Pandora's Grave (Shadow Warriors)

by Stephen England

  “Well, now you know,” Tex interrupted, his voice calm, emotionless.

  “But he’s your friend,” Davood protested.

  Harry looked over at Tex, his blue eyes tinged with sadness. The big man’s expression was unreadable in the darkness, his face an impassive mask.

  “I know,” Harry said finally, listening to the silence that had once again settled over the mountains. The silence of death. He reached down to his belt and pulled out the TACSAT, consulting its built-in GPS. When he looked back up, his mission face was on.

  “Let’s get moving, team. It’s six klicks to the base camp. We’ve got to be in and out of there before daylight. Read me?”

  “Roger that, EAGLE SIX.” It was Hamid. Slowly, the rest of the team fell into step. Only death lay behind them. A mission lay ahead…

  6:09 P.M. Eastern Time

  NCS Operations Center

  Langley, Virginia

  “Anything on the satellite shots from the NRO?” Kranemeyer asked, materializing in the door of Carter’s cubicle.

  “Sorenson came through for us.” The analyst leaned in closer to his computer and opened up another file. “This is what we got.”

  The image expanded to full-screen and Carter used his pen as a pointer. “He was using thermal view for the overpass. We’ve got a huge bloom here—Michelle thinks that’s the chopper. Then we have a lot of small readings. Let’s face it, director, the Iranians have the hills swarming with men.”

  Kranemeyer nodded grimly, his eyes searching the photograph. There wasn’t much hope left. Then he spotted something. “What’s this over here?”

  Carter’s gaze followed his outstretched finger. “A small grouping. Looks like three, maybe four men. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  The DCS turned away from the screen, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Why don’t they make contact?”

  3:10 A.M. Tehran Time

  The mountains

  The bodies told their own story. Both of them shot through the head, their blood splattered over the nearby rocks. He could have seen more had it been daylight, but it was enough. The sniper had escaped.

  Major Hossein rose to his feet, swearing under his breath. He had been overconfident, too sure of his own abilities. And two of his men were dead because of it. He couldn’t afford such waste.

  His eyes scanned the surrounding hills, the crags and canyons that pockmarked the mountains of the Alborz. He had known this country for years. It was his home.

  And he knew that five men could vanish into these mountains for an eternity. He could never find them. Except for two things.

  Those five men had a mission to accomplish. And one of their number was BEHDIN…

  3:13 A.M.

  Contacting Langley was the farthest thing from Harry’s mind, crowded out by the countless other thoughts that flooded through his head as he led his battered team slowly down the mountain trail.

  He wouldn’t have made contact, even so. He knew his mission, knew what would be needed to accomplish it. And someone had told the Iranians they were coming.

  So Langley was inadvisable at the moment. He looked down at the satellite phone attached to his hip. He had felt it throb silently several times since the crash of the Huey. Someone was trying to contact them. Someone wanted to know if they were still alive.

  It could be the same someone who had gotten Thomas Parker killed.

  Thomas. The very name brought a smile curling to his lips, memories flooding back of the years he had known him. Hard, brutal years, fighting a shadow war across the world. They were warriors of the darkness, bound together only by the brotherhood of arms, an unbreakable bond forged in the fire of battle.

  He could think back to the first time he had met Thomas, when the New Yorker had first joined the Company. A man with no past military experience, his easy, wise-cracking manner had at first disturbed Harry. He hadn’t been sure Thomas would hold up. That he could be relied upon. All that had vanished after their first mission together.

  They had waded ashore onto the Indonesian island of Java, locking out from a Los Angeles -class sub. Their orders were straight-forward. Take out a Muslim cleric who had been involved in the Bali nightclub bombings.

  And that dark night, Harry had found that beneath Thomas’s easy personality lay a man of steel. He hadn’t broken.

  All that was over now. Harry sighed heavily, focusing on the mission ahead of him. There would be time for grief. It wasn’t now. He looked down, checking the coordinates he had typed into his GPS unit. Four kilometers…

  3:17 A.M.

  The base camp

  The young sentry stopped his pacing back and forth across the hard, rocky plateau near the entrance to the base camp. Something–he had heard something out there in the night. A sound, perhaps a rock sliding down in the hill. Probably just an animal.

  He never had a chance. A bullet came whistling out of the darkness, striking him between the eyes. He toppled backward like a rag doll, hitting the rocky ground as life drained from his body. Three of his comrades around the perimeter died almost simultaneously.

  The first line of sentries was down.

  Gideon Laner stepped from the darkness, the silenced pistol clutched in both hands. He paused for a moment over the body, gazing down into the sentry’s shattered face. He had been little more than a boy. But the Kalishnikov which lay a few feet from the lifeless corpse was no child’s toy. He had made his choice. And now he was dead because of it.

  The trailer door came flying open with a crash, rousing Moshe Tal from his sleep. The archaeologist started to rise, but suddenly the trailer was illuminated by a blinding light as bright as the noonday sun, accompanied by a sound wave that stunned his ears. He collapsed back to his blankets, shaking his head to clear it. He could dimly hear Rachel Eliot scream from two cells down, saw the sentry collapse to the floor as his vision cleared.

  None of it made sense. The sound of boots against the hard trailer floor penetrated the loud ringing in his ears. A voice proceeding out of the darkness which had once again descended over him.

  “Dr. Moshe Tal?” the voice demanded, speaking English. Moshe rolled to his feet, his hands gripping the bars of his cell. “Here!”

  More footsteps. Moshe blinked as a tactical flashlight was shone in on him. It played on his face for a moment while its owner apparently satisfied a question as to his identity.

  “Stand in the corner of the cell, doctor. Keep your head down and cover your ears. I’m going to blow this lock.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Friends,” the voice replied with alarming ambiguity. “Now move it. We don’t have all night. Place the charge, sergeant.”

  Gideon watched as Yossi shaped the plastic explosive with his hands, wrapping it around the crude lock. He could have shot the lock with his Uzi, but he had come too far to risk one of the bullets ricocheting and injuring Dr. Tal. Gideon shuddered at the very thought.

  The Sayeret Matkal sergeant fixed a detonator to the charge and stepped back. “Charge placed, people. Stand clear.”

  The team backed away while Gideon flashed the light in again on the man who had brought them all this way. He was squatted in the corner as instructed, his head tucked down. Clearly the archaeologist hadn’t forgotten his military training.

  “Fire in the hole,” Yossi announced gravely.

  “Fire in the hole, aye,” Gideon repeated as the sergeant pressed the detonator. The explosion echoed in the small confines of the trailer and the door went swinging inward, nearly ripped from its hinges.

  Moshe felt a piece of the metal dig itself into his shoulder, but he ignored it with an effort.

  Hands took hold of his arms, lifting him up. “Let’s go, doctor,” the voice ordered, low and urgent. He could dimly make out a man in commando uniform, but couldn’t see his face.

  They turned him around and hurried him toward the door. That was when he realized what was going on. “My team!”

  They ig
nored him. “You’re leaving them!” he protested, attempting to drag his feet on the smooth tile floor of the trailer.

  The commando leader paused at the door, turning to face him. “We were sent to rescue you, Dr. Tal,” he stated bluntly. “My orders include no one else.”

  And then they went out into the night…

  6:25 P.M. Eastern Time

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “I have something you need to see.” It was Ron Carter’s voice on the phone, its tone calm but unmistakably urgent.

  “What is it?” Bernard Kranemeyer asked.

  “An update on the sat shots Sorenson gave us.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  “No need, boss,” the analyst replied. Vintage Carter, calm, cool, and collected. They hadn’t seen too much of that tonight. “I’m arranging a live stream to your terminal. Just sit tight.”

  The DCS nodded, turning to his computer and switching the monitor on. A moment later the screen flashed to black and then the satellite imagery appeared.

  “They’re still moving.”

  “So much I see,” Kranemeyer replied, irritation in his voice. “Any idea where they’re going?”

  “Every idea. Look to the right side of your screen,” Carter instructed. “Tell me what you see?”

  “More thermal blooms. What is that—” Kranemeyer’s face lit up with a sudden realization. “The base camp! That stubborn son of a gun is still headed for the base camp.”

  “I know. And that’s not all. See what you make of this.”

  Another shot came flashing up on the screen, this time of the base camp itself. Figures were hurrying from one of the trailers toward two small vehicles parked on the edge of camp.

  “What’s going on, Carter?”

  “Wish I knew. I’ve ID’d the fast attack vehicles. They’re an American make, Chenowth Racing Products, Inc., built under license in Germany.”

  “Exported to which countries?”

  “Haven’t come up with that yet, boss.”

  Kranemeyer studied the photograph for another minute. The night was going from bad to worse, spinning out of control. “I need to communicate with Nichols,” he said at last. “Right away.”

  “Last I talked with Danny they’d been trying. He’s just not answering the phone.”

  “Then find another way, blast it! Is there a way to override the vibrator on Nichols’ TACSAT?”

  “I believe so. Let me have a chat with the boys over at S&T—the TACSAT-10 is their toy, after all.”

  “No,” Kranemeyer replied, cutting the analyst short. “You’ll handle it. Find a work-around, but keep the circle close. Orders of the DCIA.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “That’s not your concern. Just play it close to the vest tonight, Ron.”

  3:26 A.M.

  The base camp

  “All right,” Harry whispered, holding up his hand for a halt. He dropped to one knee behind a rock formation, the rest of the team forming in a huddle behind him. “This is where we break up. Go the rest of the way on our bellies.” He reached into his shirt and unfolded a small map. It was plain, no marks save those chiseled into his mind back in Washington.

  “Intel says the hostages should be in one of these two trailers. They’re both in the northeast quadrant of the camp. I want them hit, fast and hard. If it’s carrying a gun, it goes down, just remember your fields of fire and stick to them. Tex, you and Davood take that quadrant. Hamid, I need you on the northwest. I’ll be coming in from due west. When you are in position, signify by toggling your mike switch twice. Other than that, maintain radio silence. No exceptions.” He glanced at the dark faces surrounding him. “Any questions?”

  Davood nodded. “It’s going to be hard to stage this attack without using the radios. So why can’t we? Langley said they’re secure.”

  “Langley also said the Iranians had no idea we were coming.” A grim smile creased Harry’s face. “The suits get it wrong from time to time. ‘Bout time you learned that. Radio silence. And for heaven’s sake, remember your fields of fire. Let’s roll ‘em.”

  One by one, his team members slipped away into the night, leaving Harry alone again.

  Time to move. He took his Kalishnikov in one hand, raising himself from behind the rocks. The camp was spread out below him, in a hollow of the valley, lab trailers ghostly white in the moonlight. His eyes swept from side to side, in an attempt to pick out the sentries he knew must be patrolling the perimeter.

  Nothing. Only silence hung over the plateau. He crawled fifty meters, then covered behind a large rock, plucking a small pair of binoculars from a pocket of his combat vest.

  His radio buzzed with static, then Hamid’s voice came through, loud and clear. “FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX, the camp is empty. No signs of life.”

  “Confound it, FULLBACK,” Harry hissed, “you were told to maintain radio silence.”

  “Roger that, boss, but it’s like a ghost town. Didn’t the tangos leave anyone home?”

  Major Hossein’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. What was going on? He didn’t understand—the next words answered his question.

  “Continue moving in on the base camp, EAGLE SIX?”

  “Follow your orders, FULLBACK,” the American leader replied, anger clear in his tones. “Toggle mikes twice to signal your position. Now get the deuce off the air.”

  “Roger, EAGLE SIX.”

  Hossein spun into action, charging down the hillside toward the main body of his men, heedless of the American sniper who was still out there somewhere.

  “I want twenty men back in the trucks!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the rocky slopes. “The Americans have tricked us.”

  1:30 A.M. Local Time

  Mossad Headquarters

  Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

  The helicopter settled down on the roof of Mossad HQ and General Shoham was out of the door almost before the rotors had stopped turning. A light rain was just beginning to fall and one of his aides handed him a poncho.

  He brushed it away and strode purposefully to the side of the helipad, where he spied the watch officer.

  “Any word on RAHAB?” he demanded.

  The younger man shook his head. “Nothing since last contact at 2430. We’ve heard nothing from—”

  His words were cut short as a door opened and slammed shut behind them, a young woman wearing a corporal’s uniform running onto the pad.

  “Sobel! We just heard—” She stopped suddenly, in surprise at the general’s presence. “Excuse me, sir,” she continued, drawing herself up into front of Shoham and snapping off a sharp salute.

  “You’re excused, corporal,” Shoham answered, smiling at her confusion. “Go on with your report.”

  She nodded, pausing to catch her breath. “We just got a report from RAHAB over the satellite uplink.”

  “And?” Shoham demanded, stepping closer to the corporal. “What’s going on?”

  “They’ve secured SCHLIEMANN. Are proceeding to the extraction zone. That’s all.”

  “No casualties?”

  “None were reported, no, sir.”

  “Everything’s proceeding according to plan,” the general said briefly, turning to the watch officer. “Give RAVEN the go-codes. Get in and pick them up.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  3:32 A.M. Tehran Time

  Near the crash site

  Major Hossein swore in frustration as the trucks ground their way up the mountain road, bumping and jouncing over the hard terrain. The Americans had outfoxed him once again. If it weren’t for BEHDIN…

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  The words, though, still puzzled him. FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX, the camp is empty…it’s like a ghost town. Didn’t the tangos leave anyone home?

  He had fought against the American forces in Iraq for long enough to know what was meant by “tangos”. Taken from the NATO phonetic alphabet, it was special forces shorthand for �
�terrorists”. They were talking about his base camp. Empty?

  Thomas rose up from the rocks beside the road, his finger flicking off the safety of the AK-47 he cradled in his hands. Another fully-loaded Kalishnikov was slung over his back, both rifles he had taken from the Iranian soldiers he had killed.

  The trucks looked brand-new, a Chinese make Thomas recognized vaguely from some Langley intelligence photos. The way their gears whined as they made their way up the steep mountain road, they weren’t likely to remain that way for long. His presence reduced that likelihood to a statistical impossibility.

  The lead truck came abreast of his position and he could see the two figures in the cab, glowing green through the lens of his night vision goggles.

  Now!

  The windshield disintegrated before Major Hossein’s eyes under the impact of a short burst of gunfire, the sound of an AK-47 on full-automatic filling the air like the popping of firecrackers. The corporal driving let out a strangled cry and Hossein felt something warm and wet spray over his face. His hand came away sticky with blood.

  The truck lurched to one side as the tire blew, careening off the road into the rocks. The driver’s body slammed into him as the truck turned over, pinning him against the door. He lay there, feeling the shattered glass dig into his flesh, the breath completely knocked from his body.

  From the road above, the gunfire continued, but it was being answered now, as his men responded. They need me! His mind screamed, but he lacked the strength to answer that call. The corporal was dying, slowly, his body pressed against Hossein’s chest, blood dripping from his neck wound onto the major’s face. Above, the stars twinkled down through scattered clouds. And the gunfire continued…