Pandora's Grave (30 page)

Eilat Airport

Eilat, Israel

The Gulfstream IV taxied to a stop behind a large hangar, the steps folding down out of the business jet almost before the engines had shut down.

A tall, dark-haired man in the slacks and a sports jacket of a vacationing businessman emerged, striding down the stairs with the air of a conqueror.

The mechanic working underneath the Learjet in an adjacent hangar paused to stare appreciatively at the young woman on the businessman’s arm, watching as she turned to her companion, laughing artlessly at his joke.

A vision of beauty. With an envious sigh, the mechanic reached for his wrench and went back to work. The girl in the sundress. Tourists…

The girl’s laughter faded as they turned ‘round the corner of the hangar. “We’re clear,” she whispered to her companion.

Gideon Laner toggled his lip mike. “Time to roll, Yossi. Where are you?”

“I’ve got eyes on you, boss. We’re parked at your nine o’clock. See the green SUV?”

“Roger,” Gideon replied. “Coming to you.”

He wrapped an affectionate arm around the young woman’s waist and led her across the parking lot, laughing like a couple very much in love.

The first stage of the mission was a success…

10:08 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

There. Ron Carter’s hand flicked the mouse cursor across the screen, double-clicking on a Deployment folder.

The folder opened in a separate window and he ran two fingers through his hair, a nervous tic common to his moments of anxiety.

The phone rang, jarring him from his concentration. He grabbed it and tucked it between ear and shoulder, his eyes running down the database index that filled the screen.

“Yes? Yes, Stacy, include Morgan in the hourlies—he’s cleared for CRITIC effective last Wednesday. It’s time he got brought up to speed. Yes, I understand.”

A line caught his attention and everything else went blank as he focused in on the screen before.
Yes. Yes!

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, ignoring a confused query from the party on the other end of the line.

He abruptly disconnected the call and began dialing a new number. “Margaret, I need to speak to Director Lay.”

7:25 P.M. Tehran Time

The Alborz Mountains

“I’ll make an incision here with my combat knife,” Thomas stated, drawing an imaginary “Y” on his own chest. “Then we will need to saw off the sternum and lift the heart from the chest cavity.”

Sirvan winced. “This is necessary?”

Thomas nodded. “We’ve got to drain blood from the aorta in order to obtain the samples I need. That’s the whole purpose of going down there.” He looked into the young Kurd’s face and went on. “I can do this myself if you’d rather not.”

Azad Badir leaned forward, a resolute look on his weathered face. “You misunderstand my grandson, Thomas. A Kurd has not been born that fears the shedding of blood. It is just that—what you suggest, in our culture, implies the desecration of the dead.”

“I understand,” Thomas replied, choosing his words with care. “But you must understand how important this is. If the Iranians are not stopped, they could use this bacteria anywhere. Against your people again, against mine—or any other. This is our chance.”

The shepherd seemed to consider this statement for a long moment, as though struggling within himself. At length he raised his eyes to look Thomas in the face.

“You are a brave man, Mr. Patterson. I have seen many such, and never have I let bravery go unrewarded. Go, and may Allah guide your feet.”

Thomas stood, picking up the AK from where it lay at his side. “I thank you,” he responded, reaching forward to clasp the shepherd’s hand.

Sirvan rose to his feet, advancing toward him. “It is not right that you should go alone,” he announced grimly. “You have proven yourself as one of the
peshmerga
. You have killed in our defense. You are blood of our blood and flesh of our flesh. I have given my word and I will not go back.”

Thomas turned, looking into those dark, enigmatic eyes, reading the friendship written there. “Welcome.”

All at once, a sharp buzzing broke the silence among the three men and Azad Badir reached for the satellite phone on his hip.

“Yes? Thomas, it is for you.”

10:34 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“We’ve had a development here, Thomas,” Director Kranemeyer announced, his eyes running down the screen before him in the nerve center of the Clandestine Service.

“Yes?”

“I want you to hold off on your operation in the valley. Carter just located an Army bio-weapons outfit in Mosul. We’ve contacted CENTCOM and are drawing up requisition orders for the bio-suit you’ll need.”

“Make that two, if at all possible,” Thomas interjected. “I have a volunteer. What is your means of delivery?”

“A GPS-guided High Altitude Low Opening HALO drop. We’ll run it out of Q-West again. Should be able to rig up everything you’ll need to properly secure the samples.”

“What is my timeframe?”

“Yet to be determined. I’d say early morning, your time. Any questions?”

“No. I think we’re good.”

11:23 A.M.

A park

Fairfax, Virginia

Perhaps it was a reflection upon his failures as a father that his wife had expressed surprise at his desire to take the children out to the public park. Thinking back, Michael Shapiro couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.

It was a beautiful day, after all. And the twins wouldn’t be harmed by missing mass this once.

He watched them at play, a sad smile curving his lips as he remembered the day they had come home from the hospital. His precious baby boy and girl. The American dream.

They were growing up without him. Perhaps, in the end, that was just as well.

Reaching inside his shirt pocket, Shapiro fingered the small computer flash drive reposing there. He knew what he had to do.

He took a deep breath as though to compose himself, and walked over to a nearby bench, sitting beside a pretty young mother in her twenties as he tied his shoes.

The flash drive wound up stuck to the underside of the bench.

Twenty minutes later, when a swarthy, distinguished-looking man in a tracksuit came jogging by, accompanied by two men that acted suspiciously like bodyguards, the CIA’s Deputy Director never saw them.

Never saw the man sit down and catch his breath, surreptitiously removing the drive as he did so.

He had his back turned to them, pushing his little daughter on the swings. Her high-pitched giggle filled the air as she swung high and a lump grew in Shapiro’s throat.

The American dream…

8:34 P.M. Local Time

Al ‘Aqabah, Jordan

Al ‘Aqabah was friendly territory for Fayood Hamza al-Farouk, but his movements through the bazaar were circumspect, nonetheless. Less than fifteen kilometers from the border with the Zionist state, it was widely suspected that Mossad agents frequented the small town. And the Hezbollah commander was taking no chances. His body bore the scars of past carelessness.

The prepaid cellphone in his pocket buzzed and he pulled it out to look at the screen. It had been two days since activation and only three people had the number.

“Yes?”

“My brother,” a familiar voice announced. “I have a job for you.”

Farouk listened carefully as the man continued to speak. “Eilat, you say? I think you understand the difficulty of getting my men into the city. No, I did not say it was impossible, simply that it would be difficult. What time does the meeting take place?”

“A few minutes before noon tomorrow,” the voice answered. “At the Eilat marina—the Americans must be killed at the outset of the meeting if at all possible.”

“I understand.”

“I repeat, you must kill both of them.”

“It will be done,” Farouk replied, disconnecting the call. A strange thrill of excitement coursed through his veins as he left the bazaar. He hadn’t operated in Israel in months…

9:02 P.M.

A hotel

Eilat, Israel

Richards reattached the scope mount to the receiver of the FN-FAL, his fingers moving quickly along the rifle.

He was on the fifth floor of the hotel, two hundred and fifty yards from the meeting site, according to the laser range-finder that he had brought with him. He could have made that shot over iron sights, but the scope gave him an added measure of security. The Texan was nothing if not cautious.

Finishing his work, he laid the rifle on the bed and slapped a loaded magazine into the mag well of the gun. Ready to go.

A quick check of his watch and he reached for the phone. Time to order dinner–he wasn’t leaving the room until after the meeting went down.

Fifteen hours…

2:57 P.M. Eastern Time

Cypress, Virginia

There was nothing covert about this operation. At least his side of it. That in and of itself bothered Harry. He was naturally a very private individual, and preferred that the circle of information on matters concerning himself be kept very small.

After a moment’s thought, he opened the diplomatic case and threw in an extra set of identification papers, under a Belgian passport. It had served him well in the past and it never hurt to plan ahead.

The case also contained his Colt .45, two loaded magazines, and a box of Federal Hydra-Shok hollowpoints. Being able to carry the gun through security
was
one of the benefits of his diplomatic immunity. If he was forced to use it…well, that was another story.

The TACSAT vibrated on his hip and he flipped it open. “Davood? What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” the agent responded, glancing out the window of his car. “I’m here down the street from Richards’ house. There’s a black Suburban parked in front of it.”

“Any signs of life?”

“That’s a negative. I just called Langley to run the tags. They’ve got a team on the way.”

“All right, here’s what I want you to do,” Harry instructed. “Sit tight and wait until your back-up arrives. I’ve got a plane to catch, but call me if anything changes.”

“Roger that.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Davood replaced the phone in his pocket and looked down the street at Tex’s house, eyeing the privacy fence that ran around the back two-thirds of the property.

After a moment’s reflection, he pushed open his car door and ran toward the fence, drawing his service Glock as he did so…

12:07 A.M. Tehran Time, September 30th

The Alborz Mountains

The temperature fell quickly in the mountains after the setting of the sun. Harun Larijani rubbed his hands together vigorously before scanning the valley again through a pair of night-vision binoculars.

Waiting. The young colonel did not count patience among his virtues. His men were tense, as well, the battalion of Revolutionary Guards at his command. The Kurds should have walked into the trap by now.

That they had not indicated things were not going according to plan. The thought made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Maybe they were watching him…

Harun dismissed the thought angrily, turning his focus back to the task at hand. Fear had no more place in his future than mercy did.

A cold chill seemed to seize hold of him as he remembered his uncle’s words of the previous morning.

“…
no true Muslim will stand by and let the desecration go unavenged. The slaughter of peaceful worshipers will bring the condemnation of the world down upon the head of Israel. No one will stand by her side when war comes
.”

“
And what of us?
” he had asked. “
What judgment must befall us for the sacrilege?
”

He would never forget the light in Shirazi’s eyes as he crossed the room to lay a hand on his shoulder. “
Sacrilege
?” his uncle asked. “
There is no sacrilege in destroying the infidel. Remember the words of the hadith—paradise is found ‘neath the shade of swords
.”

So it was, in very truth. Harun stamped his feet in an attempt to restore circulation to his freezing toes, steeling himself against the doubts that plagued his soul.

This was the will of Allah…

3:57 P.M. Eastern Time

Dulles International Airport

Virginia

The call came just as Harry had checked his bags. “Afternoon, Danny. What’s the good word?”

“Not good,” Daniel Lasker replied. “Our back-up team arrived on-site at Richards’ apartment in Falls Church to find Agent Sarami lying near the back of the apartment, knocked unconscious. His gun and satellite phone were both stolen, along with his wallet. We’re doing an inventory on the apartment as we speak, but nothing seems to have been disturbed.”

“Blast it!” Harry exclaimed in frustration, startling the woman in line ahead of him. “I told him to stay put. Any luck running the tags on that Suburban?”

“That’s where it get’s interesting, Harry. We ran it through the Homeland Security intranet, but the Bureau has put a Level-1 Priority block on the tag. Our best guess is that they’re running a big investigation and—”

“Don’t want other agencies stepping on their toes,” Harry finished for him, thinking aloud. If anyone had thought that the bureaucratic infighting would be cleared up by the reorganization following the 9/11 attacks, they should have known better. If anything, things had only gotten worse.

“Does Kranemeyer want me to come back to Langley? I’ve not boarded yet.”