They wore Basij uniforms. One of the bodies was distressingly young, a boy still in his teens. Yousef had been ready to kill his countrymen for Shirin and the baby’s sake, but he was glad he hadn’t had to use his pistol. It was still in his hand when one of the SEALs came back around the rise.
Shirin, watching Yousef as he stood over the bodies, saw the American first, and screamed, “Don’t shoot!” as Yousef lifted his head and the SEAL leveled his weapon.
Jerry added his own voice. “It’s Yousef!” and the SEAL snapped the barrel up and clear. After pausing a moment, Lapointe reported, “All clear. It looks like it was just these four.”
Jerry stood, then helped Shirin to her feet as her husband came back, holstering his weapon. Lapointe followed him, then went over to Jerry and spoke urgently. “Sir, we needed you to keep them down and in one place. I thought one of the bad guys was getting back up.” His tone was earnest. Nodding toward Shirin, he said, “If she’d waited half a second to speak, she would have been a widow.”
Beside them, Shirin had heard Lapointe and stifled a small cry. She grabbed Yousef’s arm and pulled him close, also speaking earnestly.
“I understand, Pointy. Next time I’ll tackle him if I have to.”
“Tackling is good. Using the headset to warn us he’s moving is good, too.”
Jerry stood quietly, absorbing Lapointe’s remarks. This was the real deal, with live ammunition. His first firefight, and he hadn’t done anything, except almost let Yousef get shot.
Shirin didn’t stop talking until she’d gotten a promise from Yousef to stay right next to her from then on, especially if there was any shooting. In the darkness, she’d seen and heard little except the flashes of gunfire, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see any more than she had.
Ramey came back a few minutes later. Ignoring the near-disastrous meeting between Lapointe and Yousef, he announced, “We’ve got transport. Let’s get out of here.”
With the others, Jerry walked around the southern edge of the dune. Fazel was searching the two bodies there and collecting their uniforms and weapons. Shirin stopped just long enough to ask him a question in Farsi. He nodded and answered, first in Farsi and then in English. “Yes, they will face Mecca.”
He handed the results of his search to Ramey, which included a set of car keys. There were two rifles, and the lieutenant offered one to Yousef, who paused for a moment before taking the weapon and slinging it over his shoulder. There were also magazine pouches, flashlights, and cell phones, which they quickly disabled.
The transport was a white panel van. “There’s room for everyone, but it’ll be crowded,” Ramey announced. We’ve got to police the area and get out of here ASAP.”
He put everyone except Shirin to work. While Phillips kept watch, the others, including Yousef, dug a grave big enough to hold the four bodies and deep enough to satisfy Fazel and Yousef. They had to pause several times as vehicles passed, but with so many digging, the work was done quickly.
The four corpses were gathered from where they fell and placed with care in the grave so that they faced southwest, toward Mecca. While three of the SEALs policed the area for spent brass and any other remnants of the fight, Fazel joined Yousef and Shirin, standing by the graveside and reciting the
Half an hour after Phillips’s first warning, the van pulled back onto Highway 96, heading southeast.
13
CONVERGENCE
A jeep met Rahim’s car at the first checkpoint and led it down to the beach. They had to stop when the ground became too soft and proceeded on foot down to the water’s edge.
The police lieutenant volunteered, “Fishermen spotted it this morning when they came down shortly after dawn. High tide was two hours before sunrise.” The body lay under a blanket, guarded by a pair of policemen. The police lieutenant escorting Rahim and Dahghan gestured to them, and one gingerly removed the covering.
A man’s body lay half-buried in a mudflat, facedown. He was wearing brown-patterned camouflage fatigues. It wasn’t an Iranian uniform, or from any of the Gulf countries as far as Rahim could tell. And in spite of the beard, he was sure this man was European or American.
Rahim stepped closer and examined his face. Matted black hair partially hid his features, but ugly wounds and discolored areas on his face and neck showed that he hadn’t died of natural causes. The major had seen enough injuries in his time to recognize burns. An accident? He’d also seen enough drowning victims to know he hadn’t been in the water long — two or three days, most likely.
Rahim said, “You say he washed ashore this morning. And nothing’s been touched? Nothing taken?” There could only be one right answer.
“Absolutely nothing.” The police lieutenant glanced at the two officers. Either they had clean consciences, or they were good actors.
“Get a dozen men, more if you need to. Search the shoreline for ten kilometers in either direction. Collect every piece of trash or debris you find. And then help Dahghan sort through it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have my forensics people help him.”
“Good. And do it again tonight and tomorrow morning as well.” The lieutenant nodded as he made notes.
A military ambulance had driven up, and two men carried over a stretcher. “Dahghan, go with them and oversee the autopsy. I want a preliminary report by noon and a final one by tonight. Nobody is to speak of this.” Rahim raised his voice enough so that everyone could hear him, and he met each man’s eyes as they nodded their understanding. “Lieutenant, in your report simply record this as an unknown corpse, too badly decomposed to identify.”
“Yes, Major.”
Lowell Hardy was hardly surprised by Joanna’s call. She’d been keeping crazy hours, and of course hadn’t been able to tell him anything except that she was an action officer, and it was national security work. She’d managed a few hurried calls, and he’d been patient with her absence, and secretly proud.
He’d been hoping she’d say she was coming home, and could he please cook her something? They could have a quiet meal together and not talk about work.
Instead, she wanted him to meet her at the White House. A car was already on the way to pick him up. When asked why, she said she’d tell him when he arrived.
The limo took him from their Georgetown apartment straight to the visitor’s entrance; his name was on the VIP access list and he was expeditiously processed through security. A staffer collected him and he was quickly escorted first to the West Wing and then down to the situation room.
Joanna was waiting for him by the door, and after he’d passed through another security check, they quickly hugged. She pecked him on the cheek and whispered, “We’ll be able to talk shop, now.”
He’d never been in the White House Situation Room, and was frankly a little envious of his wife. Of course, she’d never gotten to command a nuclear submarine, so that was probably fair.
It was less impressive than he’d thought, and actually a little cramped. There was the obligatory long conference table, wood paneling, and computer screens and maps lining the walls. Several civilian staffers and service members worked at desks in one corner. It wasn’t really about the room. It was about who came here and the decisions they made.
He’d taken all this in as he was almost hustled to one end of the long table. He recognized Alison Gray, the deputy chief of staff at the White House. A man sitting next to her rose as they approached. “Senator Hardy, I’m Steven Weiss, a collection management officer with the National Clandestine Service at CIA. I’m here to brief you into the Gemstone sensitive HUMINT compartment.” He offered Hardy a classified nondisclosure form.
