CHAPTER 53
Paris, France
The man in Paris, Haracat al Marrak, watched the video for the third time.
The movie cameras, laptops, and lights hadn’t delivered the high production values he’d envisioned, but the message was clear: Senator Harrison’s battered body was easily identifiable against a backdrop covered in Arabic script.
His mind was methodically reviewing the events of the past twelve hours.
The attack on the beach house had been executed flawlessly.
The men in the American waters had done their jobs exactly as he had planned.
The woman had perfectly made the double-blackmail deal with the Secret Service agent.
The last-minute change was also perfectly handled.
His only concern was the Russian. The Russian was not a believer by faith—only in the money and the power—and he was late for his call.
Almost an hour late, to be more precise.
Still, the Russian had fulfilled his end of the transition a week ago with the last delivery of explosives.
Perhaps he was dead. If not, it could certainly be arranged.
It was time for the American infidels to pay for their sins and face the fearsome events he was about to unleash. It was time for the world to see his masterpiece.