“I said, go.”
“Yeah, all right, Cap. I’m sorry.”
Boston climbed in. The mercenaries squeezed into the back.
“Go south two miles and stop,” Danny said. “I want to make sure Tarid’s OK.”
The truck’s rattle settled after a minute, and they rode in relative silence across the empty land. The rain had started to let up.
“Everybody out,” said Danny when they stopped. He was being crushed by two of the mercenaries, who’d crowded next to him.
He went around to the back and got a blanket from the wheel well. He wrapped McGowan’s body in it and set him down in the back.
Tarid, meanwhile, had continued to the northwest. The Voice located him near a village named Saad Reth.
“Nuri, what’s in Saad Reth?” Danny asked.
“Not much. Little village.”
“You think Tarid can find transportation there?”
“Maybe. If he has friends there. Hard to say.”
“Colonel, your lady friend wants to talk to you,” said Hera.
“She’s not my lady friend,” said Danny, annoyed.
“Whatever. She wants to talk to you.”
Hera needed a serious attitude adjustment, but now wasn’t the time. Danny walked over to Tilia, who sat cross-legged on the ground.
“Am I your prisoner now?” she asked.
“You’re not our prisoner. We just rescued you.”
“Who are you?”
“Kirk.”
“They were calling you colonel.”
“I was once. I was a lot of things.”
Tilia stared at him. She wanted desperately to believe in something — she wanted to believe in him. But whatever world he belonged to, it was too far removed from hers. And hers had just imploded.
“We’ll get you back to your village,” said Danny.
“No.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I can’t just leave you here. Come on. You can come with me.”
Tilia straightened. One of the Sudanese medics had bandaged the bullet wounds in her shoulder. Her pelvis and abdomen were on fire, but the pain did not prevent her from walking.
“I have to pee,” she told him defiantly.
“All right.” Danny put his hand out to help her up.
“I want some privacy,” she said.
“Sure.”
He went back to the truck. Tilia began walking toward one of the mercenaries, who smiled when he saw her coming. Even with her wounds, even in the dark and the rain, she was a beauty.
The look in his eyes revolted her, but she continued toward him. The young man smiled nervously, unsure what she was doing. She put her hand gently on his arm, then leaned up, lips pursed as if to kiss him.
He couldn’t believe his luck — he bent forward to return the kiss.
As he did, Tilia grabbed the rifle from his hand. She spun it around, put her thumb on the trigger, and blew a hole through her head.
36
Bani Aberhadji couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The president of Iran, Darab Kasra, was traveling to America—
“We can’t allow this,” Aberhadji said. “We cannot.”
General Taher Banhnnjunni stared at him. He, too, had only just heard.
“How could he make such a decision without consulting the Revolutionary Guard?” continued Aberhadji. “Did this come from the ayatollahs?”
“He must have spoken to them,” said Banhnnjunni. He was stunned. The decision to destroy Iran’s nuclear capability, though a terrible one, at least had some logic to it when balanced against the West’s concessions. But this — this could not be explained at all.
“You are the head of the Guard, and the council,” said Aberhadji. “You weren’t consulted?”
“No.”
“That is an insult. An insult to all of us. They feel — they think we are worms to be disregarded.”
Aberhadji’s anger consumed him. He stalked back and forth across the general’s office, as if some of it might dissipate.
But it didn’t.
“We can shoot him this morning, this afternoon. Blow up his house. Blow up his car, his plane,” said Aberhadji.
Banhnnjunni took hold of himself. “You’re raving,” he told Aberhadji. “Calm down.”
“Calm down? Our country is being led by a traitor and blasphemer. We are being led back to the days of the Shah!”
“The black robes are still in charge.”
“Do you think they authorized this?
Aberhadji could not fathom that it was possible. Banhnnjunni, on the other hand, was not so sure. He had seen the Guard decline greatly in position over the past year. His own status was also in doubt.
He struggled to think logically.
“The president will have no support when he comes back,” said the general. “This will end him with the people.”
Aberhadji felt as if his brain was unraveling. He had never been guided by emotion — and yet his feelings now were overwhelming. There was no way to be calm before such a gross provocation.
“He’ll remain in office. And he has the army,” said Aberhadji. “Better to strike then, kill him there.”
“Make him a martyr?”
“It would be ironic. His death would surely serve a purpose. We could use it to rally the country. To return to purity, as we have always proposed.”
Banhnnjunni hated the president as much as Aberhadji did. But murdering him was a complicated undertaking.
“The plane would be the best place to strike,” said Aberhadji. “It would be easy, and it would be a symbol. Or we could arrange it so it appeared that the Americans did it. Perhaps that would be better.”
“What if they retaliate?”
“They wouldn’t dare. How? What would they do? Invade? Then we use the warhead.”
Banhnnjunni felt a second blow, this one even harder.
“You told me the project was several months to completion, if not a year,” said the general.
“It is very close. It can be pushed closer,” said Aberhadji. “And — I will make contingencies.”
Aberhadji had, in fact, already prepared a contingency, and had a full warhead, though as Banhnnjunni said, he had told the small group on the council who knew of the project that they were still a distance away from
