the radio. He smiled. It wasn’t over, he thought. It was only beginning.

74 HUME, VIRGINIA

THE LAST REPORT FROM THE FBI Cessna was the same as the first — seven individuals inside the cottage, three vehicles outside. One of the individuals was entirely stationary, one appeared to be pacing slowly. There were no other human heat signatures in the little valley, only the bears. They were about fifty yards to the north of the cottage. For that reason, among others, Gabriel and Mikhail approached from the south.

A single road led into the valley, the private track leading from Hume Road to the cottage itself. They used it only as a point of reference. They kept to the pastureland, Mikhail leading the way, Gabriel a step behind. The earth was sodden and treacherous with the holes of burrowing animals. Occasionally, Mikhail illuminated their path with the light of his mobile phone, but mainly they moved in darkness.

At the edge of the pasture was a steep hill thick with oak and maple. Fallen tree limbs littered the ground, slowing their pace. Finally, after breasting the ridgeline of the valley, they glimpsed the cottage for the first time. One thing had changed since the departure of the FBI Cessna. There were two vehicles instead of three. Mikhail started down the slope of the hill, Gabriel a step behind.

After Saladin’s abrupt departure, the preparations for Natalie’s execution began in earnest. The white sheet was removed from her head, her hands were bound behind her back. A brief argument ensued among the four men over who would have the honor of removing her head. The tallest of the four prevailed. By his accent, Natalie could tell that he was a Yemeni. Something about his demeanor was vaguely familiar. All at once she realized that she and the Yemeni had been at the camp in Palmyra at the same time. He had worn his hair and beard long then. Now he was clean-shaven and neatly groomed. Were it not for his black tactical suit, he might have been mistaken for a sales associate at the Apple store.

The four men covered their faces, leaving only their pitiless eyes exposed. They made no attempt to alter the striking Americana of the setting — indeed, they seemed to revel in it. Natalie was made to kneel before the camera, which was held by the woman she knew as Megan. It was a real camera, not a cell phone; ISIS was second to none when it came to production value. They ordered Natalie to stare directly into the lens, but she refused, even after the Yemeni struck her viciously across the face. She stared straight ahead, toward the window over the woman’s right shoulder, and tried to think of something, anything, other than the steel blade of the hunting knife in the Yemeni’s right hand.