Vulcan's Fire

bonus for every observed hit. Therefore, he seldom works with a regular spotter. Whomever we assign to him will also serve as… how would you say it? A tabulator?”

Esmaili folded his arms, assuming a petulant posture. “And our man? What does he receive for his services?”

“Let us hope he does not receive a bullet through his head. But to answer your question, brother, our man will have the knowledge that he serves Allah.”

“Of course, my brother. Of course.”

AMASHA

“Your mission is this Hazim character. He’s out there. Find him, shoot him, and don’t get hurt.”

Rob Furr and Rick Barrkman absorbed Frank Leopole’s directive. But their pleasure at being reunited was marred by the onerous chore of locating an elusive shooter who devoutly wished to remain hidden. Both snipers knew how tediously dangerous their job could become.

Furr was smart and capable but also cautious. “Colonel, isn’t it possible that the Hezzies want us to go looking for this guy? They probably know there’s only two of us with this training team.”

“Rick and I have already discussed that. In fact, we talked to Captain Hamadeh about it. So, yes, this Hazim or whoever he is might be a stalking horse to draw us out. But apart from the Hezzies’ propaganda, we know that somebody out there is a decent shot, and I believe in preventive medicine rather than trauma treatment.”

Barrkman had studied the area topographic maps and narrowed the likely hides near both villages. “Skipper, we’d double our chances of tapping this guy if we split up and work with other spotters. Rob and I might be willing to do that, but there’s no reason to think Hazim works alone. If it comes to a real sniper duel, it could be more of a tag team event than one on one.”

Leopole’s square jaw was thrust outward. “Concur. That’s why I brought you guys together again. We’ll go with our strength for starters and see what turns up. If there’s no definite results after a few days, we can split up.”

Furr squirmed slightly, shifting his feet. “So, how do we know if we bag this bird? I mean, even if we get the body he probably won’t have ID on him. It’s not like there’ll be a big sign saying, ‘Congratulations, you just snuffed Hazim.’”

“Good point. I guess we’ll know if their sniper activity falls off. If not, it means it’s not him or they have other talent. In either case, we’re ahead if you whack one of their shooters.”

Furr and Barrkman gave each other approving glances. The personal nature of the contest appealed to their competitive spirits.

“Another thing,” Leopole added. “This isn’t like the usual sniper or even countersniper operation. Basically, we’ve been called out and it’s high noon on Main Street in Dodge City. In other words, it’s a duel. But there’s more riding on this than just who walks away. Hezbollah will learn something about us depending on whether we accept the challenge or not. So the fact that you guys are out there hunting Hazim tells the opposition that we’re not playing safe. We’re here and we mean to stay.”

“Don’t worry, Skipper,” Barrkman chirped. “If we find him, we’ll kill him.”

Leopole tipped his cap back on his head and rubbed his chin. He thought for a moment, then looked both shooters full in the face. “That’s the way to think of it, you’re the hunters, but you’re hunting other predators. They may have more experience than you do, and presumably they know the land better. But I’m confident that you’re both more proficient, and I think you’re smarter.” He grinned. “Guys, just don’t get wrapped around your egos. Keep your heads in the game without worrying about what the Druze or I or anybody else thinks. At the same time, realize that you’re going up against a specific individual who’s proven that he’s dangerous, day or night.”

Furr recited something he had heard long ago. “Colonel, I respect my enemy but I don’t fear him.”

“Who said that?”

“Me!”

Leopole snorted. “Like hell you did!”

Furr toed the ground, glancing into the dirt. Finally he conceded, “I think it’s from an old samurai movie.”

“Well, you don’t look like any samurai I ever saw. But forget that bushido bullshit. There’s no warrior’s code out there, guys. There’s only winners and losers.”

31

NABATIYEH GOVERNATE

The imam was back from Tehran. He beckoned, and Esmaili resented the gesture to the core of his soul. The Hezbollah commander also detested the sentiment behind the come-hither motion, for it screamed a tacit message: / command and you obey. Or else.

Esmaili approached the cleric, who turned and walked into the house that served as the cell’s headquarters. With a dismissive flick of the hand, Elham ordered the building emptied. In seconds Azizi appeared and the three sat down around the wooden table.

“I have received our final orders,” Elham began.

Esmaili and Azizi locked eyes for an ephemeral moment. Our final orders. Not only did the phrase have the ring of finality, but it implied that all three jihadists were about to set foot upon their final venture. Esmaili knew from experience and a well-honed skepticism that wherever the trail led, Sadegh Elham would remain alive to tell the tale.

“We are to launch simultaneous attacks on the villages of Amasha and El-Arian. It is a maximum effort, without concern for casualties.”

Esmaili’s glance at Azizi said it all: I told you so! He wondered how long the liaison man’s devotion and enthusiasm would remain intact.

Then Elham added, “That is, except for a handful of faithful fighters.”

Azizi did not seem overly relieved or concerned. He merely mouthed the expected phrase, “However we may serve, Imam.”

Unfolding a map, the priest spread it on the table. “Our instructions from Tehran require attacks on the villages mentioned. But they are diversions, which is why heavy losses are acceptable. The main attack will be directed elsewhere, and you will be informed when the time is right. The time will depend upon weather to cover us from enemy aircraft.”

Esmaili realized that the explanation was intended for him. Apparently Azizi already knew the full plan, and that perspective did not sit well with Ahmad Esmaili. They are close — at least far closer than I am to either of them. Therefore, I am likely expendable.

“Imam, if I may point out something. If the main attack goes in another direction, we will have to know its strength to allocate men and supplies. Otherwise the two diversions could soak up assets that will be needed elsewhere.”

Elham cocked his head slightly, scrutinizing the Hezbollah leader. The cleric’s steady gaze made Esmaili infuriatingly uncomfortable. At length Elham said, “Brother, you state the obvious. Of course the main mission will require men and… special equipment. That goes without saying. You should give us credit for competent planning.” Before Esmaili could respond, the priest added, “All has been considered long before now, my brother. I ask only that you place your trust in us, as you would in Allah.”

Esmaili’s mind raced. They are mad: they equate their own judgment with God’s! But then he remembered his childhood instruction: certain imams were especially beloved of God, as evidenced through religious scholarship and good works. Though not equal to a caliph, whose word could not be questioned, the leaders of a defensive jihad possessed special status in The Faith.

Esmaili inclined his head. “Imam, my apologies if I seemed doubtful. But you will understand my concern for seeing to the success of whatever my part of the mission may involve.” A nice recovery, he told himself.

Azizi sought to defuse the tension. “Brother Esmaili, it can be stated that you will have an important, even a crucial, role in the main attack. The unit you lead will be small, and therefore will not detract from either of the