“The attack is to be launched within three days. Your men must be in position in Palestine to stop it.”
Harry looked down as the Jetranger circled over the nondescript cluster of buildings, heading for the helipad on the roof of the central office building.
Gideon sat beside him at the controls of the helicopter, a look of intense concentration on his face as he guided the chopper in. The
The familiar figure of General Avi ben Shoham was standing to one side of the roof as the helicopter came to rest, giving Harry some idea of how much this meant to the Israelis. He had worked with Shoham three years before, a joint American-Israeli operation to rescue missionaries in Lebanon, and been impressed by the man’s professionalism.
“We’re here,” Gideon announced tersely, glancing over at Harry. There was palpable tension between the two men, had been ever since the previous night. The restrained violence Harry knew so well. The Israeli didn’t like being bullied.
Harry shoved open the door of the Jetranger and slipped out, his leather jacket rippling in the breeze created by the rotor wash. “Good morning, general.”
Shoham smiled, shaking Harry’s extended hand. “And the same to you, my friend. Come inside.”
The Mossad commander paused at the door of the elevator, nodding to his bodyguards to remain behind.
“I give you a token of my trust, Mr. Nichols,” he stated as the doors closed. “We are alone and you are armed.”
Harry nodded, shooting a pointed glance toward the general’s waistband. “As are you.”
Shoham smiled. “Ah, well, trust goes only so far. I must apologize for Lt. Laner’s reticence. He did as he felt best.”
“And you feel differently?”
“Laner was following my orders-orders I doubted could be fulfilled. You are not a man to give something up without expecting something in return.”
Harry leaned against the wall of the elevator as it continued its descent, watching Shoham carefully. “You speak in riddles.”
A wry smile. “Plain speaking is ever a danger in our business, is it not? In short, the Iranians are moving.”
“You have information indicating a nuclear deployment?”
Shoham replied with an emphatic shake of the head. “We don’t know. Only Dr. Tal knows the true nature of this threat.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“He believes that we abandoned the rest of his team to their captors. Now you see why we contacted you.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Well done, Harry,” the general retorted, his face creasing into a smile. “Remind me never to play poker against you. You would deny that your government rescued the remaining hostages?”
The elevator shuddered to a halt, doors sliding open. Two guards stood across the corridor, Galil assault rifles in their hands.
Harry looked from Shoham to them and back again. “Let me see Tal,” he responded finally. “I will give you my answer then.”
“Khebat Ahmedi. He’s the commander of PJAK in the Qandil,” Rebecca Petras informed them, tapping a finger on the screen of her laptop. “Khebat means ‘struggle’ in the Kurdish, and we suspect it to be a
“An alias?” Hamid asked, an amused smile crossing his face at her choice of words.
“That’s what I said. Now, I want to make something absolutely clear to the both of you. Despite the watchlisting of PJAK by the Obama administration in 2008, here in Iraq we’re dealing with
Hamid exchanged a glance with Davood before turning his attention back to Petras. He could have let it go, but diplomacy had never been his forte. Neither was dealing with bureaucrats.
“My orders from the DCS are clear, Petras,” he stated, rising from his seat at the table. “Extract Parker at all costs. I’m going to do that, no matter whose toes I have to step on. Read me?”
The CIA station chief stared back at him, unblinking. “Tough-guy antics aren’t going to change my mind, Zakiri. I have made my position plain and I will file a report to Langley to that effect.”
“File away.”
If anything, the second day’s ride was worse than the first. His muscles almost rigid after a night’s sleep, Thomas gritted his teeth as the horses picked their way across the mountainside, each movement sending a jolt straight up his spine.
He’d barely been able to mount when they had risen that morning, but he had done so. Hanged if he was going to ask for help.
The air was cool against his face, the mountain breeze laden with moisture. It felt like rain, but the only clouds in the sky soared light and effortless high over the mountain peaks.
All the same, Estere kept glancing toward the sky as they rode, a worried look on her face.
“What is it?” he asked, after a time.
“The
“What does that have to do with the horse?” he inquired, aware he was treading on a sensitive subject.
Her face wore a puzzled expression for a moment, then it cleared in sudden realization. “
The TACSAT buzzed at his side and he motioned to Estere to halt. “Hello,” he answered cautiously, reining in the stallion.
“Thomas, this is Hamid.”
“How are things progressing?”
“Fairly well. We’re having to dance around Petras, but I think things are shaping up. Kranemeyer pressured CENTCOM to release a squad of Army Rangers as escort.”
“Is that necessary?”
“I’d prefer it. She’s wanting us to be particularly careful with a Kurdish warlord, one Khebat Ahmedi. She forgets that I was born in this country-I know these people. And I prefer a show of force.”
“Bluff and swagger,” Thomas expressed, summing it up succinctly.
“Exactly. I need to establish our rendevous. Do you have a map?”
“That’s a negative. One moment.” He looked over to where Estere sat on her horse. “How well do you know
