Prologue

December 2017, West Bank, Tel Aviv.

T he bombed-out building stood like a ghost among many like it. A shiver sped up Ayla Galante's spine despite the warmth of her coat. She checked the time. The contact was more than two hours late.

They'd come here for information. Daniel Malin's asset within the Syrian Intelligence Agency had promised details. Someone inside Mossad was feeding information to Syria and other enemies of Israel. Daniel had been working the contact for months. The man had finally agreed to a meet. Now he was late. Had it all been a ruse?

The uneasiness that had followed her in recent days increased, signaling a warning something bad was about to happen.

"Daniel, this is off. We need to get out of here. Now. It's a setup." She turned to face the man who was more than her partner and found herself alone in the building. "Daniel?"

A few minutes earlier, Daniel had been practically glued to her side, his concerns mirroring hers. Now he'd seemingly vanished. Fear played with her mind. Her gaze darted to the deeply shadowed corners of the building, expecting death.

The faintest of sounds came from the gaping hole where the door had been. She spun toward it. Someone grabbed her from behind. A sharp object pricked her neck. Ayla fought her attacker. If these were the men Daniel's contact had warned them about, they were Syrian Intelligence, and they'd probably discovered their breach and eliminated him. They'd come here to take out the threat Ayla and Daniel posed.

Her vision blurred as the toxin they'd injected coursed through her veins. Ayla's knees grew weak.

She sensed others closing in. Ayla tried to scream. To speak. Nothing came out.

Figures moved in front of her. Three. One man held her captive. That made four she could account for. Were there more?

A calloused hand touched hers. She thought they were trying to take away her weapon . . . only the Glock remained in her grasp, feeling as if it were weighing her hand down. She couldn't lift her arm. What had they given her?

Ayla blinked. Tried to focus. Impossible.

"No. Please don't." Daniel? Where was he?

Her arm lifted and not by her own strength. The gun in her hand went off. Three times. She hadn't pulled the trigger. What was happening?

A thud followed. Something hit the ground.

"No." Fearing for Daniel, she fought to escape her captor. Something hard smashed the back of her head. Pain splintered from the contact point. The man released her. She stumbled. Put her hands out in front of her as she hit the floor. Her stomach turned. She vomited. Bits of reality filtered through the pain. If she didn't get out of here soon, she'd be dead.

She stretched her hand out to feel in front. Ayla touched someone. The person didn't move. Her searching fingers found the Star of David belt buckle Daniel wore. "No!" she screamed. The rusty scent of blood mingled with gunpowder assaulted her nose. She searched for a pulse. There wasn't one.

"Daniel." His name came out slurry. Footsteps moved behind her. She tried to crawl, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Another jab. This time the drug acted far more quickly, paralyzing her completely.

Cruel fingers grabbed her arms. Someone else picked up her feet. They lifted her from the ground and began walking. She couldn't see anything. A slight breeze ruffled her hair. They were outside the building.

Daniel! Her weapon had been used to kill him.

Tears. They rolled from her eyes. She couldn't feel them. She couldn't feel anything.

A cottony blackness closed in. She fought a losing battle against its hold.

◆◆◆

Darkness enveloped her, pressing in, cradling her in its cold embrace. Was this what death felt like? She moved her head. Searing pain down her skull shattered the illusion.

If not dead, then . . .

Ayla stretched out her hands. She touched metal. Above. On all sides. A box. She'd been crammed inside a metal box.

The fog lifted, and she remembered the terrible details.

Her fiancé. The man she loved. Her partner in life and work. Dead. A wounded cry escaped. Tears flooded her eyes. She screamed and then screamed again and again, but the pain that cut much deeper than physical wouldn't go away. Would never go away.

"No." Ayla tamped down the sorrow.

You are useless if you fall apart. Take out the emotions, Ayla. Find the truth . Gideon Broder, her Mossad director's training, broke through the grief. He'd said that same thing to her through countless missions. If she was going to find Daniel's killers, she had to get out of this box.

Ayla shoved as hard as she could against the lid. It didn't budge.

Someone responded with what sounded like a fist being slammed against the box. "Be quiet in there." The words were spoken in Arabic.

Where were they taking her? All sorts of worst-case scenarios chased through her head.

Ayla struggled to control her panicked heart rate and listen to the sounds around her. A lapping of water against the side of a boat. No motor. They were probably using paddles to move through the water.

"This is good enough," a different man spoke. "The tide is coming in."

They were going to toss her into the water. She pulled in several breaths and forced herself to slow her thoughts. Think, Ayla ! She could almost hear Daniel saying.

Her second weapon. The Ruger her director and friend Gideon had given her when she joined Mossad. It was tucked inside a hidden sleeve in her boot. No one knew about it. Not even Daniel. Chances are they'd searched her for a weapon. If they'd found it, everything was over.

Her legs were folded beneath her body. Hands zip-tied in front.

"Get her ready," the same man said.

She struggled to free her legs in the cramped space. The box jostled as if someone had picked it up. Her head cracked against the side. She came close to blacking out. Ayla fought her way back. Tried to right herself and then . . . the box was tossed.

Don't think about it. She kept working. Managed to straighten her legs. If she could reach the gun. All she had to do was reach the gun.

The box struck the water. Immediately it began to fill. She had seconds to live. With her hands tied together, she fumbled inside the boot. Found the Ruger. Held her breath as water poured in. There would be one shot. She had one shot to save her life.