He reminded her of her father, once commander of Dreamland, now a virtual recluse.
“Your guilt is misguided,” said Reid.
“I don’t feel guilty.” The words spit out quickly, beyond her control. They weren’t true. “Why would I be guilty?”
“You’re not. That’s my point.”
“I’m responsible for my people. It’s my job to think of them.”
“We are,” said Reid softly. He turned his head toward the driver in the front seat, separated by a thick, clear plastic barrier that made it impossible for him to hear. “But our first responsibility is to the mission. The nano-UAVs are clearly the best choice.”
“Yes,” said Breanna reluctantly. “I can’t disagree.”
18
Iran
WALKING DOWN FROM THE BARN INTO THE ABANDONED grove, Turk checked his watch, then took out the sat phone. He was a few seconds early, but there was no reason to wait.
“This is Breanna.”
“I’m checking in.”
“Good. What’s your status?”
“Same as it was forty-five minutes ago.”
“We have approval to push the operation off until tomorrow night,” said Breanna. “Twenty-four hours. And then it’s on.”
“Thank you.”
“Turk, we’ve been speaking with WARCOM. The SEAL command landed the recovery team from the Caspian. They’re not going to be able to reach you before the attack. We’re sending as much support as we can, but—”
“I know, I know. It’s all right. We’re good. Don’t worry about me.”
Turk felt a little annoyed—first at Breanna, then at himself for sounding like a teenager fending off an overanxious mom.
“We have a plan,” he added. “We’ll execute it.”
He heard the sound of another aircraft in the distance. It was flying quickly, moving in their direction.
One engine. Loud. The plane must be low.
“Listen, I have to go,” he said to her. “I’ll check back at the top of the next hour.”
He clicked off the satcom, then took a few steps toward the barn before realizing that he would never make it before the plane was overhead. The closest thing to cover nearby was an empty irrigation ditch; he jumped into it. Grease, his constant shadow, followed. They crawled a few yards to a spot where the sides were nearly horizontal and the shadow was thick.
It was another light civilian aircraft, a Beechcraft Bonanza, a later model with a conventional tail instead of the trademark V. Turk saw it flying from the northeast, paralleling the other side of the highway. It looked to be at about eight hundred feet.
He ducked his head, as if believing that if he didn’t see it, it wouldn’t see him.
The plane made another pass, this time to the north. Turk remained prone until the sound sunk into a faint and distant drone.
“I don’t think he saw us.” Turk stood and stretched the muscles in his back, then his legs. He leaned against the soft dirt of the ditch and kicked his toes into the other side. “He would have circled a few times.”
“Maybe,” said Grease, noncommittal.
“When do you think Granderson will be back?” Turk asked. He and the Israeli had taken the pickup into town, hoping to find another vehicle to either buy or steal.
“Soon.”
“I was wondering—maybe it would be better if just you and I went and finished this. Let them take care of their wounded.”
“They’re never going to leave you, Turk. To the last man. They’ll crawl along and bleed out before they let that happen. Every one of them.”
“That wouldn’t make much sense.”
“It’s their mission. It’s their job and duty. Their honor.”
“Together, we attract more attention than if we were on our own. Way more.”
Grease shook his head.
“We could take Gorud,” said Turk. “Because he speaks the language. But we don’t need escorts. I don’t really even need you. No offense.”
“Not happening.”
Turk started to laugh, but Grease’s grim expression warned him off.
“Let’s get inside,” he said instead.
GRANDERSON AND THE ISRAELI RETURNED NOT FIFteen minutes later, the latter driving an open farm truck. The truck had been parked in the town center, in front of a small building. They’d driven up in the pickup, spotted it, jumped out and walked over. The keys were in the ignition.
“Pretty quiet town,” the captain told Turk as they checked it over. “If anybody saw us, they didn’t say anything.”
“You sure you weren’t followed?” asked Grease.
“If we were, they’d be here by now, right?”
Gorud thought they should leave the school bus in the barn, but Turk suggested that it might work better as a decoy—if the planes they’d seen and heard earlier were part of a search party, making the bus easier to find would give them something to do. By the time they spotted it and then checked it out, it would be nearly nightfall, maybe later. He volunteered to drive it himself down along the highway.
“I’ll get rid of it while you’re organizing to go,” Turk said. “I’ll point it south on the highway.”
“You’re not going,” said Grease.
“You sound like my mother. It’s better than waiting around.”
“I’ll follow you in the pickup,” said Grease.
The ride back to the highway was longer than Turk remembered, and bumpier; he didn’t reach it for a good fifteen minutes. When he did, an SUV approached from the direction of Sar-e-Kavir; Turk sank behind the wheel, hoping whoever was in the vehicle wouldn’t get a good glimpse of his face. The SUV continued south, moving at a good pace; Turk drove out cautiously, starting to follow. His speed gradually picked up, the bus accelerating slowly but steadily. After about five minutes Grease sped up in the pickup and began flashing his headlights. Turk slowed, then pulled off.
“I kept it running,” he told Grease when he reached him in the truck. “If they find it with the motor on, it’ll be a mystery. Maybe it will buy us more time.”
“Wishful thinking,” said Grease.
“It’s all we got,” replied Turk as they headed north to join the rest of the team.
19
Iran
BACK IN THE FLIGHT ROTATION, CAPTAIN VAHID FOUND himself assigned to a late afternoon patrol, flying what was in fact a combat air patrol mission over the area of the atomic lab, though officially the mission was written up as a “routine observation flight.” Given the air force’s fuel woes, the fact that it was being conducted at all meant it was hardly routine, but that was the least of the official lies involved.
Vahid was not allowed to overfly the epicenter of what was officially termed the earthquake area; he had to maintain a five mile buffer between the ostensible fault point at all times. He tried avoiding the temptation to glance at the area, though he couldn’t help but notice the roads in the vicinity were empty. Checkpoints had been established; rescue teams were supposedly heading in to help relieve victims, but there was no surge of aid. Clearly, the state and national authorities were still confused about what to do.
Vahid accepted that what General Shirazi had told him was correct; it made the most sense and fit with what he himself had observed. He wondered if the facts about what had happened would ever come out. It would be much easier to blame the Americans or the Israelis than to admit that the project had suffered a catastrophic setback. On the other hand, blaming the Americans or the Israelis would be tantamount to admitting that the Iranian nuclear program was not aimed at producing a peaceful source of energy rather than a weapon.
Everyone knew, of course, that it was aimed at making a bomb. But admitting that it was a lie before the bomb was completed would be a great loss of face. Only when the weapon was completed could it be revealed. Then the lie would not be a lie, but rather a triumph against Iran’s enemies.