The blow knocked him semiconscious. He rolled onto his back, disoriented.
What am I doing here? What is my mission?
He knew there must be an answer, but his mind refused to give it. All he could do was stare into the never-ending blackness that enveloped the earth around him.
5
Iran
COLONEL KHORASANI TOOK ANOTHER WALK AROUND the wreckage of the command truck. He needed space to think this through, space and time, but there was little of either.
There was no doubt that the vehicle destroyed on the highway had belonged to the Pasdaran unit, stolen out from under their noses while they twiddled their thumbs aimlessly around the vehicle they found on the hillside. They had proven themselves idiots of the highest degree—typical, Khorasani thought bitterly, of the bumpkins assigned to the Guard in this region. That fact did little to help him.
The company commander had been killed when his vehicle exploded. The battalion commander came to investigate; he was in something close to a catatonic trance by the time Khorasani arrived.
Under other circumstances the commander would have made a useful scapegoat, but he was related to a high-ranking member of the clergy. Khorasani therefore had to worry about saving the battalion commander’s hide as well as his own.
But there were more immediate problems. He needed to find the person who had fired the projectile that blew up the truck. Presumably, they were the same people who had stolen both vehicles.
Were they responsible for the “incidents” at the bunkers? Khorasani doubted it, and yet, what other explanation was there? Would a wild smuggler bound for Iran have been nearly so bold, or effective? It had to be the Mossad. It simply had to be.
But ground troops would never have been able to enter the labs. So what had happened there? Unrelated accidents? Raids by as yet unidentified bombers? In either case, how would the Israelis be explained?
Colonel Khorasani kicked at a clod of dirt. He needed to construct a coherent explanation of what had happened that passed blame away from the Guards—and away from himself. But he also had to figure what really happened. For without knowing that, he might say or do something that would unravel whatever official story he constructed.
The infidel bastards were at the heart of this, certainly. He had to tamp down his hatred—it would make him irrational, and he needed a clear head now more than ever.
“Colonel,” said Sergeant Karim, approaching cautiously, “one of the teams has found something at the edge of the soil mine.”
Khorasani caught the grim look on Sergeant Karim’s face. Karim didn’t speak of it, but scenes of death turned his stomach. His face always blanched a shade or two when they spoke of it, and the colonel thought he must be struggling mightily to suppress the bile now.
“Where?” he asked Karim.
“Follow me, sir. It’s best on foot.”
They walked through the field and up a small incline. The sun was just warming the day, but it was already seventy degrees. It would be over ninety by noon.
He would need to make a full report to the ayatollah by then.
“Maybe they were deserters,” he said aloud. “Panicking and desperate to leave because they caused the accident. Renegade scientists. Traitors. Or fools. Fools are better. Easier to explain.”
“Excuse me?” asked Sergeant Karim.
“Nothing,” said Khorasani.
Karim led him in silence to a cluster of brush. There was a body in the weeds. A man had crawled here, curled up like a baby and died.
“It’s not a member of the Guard unit,” said Sergeant Karim. “I had one of the sergeants look at him.” He gestured to a man smoking a cigarette a short distance away.
“Turn him over so I can see his face,” said Khorasani.
When Karim hesitated, Khorasani did it himself. Looking at the dead didn’t bother him.
Dressed in what looked like Pasdaran fatigues, the man was large and in good shape. He looked more Arabic than Iranian, but he could be an Israeli or an American.
That’s the sort they would choose, wasn’t it? Someone who looked the part.
Khorasani let his mind wander as he looked at the man, thinking of how such an operation would run. You might try infiltrating the bunkers with the help of a few traitors; in that case, what would this man and whoever was with him be doing? Maybe he’d brought material for the attack and was on his way out, or to another target.
Or maybe he was supporting an air attack, directing it with a laser device.
Or maybe he was recording what happened. Their satellites were limited. The Americans were always delivering boasts about their technology that proved to be empty.
The colonel searched the body. The man had no weapon aside from a combat knife, and no ammunition. He had no papers either.
But what was this, taped to his chest?
Money, and quite a lot of it—10 million rial checks, along with 100,000 rial notes.
There were euro notes as well—fifty-three of them, each a hundred euro note.
Khorasani rose. The money would be considerable anywhere, but especially in Iran. It could get him to exile, if he wished.
He handed it to his sergeant.
“Count this,” he told him. “Make sure there is a record.”
Sergeant Karim took it quickly. Apparently, money made it easy to overcome his aversion to death.
How many others had been with this man? Khorasani walked a few meters, examining the area. The ground had been disturbed by the units that responded after the attack, so there was little hope of getting a read on how many there were.
A small handful. Was there another truck?
Which way would they go?
Either they would attack another lab or they would seek to escape.
They would have to wait until nightfall in any event. Traveling during the day was too dangerous—as Khorasani had just proven.
Where to hide? The barren lands nearby were less than ideal, since they could be scouted by air—and would be.
Kaveh Industrial City was twenty-one miles away, due west. There were many buildings there, including several dozen that were abandoned. It would be an ideal place to hide.
Could they reach it on foot?
Too far.
“What’s the town in the distance?” Khorasani asked one of the soldiers standing nearby.
“Istgah-E Kuh Pang.”
“Is it big?”
“No, Colonel. A few buildings. The train runs through.”
“Find your sergeant and tell him I want an immediate report. I will be at my car.” Khorasani walked down the hill to his vehicle, where Sergeant Karim had just finished counting the money. “Find me a map of this place Istgah-E Kuh,” he said. “See what units are in the area. Have them secure it and wait for our arrival.”
“Yes, Colonel. Air General Shirazi wanted to speak to you. He said it was urgent.”
“Urgent.” The word seemed like a spoon of bitter medicine in his throat. Khorasani considered blowing him off, but decided it would be more useful to know exactly what the general was thinking.
“Get him,” he told the aide.
Khorasani braced himself for an argument when the general came on the line, but Shirazi surprised him by apologizing.
“It was wrong of me to hang up on you,” said the general. “We both have the same goal. The pressure, of course, is on both of us.”
“The air force especially,” said Khorasani sharply.
“I have spoken to all of my squadron commanders personally. We have seen no aircraft. The radar data backs this up, as do our allies.”