Lion of Babylon (28 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

T
he first bus lumbered around a rocky cleft and stopped as an ancient stone hut came into view. The Iranians had constructed a rough front porch, little more than a raw-plank veranda with a canvas overhang. The porch held a bunk with woven leather straps and a table with one chair. A lone cup steamed on the table. When Josh and his men slipped back in through the bus's open door, Marc asked, “The guards?”

“Not going anywhere for a while. Locked up tight inside.”

Marc thumbed his comm link. “Hamid?”

“I am here.”

“We're good to go. Give your men the final check.” He said to their driver, “Move out.”

Eons ago, an earthquake had dislodged a portion of the cliff face. The road threaded its way around boulders larger than the bus and descended to the riverbed. Beside them, the meandering stream flickered in the early light.

Duboe said, “Target is eleven hundred meters ahead.”

Marc said, “Any more guards this side?”

“Nothing moving between us and the perimeter.”

“Check the entire village one last time.”

While Duboe was silent, the buses passed behind yet another giant boulder and entered a narrow sandy patch. Marc keyed his comm link and ordered, “We stop and prep here.”

As the vehicles halted, Duboe said from his screen, “Two guards patrolling near village entrance. Got another on roving patrol, the fourth either asleep in one of the houses or is off the grid.”

Josh muttered, “Not good.”

“We can't worry about that now,” Marc said. “Keep your eyes open. What else?”

“I make one guard standing to far side of the target building. My guess is the entrance is in the alley and not on the front of the house. A second guard appears to be seated where the building meets the cliff. Legs splayed out, maybe asleep.”

They off-loaded and gathered behind the rear bus. There was no chatter. When they were geared up, Marc keyed his earpiece and said, “Comm link check.” He got a forest of thumbs-up.

Then Hamid said, “We also want to blow up missiles.”

Josh grinned. “My man.”

“This threat is to
our
country,” Hamid insisted.

Marc said, “Josh and his men are prepared for this type of sortie.”

Hamid bristled, but softly. “What, you think we do not train? We are not ready?”

Josh stepped between them. He clapped Hamid on the shoulder. “Who is your top guy in the field?”

Hamid did not hesitate. “Is me. Then Yussuf.”

Marc said, “I need Hamid on point for the retrieval. Especially now that we're after kids who don't speak English.”

“You heard the man,” Josh said. “Tell Yussuf to lock and load.”

Hamid jerked a nod. “Is good.”

Marc said, “I need one of your team with me to balance things.”

“I'll switch,” offered Duboe.

“That works.”

Josh said to Hamid, “I want a favor in return. Hannah Brimsley.”

“The missionary,” Hamid acknowledged.

“We're engaged to be married.”

Hamid and Duboe both stared. Hamid asked, “Is true?”

“Anything happens, you tell the lady I loved her to the end and beyond. You got that?”

“End and beyond. Is nice. Warrior's poetry.” Hamid settled his hand upon Josh's neck. “Go with God, my friend.”

They stood like that for a moment, Iraqi and American, then Josh stepped back and motioned to Marc. “Maybe you want to step over here with us.”

Seven of them gathered at the border of the pine forest. The air was hushed, the only sound that of water trickling down the stream. Marc fit himself into the circle, and Josh said, “Join up.”

The seven men linked arms around shoulders. Josh started, “God, we're about to enter the valley, and we ask that you make the shadows our friends.”

Josh kept it short. He hesitated at the end, then offered a special prayer for the lady, but his voice broke over saying the name. So Marc said it for him. Hannah Brimsley. As they disbanded, Marc heard other names being whispered. He added Alex.

Duboe was standing close enough to hear. He started to speak, then shook his head and turned away.

Marc said, “Let's move.”

Chapter Forty-Six

I
needed until this morning to fit it all together,” Sameh told them after they had dressed and climbed into the car. “When I woke up, two memories had bonded. One was of Marc battling with the ambassador's aide on our behalf, protecting us against future risks that I would never have imagined even existed. The other was of standing in the underground church, holding the hand of Marc on one side and a Sunni or a Shia on the other. I don't even know which.”

They followed Sameh's new bodyguards, who drove a navy blue Hyundai. The women's security detail remained tight behind them in another vehicle. Sameh had insisted on driving himself so they could continue their conversation in private. The three women watched him with a singular intensity. Leyla said, “Tell us why this was so important, Uncle.”

“All my life, my first instinct upon meeting a person has been to identify their background. It is so ingrained as to be subconscious. I name them as American, Sunni, Shia, Persian, Kurd. But that moment in the church, we were all simply people in need. Imperfect and wounded and broken. And I saw the answer was Jesus.” They slowed for a traffic circle, which was good, for the recollection left Sameh with blurred eyes. “It seems so simple, speaking these words. But I feel as though barriers have fallen from my mind. From my heart.”

They were silent as Sameh steered the old Peugeot into the stream of early morning staffers approaching the first Green Zone checkpoint. The traffic crawled forward, making slow but steady progress. Roving guards walked between the lines of cars, inspecting each through the windows. Sameh said, “In that moment, there was no religion. No creed. Just the fact that Jesus lives. I feel . . .”

When he hesitated, Bisan pressed, “Tell us, Uncle.”

“When I look back, I feel I have used my heritage and my church as a means of keeping others at arm's length. I am Sameh el-Jacobi. I uphold an ancient Christian tradition. I am this. I am that. But as I look back upon that moment, holding hands together, I realize that I need to spend more time simply being a servant of Jesus.”

Miriam said, “I would like to go with you to that underground church, husband.”

“And I,” Leyla said.

“Me too, Uncle,” Bisan said.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure than to share this experience with my family.” He reached over. “Passports, everyone.”

The Iraqi soldier accepted their papers, then astonished them all by coming to attention and snapping off a salute. “Mr. el-Jacobi. You and your family are expected, sir.”

“Pardon me?”

“Your escort is that Jeep.” The soldier fitted a whistle to his lips and blew a sharp blast. The barrier that was lifted only for presidential convoys rose into the clear dawn air. “Your guards can wait in the small lot there to your right. Proceed, sir.”

Sameh drove his family into the Green Zone. It was such a simple thing to say, but normally impossible to do. Most Iraqis could not enter the Green Zone at all. Bisan leaned out through the open window and gaped at everything. The towering palms, the barricaded guard stations, the Jeeps on patrol, the hurrying officials, it all seemed fascinating to her. Miriam and Leyla murmured as one palace after another came into view, all fronted now by sandbags and sentries and checkpoints.

They drove past the embassy's main entrance and followed the Jeep into a side circle. One of the marines left the Jeep, walked back, and opened Miriam's door. “Straight along the sidewalk, please.”

“Thank you,” Sameh said. “Come, Bisan.”

A dark-suited woman already had the glass doors unlocked and open before they were halfway down the walk. “Mr. el-Jacobi? Hello. Anne Hickory. I'm the ambassador's private secretary. We spoke this morning.”

“An honor, madame. Might I present my family. Miriam, Leyla, and Bisan.”

Miriam said, “We apologize for disturbing your morning.”

“No problem, ma'am.” She paused long enough to lock the door after them, then led them forward. “This way, please.”

They followed the woman through a series of hallways and into a large room filled with a battery of desks. Two men stood by the far windows, talking softly. When Sameh entered, the United States ambassador approached with his hand outstretched. “Mr. el-Jacobi, thank you for coming.”

“How could we refuse an invitation from the American ambassador?”

“Please allow this gentleman to have your passports.”

Sameh passed them over. He lowered his voice to ask the ambassador, “Any news about Marc and the others?”

“They made it past the Iranian border. Since then we've had no word.” The ambassador saw Bisan press against her mother's side, and added, “This is to be expected.”

Leyla asked, “Can you tell us if you learn anything more?”

“Of course.” He motioned to Sameh. “Give me a number where I can reach you.”

Sameh passed over a business card. “English on one side, Arabic on the other. My cellphone is there in the corner.”

The ambassador checked it, nodded, and stowed it in his pocket. “You'll know when I know.”

He motioned for Sameh to step away from the others. He drew several sheets of paper from his pocket. “You know of the imam's plan to denounce Iran today?”

“I was present when he announced his decision.”

The ambassador slid the pages back and forth between thumb and forefinger. “You understand there are conflicting positions within the government.”

“Both yours and mine, I'm afraid.”

The ambassador had a politician's face, features made for the spotlight. Even his smile of approval carried secret depths. “Your green cards are granted without obligation or limits. What I'm about to ask is a request only. It comes both from me and from the voices you heard on the comm link in our basement. If you feel you can't perform this task, it in no way affects your freedom to emigrate whenever you wish.”

“We discussed this in the comm room. I said I would help.”

“If only it was possible to trust the word of every person I dealt with,” the ambassador said.

“Tell me what you need.”

“There are twenty-one names here. Seventeen men, four women. All senior members of the Alliance who have either recanted their position and thrown their weight behind the conservatives, or plan to do so today. All but three have lost someone close to them.” The ambassador handed over the pages. “I need to ask that you contact these people without mentioning my name. Washington cannot be seen to take an official stance on who forms the next Iraqi government.”

“I understand.”

“But if or when you connect, you may tell them the message comes from me
personally
. Stress that last word. This is not an official declaration. But let them know I am deeply involved.”

“If I have a problem, may I contact you?”

The ambassador pulled out one of his own cards and scribbled on the back. “Don't go through the switchboard. This is my private number. Either I or Ms. Hickory will be available day or night.”

“I would not dream of calling unless it is a matter of critical importance.”

“That is the word to describe this situation. Critical.”

“If I manage to contact them, what shall I say?”

“Just this. Don't give up.” The ambassador narrowed the space between them. “Hold fast to hope.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

T
he pines covering the valley had adapted to their arid surroundings. The trees were stunted, with gnarled limbs and roots that fought the rocky earth for a hold. As Marc and his team walked forward, the needles muffled their movement. The Iranians noted how the others moved and matched them step for step.

They walked to the right of the single-lane road. Josh was on point. Marc kept him just within sight. Josh's remaining team flanked their progress from the road's other side. Behind Marc walked the Iranians, close enough for Marc to hear Fareed's breathing. Duboe and Hamid's men shielded the rear.

As they slowly approached the lone cottage marking the village's entrance, Josh and two of his men flitted forward. When they all regrouped by the cottage, the two guards roving that end of the village were down and out. Hamid and Yussuf slipped into the mist and returned with the third guard. While the three were lashed together and stowed inside the hut, Marc and Duboe surveyed the terrain. The central lane of the village was utterly still.

Marc pointed Josh forward. “Check the way ahead.”

The mist drifted low to the ground, flicking tendrils up around their legs. A long couple of minutes later, Josh returned and breathed, “All clear.”

“We're still missing that fourth guard.”

“No sign of him.” Josh pointed to a trail emerging from the cottage's other side. “I followed that up to where it meets the cliff.”

Marc moved away from the stone wall and studied the village once more. The houses to the right of the central lane were built with narrow cuts between their rear wall and the cliff face. Those back areas were divided by crumbling stone fences, previously meant to hold kitchen gardens and animal pens. Marc could see they were overgrown with weeds.

Marc shifted back behind the wall and said, “Go.”

Josh signaled to his team, then melted into the mist and disappeared.

Marc drew Fareed and the Iranians in close. “You take up station here. Guard our way out.”

The Iranian jerked a nod. “Is good.”

Marc said to Hamid, “You know the target building?”

“Seventh house on right. Past the trail on left leading to the field and river.”

“I'm on point. You're next. Who holds the rear?”

“Duboe.”

“Don't bunch up. Ready? Okay. Let's go rescue some hostages.”

———

Marc moved forward in a crouch, his heart pounding hard. The light was coming up very swiftly and burning away the mist. He had not expected this, how desert light seemed to ram its way through the sky, passing through all the gentle hues in seconds rather than minutes. Now there were neither shadows nor fog to hide them. They would have to rely on surprise and speed.

He raced down the central road. To his right, the cliff loomed over the village. The satellite image had suggested the fields between the village and the river were now used for live-fire training. Which meant the open ground could be littered with live rounds, dummy charges, hidden alarms for training, anything. Marc's team took the village's only lane at a full sprint.

An Iranian guard came up the trail leading to the fields and the river beyond. He was not alert to the prospect of interlopers coming toward him at a dead run. He spotted them a heartbeat before Marc plowed into him. Marc chopped him in the throat, cutting off the yell before it was formed.

The man was well trained. He went for his side arm as he choked for breath and blocked Marc's second strike. Marc did not give him the chance to draw. He was too close in to risk using the spray, so he clubbed the man between the eyes with the silver canister. Again. A third time. The man went down.

Marc tried the spray on him, but the canister was bent at an angle now and refused to work. He tossed it away.

“Here.” Hamid shoved his own at Marc, then bent over to lash the guard's wrists and ankles. Duboe mashed tape across his mouth, then helped Hamid drag the man into the trees.

Marc caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye. He sprinted across the open space before his brain actually identified what he had seen.

Another guard was emerging from the alley between the target building and the barracks. He was bent over slightly, slurping from a mug in his hand. The mug probably saved Marc. The guard hesitated before dropping his drink and lifting the gun cradled in his other arm. Marc slammed into the guard, grabbing the man's machine pistol and hammering him in the face.

The guard was massive, a bearded giant with stained teeth, and savage enough to ignore his broken nose. He fitted his finger into the trigger and fired. The bullets dug a furrow in the ground. Marc used the machine pistol to smash the man's face a second time, but the guard only snarled louder and swung the barrel so bullets raked along the building's overhanging roof.

Then Hamid and his men appeared, using their own weapons to strike the guard. He went down hard.

Marc rounded the target building's corner, jerking back as a panic-stricken third guard fired off a noisy burst. Marc pulled a compression grenade from his belt and lobbed it around the corner.

The blast roared from the narrow space between the two buildings. Marc yelled,
“Alex! Alex Baird! ”

From inside the target building came a soft but distinct, “Here. In here.”

Marc sprinted around the corner. The bearded guard lay sprawled by the building, blood seeping from his nose and one ear. He blinked groggily as Marc kicked his gun away, then flipped him over and tagged his wrists and ankles.

Shouts rose from the surrounding cottages. It sounded as though the entire encampment was yelling. Marc found himself growing calmer as a result. For the first time since leaving the bus, he felt utterly in control. “Hamid!”

“I hear you.”

“Clear out the next house!”

“We are on this!”

Marc had to wait as Hamid and Duboe shattered the neighboring building's shutters with automatic fire, then tossed in a compression grenade. Two. Three. Four. The window's remnants blasted out as if the entire building sneezed. Then the roof groaned and slowly collapsed inward.

Marc turned back to his target. The cottage's two windows were barred and sealed. The original door had been replaced by a steel behemoth. The door's lock would have better suited a safe. The hinges were internal, and the door was set in a concrete frame. “Alex, can you open the door on your side?”

“It's locked and sealed.”

“Stand back. I'm using compression grenades. Clear the area!”

Guns were now going off in every direction. Duboe and Hamid and his men were clustered at the alley's opening beside the cottage, firing at unseen targets. “Josh! A little help!”

“On it!”

The sky overhead became laced with tracer fire. Marc settled two compression grenades at the bottom of the door, raced back, crouched with the other men, and yelled, “Cover your ears!”

The alley bellowed and enveloped them in a cloud of dust and debris.

Marc draped his mouth with the black kerchief and moved forward. The door hung on one hinge. Marc used his boot to hammer the point. Again. A third blow and the door crashed inward.

“Alex!”

“We're here.”

He ran forward and grabbed his coughing friend in a dusty embrace.

Only then did Marc hear the children.