"What's he chanting?"
In the briefing room dozens of kilometers away, Duke, hearing the old man reciting scripture, turned to Lemont beside him.
He sensed something was wrong too.
The next second, the old man raised his head, his eyes looking straight into the helmet camera on Marcus's head.
Then he smiled, and spoke into the camera in clear, slow Arabic, as if pronouncing the final sentence:
"Witness. Witness how the seeds you sowed with your own hands will grow into thorns that devour you."
After that he made a gesture—both hands crossed over his chest, left on top, right below, fingers bent at specific angles, thumbs interlocked.
"Stop him!"
Lemont's voice showed obvious strain for the first time.
Two Delta Force Soldiers lunged forward.
But it was already too late.
The old man's body didn't swell, didn't undergo any dramatic change.
He simply, calmly, pressed a black button held in his left hand.
The button had been hidden all along in the folds of his robe.
