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silent.
    Not wishing to upset the moment for her friend, Evangeline briefly allowed herself to transform back to the English rose he expected. “Alessio, the aromatics are divine.” The aroma wafted up from the porcelain cups and she inhaled with a connoisseur’s nose. “The very elixir of life!” Evangeline savored the hot liquid in her mouth, then swallowed. “Mmm… The flavors are so complex. The body tastes full… the aftertaste lingering. Thank you, Alessio, you have made a simple girl happy.”
    “Grazie, cara, grazie.” Satisfied, Bavetta bowed and left them to their conversation.
    Lilburn took a few mouthfuls of his coffee. He nodded in appreciation. “Not bad, for England.”
    “Back to business.” Evangeline brought the conversation back to reality. “Are you aware of the implications for your country if foot-and-mouth is discovered in your livestock?”
    Placing his cup of coffee down on the table Lilburn grimaced. “Millions of dollars in lost trade, headache for ranchers, a real pain in the butt.”
    “Try billions, perhaps somewhere from fifty to sixty billion.”
    “Jesus Christ!” The intelligence gathered about the attack was literally only days old, the assignment to collect Evangeline less than that. The full implications of what they were dealing with had yet to filter down to officers in the field. “Are you ready for a little plane trip?”
    “When do we leave?”
    Glancing at his watch, Lilburn looked back up to Evangeline. “The plane leaves in just over two hours. All you need is your passport. We’ll take care of the rest. Even buy you some new clothes.”
    Evangeline smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Three
    Rafah, in Palestine, is the southernmost city within the Gaza Strip along the border with Egypt, that contentious strip of land sandwiched between the Mediterranean Sea, Egypt and Israel. One hundred and forty-one square miles of military and political upheaval.
    The hot, dry and sandy khamsin winds whipped through Adham Murtaja’s thin jacket as he corralled one third of his cattle into the iron-railed yard. The twelve animals quietly settled in, used to human contact. The veterinarian was due in thirty minutes… to confirm what Murtaja already knew. Some of the cattle were noticeably drooling from their mouths and hobbling on sore hooves, others also had further signs of lesions around their mouths and on their tongues. Murtaja knew of other farmers whose cattle carried the same sickness; for him it was a double-edged sword. Looking at his sole form of income, he stood resolute in what he was now about to do. The cause was great, the infidels must suffer .
    Reaching into his jacket pocket he took out a small plastic cylinder container and unscrewed the lid. The somber beast nearest him stood motionless as he approached and stroked her large bony head. Her lips and the top of her front feet bore scabs from the infectious disease. With bare hands, Murtaja picked the scabs and placed the clotted vile material that oozed out into the container, along with some of the cow’s saliva. He slowly screwed the lid back on, his thoughts on the thousands of miles the material would cross and the damage that it would do. Murtaja brought the container up to his face and lightly touched it with his lips, at the same time closing his eyes and silently reciting a prayer. The container was then safely placed back into his jacket.
    *
    Major Anas Abadi looked over the city of Damascus from his observation point on top of the terrace, now pock-holed with shrapnel. The building used to be a hotel — it seemed a very long time ago. His fight was against the army he had served in for the last eighteen years. Since defecting, two months ago, along with a score of fellow soldiers, he had joined the Free Syrian Army (FSA) fighting in the revolution for a democratic system. It didn’t please him to see his beloved Damascus, one of the oldest cities in the world, being pummeled with mortars,