row of crumbling warehouses. The men carried only pistols. Running through the streets with automatic rifles would draw unwanted attention, from either the police or the gangs that controlled this area. For overwatch duty, they gave Tamar the largest weapon in their arsenal, a 9mm Mini-Uzi machine pistol, just in case reinforcements did show up.
Udi couldn’t access Pearce’s drones without him knowing or use any of the other whizbang gadgets he often deployed. This operation would have to be old-school all the way. Udi even opted for hand signals rather than comms, just in case the Iranians were scanning for them.
Tamar climbed a shaky steel ladder and took her position on the roof across the street from the target warehouse. The Iranian’s big rolling steel door was shuttered tight with a rusted lock that looked like it had never been opened. A small entrance door fronted the main street, and a rear door opened to an alleyway. One of the security men was posted to the back alley exit, while Udi, Wolf, and the other security man approached the front.
After Tamar gave the all-clear sign, Udi and his men slipped quietly through the unlocked front door into the dim warehouse. There was an office with a large covered window and a closed door on a second-story landing. The Iranian’s shadow wandered back and forth across the drawn shade, hand to his head, as if he were on a phone call.
Udi led the way up the short flight of rickety stairs and paused at the closed door. An AM radio played scratchy Middle Eastern pop tunes on the other side.
When the shadow faced away from the door, he gently tried the handle. It appeared unlocked.
Udi believed in leading from the front. He signaled his men, then pushed his way inside, pistol drawn.
Tamar bit her lip. Wolf’s assurances that the Iranian was an easy target didn’t calm her fears. She’d learned the hard way that nothing was ever easy in this business, but she knew that her husband was a pro. The team had broken in thirty seconds ago, but it seemed like a lifetime to her because she couldn’t see or hear what was going on inside.
Then gunfire. Like hammers banging on sheet metal.
Tamar guessed fifty shots, mostly pistols, but at least one automatic rifle firing three-round bursts. As quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped, but Tamar was already sliding down the ladder fireman-style. She dropped the last four feet to the concrete and raced across the street, bursting through the entrance door just in time to see a man at the rear exit turn and open fire at her.
The door frame shattered by her face and she flinched as a jagged splinter tore into her cheek. She dropped to one knee and fired back, but the man had already fled. Something caught her eye. She glanced up at the office. Wolf’s leg had caught between the stairs. The rest of his swinging torso hung upside down off of the staircase, facing her, arms reaching for the floor, like a man forever falling, chest clawed open, face masked in seeping blood.
Tamar dashed for the rear exit, ducked low in the frame, and turned the corner, leading with her weapon.
No one in the alley. Alive.
Just the wide-eyed corpse of one of the security men, his jaw shot away, belly split open to the fetid air.
Tamar turned back and raced up the rickety stairs two at a time and dashed into the office, fearing the worst.
She found it.
Her Nikes splashed in blood. The other security man was dead on the floor, shredded by large-caliber slugs in close quarters.
But Udi was gone.
Coronado, California
It was still dark outside. Pearce could hear the waves crashing on the beach below, hissing as they raced away.
He had just put the water on to boil for his first cup of tea when his phone rang. He read the caller ID. Picked up.
“Tamar?”
Sobbing on the other end. Finally, “Troy…”
She filled in the details.
“Forget that. Are you at the embassy?”
“No.”
“Are you secure?”
“Yes.”
“Stay put. I’ll call you back.”
“Udi…”
“I know.” Pearce clicked off. Speed-dialed Early. “Need a favor.”
Early knew that tone of voice. “Name it.”
Pearce named it.
Early laughed. “Is that all?”
“Since you’re asking.” Pearce named two more. Called Ian, then Judy. Texted Tamar when and where to meet him.
Prayed he wasn’t too late.
30
On board the Pearce Systems HondaJet
Thirty minutes later, Judy banked the HondaJet away from San Diego onto a southeastern course for Mexico City. Pearce tapped on the iPad he was using to zero in on his missing friend.
“So, how did you find Udi?”
“Uniquely coded carbon nanotube transponder implants. Ian’s jacked into an air force recon satellite and tracked the signature.” Pearce zipped open a small tactical pack. “I’ve implanted all of my people with them for situations like this.”
“That’s cool.” Then it hit her. “Wait, you just said ‘my people.’”
“Yes. You have them, too.”
“I never gave you permission—”
“Here.” Pearce held out a Glock 19 pistol.
Her face soured. She touched her stomach. Felt queasy, violated. “How?”
Pearce pressed the weapon closer to her. “You’re gonna need this.”
Judy pushed it away. “You know I don’t do guns,” Judy said.
“We’re not exactly going to Bible study.”
“Don’t do those, either.”
Pearce thought about pressing the issue but let it drop. Judy had lost her faith years ago, but not her moral sensibilities. Her only religion now was flying.
He shoved the 9mm pistol back in the bag. “I don’t make any apologies for protecting my people.”
“We’re gonna have to talk when this is all over.”
“ETA?”
“Ten-thirteen, local.”
Pearce glanced at the instrument panel. Judy’s Polaroid was missing. He hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.
