“You think?” He looked back at her. She knew exactly what he was thinking: He should have been there.
“Put the team into Iraq,” she said. “But—”
“I know,” said Danny. “We’ll get there, just in case.”
UNDER RUBEO’S PLAN, HUMAN “INTERVENTION” WAS important at several points. The swarm would make a staggered, piecemeal attack against each site, progressing past each critical part of the installation with just enough units to clear the way. Once the path was open, the final attack would be launched. The controller—Turk—would have to supply some last minute guidance on each attack.
Not only that, but Rubeo’s team would have to modify the memory system used by the units, removing some of the basic embedded programs that weren’t needed to add mission data. He calculated that they had just enough time to do that. No one openly questioned the scientist’s assessment, but Breanna noticed that Sara Rheingold’s eyebrows rose significantly when he mentioned what he had in mind.
Breanna studied the large projection of the area around the sites. Turk would have to go very close to a Pasdaran stronghold to get into position to strike both plants. And he’d have to wait there—the ideal orbit for Rubeo’s plan wouldn’t bring the X45 into position until just past 5:00 A.M. The attack wouldn’t be over until six-thirty—a half hour past sunrise.
“It is a problem,” conceded Reid. “But overall, this is the best plan. There will be a lot of confusion on the ground, and hopefully Turk can take advantage of it. He has proven quite resourceful to this point.”
“I think it’s more than a small problem,” said Breanna.
“Can you think of an alternative?”
She looked around at the others. With the exception of Rubeo, they were pretending to focus on something else.
Rubeo stared directly at her. As usual, his expression was void of any emotion.
“I can’t think of an alternative,” Breanna admitted. “I agree, it is our best course.”
9
Iran
THEY HEARD THE FIRST AIRCRAFT AROUND NOON. IT was low enough and close enough that it woke Turk. He sat up, hugging the blanket to his chest. The plane rumbled above, passing within a hundred yards of the cave. It passed again, this time a little farther away.
“They must be looking for us,” said Grease.
“No. They can’t have traced us,” replied Gorud.
“Why not?”
“It is a general search. Nothing more.”
Turk got up and went to the mouth of the cave. He could see the plane in the distance, circling to the north.
“You’re too close to the mouth of the cave,” said Gorud, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.
“He’s definitely looking at something,” said Turk.
“How do you know?” asked Gorud.
“It’s obvious. He’s circling.”
“Is he looking at us?” asked Grease.
“I don’t think so. It could be that village to the west. Or maybe the car.”
Turk and Gorud studied the map, but it was impossible to say for certain what the plane was focusing on. It made a dozen more circular sweeps, then moved on.
No one slept after that. They kept their shift watches—Grease was up next—but that was just a formality. All three men stayed close to the bend in the cave, back far enough from the entrance to avoid being seen, but close enough to catch a glimpse of anyone coming from the road.
A little after noon Grease went to the supply cache and got lunch. One by one he inserted rations in a flameless ration heater and added water. The heater was actually a bag that contained iron, magnesium, and sodium. A chemical reaction started by the water heated the food.
“Cheese tortellini,” said Grease as he handed out the food.
Turk’s tongue felt numb. He seemed to have lost the sense of taste, though the aroma of the food that wafted up from the bag was strong enough to provoke memories of his middle school cafeteria. He ate quickly and scraped the side of the bag when he was finished.
“More?” asked Grease.
“Nah.”
“Good, huh?” His tone was mocking.
“It was fine.”
“You Air Force guys aren’t used to eating out of bags, huh?”
“No,” admitted Turk.
“How about you?” Grease asked Gorud.
The CIA officer turned to them. “I’ve eaten out of a lot of things,” he said solemnly. “Including a human skull.”
NO ONE SPOKE FOR QUITE A WHILE AFTER THAT.
Eventually Turk’s legs grew stiff from sitting. He got up and walked around the cave. Grease had given him a small LED flashlight from the gear stash, but Turk left it off; the darkness somehow felt more comforting.
Creeping to the edge of the interior lake, he sat and listened to the nearly silent but resonant hush that filled the space. Every so often something would drop from the ceiling. The plunks echoed throughout the cave.
He thought about how he would escape, and worried about having to swim in the Caspian. He wasn’t a bad swimmer, but in his vision now he saw the waves surrounding him. Suddenly, he felt claustrophobic in the dark. Hand shaking, he reached into his pocket for the LED flashlight and lit it. Then, heart pounding, he backed away from the edge of the water.
He collided with Grease and fell. A shudder of fear ran through him, dissipating only after the trooper hauled him to his feet.
“Shit,” Turk muttered. “I thought you were on watch.”
“Gorud’s there. I was making sure you didn’t try swimming.”
“I feel claustrophobic,” he told him, without explaining why. To his surprise, Grease told him that he did, too.
“I don’t know what it is,” added Grease. “Adrenaline builds and then it runs away. It leaves you empty, and you start focusing on stupid things, things that might kill you, but won’t in a million years. It’s related to tension I guess.”
“Yeah,” said Turk.
“You feel that when you’re flying?”
“Not too much.”
“But sometimes.”
“A few times,” admitted Turk. “Mostly, you’re too busy to think about it.”
“I know what you mean.”
AROUND 3:00 P.M. THEY HEARD HEAVY TRUCKS IN THE distance. Turk crawled to the entrance where Grease was keeping watch and peered out at the highway a half mile to the west. The road was empty, but a cloud of dust rose another mile beyond it, near the outskirts of the small village.
“Be nice to have a UAV over us,” said Turk.
“It would show them where to look,” answered Grease.
“There is that.”
Grease handed over the binoculars. There were three military trucks driving on a desert road near the hamlet, coming up from the south. Two troop trucks and a command vehicle—a patrol of some sort.
“You think they’re looking for us?” Turk asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You got any evidence that they are?”
“No.”
“That’s your answer.”
“I’d love to hear something more reassuring.”
“Me, too.”
10
Iran
COLONEL KHORASANI GOT OUT OF HIS COMMAND VEHICLE slowly. The old building reminded him of his mother’s parents’ house in Gezir.
Lovely days. Parties every evening with the neighbors and relatives. Iran was a different place. Some of the neighbors were Sunni, and there would occasionally be long arguments about religion, but with no one thinking of taking some sort of revenge or turning the others in.
“The truck is in the back, Colonel,” said Sergeant Karim.
“The place is abandoned?” asked Khorasani as he walked with his sergeant.
“For years now. We are checking the local records.”
The four-door Toyota had been tucked close to the house, invisible from the road and much of the surrounding area, though not from the air. The pilot who had spotted it had been over the area the morning after the “earthquake,” and swore he had not seen the vehicle.