outside.
Green opened a shaded window, admitting more sunlight. The three SSI men began a professionally detached postmortem on their opponents.
“Lookit,” Breezy said. “The first three all checked into a round almost between the eyes.”
Ashcroft leaned over the fourth Hezbollah man. “This one took a hit alongside the nose. He was still twitching so I finished him off.”
“Well, that settles it,” said Green. “Pitney can join my army anytime.”
The ex-cop looked around. “Hey, where’d he go?”
Breezy stuck his head through the doorway. “Oh, he’s outside having the dry heaves.”
Green looked for the packs and found them leaning against the wall. He thought they were the right size for an RA-115 but they were mostly empty. “Guys, I think we’ve been suckered.”
It was time for a decision.
Esmaili waited until the group approached a small hill, then called a halt. He noted that the grass was beginning to resemble exposure to prolonged drought, and read the signs accurately.
Addressing Jannati, he said, “We are approaching the edge of the blast zone. I agree that we will probably meet no one ahead of us but we should beware of those who may chase us.”
Jannati had allowed Ka’bi to resume carrying the weapon, freeing himself until the final push. The nuke- qualified leader turned and surveyed the terrain behind them. “We can see for two kilometers or more, brother. There is no need for concern as long as we keep watch.”
Esmaili nodded, as if sagely. “I agree, Commander.” He made a point of appearing deferential to the Tehran expert. “But why not post a man to guard our rear? He can catch up to warn us or he can delay them if necessary.”
Jannati obviously cared little for the welfare of any of his jihadists. Which was to say, nothing. But without appearing indifferent, he accepted the Hezbollah veteran’s advice. “Very well. Select one of the escorts.” With that he motioned for Ka’bi to continue westward, deeper into the beaten zone.
Esmaili turned to Hazim. “Take a position partway up this hill to avoid exposing yourself on the skyline. Watch for anyone following us. If no one appears in an hour, follow our trail.”
Hazim shifted his feet, apparently ambivalent. He seemed honored at the responsibility but nervous about being separated from the group. Finally he said, “I will, Teacher.” He hefted the scoped Galil and selected a position behind a rock.
Esmaili merely nodded,
Yakov Livni knew there was no point trying to talk to Brigadier General Nadel for a while. The brigade’s maneuver elements were spooled up, dispersing to avoid presenting a concentrated target for whatever was coming next.
As a Merkava raced past, Livni pulled a handkerchief and covered his mouth. His aide wondered why the special operations officer was standing in the open, watching the traffic. “Colonel, shouldn’t we stay in the command center? There’s bound to be intelligence updates.”
“Until I can see something like satellite coverage, the rest is just gossip.” He shot a quick look at the captain. “You’re old enough to know that.”
“But, Colonel…”
Livni cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m too old a bunny to believe every report that comes after something like this. There will be ten wrong reports for every accurate one, and later on nobody will be able to say how the ten got started.” He shook his head. “No, I’m going for a walk while I still can. You tell the on-duty staff to sort out what seems to make sense. I’ll look at those reports when I get back, then the others later on.”
Without awaiting a reply, Yakov Livni stepped off in the direction he happened to be facing. He ignored the vehicles speeding past, unconcerned that he might not be seen in the swirling dust.
Teams Gimel and Daleth were likely just dust themselves.
47
Omar Mohammed asked the obvious question. “What are we up against?”
Bernard Langevin rubbed his chin in concentration. “It’s hard to say for certain, Omar. But we can make certain assumptions. A one-KT ground burst would scoop out a good-sized hole and blow radiated dirt and debris into the atmosphere. How far it would go depends on composition of the soil and current winds.”
“How close can we approach the blast zone?”
“Well, a rule of thumb for a kiloton weapon is near or total devastation within eight hundred meters with radiation extending maybe ten square kilometers. But radiation effects are extremely variable. We can probably enter the obvious blast zone for a way but it’s best to err on the side of caution. At least for a while.”
Phil Green was looking over Rick Barrkman’s shoulder, studying the map. “I have a question. If there’s another team, which way would they go? Maybe they’d go through the blast zone to shake off any pursuers.”
Barrkman looked up. “You know, that makes sense. It’s not like they’d worry about their long-term health.”
Mohammed and Langevin studied the sniper as if seeing him for the first time. The others read their expressions:
Finally Mohammed spoke up. “All right. I believe we can have it both ways. We will proceed with our two teams as before. Bernie knows the nuclear effects and can tell when to turn back from the blast zone. I will continue on course more directly for the border.” He looked at the grim-faced men around him. “Any questions?”
Furr asked, “What if nobody finds anything?”
“Then we will remain in radio contact. If we lose communications, we will regroup here at sunset.”
Without awaiting comment, Langevin unlimbered his Geiger counter and started walking toward the detonation site. Barrkman, Green, and Pitney followed at a greater interval than usual.
They had gone far enough.
“Brothers.” Esmaili’s voice was level, even friendly.
Jannati turned at the sound and saw the muzzle of Esmaili’s AK, aimed at his chest. A single round took him off his feet as his brain registered the most important question in the universe:
For Abbas Jannati, Planet Earth faded to a washed-out pale color, dimmed to gray, blurred into invisibility, and went permanently black.
He barely heard the other shots, one- and two-round sequences.
Esmaili fired deliberately, almost calmly, from the shoulder. He had already decided his engagement sequence: the leader, holding an AK, then the two security men on either side.
Modarresi Ka’bi came last.
The thirty-six-year-old fighter carried no rifle because he packed the weapon. Without time to shed his thirty-kilogram load, he could only make a vain attempt to flee, and he got perhaps ten meters before two rounds knocked the pins from under him. He hit the rocky ground face-first, beginning to feel the pain in both legs. Esmaili ended the torment with an aimed round to the cranium.
Esmaili checked the other bodies, found no signs of life, and reloaded. Then he grabbed a folding shovel, picked up the weapon, and began walking west. He was headed into the blast zone.
“Did you hear that?” Barrkman asked.
Bernard Langevin stopped in his tracks. “Gunfire?”
