Some sixty miles to the southwest, Nuri and Flash had gassed up the car and were heading for the sea, traveling as fast as Nuri dared. They were a bit over three hours from the resort town where Danny had stashed the boats.
Tarid lay passed out in the back. Flash had stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound in his leg. He’d lost a good amount of blood, but the injury didn’t look life-threatening. Flash had given him three hits of morphine from their first aid kit, enough to keep him slumbering for at least a few hours.
They hadn’t bothered to tie his hands. Nuri figured it was worth the risk; it would be hard to explain if they were stopped.
Tarid’s Guard ID was in Nuri’s pocket. It would be useful, if they were stopped.
Not that he intended to stop.
Flash reached over to the radio and turned it on. Europop music blared from the speaker. Flash jiggled the volume down, then began scanning the dial for a station that played something a little more friendly to his ears. The radio stopped for a few moments as it scanned to a station, then continued on. It hit a classic station, then a news channel. A sonorous voice said the word “emergency” before the radio continued on.
Nuri slammed his hand to stop it, but it moved on.
“Get that back,” he told Flash.
Flash hit the button. The radio went forward, but the same program was playing on several stations at once.
“What’s he saying?” asked Flash.
“The president is announcing there’s been an attempt at a coup,” said Nuri. “Shit. They’re closing the airports, mobilizing troops. It sounds like they’re going after the Revolutionary Guard, too.”
“Not good.”
“Not for us, no.”
The Voice told Nuri that Danny had succeeded in blowing up the missile. Nuri turned down the radio and told the Voice to connect him to Danny.
“Danny, are you all right?” he asked.
There was no response.
“We’re going to the rendezvous point. We’ll meet you there,” he said. “You hearing me?”
Still no answer.
“Problem?” asked Flash.
“I don’t know. He may just be too busy to open the communications channel.”
“Think they need help?”
Nuri glanced back at Tarid. His lips were moving but he made no sound.
“We’re not in much of a position to help them if they do,” Nuri told Flash. “Hopefully they don’t.”
80
Danny didn’t realize the wires to the MY-PID control unit had been severed until he tried to use it to contact Breanna. Somewhere during the battle, the earphones had fallen, then snagged on something when he moved. They’d been torn off, disappearing on the ground. The control unit had been smashed up pretty badly as well.
He had to use Hera’s satellite phone to tell Breanna the missile was destroyed.
“The warhead is still intact,” he told her. “Should be easy to move — the assembly is scorched, but in one piece. I tore off some of the circuitry, just in case.”
“I just spoke to Nuri,” Breanna told him. “He has Tarid and is on his way to the boat.”
“Yeah, copy that.”
“Do you want him to meet you?”
“He’s probably better off getting out as soon as he can,” said Danny. “We’re going to be here awhile, right?”
“Danny, are you sure you can hold out there?” asked Breanna.
“I’m fine, Bree. See you in a few hours.”
He ended the transmission.
Meanwhile, Hera had gone back to bring the car to the field. At first she walked slowly, flexing her knee. Then, feeling cold, she started to trot and finally to run. Her knee was a little shaky, but okay. The exercise calmed her body, the slow trickle of sweat a balm for the tension that had seized her.
The confrontation at the missile had happened incredibly fast. It belonged to the moment between the flashes of a very fast camera, lost in a sequence that began with her firing the gun and ended with her looking up into Danny Freah’s confident but grim face. She knew what had happened between those moments, but couldn’t picture them.
They’d left the van about a half mile up from the entrance road. She trotted past the chained fence, still holding a good pace, and started along the shoulder of the road. After thirty yards she heard a car coming.
Hera leapt off the road and ducked into the ditch. She crawled to the side, watching in the direction of the entrance to the airfield.
She had no way to warn Danny; he had her phone.
She’d ambush whoever it was when they stopped to open the gate.
Hera began moving in that direction, then froze as the headlights came into view.
It was an Iranian army command Jeep. It passed right by the entrance, continuing up the road, passing Hera. As soon as it was gone, Hera began running along the ditch. Her wind started to fail after a hundred yards; she slowed, but kept moving, worried that whoever had passed would find the van even though they’d left it off the road.
The two soldiers in the jeep would have driven right by it, had the headlights of the Jeep not reflected off a bottle on the shoulder of the road about twenty yards away from the turnoff for the farm.
The lieutenant in the passenger seat couldn’t tell what it was at first, and told his companion to back up. It was only as they started in reverse that they saw the van in the field up at the right.
The two men got out cautiously, pistols drawn.
Though the missile launcher had exploded only a half hour before, neither man had seen or heard the explosion. The base was so isolated that, while it was spectacular, no one had been close enough to witness what was happening. A few night owls in the distance had seen flares, but they dismissed them when they died down, too far away to realize what was going on. The soldiers in the Jeep had been playing cards with the rest of their unit at a small post about fifteen miles away. A phone call had woken them, alerting them to the attempted coup and placing the unit on high alert.
Told that the Revolutionary Guard might have weapons caches in the hills, the unit immediately organized scouting parties. Literally hundreds of other small units were conducting similar surveys all across the country, while much larger units were rushing to keep the Guard in its barracks.
The van was the most interesting thing they had spotted since setting out. The locks were only a nuisance — the lieutenant fired through the keyhole on the driver’s side door. When that failed to release it — the bullet severed the connection to the rod, leaving it closed — he fired three more shots through the window, then broke it with the butt of his gun.
Hera heard the shots, and knew that the men had found the van. She slipped into the woods and climbed the slight rise to the woods behind the old farm field. She came out to the right of the van, parallel to the rear fender.
The soldiers, meanwhile, had pulled out the suitcases with the Whiplash gear. They hauled the cases next to the van, opening the passenger side door for light. The light framed them perfectly.
Six bullets later, both men were dead.
