Carter deflated, turning back to his laptop for a moment. “We need to remember above all that Yousef Mohaymen Isfahani is not a moderate by any stretch of the imagination. We didn’t try to assassinate him back in 2011 because we thought he was a fan of the West.”
“But compared to the current regime…” Deputy Director(I) Michael Shapiro interjected, adding his voice to the discussion for the first time.
“It’s the classic Overton window scenario,” Ron admitted with a shrug. “What was once radical now appears moderate. It’s a matter of perspective. With his past history, I question the wisdom of allowing him any measure of control over a field operation.”
“Control?” Kranemeyer asked skeptically. “I was in spec-ops back in the ‘90s and I can tell you first-hand that any perception of control over a field team is an illusion. I am confident in the abilities of my people to deceive the Ayatollah if necessary.”
“Even with this Major Hossein along?”
“Yes.”
“And if he’s deceiving us?”
“His story holds together thus far. We’ll have to play it by ear and monitor all communications as it goes. Right now we’re looking at very limited options. And he’s offering the best deal.”
Lay sighed. “Which brings us back to square one. Can we extract Isfahani and what are the benefits of doing so?”
“Can we? I believe it’s feasible. We have assets in Qom. As much of a paradox as it might seem, getting a high-level official like the Supreme Leader out of the country is actually easier than extracting your average rube,” Carter noted with just a trace of a smile. “Despite his fall from supreme power three years ago, he still commands enormous respect among the people of Iran, including many in governmental circles. My guess would be that he could probably fly out of the country, no questions asked.”
“And how is his defection advantageous to us?”
“If he’s willing to play ball, it could be huge. Someone of his stature publicly breaking with Shirazi…It has the potential to bring down the Iranian president.”
“Can we risk that?” The DCIA asked quietly. “Having Shirazi out of power is of obvious benefit, but the resultant power vacuum. The devil you know…”
Silence fell over the conference room as the work and bustle of the Agency continued outside its soundproofed doors.
At length, David Lay gathered his briefing folders together and closed them, rising to his feet as a signal that the meeting was closed. “Barney, contact the field team. I’ll brief the President.”
8:25 A.M. Local Time
Eight kilometers outside Jerusalem
Israel
The night was clear and cool, a light breeze stirring the blades of grass there on the Judean hillside. Harry zipped up his jacket against the chill, holding the TACSAT between ear and shoulder. Kranemeyer hadn’t finished talking.
“We’re going to bring them in, Harry. We don’t have another option.”
A long sigh escaped Harry’s lips and he looked back toward the darkened vehicle where he had left Hossein and Tex. “Yes, we do. Tex and I will handle the takedown.”
“It’s not enough. You need more people for overwatch, if nothing else. And the team is fresh. You and Richards are beat tired.”
There wasn’t much of a way to argue with that. No matter how much he might try to ignore his aching muscles. It would be good to have Hamid’s input, another pair of eyes on the situation. An opinion he trusted. Still…
“I trust it hasn’t escaped the analysis of your desk jockeys that we’ll be bringing in an agent who has likely been in contact with the very commander of the terrorist cell we’re trying to stop. Davood’s imam was photographed with al-Farouk.”
“It hasn’t. The decision has been made, Harry. Now, tell me what you need.”
“Give Hamid and the rest of the team in Crete the use of a Pave Low. Tactical load-outs for the full team. A Zodiac. I think that should be all for the moment.”
“You have a plan?”
“Working on one. You were spec-ops back in the day—what’s the easiest way to get in anywhere?”
“Water,” came the instinctive answer. “You go in by water.”
“Nothing’s changed. And, boss?”
Kranemeyer heard his agent’s voice change and stiffened, knowing what was coming. “Yes?”
“If you send Davood here, you know what’s going to happen.”
The DCS nodded as though he thought Harry could see him. “Yes, I do. Just don’t let it get in the way of your mission.”
“It won’t.” The phone clicked with the finality of death. A cell door closing.
“What did he mean?” Kranemeyer looked up to see Carol standing behind his workstation, a thick folder in her hand.
He reached into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it in blatant violation of the ‘No Smoking’ signs posted everywhere in the federal building.
Smoke curled upward from the tobacco as he looked into her eyes. “They’re going to kill him…”
8:41 P.M. Local Time
US Naval Support Activity
Souda Bay, Crete
Her eyes. The memories came flooding back and Thomas winced, looking down and away in an effort to shut them out.
“Does it hurt?” the nurse asked, a solicitous look coming into her dark eyes. So much like Estere. He shook his head as she finished changing his bandages. He had been lucky. Another inch and the slug would have broken a rib, rather than plowing a furrow in his flesh.
The door opened and Hamid poked his head in. “All finished up here?”
The nurse smiled. “Almost.”
“Could you give us a moment, please?” he responded, closing the door behind him. There was concern written on his face, a certain urgency that Thomas found himself at a loss to explain.
“Certainly.”
Hamid stepped to the side of the table as the nurse left the room. “How do you feel, Thomas?”
“Better.”
“Ready for some action?”
A wry grin twisted Thomas’ mouth. “That depends on the type of action. Women or guns?”
“Why don’t I rephrase that—are you up for a mission?” Hamid asked, chuckling. “We’ve got a developing situation in Israel.”
Thomas listened as his friend outlined the state of affairs. After he had finished, he asked quietly, “How do we get in?”
“I was hoping you would ask. We don’t have time to wait for nightfall, so we’re going to fast-rope into the Mediterranean. Harry and Tex will meet us in a boat rented from the Tel Aviv marina. I’ve got Davood out right now looking for a Zodiac to keep us afloat till the rendevous.”
“Does he know the details of the op?”
“No,” Hamid sighed, a look of concern on his face. “I didn’t think it was wise.”
Thomas reached for his jacket, slipping it on over his bandages. “Why are we taking him with us?”
“Orders from Langley. I suppose they think he might expose his true loyalties on this mission.”
“Or get us all killed,” Thomas retorted, grunting with pain as he stood.
“Are you up to this?”
A grim smile crossed the New Yorker’s face. “Don’t have much choice, do I? You’re already down one man with Davood.”
Hamid clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you. Get your kit together and meet me at the airfield. Wheels-up in two hours.”
8:58 P.M. Local Time
The safehouse
Ramallah
The broken asphalt crunched under his knee as Gideon knelt beside the corpses in front of the steel gates. His hands moved carefully around their distorted limbs, feeling for explosives.
Nothing.
The bodies were still slightly warm, lying in a pool of congealed blood. They hadn’t been dead for long.
He took the arm of the older man and rolled him over, shining his taclight full into the corpse’s face. T
he man’s visage was distorted in the agonies of death, but his identity was clear.
“Concur?” Gideon asked, glancing up at Sergeant Eiland.
Yossi nodded. “I’ll contact the general. Achmed Asefi is dead. And Nichols is nowhere to be seen.”
Gideon glanced around the courtyard at the sprawled bodies. Each killed precisely. Minimal force. “But he was here…”
9:07 P.M.
The road to Tel Aviv
“Cigarette?” Hossein asked in clear, unaccented English, glancing into his rear-view mirror. From the backseat, Harry shook his head.
“You’ll live.” The major’s lighter and pack of Marlboros reposed in Harry’s shirt pocket and that was where they were staying.
Hossein frowned in disappointment and turned his attention back to his driving. Harry stared at the back of the man’s head, lost in thought. Abu al-Mawt. The father of death.
Since that time in Iraq, years had passed and loyalties had shifted. Or had they? Nothing was ever as it seemed.
Tex’s voice broke in upon his thoughts. “What did you hear from WHIPPOORWILL?”
“She’ll meet us at the marina,” Harry replied. “A boat is to be waiting. She’ll handle disposal of this vehic–”
His expression changed and he broke off in mid-sentence, reaching in his pocket for the vibrating TACSAT. “Here.”
“Plans have changed, Harry.” Kranemeyer’s grim voice.
“How so?”
“We’re not going to be able to use a Pave Low. The nearest one is in Cairo—a detachment of the 160th on joint exercises with the Egyptian Army.”
“Then fly it in,” Harry retorted.
“The logistics don’t work. To get the team from Crete to you we’d need to arrange mid-flight refueling.”
“And that’s not feasible?”
“There’s a KC-135 Stratotanker stationed at Ramstein. It’s down for maintenance.”
Harry looked out at the road flashing past in the darkness. “Then Tex and I will go in as originally planned.”
“I said that plans had changed, not that they had been scrapped. Fortunately, there is a C-130 there at Souda Bay. We’ll launch a rubber duck operation.”
Harry sucked in a deep breath. “No.”
“You’re not in command of this operation, Nichols. I am. And this was my decision.”
“And respectfully, boss, it’s the wrong one,” Harry fired back, causing Tex to look back at him in surprise. “A parachute jump, over water, at night? The Navy lost good people at Grenada pulling that type of stunt.”
“I appreciate your input,” Kranemeyer replied coldly, the tone of his voice making it clear that he didn’t. “My decision stands.”
9:35 P.M. Local Time
US Naval Support Activity
Souda Bay, Crete
The C-130 had apparently been in service since the Vietnam War. Hamid found the inscription Khe Sanh carved into a wood frame near the door. Despite its age, the aircraft seemed to be in superb shape.
A shadow fell across the door as Hamid worked through the equipment locker, and he looked up to see a black man in Air Force fatigues standing there watching him, backlit by the runway lights.
“I was told to expect a spec-ops team,” the man announced. “Would that be you?”
“That’s right,” Hamid smiled, extending a hand. “Sergeant White’s the name. The rest of my people should be here soon. We’re out looking for a Zodiac at the moment.”
“Lieutenant Eric Hanson, United States Air Force,” he introduced himself. “I’m your pilot.”
He cast a critical glance at Hamid’s jeans and sweatshirt. “Sergeant, eh? You guys Army?”
“Not exactly,” Hamid replied, his smile vanishing. “Let me make something clear, lieutenant. My men and I, we don’t exist. We weren’t here. You never saw us. You never flew this mission. Your flight logs will be adjusted to reflect this reality. Am I coming through?”
“Loud and clear. Never flew a mission like this before.”
Hamid acknowledged the statement with a nod. “Well, there’s a first time for everything—just follow my instructions and we’ll be fine. What type of missions do they have you flying?”
The pilot laughed. “Ferry. I was taking this baby back to Iraq from Ramstein when my orders had me diverted here.”
The sound of a diesel approached and Hamid looked out to see a utility truck pull up beside the plane. Davood stepped out of the cab, waving to the Zodiac Combat Rubber Raiding Craft(CRRC) in the trailer behind it. “Finally found one. Needed a little work on the engine, but I think that Navy mechanic got things in order.”
“Lieutenant, I’d like you to meet one of my men. This is Sergeant Black.”
9:43 P.M. Local Time
A Hezbollah safehouse
Jerusalem
“I understand. Do they have intelligence regarding our present location?” Farouk’s face expanded into a grin as he heard the answer. “The blessings of Allah, the most glorified, the most high, be upon you, my brother.”
He closed the satellite phone and looked around the room at the members of his cell. They were few in number, just the four of them. He and Harun. Rashid, the bombmaker. And the fourth, the woman taken in fornication. He had never bothered to learn the whore’s name.
“BEHDIN,” he announced simply. “The Americans are on their way to the marina in Tel Aviv. They intend to rendevous at sea with the rest of their team. They have learned of our presence here in the city, along with the time and place of our attack.”
Harun’s jaw fell open. “How?”
The Hezbollah commander turned to face him, and there was cool appraisal in his eyes as he did so. “There is a traitor somewhere, clearly. Who is a question that BEHDIN was not prepared to answer.”
A low murmur ran around the room as dark looks shot back and forth. “Silence,” Farouk demanded, raising his hands. “Let this not be a tool of Shaitan to divide us.”
He took five steps into the safehouse’s kitchen and returned bearing a laptop. The number of a secure mobile line was displayed on-screen. “ISRAFIL will be able to learn the truth. What time is it in America?”
1:49 P.M. Eastern Time
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
From the attitude of Carol Chambers as she walked into the outer office of the DCIA, one would have never been able to guess that he was her father. The years of separation had only served to accentuate the professional distance she tried to maintain at Langley.
“Sir, everything’s prepped in Conference Room #4.”
Lay nodded soberly, pulling on his jacket as he followed her out of the office. It was the moment they had all been waiting for. With dread.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he proclaimed, walking into the conference room. At another time, another day, his subordinates would have risen at his entrance, but today it seemed a frivolous waste of energy. And the DCIA thought nothing of it.
“Is everything ready?” Lay asked, shooting a glance in Ron Carter’s direction.
The analyst nodded wordlessly, picking up a remote and aiming it at the giant flatscreen mounted to the far wall.
A moment passed and then the face of Doctor Maria Schuyler appeared on-screen. She looked up from the folders spread out in front of her, a curiously stiff look on her face.
Lay put on his glasses. “Good afternoon, Dr. Schuyler.”
“I wish I could say as much, director,” she replied tightly. “It’s anything but.”
“You’ve reached a conclusion regarding our bacteria?”
“That is correct. A copy of the information is before you. I’d like to walk you through it, if I may.”
“Go ahead.”
“Let me preface this by saying that accurate estimates can only be achieved by days of testing. We simply haven’t had the time to do the type of concrete analysis that we would customarily do in this type of scenario.”
“Worst-case it for me, doctor,�
� Lay retorted. “We’re running a tight schedule.”
“My initial assessment was correct. It is the pneumonic plague bacteria. But it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before. As you may be aware, director, outbreaks of the plague are not unknown. We had a case in Colorado a few years back. This is different.”
“They weaponized it?”
“You’re partly correct. The bacteria was weaponized for aerosol dispersion, but it is also a different strain from anything we’ve ever dealt with. In two ways. First, the bacteria remains viable in the air for up to four and a half hours. That’s over four times the duration of your garden-variety Y. pestis. Secondly, it’s significantly more lethal—it seems to have mutated. It’s lethality may actually be our salvation.”
“How so?”
“It’s cold mathematics, director. The quicker the victim dies, the less time he has to infect others.”
The DCIA nodded his understanding. “Do we have anything to fight it?”
“There are antibiotics developed to treat Y. Pestis. From my preliminary evaluation in this case, I would say that they would only serve to slow down the progression of the disease.”
“Slow it down by how much?”
“It’s too soon to say with any certainty. My personal estimate would be that the victim would still be dead inside of the month…”
The screen went black and David Lay glanced at his watch. The briefing had taken thirty minutes in totality.
“What do we have, Ron?”
Carter looked up from the laptop where he had been running casualty estimates and gazed soberly at Lay and Shapiro.
“According to the intelligence provided by Isfahani, the attack will go down tomorrow during the noon prayer. You can typically count on anywhere between twenty and thirty thousand in attendance.”
“We’re talking a megachurch.”
Pandora's Grave (Shadow Warriors) Page 40
