Then there were three, Harry thought grimly, turning to engage the next target. The Beretta coughed softly and another man went down.
A shooting gallery.
He saw a guardsman reach toward the small tactical radio on his hip and pulled the pistol around, double- tapping the man. Center-of-mass.
The radio dropped from the man’s nerveless fingers onto the scant grass of the ridgeline as he slid toward the ground, dead.
“FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX, I have all clear,” Hamid announced. “Do you copy?”
Harry smiled through the darkness at his old friend. “I copy, FULLBACK. Team Alpha, collect all civilian personnel and move down the ridge to LZ OSCAR. The bird’s fifteen minutes out.”
Major Hossein knew from the moment he walked into the makeshift command center that something was going wrong. The expression on Larijani’s face told him everything.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve been unable to raise Patrols Four and Six,” the young colonel replied. “Still trying.”
Hossein glanced at the map, but already knew everything it could tell him. They were the overwatch patrols on the ridgeline.
“Base to Four,” Larijani continued, speaking into the radio’s mike. “Base to Six. Come in.”
“Shut up,” the major snapped, jerking the radio from his hands. “They’re
Another moment and he was connected with the helicopter base nineteen kilometers to the south, receiving the assurance that an Mi-24 gunship would be scrambled. ETA on the ridgeline, twenty minutes…
They heard it well before they saw it, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors beating against the still night air.
“Sit tight,” Harry told the archaeologists, instructing them to sit in a tight circle there in the middle of the plateau. He and Davood flanked them, AK-47s at the ready.
“Perimeter, what do you have?”
Hamid and Tex were still a hundred meters up on the ridgeline, providing cover for the extraction. “Nothing, Lead,” the Texan replied.
“Good. Hold there.”
And then they saw it, the huge helicopter sweeping in low, its rotors stirring up a sandstorm. A welcome sight.
“Time to go!” Harry ordered, shouting over the roar of the Pave Low. “Move!”
His gaze swept over the archaeologists as Davood herded them toward the open door of the Pave Low and the crew chief waiting there. They were frightened, still disoriented by the past twenty-four hours.
None of that mattered now. Another short while, and they would be safe. Just a short while.
“Perimeter, move in now,” he barked into his radio as the last civilian was loaded aboard. “Let’s roll this baby.”
“Roger.”
“Any luck, Michelle?” Kranemeyer asked, leaning over to look at her monitors. The agent in charge of comm shook her head.
“He’s not answering.”
“What’s the update on satellite?”
“The Pave Low is on the ground at OSCAR,” she replied, tapping the keyboard a couple times to bring up the relevant screens on her monitor. “We should be receiving confirmation from JSOC any time now.”
The DCS extended a finger to a windowed infrared screen near the bottom of the monitor. “What’s that?”
Michelle turned to look and her eyes widened, grasping the image’s import in the same moment as Kranemeyer.
“Patch me into the Pave Low’s comm feed,” the director ordered. “Now!”
Padilla’s headset crackled with static. “Hold for Director Kranemeyer,” a female voice instructed. The major exchanged a puzzled look with his co-pilot, unsure what to make of the pronouncement.
“Listen quickly, Major Padilla, this is Director Kranemeyer of the National Clandestine Service. You have an attack helicopter inbound on your position. You need to take off
“Yes, sir. Leaving now.” He switched channels and reached up to flip on the intercom. “Take-off in forty seconds. Thirty-five. Thirty.”
A figure ducked through the door. It was the NCS team leader. “What’s going on here, major?”
“We have an Iranian attack helicopter coming in hot. My orders are to get you out of here, sir.”
“Not without the rest of my men,” Harry retorted grimly. “I’m not leaving people behind.”
“Then hurry things up, sir. We’re leaving ground.”
Harry left the cockpit and hurried back to the door to find Tex and Hamid materializing out of the night, dark figures.
Tex vaulted into the chopper, out of breath. Harry reached down a hand to help the shorter Hamid into the helicopter, grinning as he did so. “Let’s go home. Major! Go! Go!
The helicopter throttled into full power, lifting into the air. Padilla held his breath as the Pave Low jolted forward, slowly gathering airspeed as it swept over the plateau toward the shelter of the mountains. And beyond them Iraq.
If only they could stay below the Iranian radar…
Silence reigned upon the ridgeline, the silence of the grave. Major Hossein nudged one of the bodies with his boot, rolling the corpse over on its back.
The man had been shot twice, in the upper chest. Death had come quickly.
Whoever the Americans had sent, they had been skilled professionals. Hossein straightened up, looking into the eyes of Colonel Larijani.
“A good man,” he announced, “too good to die this way.”
The young colonel flinched at the tacit accusation, but his mind was too preoccupied with other matters to pull rank. “Are you sure they have gone?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The major smiled at the pallor of Larijani’s cheeks. “Not quite sure,” he responded wickedly, grinning at the
