Guardian by Erik Williams Page B

man searching for him was. It was time to call him out directly.
    Kharija handed his credit card to the cashier and said a silent prayer for his family.
    K itra Shamar reached across her desk snatched the phone. “Shamar.”
    â€œDirector, a credit card registered to Kharija bin Al-­Aswad was used an hour ago.”
    Surprised, Kitra rocked back in her chair. She had told Mike she would keep an eye out for Kharija in case he surfaced. One of the standard procedures was to flag the name in the event a credit card or a computer log-­in or something similar was used. She never dreamed the credit card would pop. Maybe under an alias, but his real name? An amateur’s mistake. Kharija knew better.
    If it was a mistake.
    â€œWhere?” Kitra asked.
    â€œA gift shop in Haifa.”
    â€œHaifa?”
    â€œYes, Director.”
    What in God’s name was he doing in Israel, let alone Haifa? Definitely not a mistake using the credit card. Not dumb, either. Kharija. would not be stupid enough to use a credit card with his real name anywhere in the world right now. Not a career intelligence man like him. He had to have done it on purpose. In Haifa.
    Haifa. Israel.
    Kitra leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk, feeling like the entirety of her country’s history and future used her shoulders as a foundation. “Very well. Alert me if anything else is discovered.”
    â€œDo you wish us to deploy-­”
    â€œNot yet. Keep me informed.”
    She hung up the phone and then rubbed the back of her neck. What was Kharija playing at? Kitra had ­people in Haifa. She knew they could be ready to move in an hour if they found Kharija’s location. But without a decent photo, the only description they had was from Mike Caldwell. And how had he described him? A wealthy-­looking Arab with incredible teeth.
    Hell. She’d laughed at the description at the time. It pretty much summed up any well-­off Semitic person from Saudi Arabia to Turkey. In the cities, especially one like Haifa, a person meeting that description would not stand out one bit. No, Caldwell’s description did not help.
    I should have prepared for him to show up here. Our involvement in Caldwell’s rescue was enough reason to consider this course.
    But how could she have known the man would show up in her own backyard? It was craziness. Yet, after all the years in the intelligence field, she knew crazy was a far too common outcome to many situations.
    Kitra sighed, picked up the phone and dialed a new number. She would give the description of Kharija to the security forces and the police. And hopefully they would find him before whatever game the man was playing took a deadly turn.
    A bu Umar sat at his computer in his Baghdad apartment, reviewing the latest e-­mails from fellow Brothers around the world. Every one of them basically read the same way: All conditions normal. Normal was not what Abu wanted.
    To say the alert for Kharija had yielded nothing so far would be an understatement. Once again the traitor had vanished like a ghost. And the chances of ever finding him again decreased with each passing second.
    At least the entire order now knew to turn over every rock for Kharija and contain him if possible. The disasters of Gazzar and Haddad had convinced the order’s upper leadership to inform all Brothers, rather than to keep the information restricted to Abu and his security team. They had not wanted to do this, out of fear that other traitors still lurking in the shadows might alert Kharija, but Abu had convinced them the only way they would find him now was if all eyes searched for him. He did not reiterate that his team had failed twice to bring Kharija in. He also did not mention that he needed the help.
    Help to find and contain, Abu thought. Not kill. He wanted that honor for himself. Kharija had earned it, and Abu desired it more than anything. Besides, they could not risk any more