Story by Lawrence Wright
"A van sped down the alley toward Kahlil, its side doors sliding open, two pairs of hands reaching out. From nowhere a man appeared. He bodychecked Kahlil, sent him careening into the van, and jumped in after him. The doors clanged shut; with the howl rubber makes when applied liberally to pavement, the van shot out of the alley, barged through traffic, and disappeared.
Hub stared after it, panting, his fists clenched. Frank ran up, also panting. 'Damn,' he gasped. 'Shit!'
'Yeah,' Hub said quietly. 'Yeah.'
"Ten minutes later Hub presided over an impromptu huddle in the alley. Agents gathered around him, their radios making a racket. Overhead, helicopters circled.
Fred Darius spoke up, his youthful face drawn. 'They just found the van. Doesn't look like they're gonna find any fingerprints.'
Hub nodded. Par for the course in this game; everything had blown up in his face. Not far away, the agent who'd taken telephoto pictures activated a digital printer in an unmarked car. A photo slid forth. The agent brought it to Hub: a clear shot of Kahlil and the handsome Palestinian.
'Run him down, bring him in,' Hub ordered wearily.
Fred Darius's cell phone buzzed."
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