settlement.'
Vilnai looked up sharply.
'Sorry,' Falah said. 'Please continue.'
'The Americans were field-testing a new mobile intelligence facility in the region,' Vilnai said. 'Very sophisticated, able to access satellites and listen to every form of electronic communication. On their way back to Syria, the Ataturk terrorists — at least, the Americans believe it was the same terrorists — came upon the facility and captured it. Along with this Regional Operations Center, the Syrians were able to take its crew.' Vilnai consulted his notes. 'There were two strike force soldiers, a General Michael Rodgers, a technician who helped to design the mobile unit and can help the Syrians run it, two NCMC officials, and a Turkish security officer.'
'As the Americans would say, a grand slam,' Falah obselved. 'Damascus will be celebrating tonight.'
'Damascus does not appear to have been behind this,' Vilnai said.
'The Kurds?'
Vilnai nodded.
'I'm not surprised,' Falah said. 'There have been rumblings about a new offensive for over a year now.'
'I've heard those rumblings too,' Vilnai admitted. 'But I discounted them. most everyone did. We didn't think they could put aside their differences long enough to make any kind of effective union.'
'Well, they have. And this was an impressive show for them.'
'An impressive first act,' Vilnai corrected. 'Our American friend Mr. Herbert believes that the van containing the equipment and his people is still in Turkey but headed toward the Bekaa Valley. A strike team has been dispatched from Washington to try and take it back.'
'Ah,' Falah said. 'And they need a guide.' He pointed to himself.
'No,' Vilnai said. 'What they need, Falah, is someone to find it.'
TWENTY-EIGHT
While Ibrahim drove the twenty-five miles to Barak, Hasan had been busy taking inventory of the ROC's cargo. Mahmoud, meanwhile, sat in the passenger's seat, four of his prisoners at his feet. He was teaching himself how to use the radio. Any questions he had were passed from Hasan to Mary Rose. Rodgers had instructed her to answer. He didn't want to push the terrorists again. Not yet. Within minutes, Mahmoud had discovered the frequency used by the Turkish border patrol. Mary Rose showed him how to communicate with them. But he didn't.
The Turkish border town of Barak lies just west of the Euphrates. By the time the ROC arrived, the floodwaters had covered the floors of wood-frame homes, stores, and a mosque in the northeastern sector of the village. The town was deserted, save for a few cows and goats and an old man who sat on his porch, his feet in the water. Apparently, he just hadn't felt like going anywhere.
Ibrahim passed south through the near-lifeless town, then stopped the ROC less than three yards from rolls of barbed wire strung between six-foot-high posts. The driver said something to Hasan, who nodded and walked over to Rodgers.
The general had been tied between the computer station chairs. He was kneeling and facing the rear of the van. Private Pupshaw was still draped over the chair, and Sondra had been returned to hers. The only concession the Syrians had allowed was to let Phil Katzen to tend to Colonel Seden's bullet wound. Though the Turk had lost a good deal of blood, the wound itself wasn't grave. Rodgers knew that they hadn't done that simply out of mercy. They probably wanted Colonel Seden for something important. Unlike some terrorists who soften toward their hostages as time passes, these three didn't seem to understand concession or compromise. They certainly didn't practice mercy. To the contrary, they had demonstrated their willingness to hurt or kill. On their home ground, with their comrades, there was no telling what they would do. Even if the hostages weren't killed, there was a good chance the men or women would be seriuously abused.
Rodgers realized that he was going to have to try to move quickly against their captors.
Hasan looked down at Pupshaw. 'You will come with me,' the Syrian said as he cut the bonds around Private Pupshaw's legs.
'Where are you taking him?' Rodgers asked.
'Outside,' Hasan said as he led the American from the van.
When Rodgers saw Hasan tie Pupshaw's hands to the door handle on the driver's side, and heard Hasan tell him to stand on the narrow running board, Rodgers knew what the Syrians were planning.
There was just over a quarter mile of 'no-man's-land' between this fence and the one situated at the Syrian border. Rodgers knew that both wire fences were electrified. The Syrians probably knew it too. If they hadn't known it before they arrived, the baked-on insects were a giveaway. Cutting the wire at any point would break the circuit and set off an alarm at the nearest checkpoint. Turkish guards would respond by land or air before anyone could cross in either direction. In this case, Rodgers didn't know whether the sight of hostages would deter the Turks from attacking the van or whether it wouldn't make any difference. They probably wanted to stop the Ataturk bombers so bad that they would shoot first and check IDs later.
Rodgers debated with himself whether or not to tell the Syrians another of the ROC's capabilities. If the terrorists knew, it would be even less reason for them ever to return the van. But the lives of his crew were at risk.
When Hasan returned for Sondra, Rodgers called him over. He had to tell him.
'You don't have to do this,' Rodgers said. 'Our van is bullet-proof.'
'Not the wheels.'
'Yes, the wheels,' Rodgers said. 'They're lined with Kevlar. Nothing is going to happen to the van.'
Hasan thought for a moment. 'Why should I believe this?'
'Test it. Fire a bullet.'
'You would like that,' Hasan said. 'The Turks would hear.'
'And shoot us all,' Rodgers said.
Hasan thought again. 'If this is so and your tires are bullet-proof, then we can just ride over the wire. Correct?'
'No,' Rodgers said. 'When the van hits, the metal chassis will still conduct electricity. We'll all be killed.'
Hasan nodded.
'Look,' Rodgers said, 'having my people tied to the side isn't going to stop the Turks. You know that. The border patrol will shoot right through them to try and get to you. Keep them inside and we'll all be safe.'
Hasan shook his head. 'If the border patrol comes, they may not shoot. They will see one of their own people tied to the outside. And they will want to question us.' He bent over Sondra and began to untie her.
'I know these people,' Rodgers yelled. 'I tell you, they'll try and cripple the van and they won't lose sleep over who dies in the process, even one of their own. And what'll you do if they chase you into Syria?'
'That is the Syrian military's problem.'
'Not if we get caught in an artillery cross fire,' Rodgers said. 'If you'll just give me a little time, we can get across without the Turks even being aware of it.
Hagan stopped untying Sondra. 'How?'
'We keep insulated cable in the van for patching into satellite uplinks when we have to,' Rodgers said. 'Let me rig an arc across the barbed wire so we don't break the circuit. Then I'll cut the wire and you can drive right over the cable. Once we cross the field I'll do the same thing on the other side. It'll be quiet. No alarms and no patrols.'
'Why should I trust you to do this?' Hagan asked. 'If you were to break the circuit, we wouldn't know until the Turks arrive.'
'I don't gain anything by bringing the guards down on us,' Rodgers replied. 'Even if they don't shoot us, you'd probably kill my people in retaliation. That defeats the purpose.'
Hasan considered this, then reported to Mahmoud.
