Free Pharaoh by Valerio Massimo Manfredi Page A

Thousands of pilgrims swarmed through the city streets and past the shops and stands at the bazaar.
    It was a crowd that spoke many languages. An Orthodox priest dressed in black with a long-veiled polos on his head and silver icons around his neck, a humble Franciscan friar with his dusty sandals and a rope belt, a mullah with his head swathed in a white turban: the crowds milling around saw them all; they were living proof of how many different ways there were to reach a single God.
    No one noticed the man with a black-and-white-checked keffiyeh, wearing a grey jacket over a white jellaba and carrying a woollen shoulder bag, as he entered the city and went to a little two-storey crumbling plaster house at the crossroads of Suk el Berk and Ain Aziza.
    An elderly widow was waiting for him in the deserted house and she led him from the entrance to the main room: a modest place, the floor covered with old kilim carpets and a few cushions. The woman lifted one of the kilims, uncovering a wooden trapdoor that led into a cellar illuminated by a dim electric bulb. The man went down a ladder as she closed the trapdoor behind him and put the kilim back in place.
    The man walked along a narrow passageway and entered another room about two metres by three, with a mat on the floor and a single light bulb hanging from the low ceiling. Three men were waiting for him, sitting on their heels, their faces completely covered by their keffiyehs.
    The man’s face was concealed as well and his voice sounded dull through the strip of cloth covering his mouth. ‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘your mission is about to begin and it is of such importance that the success of Operation Nebuchadnezzar and the victory of our cause depend on it. We have spent years pondering the reasons for our past defeats, and these errors will not be repeated. This time we won’t move until we’ve received the signal that the packages have been delivered. As you know, these packages are quite large and would attract attention, and so they have been divided into three parts, one for each of you.’
    He reached into the bag and extracted three envelopes, handing them out. ‘Here you’ll find cash, International City Bank credit cards and the instructions for collecting and delivering your package. You will learn them by heart now, here in front of me, and then I will destroy them. The instructions will also tell you how to contact the coordinator of the operation on American
    soil. His code name is Nebuzaradan. You will communicate with him only in code. Unless it is an absolute emergency or I instruct you to do so, you will not meet with him in person.
    ‘If you are discovered, set off the charge you will have on you and try to take as many victims with you as you can. Have no pity on the elderly, or on women and children, as our enemies have shown no pity for our fathers, our sons, our wives. Once you have terminated the mission, you will return to base, because we need brave, well-trained combatants like you to fight in the final battle.’ He articulated his last words as if pronouncing a sacred formula: ‘The siege and the conquest of Jerusalem.’
    The three men opened the envelopes, removed the money and credit cards, and read the instructions carefully. One after another, ending with the one who seemed youngest, they handed back the sheets, which were immediately burned in a copper plate placed on the mat.
    ‘ Allah Akbar! ’ said the man.
    ‘ Allah Akbar! ’ responded the other three.
    Shortly after, the man was walking through the sun on a lovely winter’s day in the crowded bazaar. He passed under a banner that said, in three languages: Peace on earth to men of goodwill .
    The three combatants of Allah left the house one at a time, at intervals of about an hour. They departed, each towards his own destination, like the horsemen of the Apocalypse. The first had instructions to reach Beirut and from there go by plane to Limassol, from where he would leave