Dead Shot

the demonstration.”

“And you are certain that you will be able to continue on schedule?”

“Without a doubt,” Juba replied. “I can be in the United States by the end of the week.”

That brought a smile to Saladin. His man was still strong. Anyone can stumble at some time. “There is no urgency about that, so I would like for you to stay here for a while. We will study and talk and let you prepare for the mission ahead. I will send the formula today, but our lab in Mexico will still need some time to produce the gas and transport it.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“And you look as if you could use some good news, my son, so let me give you some: We already have six entries for the auction. That’s sixty million dollars before the real bidding even begins, and I expect more.”

“They will all come after us.”

“They can try.” Saladin laughed. “They can certainly try, but with you running our security, they will certainly fail. We will leave this house together and return to America in a few days, so if our enemies want us, they will have to first enter the U.S., which will be on very high alert. Then, after we collect the money, you and I shall just disappear.”

15

CAMP BAHARIA

IRAQ

ON ARRIVAL BACK AT the Marine base outside of Fallujah, Swanson turned over the captured material to an intelligence officer who had been awaiting the helicopter. Sybelle Summers was also at the pad, wearing a dark green sweater and black jeans, a small pistol tucked into a black leather waist holster. She looked over the Marines as they hopped from the bird. They seemed okay. Her first look at Delara Tabrizi made her smile, for the small woman seemed like a child among the heavily armed special ops team, but her walk was steady and confident. For a woman who had been a civilian schoolteacher only a few hours ago, and had since endured two major raids and had seen her friend and her brother slain, she had done okay, Sybelle decided. A sister.

Swanson, Tipp, and Hughes brought Delara over, and Sybelle led them to a small office she had used in supporting the mission. “Not that I care, but the brass is raising hell about this unauthorized job,” she said, plopping into the chair behind the desk and putting her boots on the top. “We didn’t get enough papers stamped and authorized and all that bullshit.”

Kyle dropped his gear on the floor. “Doesn’t matter. What we found and brought back will more than shut up the critics. Loads of recordings of voices, papers and records, some computer disks, pictures. And eyewitness accounts of how this new poison gas works.”

“Can Tipp and Travis do the debrief by themselves?”

“Sure. They saw everything I did, and Trav took the pictures.”

“Good,” said Sybelle, “because you and I are out of here.”

Kyle agreed. He needed to keep his cover intact, and that would be hard on a base filled with Marines. “Then I want to take Miss Tabrizi along with us. I don’t want her falling into the system. Once she is debriefed, the intel pukes will hand her to the political types, and God only knows where she will end up. She helped us a lot. We owe her.”

Delara was seated, watching the exchange. The woman was obviously an important person and spoke to the Marine like an equal, but they were talking about her fate. “I cannot return to Iran!” she said. “I want to kill these people who made this poison!”

Sybelle laughed quietly and looked over at Kyle. “So let’s take her out to the boat with us and let Jeff figure it out. He has a ton of diplomatic contacts and is good at that sort of thing.”

“Who is this Jeff?” Delara asked. “What are you going to do with me?”

Kyle touched her shoulder, and she immediately relaxed. “Jeff is a good friend, and by the time he finishes working his magic, you will pretty much have anything you want. A new country and a new future. A new you.”

Sybelle was on her feet. “Joe and Travis, we’ll leave you here. Good job, guys. Thanks for the help.”

“Sure, Captain,” said Tipp. “Anytime.”

“Y’all take good care of our girl Delara,” called Travis Hughes. “I already taught her how to say Semper Fi!”

A Humvee was parked outside, and the three of them got into it, with Sybelle at the wheel. “I didn’t want to mention it in there, but there’s another reason we have to get back on board the Vagabond.” She glanced back at Delara, whose eyes were already closed.

“The Lizard has flown out from Washington to meet us there. You have a Green Light package.”

“I would like to get some sleep first.”

“And I would like to be thinner,” Sybelle said. “Neither is likely.”

THE LIZARD HAD EVERYTHING ready when Swanson, Sybelle, and Delara flew out to the Vagabond. Delara was turned over to Lady Pat for the time being, while Sybelle and Kyle met in Sir Jeff’s private office with Lieutenant Commander Freedman. A big pile of documents was at the Lizard’s side, and his computer was already running on secure circuits.

“This is the voice of Ahmad Hikmat Aseer, a known al Qaeda operative, in conversation with another al Qaeda leader. The NSA Big Ears picked it up. The caller is so furious that he ignored normal security precautions and made contact from his home telephone.” The Lizard tapped his keyboard and turned up the volume. A torrent of French sprang from the speakers in an angry and threatening tone, so fast that Kyle could not follow the words. It sounded like the guy was spitting on himself in his rage.

The Lizard handed transcripts to Sybelle and Kyle. “It seems that Ahmad had a brother named Youcef, who happened to be the head of al Qaeda operations in France. Youcef’s body was found floating in a Paris canal several days ago. That’s when Ahmad made this call.”

Kyle read carefully. Ahmad said that his brother was last seen alive before an important meeting at his home in Paris with the outcasts Saladin and his bodyguard Juba. “They killed him and his own guards in his own house!” Ahmad Hikmat Aseer sputtered. “Not only that, the arrogant pigs have confiscated the house as their own!”

He demanded revenge, insisting that al Qaeda send in an execution team, and that was when the other man realized the danger of the call and challenged Ahmad about making it. He hung up.

“By then it was too late; the Big Ears had it. NSA gave it to the CIA, and they turned up an address in Paris for the deceased Youcef Aseer.”

“So why give us a Green Light? Let the CIA handle it.” Sybelle skimmed the transcript again.

“I don’t know that. Too far above my pay grade. I could guess that if the CIA mucks up the arrest of Saladin, there would be an embarrassing trail back to Washington. Anyway, General Middleton gave me the assignment to brief you and get you on your way. I have a military jet standing by on shore. You’re going to Paris.”

“What about me?” asked Sybelle.

“We go, but to a support point in a separate location. Kyle comes back there when he finishes.”

“When do we leave?” “Now,” the Lizard said.

PARIS

The Lizard had reserved him a businessman’s suite at a nondescript and out-of-the-way hotel that catered to executives of companies that did not allow lavish expense accounts. Paris on the cheap. Kyle checked in without any problem. He called down to room service for a steak and salad and a bottle of water. The sun would be setting soon and he could move. Then he stripped down and got under a shower, alternating hot and cold water.

He let it cascade over him for five minutes. Drying off afterward, Swanson stared into the brightly lit bathroom