And her cell.
And his cell.
All at the same time.
“Damn,” Circe said.
Rudy cursed quietly in Spanish as he stretched an arm over and picked up both cell phones. Circe took hers and answered first.
“Dr. O’Tree.”
“Where are you?” asked Mr. Church.
She closed her eyes and mouthed the word “Dad.”
Rudy looked at the screen display on his. It said TIA. Aunt. Aunt Sallie.
He nodded to her.
“I’m home,” she said.
“How quickly can you get to the Warehouse?”
“Why? I’m off this week. I have to do revisions on the chapter on-”
“That can wait.”
“But it’s important.”
“Not as important as this,” said Mr. Church.
Circe sighed and considered smashing the phone against the wall.
Then Mr. Church said, “Bring Dr. Sanchez with you.”
Before she could ask a single question, he disconnected.
All of the phones went silent.
“What?” asked Rudy, and Circe told him. Then she buried her head against his chest.
“I hate this,” she growled. “I hate that he can just pick up a phone and ruin a perfect moment for me.”
“I expect,” said Rudy, “that he hates it too.”
She looked at him for a moment, reading his eyes. She sighed again and nodded. “Damn it.”
Five minutes later they were in Rudy’s Lexus breaking speed laws all the way to the Warehouse.
Chapter Twenty
Warbah Island
The Persian Gulf, Near the Mouth of the Euphrates River
Kuwait
June 15, 8:57 a.m.
Top Sims sat on the edge of the open door of a stealth helicopter. The helo was a model Top had never seen or heard of before last night-a Nightbird 319, a prototype variation on the OH-6 Loach used by the CIA during Vietnam but updated with twenty-first-century noise reduction technology, better construction materials, and radar-shedding panels that made the craft look like it was coated in dragon scales. The Nightbird had skimmed a few yards above the sand as it crossed the Iranian border, flying well below radar and inside the bank of total darkness provided by the rocky landscape. Almost totally silent beyond two hundred feet, it used special rotor blades that thrummed out a much softer vibration signature than that used by regular helicopters. If the pilot had not sent Top a locator signal, the two cars would had driven right past them in the night.
Echo Team abandoned the cars and crammed themselves and the rescued college students into the chopper, but then they had to endure a terrible two minutes of waiting and praying as a phalanx of Iranian Shahed 285 attack helicopters came sweeping across the star field above. Top was very familiar with those birds. Each Shahed was rigged with autocanons, machine guns, guided missiles, antiarmor missiles, air-to-air and air-to-sea missiles. Seriously badass, and Iranian helo pilots were no fools.
However, the helicopters swept past and then split into two groups, heading north and south along the border, their surveillance systems looking right through the bird on the ground.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” breathed Bunny. The three former hostages were panting like dogs. Khalid was murmuring prayers in Egyptian.
Top felt every one of his very long, very hard years settle over him as he exhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“We’re clear,” said the pilot over the intercom. The rotors spun up to a higher whine-though still eerily quiet-and the Nightbird lifted off. “Next stop Kuwait. First round’s on me.”
That was ten hours ago.
Now the three freed American college students were with their families. Laughing and weeping, hugging each other, kissing their families and each other. A happy ending and for once no one had died. Despite his weariness, it made Top feel like there was some clean air to breathe in the world.
Bunny sat nearby on an overturned milk crate, sipping Coke from a can. Khalid was throwing grapes into the air and catching them in his mouth. Lydia, who had found her own way out of Iran, had her boots off and her feet in a bucket of cool water.
The three of them looked like they were at a picnic, but Top wasn’t fooled. He knew every trick in the book about the “fake it till you make it” approach to regaining personal calm. All of them were feeling it. Anyone who ran this kind of game or played in this league felt it; but all of the nerves, the fears, the existential doubts were wrapped tight in affectation and shoved out of sight of the rest of the world.
To let it show would be to admit openly that they were human, and they couldn’t do that. Not on the job. Not in front of people. Not when there was another mission ahead, and another after that.
Top ached for the cigarettes he’d given up fifteen years ago. Or maybe a nice cigar. That would give his hands something to do, and concentrating on the smoke rolling down into the lungs and then swirling out again was something orderly and controllable. Even if the cigarettes were killing you, the process of lighting, inhaling, holding, exhaling, watching the smoke, shaping it with lips and tongue as it flowed out, and tapping the ash-all of that was deliberate process. Process was part and parcel with calm. But he didn’t have a smoke and promised his ex-wife that he would never start again. So, instead he chewed a piece of gum very slowly and precisely, and he grinned at the hikers and their families.
It was Bunny who finally spoke, starting the process of talking about it. “Smith should be here pretty soon.”
Top nodded. Smith had called from a border post right before climbing into a jeep with a Kuwaiti sergeant. “Any time now.”
A few seconds blew by on the hot wind.
“You think the Cap’s okay?” Bunny asked.
Khalid caught two grapes in his mouth, bobbing and weaving like a boxer to get under each of them. “Cowboy’s always okay.”
“Uh-huh,” agreed Top. It was a lie, though. Their captain spent as much time being stitched and splinted as the rest of the team put together. And they all knew that he was half crazy. Maybe more than half crazy. No one had the details, but rumors had leaked out in DMS circles that Captain Ledger had a party going on in his head. Not that it mattered to them. As far as Top was concerned, the captain could have the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing “Ave Maria” in his head and it didn’t change a thing. Ledger was their captain and their friend, and they’d follow him into hell. Top thought about that and smiled ruefully. They had followed him into hell.
His earbud buzzed and he tapped it. “Go for Sergeant Rock.”
“Sit rep,” said Mr. Church crisply.
“Sir, all quiet on the western front. Waiting on Chatterbox and Cowboy.”
“Give me a status report on combat readiness,” interrupted Church.
Top winced and almost cursed aloud. He was bone weary, and he ached for a hot bath, a cold beer, and twenty hours of sleep. Preferably with someone curvy, brown, and warm snuggled up against him.
“Always ready to rock and roll, sir,” he said with energy in his voice that was a total fabrication. “What’s the op?”
Khalid and Bunny shot him looks that went from inquisitive to surprised to murderous in the space of a second. Top spread his hands in a “what can I tell you” gesture.
Bunny bowed his head and sighed. “Oh, man…”
“We are at Firehall One,” said Church. That rocked Top and slapped all the fatigue from his nerves. Firehall was DMS combat code for a nuclear threat.
“Jesus…”
“Acknowledge,” snapped Mr. Church.
Top stiffened and the others caught the sudden jerk of his body. They clustered around him.
“Acknowledge Firehall One, sir,” said Top, and the others exchanged stunned looks. “Echo Team is ready to respond.”
“Then listen closely,” said Church. “Time is critical…”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Kingdom of Shadows