His phone rang and his body tensed, dread coursing through his veins. A look at the screen confirmed his worst fears.
That was just the trouble. No man could see the end of the road.
“Hello.”
“Where are you?”
“Just arriving at Langley,” Shapiro replied, wiping a sweaty palm against the knee of his suit pants. “Unfinished business to sort out before I join my family for mass.”
“God will have to wait,” the voice replied with a short, barking laugh. “The Iranian ambassador to the United Nations is in D.C. You need to arrange a meeting with him.”
“When?”
“Today. Within the next two hours, if possible.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Make it happen, Shapiro.”
The Gulfstream IV taxied to a stop behind a large hangar, the steps folding down out of the business jet almost before the engines had shut down.
A tall, dark-haired man in the slacks and a sports jacket of a vacationing businessman emerged, striding down the stairs with the air of a conqueror.
The mechanic working underneath the Learjet in an adjacent hangar paused to stare appreciatively at the young woman on the businessman’s arm, watching as she turned to her companion, laughing artlessly at his joke.
A vision of beauty. With an envious sigh, the mechanic reached for his wrench and went back to work. The girl in the sundress. Tourists…
The girl’s laughter faded as they turned ‘round the corner of the hangar. “We’re clear,” she whispered to her companion.
Gideon Laner toggled his lip mike. “Time to roll, Yossi. Where are you?”
“I’ve got eyes on you, boss. We’re parked at your nine o’clock. See the green SUV?”
“Roger,” Gideon replied. “Coming to you.”
He wrapped an affectionate arm around the young woman’s waist and led her across the parking lot, laughing like a couple very much in love.
The first stage of the mission was a success…
There. Ron Carter’s hand flicked the mouse cursor across the screen, double-clicking on a Deployment folder.
The folder opened in a separate window and he ran two fingers through his hair, a nervous tic common to his moments of anxiety.
The phone rang, jarring him from his concentration. He grabbed it and tucked it between ear and shoulder, his eyes running down the database index that filled the screen.
“Yes? Yes, Stacy, include Morgan in the hourlies-he’s cleared for CRITIC effective last Wednesday. It’s time he got brought up to speed. Yes, I understand.”
A line caught his attention and everything else went blank as he focused in on the screen before.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, ignoring a confused query from the party on the other end of the line.
He abruptly disconnected the call and began dialing a new number. “Margaret, I need to speak to Director Lay.”
“I’ll make an incision here with my combat knife,” Thomas stated, drawing an imaginary “Y” on his own chest. “Then we will need to saw off the sternum and lift the heart from the chest cavity.”
Sirvan winced. “This is necessary?”
Thomas nodded. “We’ve got to drain blood from the aorta in order to obtain the samples I need. That’s the whole purpose of going down there.” He looked into the young Kurd’s face and went on. “I can do this myself if you’d rather not.”
Azad Badir leaned forward, a resolute look on his weathered face. “You misunderstand my grandson, Thomas. A Kurd has not been born that fears the shedding of blood. It is just that-what you suggest, in our culture, implies the desecration of the dead.”
“I understand,” Thomas replied, choosing his words with care. “But you must understand how important this is. If the Iranians are not stopped, they could use this bacteria anywhere. Against your people again, against mine- or any other. This is our chance.”
The shepherd seemed to consider this statement for a long moment, as though struggling within himself. At length he raised his eyes to look Thomas in the face.
“You are a brave man, Mr. Patterson. I have seen many such, and never have I let bravery go unrewarded. Go, and may Allah guide your feet.”
Thomas stood, picking up the AK from where it lay at his side. “I thank you,” he responded, reaching forward to clasp the shepherd’s hand.
Sirvan rose to his feet, advancing toward him. “It is not right that you should go alone,” he announced grimly. “You have proven yourself as one of the
Thomas turned, looking into those dark, enigmatic eyes, reading the friendship written there. “Welcome.”
All at once, a sharp buzzing broke the silence among the three men and Azad Badir reached for the satellite phone on his hip.
“Yes? Thomas, it is for you.”
“We’ve had a development here, Thomas,” Director Kranemeyer announced, his eyes running down the screen before him in the nerve center of the Clandestine Service.
“Yes?”
“I want you to hold off on your operation in the valley. Carter just located an Army bio-weapons outfit in Mosul. We’ve contacted CENTCOM and are drawing up requisition orders for the bio-suit you’ll need.”
“Make that two, if at all possible,” Thomas interjected. “I have a volunteer. What is your means of delivery?”
“A GPS-guided High Altitude Low Opening HALO drop. We’ll run it out of Q-West again. Should be able to rig up everything you’ll need to properly secure the samples.”
“What is my timeframe?”
