Chapter 1

"After the war is over..." Ahmed sighed.

"What?" I knelt behind him as he sat on the edge of the bed. My naked breasts felt good against his back, my chin on his shoulder and hands smoothing his muscular chest and stomach.

We were in a safe house in Israel, up two flights of dark stairs with the windows open. The heat was still oppressive less than an hour after sunset and the ceiling fan above the bed rattled incessantly. We'd finished our evening prayers, he and I and his two bodyguards going to the roof and facing towards Mecca on our prayer rugs. It had been a small risk as the city had a large enough Muslim population that none of the Jews who might see us would wonder; but a risk nonetheless and we were both happier to be closeted in our bedroom.

"I will never use one of these again." Ahmed turned his head to smile at me.

"You don't have to use it now," I whispered, scratching my cheek against his thin beard.

He held a foil packet in his fingers, a condom, and I paused him long enough for a kiss, opening my mouth for his tongue and holding the Syrian tightly. Ahmed was a handsome man, imaginative and smart and easy to love. I moved my right hand lower to find his uncircumcised penis, swollen and ready for me. We'd been lovers for less than a month, although we'd known each other for almost four and I sometimes teased him about being uncut. That bit of flesh was incongruous with his faith and a source of guilt for the man, but he seemed to draw strength from sin and Ahmed took my opinions well.

It had just taken me some time to persuade him of my sincere faith, both in Allah and himself.

"Temptress." Ahmed blew the word across my lips and his eyes were the color of honey.

"You'll marry me after the war," I reminded him, squeezing his cock and nibbling at his ear. "You've promised me ten children."

"Ten sons," he agreed. "Daughters do not count."

"Let me suck it for you first." I slid down his body, turning myself so that I could lie on my side curled around him, bringing my mouth to his cock as he held me.

"You could give lessons to a Lebanese whore, I think." Ahmed pulled my black hair from my eyes, leaning backward on one stiff arm. He always enjoyed watching me make love to him with my mouth.

"Is that what you were doing in Lebanon?" I asked, licking my lips and peeling his foreskin back to reveal the pinkish glans. "Breaking your vows?"

"Never," he chuckled.

"Never again, you mean." I offered him an impish smile and then slipped his cock once more into my mouth, working my tongue lightly around the head.

"Ohhhh..." he sighed and stroked my hair and then my back. His hand slid down to my ass, fingering me gently between my firm round cheeks.

I worked my lips up and down the shaft in a tightly stretched O of pleasure. I massaged his balls with my fingers, rolling them tenderly as I relaxed to take him as deeply as I could. He wasn't so large anyway, but firm, like Damascus steel, and that was nice for me. I liked his strength, just as I enjoyed his fervor. It was obvious and predictable and useful in so many ways.

"Elle, please, let me inside you..." he begged, panting. We were both growing damp with sweat in the sultry air of Al Quds.

His fingers played across my asshole and down, to the budding flower of my tropical sex, and he was moving just his fingertip between my labia, all swollen and dewy now with desire for him. I rocked my hips, just a little, enough to let Ahmed know I wanted penetration. I wanted something inside me and soon, to stretch my loins and make me feel as a woman should.

"Mmmm ... Yes, my love," I moaned softly, pulling my mouth off and swallowing his precum mixed with my own saliva. "Take me."

I coaxed Ahmed onto his back and I straddled him, spreading my pale legs over his dusky hips. It's the reason he loved me, why he found me so attractive, because I was white and exotic and American. It excited him to be with me, a product of the country he hated so much and there was some symbolism to fucking me, doubtlessly. Terrorists were obsessive in their philosophy as much as their hatred or love, even the religious ones, and they were so often blind to it.

He'd forgotten his condom as it slipped from his fingers and I wasn't going to remind him. I loved it bareback. I loved the risk and the sensation and the freedom from responsibility. I wanted to feel the man inside me and when Ahmed was ready I wanted to feel his orgasm within my own, for I was very close already and this wasn't going to take long.

I kissed Ahmed hard, pressing my tongue into his mouth and tasting those French cigarettes he liked, and the black Russian tea they served downstairs after evening prayers. It was a hot, bitter kiss and he groaned into it as I gripped his cock in my hand, guiding him to enter my ready cunt. I lowered myself quickly and felt the trembling walls of my sex being molded to that warm intrusion. It was good like that, so good, and I took all of him, grinding myself down on the last inch of his cock to be sure I had all of him firmly inside.

Ahmed's hands went to my ass, squeezing and pulling at me, lifting me up and then dragging me back down to meet his thrust. It was too warm to kiss, the air was too thick and heavy, it seemed crushing to us and I fought for every breath I could muster. My pussy was pulled taut and empty, clinging to that beautiful cock as it withdrew to the tip, and then I'd gasp and yelp and giggle with mad delight when the man pulled us together violently. His cockhead would reach for my womb, looking for the bottom of my sex and occasionally finding it. I'd shudder then with the pleasure of pain, like our sex had a heartbeat of its own, random and unpredictable.

It was a great fuck, one of the best we'd shared, and I was cumming first. Ahmed was very attentive and Arab men were always my favorite lovers. I found myself melting onto his strong chest, rubbing my full breasts against him, teasing my nipples through his damp chest hair while I kissed at his jaw and cheeks and mouth, whispering my endless devotion and begging him to fill me with his seed. A moment later, he granted my wish, holding me in a tight embrace and staring into my eyes as we were joined forever in that precious moment.

We didn't speak, but only lay there until it was time.

"These are your targets," I said, using a wooden pointer such as a high school teacher might have in her classroom, and pressing the rubber tip against an enlarged map of the city.

We were in another safe house, a different one in the cellars of an old textile factory just off Ramallah Road in Atarot. I was dressed in white robes, traditional for an Arab woman, with my head covered and my face behind a veil of cotton gauze. Beneath that I wore only a khaki chalwar, or loose skirt, a cream colored t-shirt, and fashionable leather sandals.

Ahmed leaned against the basement wall with his two men nearby watching silently. He was Hamas, from Palestine, and only here to observe. This was my operation and these were my boys, my three noble virgins with their pure hearts and beautiful faith, recruited from the university where I taught. They wore djellaba, pristine white and loose around their frail bodies. Beneath those robes they might have worn ordinary clothes, but they did not. They wore simple undergarments, hand woven and made especially for them, like their kaftans, by the widows and daughters and mothers of martyrs. Soon they would be wearing western clothes and ten kilograms of Semtex Plastique as well.

"Nir..." I looked at one of them and pointed to a circle of red. "The movie house. You'll purchase a ticket and go inside. Do not loiter or sit down. Do not shout or give any warning to the enemy, but praise Allah and let the infidels tremble at His name."

"Of course," he agreed.

"You'll be the first and so you must be an example to your brothers." I stared at him and he nodded, understanding I was only saying what was necessary.

"There will be faithful in the theater, it can't be helped." I paused, looking at the boys. "They will find Paradise for Allah is merciful. This is not a sin."

Jerusalem, with its large Moslem population was not the best target for indiscriminate bombing. It was the third site in holy precedence. The ancient city had enjoyed a certain measure of security for that reason, but not always, and not this time. My boys had to understand and accept that, just as Ahmed did. It would lend our attack an even greater effectiveness.

"Ibra, you must be here, at this kiosk..." I pointed to another circle. "After Nir, the Jews will set up a double cordon here ... and here. They'll respond quickly to this, don't be surprised. You must be inside their perimeter."

"Yes," he nodded and we'd covered this before, but not specifically. This was the first they knew of their targets.

"Likewise you need to be at the bus station, here, Omar." I pointed at the last circle. "You have to be inside their perimeter."

"I understand," the boy replied.

"Twenty minutes after Nir destroys the theater, you two will do your duty. Your primary targets are the triage stations. The Jews will set them up at these intersections. Their emergency personnel will be there, the scene commander, the army liaison, the doctors. We are attacking their crises response organization. This is how we will hurt them..."

It was a simple briefing and quick. The boys were smart and they needed to know only where to be and what time to be there. I'd found them at American University in Beirut, where I was visiting as a guest professor of clinical psychology. They were starved for direction and with the help of an Imam who was well known to me, I'd turned those three innocent angels into my personal guided bombs. That I'd needed to inform and even seek approval of Harakat al-Muqawama al-Islamiyya was very much in keeping with my ultimate goal, and having a man like Ahmed assigned to be my watcher had been very fortunate.

The Imam would pray with the boys now and they would bathe one last time, compose their final thoughts and prayers for the families and friends they'd leave behind. They would be dead before the night was over, hopefully taking a large number of their hated enemy with them. Allah would reward their sacrifice with a place in Paradise and virgins to keep them company through the long eternity to follow. Their infidel victims would serve them as slaves.

The bombs were already prepared and no one but me knew where they'd come from. The cell was a very small one and within twelve hours it would cease to exist. The Imam and his two nephews, who were serving as cooks and attendants, were already accounted for and someone else's responsibility. My job was largely finished and it would be a relief once it was over completely.

"I would like to remain with you," Ahmed said to me once we were alone, or as much as we could be. Ahmed's two bodyguards rarely left him and they were near the stairwell.

"That's impossible, " I told him, removing my veil. My modesty had been only for the boys who were understandably sensitive to their purity of both spirit and flesh.

"I'm not known to the Israelis, it will be fine," he said without smiling. "It will be better than fine, you'll be less suspicious if you're not alone."

"You'll expose yourself needlessly," I said, removing my robes completely now. "I guaranteed your safety."

"Then how better to keep me from harm, hmmm?" Ahmed took me by the shoulders so I would look into his eyes. "This is not a suggestion."

"Only you," I decided with a glance at his men. "We'll be inside the perimeter."

"As you say." He smiled then.

It wasn't really necessary for me to be there. In fact, it was somewhat foolish in the greater scheme of things, but I'd explained it easily enough. The explosives were meant to be set off by the bombers themselves, but unknown to the boys they were also keyed to a cellular telephone. I could set one of them off at any time, once the bombs were armed, or even detonate all three of them simultaneously if I needed to. It was insurance and so required some proximity to determine if remote detonation was needed. If one of the boys became too frightened, or if he was caught or injured somehow and unable to explode his bomb, I needed to know.

It also gave me a good excuse to slip my watchers from Hamas and meet with Lev Schauer, my contact with the Israeli Mossad. I'd told him I had information on an upcoming operation, but no details. The intention was to feed him once the bombs were detonated. I'd deliver Hamas to the Israelis in the form of Ahmed, who should have been on his way back to Palestine by morning. Israel would loose their dogs and another wave of violence would engulf the West Bank.

The plan was very good. There'd been too much talk lately and some instability in the region was always desirable to my masters. Action, not words, would be the order of the day and two years of difficult negotiation would be wasted. The Jew government would be weakened domestically and internationally, and Hamas would be under siege as it hadn't been since the Israelis had moved on Arafat's compound several years before. I didn't pretend to understand all of the political ramifications and in that way I was very much like those three boys about to be murdered. I was just a bomb walking around like a fanatic puppet, dancing on the strings of my blind faith.

Ahmed wanting to be with me was a minor setback and I would have to find a way to turn that to my advantage. He was coming because he was suspicious perhaps, but more than likely he was just being very good at his job. I'd learned to respect and even admire the man over the past few months, even love him in my own way. It had certainly not been hard lying to him about that and I'd pay for it later, I was sure.

"I'll be going back to America soon," I said.

"That's good." Ahmed held my hand, both of us dressed now as western tourists and speaking French, although trying to pass ourselves off as nothing but Americans, at least in my case.

Ahmed's mother had been French and his father Syrian. He'd been raised and educated in Paris and carried a legitimate French passport, as well as a half-dozen documents from other nations, including the United States. They'd been supplied by the government of Libya, the Ministry of Printing and Engraving, which had long specialized in creating immaculate forgeries for terrorists.

"Perhaps you'll visit me there." I smiled at him and the man shrugged.

"You could come with me," he suggested.

"Where?" I paused to look at the diamonds in a shop window. We were in Mahane Yehuda, the modern section of the city near the Knesset, walking through a small shopping district towards Independence Park, more or less.

"Greece." Ahmed looked with me. "We should enjoy a holiday, I think."

"You're serious?" I turned to stare at him.

"Weren't we both?" He was so calm, standing there, and handsome with his dark eyes and aquiline nose.

We started walking again, moving with the thin crowd of tourists and businessmen on their way home. Housewives returning to their families after an afternoon of boutiques and beauty parlors. Jerusalem wasn't well known for its cosmopolitan ways, but it existed in the shadows of the Old City which drew millions of pilgrims every year. Jews, Christians, Moslems, they all came to this, the most coveted city in the western world.

"I have obligations," I said, feeling sad at the particular truth of that lie.

"Love is also an obligation." Ahmed's arm went around my waist, holding me close. We walked as lovers in the early night.

My bombs were set to go off in less than two hours, between ten and ten-thirty to catch the late crowd of tourists and residents enjoying Jerusalem's nightlife. My own destination was a modest basement pub called Abraham's, or Bram's if you were a local. It was small and shouldered between the Sheraton Hotel on one side and Manzo Tratorria, an exquisite Italian restaurant on the other. Above it sat a Starbuck's coffee shop. I was meeting Lev there at nine thirty, if things went according to plan.

"You think they'll let us go?" I sighed. "Even if we wanted to? What else would we do? The world is not right."

"You're thinking of your husband." Ahmed thought he knew me, but all he knew were the things I'd told him, the background arranged for his organization to find.

"Yes," I agreed.

"You cannot punish all of them, Elle," he said gently.

"Nor can I forgive them." I shrugged. "So if I must choose between two things I cannot do..."

"Choose something else."

" ... I'll choose vengeance."

"Choose me."

We had stopped again and we stood close by a bus queue filled with people patiently waiting. I looked around self-consciously, as if I were embarrassed by what seemed to be a small disagreement between us. In actuality it was just an excuse to check once more for any sign that we were under surveillance. It was the same reason I'd paused at the jewelry store and why we were meandering up and down streets almost aimlessly. It would not be difficult to follow us and it wasn't my intention to lose anyone if they were there, but merely to determine their existence.

I glanced at my watch and then gestured to a taxi stand just half a block up. "Let's ride for a bit."

How strange to meet a terrorist who would love me enough to try and change from his path. It should have been my role, in another, more sensible world, to play the romantic and beg him away from this awful place. They are all romantics though, terrorists like Ahmed, hopelessly bound to a world view that was a thousand years out of date. They embraced nothing except completely, with every inch of their being, and it was a devotion I admired greatly.

We stood in line for a taxi and when it was our turn we paused, making excuses in English and letting the man behind us take it. We took the next one and not for any particular reason other than it was good fieldcraft, much like telling the driver to tour the Old City. We would let him drive for the next thirty minutes at least, picking his own route and occasionally telling him to turn this way or that just to appease our own sense of security.