Just then, a klaxon sounded throughout the ship, and again the ship’s defensive systems opened fire, seemingly in all directions.
This time, the weapons fire lasted just a few short moments, then abruptly ended, though the klaxon was still sounding. Several officers ran up to Tufayli and gave him several reports and messages. “What was that, Admiral?” White said. “You’ve run out of SAN-9 missiles? Is that possible? You must’ve shot down one, maybe two dozen attackers to use up your long-range missiles like that.”
“You shall join your spy ship at the bottom of the Gulf of Oman if you do not remain silent, Colonel White,” Tufayli warned. “The interrogation staff at Chah Bahar will find your knowledge of Farsi very interesting.”
“We taking a trip somewhere, Admiral?” White asked. “Maybe that wasn’t war I smelled a second ago … maybe I smelled something else? Is it coming from you? What could it be, Admiral”
In response, Tufayli whipped off White’s hood and said, “I warned you to remain silent, Colonel White. You must learn a harsh lesson.” Tufayli took a rifle from one of his guards, pulled one of the Marine guards away from the group, lifted the rifle to his head, and pulled the trigger. The Marine’s head burst apart like a ripe melon.
Everyone around them jumped at the rifle report; the sound of the headless corpse hitting the steel non-slip deck seemed even louder. White’s eyes bulged in horror, and he looked as if he were going to sink to the deck himself on wobbly legs. “Any more deaths caused by attacks by your fellow American terrorists will be on your head, Colonel White,” Tufayli said. “You and your men will stand trial for all of this.”
“And I’ll see you in hell for what you’ve just done,” White said weakly. “You bastard!”
“Ah, not as glib as you were just a moment ago, I see,” Tufayli said. “Good. This will teach you to hold your tongue.” He raised his voice and said to all of them, “The United States has declared war on the Islamic Republic of Iran, so you are all prisoners of war. And since you are combatants not in uniform and are presumed to be spies, you shall not enjoy the privileges of prisoners of war as outlined in the Geneva Conventions. This means you are subject to a military tribunal without recourse.
The penalty for espionage in the Islamic Republic is death by hanging. Of course, you may confess your crimes and admit your real identities, in which case your sentence can be commuted to life in prison—perhaps even a trade can be arranged for other prisoners.
“Fuck you, Akbar,” White said. “You’re the one who’s going to die, and I hope I’m the one who does it.”
“Since you men are obviously not willing to speak openly in front of your commander here, we shall wait until we arrive in the military prison at my base at Chah Bahar,” Tufayli went on, smiling as the hood was again placed over White’s head. “The prisoner-exchange option and the chance to return to your homes is of course not available to you if you are dead, so I encourage you to accept my one and only offer. You will have a few moments to consider it, but when we arrive at Chah Bahar, I will have your answer. Confess your guilt or die.”
MINA SULTAN NAVAL BASE, SHARJAH, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES
THAT SAME TIME “Officer quarters” at Mina Sultan, the only military base in the emirate of Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates, were simple one-window, one-room concrete block buildings with flat metal roofs, purposely built with far less quality than Arab buildings to avoid the appearance that the UAE was showing any preferences toward non-Arabs in their country. Each building had its own coal-fired stove, a Fiberglass combination sink and shower with an electric thirty-liter water heater, a Porta-Potty bolted onto the back door opening, a bed, a desk with a single overhead light and a phone connected only to the duty officer at the command center, and a chest of drawers. Sometimes Briggs wished for one of the enlisted and non-commissioned officers’ rooms, which were nice, modern, air-conditioned dormitory-style brick buildings. Briggs unlocked the door, reminding himself to start placing little telltales on the door to check when the damned flight surgeon, Dr. Nick Sabin, went through his room, or maybe he’d just slap a hasp and padlock on the door and …
Briggs flipped on the light and, to his amazement, found none other than Nick Sabin himself hog-tied on the bed, his ankles and wrists bound behind him, his mouth bound with duct tape. He was still alive and unhurt, thank God, and madder than hell.
The big Colt .45 pistol was out and in Briggs’s hand in a flash, and he took immediate aim on the dark cloth in front of the only other enclosure in the building, the Porta-Potty. Sabin was flopping around on the bed muttering something, but Briggs had tuned him out. He shut off the light, crouched behind the bed, and shouted, “Come out of there now!” in English and in the best Arabic he could muster. “I said, come out!”
“I am right here, Leopard,” came a soft, silken voice. Briggs whirled. The dresser had been pushed out- several inches from the wall—dammit, he’d been so focused on the john that he hadn’t noticed—and she had been hiding behind it. He saw her hands were empty, saw … that it was Riza Behrouzi, the GCC commando! What in hell was going on here?
“Get out from behind there!” Briggs shouted. “Hands on your head! Flat on the floor!” Behrouzi complied as he ordered. “If you move, I promise I’ll fucking blow your head off!” Briggs leapt over to the Porta-Potty, ripped off the dark curtain, and aimed the pistol inside, even down inside the shithole—empty. He checked under the bed, under the desk, all around the stove—nothing. He locked the front door, checked that the plywood covering on the one window was secured, holstered his .45, then searched her right down to the skin, as roughly as he would search any other prisoner or suspect. He found no weapons.
“What in hell are you doing here?” Briggs asked, remembering not to use either her code name or her real name in Sabin’s presence.
He turned the woman over—and immediately his ears felt hot and his throat felt dry. God, she was so beautiful. This was like a damned dream!
“I came to see you,” Behrouzi replied, as Briggs let her up. She shook her head at Dr. Sabin, still trussed up on the bed. “I found this one rummaging through your room. I was going to report him to the security police when you arrived.”
“Oh, really!” Briggs couldn’t wait to hear Sabin’s explanation.
He carefully peeled away the duct tape around his mouth—good thing he kept his hair short.
“She jumped me!” Sabin shouted indignantly the instant the tape was removed. “She nearly broke my neck!”
“I have a feeling she could have done that easily if she wanted, Doc,” Briggs said with a wry smile. Sabin obviously didn’t see the humor in it, though. “Were you in my room when she attacked you?”
Sabin looked a bit embarrassed but nodded. “I came to check up on you,” he explained. “I knew your team was going out on another mission, and I didn’t find you at the command center, and I’m not allowed in the ops hangar, so I thought I’d check here …”
“I don’t like anyone coming into my room when I’m not here, Doc,” Briggs said, his voice not as stern or displeased as he’d first meant it to be. Briggs just took his time undoing the tape binding the doctor’s wrists and ankles as they spoke.
“Fine—then I’ll confine you to the clinic,” Sabin said irritably.
“I only let you out of my immediate care because you were making life miserable for me and my staff, but it was under the premise that I keep you under close observation. And since you don’t think it’s necessary to send over stool or urine samples as I asked you to do, yes, I search your laundry and your commode.
Since this is how I’m treated for trying to accommodate your wishes, I’ll be the asshole and confine you to the clinic until I’m good and ready to release you. How’s that sound?”
Hal started undoing the duct tape much quicker now—the flight doc was really pissed. In a moment Sabin was untied and back on his feet. “Sorry, Doc,” he said. “I’m a little jumpy when the team’s going out on a mission.”
Sabin looked at his outfit and nodded in disgust. “You were trying to go out with them, against my orders, weren’t you?” he observed. Briggs’s silence confirmed his suspicions. “Not only will I put you back in the clinic, but I’ll put a twenty-four-hour guard on you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine, really,” Briggs said. “If I have any problems I’ll be sure and let you know. And you obviously put a real big bug in the gunny’s ear, because he booted me off. But you don’t need to confine me. I’ll do as you say.”
“Good. You’d better.” Sabin turned to Behrouzi and asked Briggs, “Now, can you please explain who this is, and what she’s doing here? You obviously know who she is.”
Briggs hesitated—he didn’t know how to address Riza in front of any outsider. But Behrouzi extended her hand, gave Sabin a mind-blowing smile that melted both men’s hearts, then showed him an ID card. “I am Riza Behrouzi, assistant to the deputy general, Directorate of Military Intelligence of the United Arab Emirates.”
