her leg. “What happened? Is it from an attack? Did it—”
She shook her head and threw her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably. The man who had been trying to get to her was lying on the floor fifteen meters away with most of the top of his head missing. Peter Howell was standing next to the body, keeping watch over the empty hallway with three armed Iranians.
“I’m sorry, but there’s not much time,” Smith said, gently pushing her away.
“Less than you think,” Sarie said, wiping at her eyes. “Omidi’s people made the parasite transportable. I tried to stop him, but he’s gone. And he took it with him.”
Smith looked up the hallway as the howls of monkeys started echoing along it. Luck had played a significant role in their surviving their last encounter — the fact that none of the animals had been small enough to get through the crack in the door or large enough to push it open, combined with a one-in-a-thousand shot that he still couldn’t believe he’d made. The gods wouldn’t be as kind the next time around.
“What do you mean
“I mean he got in a truck and drove away.”
82
Mehrak Omidi squinted through the dusty windshield at the road disappearing into the horizon. The rutted surface and the insecure position of the guard manning the machine gun in back was limiting them to eighty kilometers per hour — a speed that seemed impossibly slow.
“How far are you from Avass?”
Omidi held the satellite phone with his shoulder and scrolled on a handheld GPS. The village, a crumbling rural outpost with fewer than three thousand residents, was too small to be noted on it, but based on the topography he could make a reasonable estimate.
“Less than an hour, Excellency.”
“And the facility?” Ayatollah Khamenei said. “What is the situation there?”
“The infection is loose inside and the main door has been breached.”
“Was it the Americans?”
“Iranians. Members of the resistance, I suspect. But there can be little doubt that the Americans have a hand in it.”
“Then they know a great deal.”
“Too much, Excellency.”
The alien sensation of fear was slowly working its way to his belly. There was no way to go back — they had burned every bridge behind them. Bahame was almost certainly dead, and according to the international press his guerrilla army had been all but wiped out. Whatever Jon Smith’s fate, it was certain that he had told his superiors everything he’d learned and the Americans would act on that information — with allies if possible, alone if necessary.
“Excellency, I’m sorry. I—”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Mehrak. You have been nothing but a loyal and tireless soldier in the service of God.”
The years seemed to have drained from his voice, which resonated with the certainty and confidence that Omidi remembered from decades before.
“Continue to Avass,” Khamenei said. “I have contacted the police there, and they are gathering others who are loyal to God and the revolution. They will offer protection until the military can reach you.”
“How long?”
“The first transport plane should arrive in less than four hours.”
“Four hours,” he repeated quietly. It seemed like an eternity. The forces that had breached their defenses would almost certainly know by now that he had escaped and would be coming for him.
“Excellency, I—”
The window next to him exploded, showering him with glass as the truck swerved violently. Omidi dropped the phone and slid to the floorboards, protecting the briefcase with his body as bullets pounded the door next to him.
His driver was bleeding from a deep cut in his forehead but managed to regain control of the vehicle. The man in back had been slammed into the cab and was struggling to swing the machine gun in the direction of the riflemen who had appeared on a ridge bordering the east side of the road.
A moment later, the satisfying roar of the mounted gun replaced the ring of bullets on the door, and Omidi rose enough to see over the dashboard while the driver wrung all the speed he could from the engine.
A rusting compact car appeared from behind a low rise in front of them, entering a narrow section of road bordered by a deep ditch on one side and a cliff face on the other. It continued to pick up speed, and Omidi saw unwavering resolve in the hunched position of the man behind the wheel. He was going to ram them.
The sound of the machine gun grew in volume as it turned on the approaching vehicle, ripping through the grille, pockmarking its hood, and finally tearing away most of the roof.
The car skidded left and then careened right, its driver’s head now held on by nothing more than a thin ribbon of skin. The truck’s right fender took most of the impact, slamming the much smaller vehicle into the rock wall and grinding along its length.
The machine gunner’s back was pressed against the cab again, and he was laying down suppressing fire, moving smoothly between the intermittent muzzle flashes fading behind them.
“Mehrak! Are you there? Mehrak!”
Khamenei’s tinny voice was audible again, drifting out from beneath the truck’s seat. Omidi remained on the floorboards, reaching around blindly for a few moments before laying his hand on the phone.
“Yes, Excellency. I’m here.”
“What happened?”
“We were attacked. The resistance is obviously aware that this is the only road leading away from the facility.”
“Are you injured?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“And the parasite?”
Omidi tapped a code into the briefcase’s keypad and popped it open, revealing nine separate vials.
“Intact.”
“Praise be to God.”
“If there are terrorists on the road, Excellency, there may be more in the village.”
“I’ll contact our people in Avass and warn them. They will be waiting to escort you in.”
“Thank you, Excellency.”
“Mehrak, I know I don’t have to impress upon you how important it is that those vials reach Tehran intact. We have seven men with U.S. visas standing by. We must strike quickly and fatally before the Americans can move against us.”
83
“This is all we have?” Smith said, staring down at a single grenade that looked like World War II surplus.
The young man standing in front of him nodded weakly, bending at the waist and trying to slow his ragged
