Ambassador Walton’s first words were, “You’re late.”
Marc said, “Sorry, sir.”
“I’ve gone out on the wire for you, Royce. I expect efficiency and punctuality and results in return.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s that bandage on your arm?”
“Nothing serious, sir.”
“Who’s that in there with you?”
“To my left is Sameh el-Jacobi. Baghdad attorney. And Major Hamid Lahm is with the Baghdad police.” Marc shot a quick glance at Barry Duboe. Sameh watched the CIA agent give a single shake of his head in response. Marc turned back to the screen.
Ambassador Walton demanded, “These are the two gentlemen you told me about?”
“Affirmative.”
“Where’s that Special Forces officer you mentioned?”
“Josh Reames does not feel anything could be gained by appearing inside the Green Zone.”
“And what if I disagree with his assessment?”
Marc remained silent.
“All right. Can these men with you be trusted?”
“You trust me. I trust them.”
Walton said, “Okay, we’re good to go at this end. I’m joined by two people, a Mr. X and a Miss Y. Mr. X is the green-light guy. Miss Y is his top in-house analyst. Repeat for them what you told me earlier.”
Marc said, “We have reason to believe the victims are being held in Iran.”
Sameh waited, expecting something-denial, rejection, refusal. Marc’s conclusion and his resulting plan all seemed flimsy when laid out to a representative of the world’s most powerful nation.
Instead, Ambassador Walton’s disembodied voice said, “We concur.”
A new voice, male and deep and gravelly, said, “We have no established presence in that country. So we have to rely on third parties. What we’re hearing is this: Iran’s government will do everything in their power to quash the Iraqi political party known as the Alliance. If it looks like they might establish a coalition government, Iran intends to launch subversive tactics and further destabilize Iraq.”
Hamid Lahm was clearly able to understand the clipped speech, for he grunted like he’d taken a blow to the chest.
The deep voice continued, “The Iranian regime is struggling to keep the lid on a nationwide revolt. If the Alliance comes to power, the young and the dissatisfied within their own country will have a Shia nation right on their doorstep that is embracing true democracy. Iran’s leaders are terrified their hold on power will be destroyed.”
Marc said, “Why don’t we have the backing of the Americans here on the ground?”
“Because,” said Ambassador Walton, “there are vested interests in our government and business communities working with the conservative Muslims currently holding power in Baghdad.”
Mr. X added, “They also fear that if the Alliance comes to power, Iraq may fracture along traditional lines of tribe and culture. History stacks the evidence in their corner. For thirty centuries the Iraqis have gotten things wrong when it comes to forming stable governments.”
“Not to mention the concern they have over outsiders adding talk about Jesus to the mix,” Ambassador Walton said.
The deeper voice said, “Word has come to us via nations with operatives inside Iran. They report that the Revolutionary Guard is directly involved in the recent spate of abductions. We have reason to believe the victims are still alive. The Iranians do not want to create martyrs.”
Ambassador Walton said, “We have also received word that Iraq’s leading imam intends to distance himself from Iran. He will use the recent attack against his son as a reason to accuse the Tehran regime of meddling in Iraqi affairs.”
Marc said, “We can confirm this is going to happen.”
Mr. X asked, “Were you the unnamed American involved in that incident?”
When Marc did not respond, Sameh leaned forward and said clearly, “He saved the Imam Jaffar’s life. And mine. And my family.”
Hamid Lahm also bent closer to add, “He also kept car bombers from destroying a market and a mosque.”
“Marc helped to rescue a group of kidnapped children as well,” Sameh said, ignoring the red on the back of Marc’s neck. “We have supporters everywhere now. Because of him.”
“Mr. el-Jacobi,” the deep voice said, “I want you to go to your new supporters. Tell them they need to stand with the Grand Imam after he makes his declaration. Otherwise the conservatives in your country and across the border in Iran will accuse the imam of having become an American puppet. They will bury him.”
“Yours is a vital responsibility, Mr. el-Jacobi,” Ambassador Walton agreed. “Can we count on you?”
Sameh nodded to his unseen audience. “Yes, you most certainly can.”
“We will come back to you with our suggestions for a specific message. Be ready,” Ambassador Walton said. “All right, Royce. Tell us what you need.”
“Access to active surveillance of the border between Iraq and Iran.”
“That’s an affirm.”
“We’re looking for an unofficial military encampment near the main highway linking Baghdad with Tehran. Small, enclosed, someplace where secrets can be kept as tight as the abductees.”
The deep voice said, “I’m turning this discussion over to our top analyst on that region.”
The woman’s voice was a rich alto, husky with smoke and impossible hours. “There are two camps that fit your description.”
All five of the screens came to life. Clearly, the woman had been prepped and came ready to move. Sameh thought back to Marc stalking around his inner courtyard, talking on the phone. He watched as the two computer screens to Marc’s left became illuminated by large-scale maps of the Iran-Iraq border region, crisscrossed by a bright red highway marking. The large television screen now showed a satellite view of a green-gray mountain valley. The two other screens flashed pictures of what Sameh assumed were small villages.
“You’re looking at the region to the north and east of Al-Muqdadiyah,” Miss Y said. “The official border crossing is marked in green, just up and to the right of Khaniqin.”
“I know it,” Hamid Lahm murmured.
“Once it crosses over into Iran, the highway runs parallel to the Rudhaneh-ye Kerend River, then at the village of Eslamabad Garb it turns northeast and enters the foothills of the Kuhhayeza Mountains.”
Marc asked, “How far from the border are we talking?”
“The first of the two possibles is here.” A light flashed on the far left map. “It’s a forested valley between Chahar and Kermansah. That puts you nineteen miles inside Iran. The second is more isolated, accessible only by farm track. It is located here, in a valley that once held two farming communities. The villages have been erased. We have no word that any of the families survived. That location is nine miles farther inside Iran.”
“Can you access satellite imagery from the night before last?”
“Roger that.”
“What would be the travel time from Baghdad to these places?”
“What form of transit?”
Marc glanced at Hamid Lahm, who was staring at the ceiling, his lips moving silently. Marc said, “Pilgrim bus.”
“Call it five hours. But it could take as long as nine.”
Lahm lowered his gaze and nodded in agreement.
Marc said, “The latest wave of abductions all happened between twenty-one hundred hours and midnight. So look at these places yesterday, right after dawn. See if you can find us a couple of buses at either of those sites.”
The room went silent. There was a faint electric hum, whether from the overhead lights or the speakers, Sameh could not tell. Or perhaps it was merely the sound of his own adrenaline-stoked nerves.
“I have it.” The large television flashed an image, impossibly clear. “This was taken by a drone at seven-fourteen yesterday morning. There in the upper left quadrant. See the shiny rectangles? That’s the sun glinting off the tops of three buses.”
The men were all crowding forward now, even Barry Duboe. The scene was unmistakable. The rising sun cut a clean line across the valley floor. The aluminum tops of the buses glinted like mirrors.