“If we send the aircraft now, it won’t be ready to support the assault,” said Breanna. The problem was not the plane but the gear—it had to be carefully reprogrammed and calibrated before the mission.
“Understood.”
“If we can’t get more data, we’ll find a way to strike both sites,” she said. “It’s our only option to make the President’s deadline.”
11
Iran
TURK STRUGGLED TO GET UP FROM THE FLOOR OF THE car, but it was impossible with Grease holding him down. The car whipped up the road, fishtailing and taking several turns before straightening out.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked when Grease finally let him up.
“I’m keeping you alive,” said Grease roughly.
“I mean with the gunfire.”
“They just started shooting.”
They drove another five minutes before pulling over. Gorud hopped out. Turk reached for the door but Grease stopped him.
“No chances.” Grease shook his head. “Stay in the car.”
“Come on, damn it. I’m not a fuckin’ kid.”
“It’s safer in here, and it won’t be a minute. Two guys got shot up pretty bad,” added Grease.
“So you want me to just sit here while the CIA and Mossad figure out what to do?” asked Turk, reaching for the door handle to his left. “No thank you.”
This time Grease didn’t stop him. Turk slammed his door and stalked back to the truck. Gorud stood talking to the Israeli at the passenger side of the cab. Captain Granderson, grim-faced and blood splattered, came out from the back.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Turk.
Both men ignored him. Turk grabbed Gorud by the shoulder and turned him around with such ferocity that he surprised even himself. Taken off guard, the CIA officer stumbled back against the side of the truck, dropping the paper map he had folded in his hand.
“I said, what the hell is going on?” demanded Turk.
“We’re trying to figure out how to get north as quickly as possible, without too much risk,” said Gorud. He straightened, trying to recover his composure.
“You were talking about the Caspian,” said Captain Granderson.
“He was,” said Gorud, gesturing at the Israeli. “Not me.”
“My mission here is complete,” said the Israeli. “You can do what you want. I am leaving.”
“Then start walking,” snapped Turk.
The Israeli looked as if he’d been slapped across the face. He turned to Gorud and said something in Farsi. Gorud didn’t respond.
Turk looked at Granderson. “What happened back there? Why did they shoot?”
“I don’t know. They just started firing as we drove up. They must have seen something about the truck. We killed them all. I don’t think they had time to radio, but we won’t have too much of a head start once someone checks with them and they don’t answer.”
Turk reached down and picked up the map. They were at the edge of high desert, land that on the map seemed empty, but he knew from the satellite images that it would be studded with small settlements.
“This spot here—this is where the fuel rendezvous was to be with the helicopter, correct?” He pointed out the mark to Gorud.
“That’s right.”
“Let’s take the road that leads to it, sweep north, and then back west.”
“It will add hours of travel time,” said Gorud. “Better to go directly. Our gas is limited.”
“There’s a town here,” said Granderson, pointing to Khur. “We can get gas there.”
“We may be questioned,” answered Gorud.
“We’ll be questioned everywhere. Let’s go—we need to move.”
“I agree,” said Turk. “Let’s do it.”
He turned and found Grease standing so close to him that he nearly collided with him.
The Israeli started to object. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s what we’re doing,” said Turk. “Like I told you, you can always walk.”
THE SIXTY MILES BY AIR TO THE REFUEL SITE WERE easily doubled by the switchbacks and curving roads that took them there. In several places the road was only theoretical, a fictional notion on the map describing a path that had been brushed away by a surge of wind-driven dirt and sand.
At least they weren’t being followed. Turk kept expecting aircraft to appear overhead, but the only ones he heard were well to the south.
It was nearly noon by the time they reached the abandoned strip mine where the fuel for the helicopter had been hidden. Waiting about a half mile south for a two-man scouting team to make sure the area was clear, Turk considered what he would do if it turned out to be an ambush. He checked and rechecked the AK-47 and pistol.
I’ll save the last bullet for myself.
A fine, romantic thought. But almost impossible to carry out, he suspected. In the heat of battle, who was going to count bullets?
He would gladly exchange the pistol or rifle, for that matter, for an airplane. On the ground he was nothing. Put him in the air and he could take on anyone.
“It’s clear,” said Gorud, touching his earphone as the radio transmission came in. “Drive in slowly. We don’t want too much dust.”
The hiding place was a man-made horseshoe canyon, with the two arms squeezed together at the southwest, away from the road. They went in slowly, but still kicked up so much sand that Turk couldn’t see when he got out of the car.
The supplies had been tucked into a crevice at the side of the right arm, where the site had been quarried and workers created or enlarged a small cave. Besides the fuel drums, there were emergency supplies including water and packaged food.
Green, the Delta top sergeant, opened up one of the food packages and passed out the contents. Turk ate with abandon. The Delta troopers took theirs and then fanned out into protective positions outside the perimeter. Grease stayed with Turk; Granderson and Green huddled near the barrels, whispering together. Gorud and the Israeli, meanwhile, sat together in the car, silent.
Ironically, the two Delta men who’d been wounded were the designated medics. Tiny was by far the worse. Semiconscious, he’d lost a great deal of blood from two bullet holes in his thigh, and a third at the top of his hip looked nearly as bad. The other man who’d been hurt was Dread; his shoulder was shot up and he had a graze wound to his cheek.
“Chick magnet,” he told Turk, pointing to the bandage. “Scar’ll get me laid for the rest of my life.”
Doc was less cheery about Tiny’s wounds. “Medevacking him out would be a good idea.”
“Yeah,” was all Turk could say. They both knew it was impossible.
Granderson had dropped off two of his men a few miles south to make sure they weren’t being followed. They checked in every few minutes, reporting that the road remained deserted. But they could see a good amount of activity at a town just two miles to the east, a patch of green in the chalky hills.
Set in the shadow of a Z-shaped hill, the town was crisscrossed by green fields divided into small rectangles flanking the shallow valley. There were maybe two hundred houses on the outskirts of the fields.
What looked like army barracks were located directly across from a group of large barns. They appeared to be empty, save for a single pickup truck baking in the middle of the courtyard.
“I’d like to take that truck,” said Granderson, relating to Turk what the men had seen. “If we did, maybe at some point we could get rid of this one. The hole in the windshield is a pretty obvious giveaway.”
“You think you can grab it in the middle of the day?” asked Turk.
“Why not? If it’s just sitting there.”
“Be a good idea to use their gas as well,” said Grease. “Give us more of a reserve.”
“True.”
Green had quietly listened to the discussion. Now he stepped forward. “If they have med supplies, that would be even better. If we can get some plasma for Tiny, it might make the difference. Might.”