Thomas turned, looking him full in the face. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Can we trust him?” Director Lay asked, glancing up from the photo on his desk.
Ron Carter shrugged. “He’s been on the Agency’s payroll off and on ever since EAGLE CLAW,” the analyst replied, referring to the botched hostage rescue operation launched by the Carter administration.
The DCIA’s eyebrows went up. “Really? An old-timer. Motivation?”
“Hatred.”
Lay nodded. “Good. Reliable intel?”
“All of it, sir. We have no indication that he’s ever lied to us.”
“He’s never had an American in his possession either.”
“Sir?”
The director leaned back in his chair. “Devil’s advocate, Carter. Let’s worst-case this. Assume we
Ron closed his eyes, his mind running through the possible scenarios. “Worst-case? He tries to use Parker as a bargaining chip with the Iranian government-to gain political recognition for the Kurds, to secure the release of imprisoned compatriots, anything, really. They just might concede in order to secure an American prisoner and the proof that we violated their borders with a spec-ops team.”
“Anything in his profile to indicate this might be a possibility?”
The analyst’s face was grim as he replied. “His services have always come at a high price, sir. In our every negotiation, he has sought to secure something to aid the cause of his people. Never in a duplicitous manner, but certainly self-serving.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s a patriot, sir, but not ours. His people come first and his attitude toward us is that of a businessman. He earned the nickname “The Horse Trader of Tabriz” from the intel boys a couple decades ago. In summation, I would say that he views the United States government as a tool to be used.”
“Precisely as we view him.”
“A cynical person might say that.”
“Two patrols have converged on the ridgeline-here, and set up overwatch,” Colonel Larijani noted, tapping the map with his finger.
Hossein nodded approvingly. “I know the place. Have them stay there-from that position they can cover the surrounding territory for some kilometers. Do they have night-vision?”
“Yes. I sent them the first sets that came in. From that position they should be able to pick out almost anything that moves. Even in the darkness. And, major…”
Hossein turned to look the young man in the eye. “Yes?”
“I am in command here. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX. Looks like they’re settlin’ in.” Hamid’s voice over the radio.
“Concur,” Harry retorted. “We’ve got an hour and a half before the Pave Low arrives. Do you have clear LOS on the group?”
“Roger that. About ten meters to my front.”
“If they don’t move, we’re going to have to take ‘em out, hard and fast. JSOC won’t send the chopper into another hot LZ.”
“Copy.”
A low moan at his feet and Harry turned, bending down to clasp a hand over Rachel Eliot’s mouth as she awakened. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Quiet,” Harry whispered. “Just keep quiet.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, still bewildered. It seemed to take a few moments for her to remember where she was.
“Awaiting extraction,” Harry replied, his voice patient. “You’re safe. Just keep your voice down.”
“Why?”
“The Iranians are close, very close. Just stay quiet and we’ll be okay.”
Harry rose from her side and peered over the lip of the hide, down the ridge to where the Iranian soldiers were patrolling.
“EAGLE SIX to GUNHAND. It looks like our friends have NVGs. Do you copy?”
A moment’s pause, then the Texan’s voice came on in a burst of static. “Affirmative, boss.”
“Hold your position for the moment. When we strike I will need you to alert Davood on your way in. The loss of his radio has made coordination problematic.”
“Roger.”
The MH-53J Pave Low lifted off from the helipad at Q-West as dusk fell, its twin General Electric T64 turboshafts whining as they propelled the twenty-one-ton helicopter skyward.
The dull-black sides of the helo were innocent of any identifying markings. Its six-man crew were clad in equally nondescript grey flight suits, making the red scarf wrapped around the neck of their pilot shocking by contrast.
Major Dominic Padilla’s fingers caressed the flight controls gently, correcting the helicopter’s pitch as it shot suddenly forward.
“This is Cowboy three-niner to tower. Go-mission clearance?”
“Copy that, Cowboy three-niner. You have go-mission. Bring the boys home, Dom.”
“You got it,” was the major’s reply as he reached upward to toggle the comm switch, turning it to intercom.
“Let’s rock and roll.”
“Kranemeyer speaking.”
“Please hold for the DCIA.”
Lay’s voice came over the line a moment later, its tone decidedly chilly. “Kranemeyer, a memo just crossed my desk.”
“Sir?”
“You apparently cut a deal with Azad Badir. The safe extraction of Agent Parker in return for a shipment of Stinger SAMs. Am I to assume that I have this information correct?”
