“It’s the best I can do. They’re a very suspicious bunch.”
“So, assuming we don’t die en route, you’re sending us into Iran?”
“I’m afraid so. You’re going to be inserted from Turkey and link up with a resistance force. Get them to trust you and help you find van Keuren. Then contact us with what you’ve learned and stand by.”
Smith just stared at his boss. “Is that all?”
“I know it’s a tall order, Jon. And to be honest, I don’t expect you to succeed. In the unlikely event you actually make contact, there’s a good chance Farrokh will just decide you’re spies and kill you.”
“And then a million people die,” Smith said.
Klein shook his head. “A million Americans. We’ve drawn up plans for a retaliation, and I can tell you that it won’t be pretty.”
“What are you estimating Iranian casualties at?”
“After we take out their entire military capability, we’re looking at destroying all their major cities and annihilating their power grid and freshwater systems. It’s not possible to accurately estimate casualties because there’s honestly no historical precedent. What I can tell you, though, is that the deaths from disease, starvation, and thirst in the aftermath could be more than ten times what they are in the initial assault. If we can’t use the scalpel, Jon, it’s been made clear that we’ll use the hammer.”
63
Sarie van Keuren could feel Omidi’s eyes on her as she walked to the back of the plane holding a cup of water.
“Thomas? Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?”
The white-haired doctor was belted tightly into his seat, further restrained by a straitjacket and ankle shackles. It was an incredibly dissonant image — the frail, elderly man trussed up like some kind of psychopath or mass murderer.
Despite everything she’d seen in her years researching parasites, all this still seemed impossible. Intellectually, she knew that humans weren’t special in the animal kingdom, but somewhere deeper she had always harbored a belief in the soul. To see it so easily stolen, to be forced to watch this gentle man turn into a monster, was terrifying.
“Thomas?”
He was staring blankly at the seat in front of him, and she was ashamed at the fear she felt when his head finally turned toward her. There seemed to be no recognition in his eyes at all, no acknowledgment of the fact that another human was close.
As it always did when she was depressed or lonely or scared, Sarie’s mind retreated into science. How did the parasite work? What places in the brain did it target? How fast did it multiply? Was the detachment she was seeing the first step in creating a creature with no compassion or mercy?
“We’re nearly there,” Omidi said. “Sit.”
She glared back at him but his face remained a mask — not much different from poor Thomas’s. Some men didn’t need a parasite. They became monsters all on their own.
The landing strip was well camouflaged and they were probably less than a hundred meters from the ground when two dim strips of light appeared to mark its boundary. Beyond that, all she could make out was a few rocky outcrops and a distant wall of cliffs outlined by moonlight.
“Your new home,” Omidi responded. “The place where you will make the parasite transportable and more virulent.”
“What? Why in God’s name would you want to do that? Bahame’s insane, but you’re not. How could someone who understands what this does to people — innocent people — want to use it as a weapon?”
The Iranian smiled easily. “The West has created a moral framework for the world that is unwaveringly in their favor, Dr. van Keuren. If an American missile hits a primary school or market in an effort to kill a single man whose ideology they don’t agree with, the casualties are considered collateral damage — an unfortunate by-product of a war that doesn’t exist. If, on the other hand, a plane flies into an American office building, it’s an earth-shattering act of terrorism. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“The West tells the world that it is right and just to kill only if you use the weapons they consider honorable. And then they do everything they can to prevent others from acquiring those weapons. They can stockpile thousands of nuclear weapons and threaten my country with them, but we cannot do the same. They can kill countless women and children with sophisticated bombs built by Lockheed Martin and General Dynamics, but it would be unthinkable for a Muslim to do the same with an explosive built in his basement. The Americans have brainwashed the world — constantly changing the rules of the game in their favor. But that time is over. Their time is over. The order of things is about to change.”
64
A train sounds higher pitched as it approaches and lower when it moves away. What is that phenomenon known as?”
Jon Smith snapped out of a half doze and blinked a few times. “Uh…the Doppler effect?”
The man behind the wheel grinned at him in the rearview mirror and pushed the station wagon’s accelerator to the floor, punching through a snowdrift as he piloted the station wagon up the steep mountain road.
It had been more than nineteen hours since they’d killed Dahab, but Klein had decided to err on the side of caution. He’d provided their escort with a lengthy list of questions designed to ferret out signs of disorientation and clear instructions on how to proceed if they should display any.
It was a bit like being a contestant on hell’s top-rated game show. Miss a question, get two in the head and a gasoline-fueled roadside cremation.
The vehicle lurched right and high-centered on a drift, prompting their driver — Nazim was the name he’d given — to throw up his hands in frustration. “What is it you say? End of the line?”
He shoved his door open and stepped outside, grimacing at the fat snowflakes suspended in the wind. Smith knew nothing about him beyond the fact that he was one of the many talented free agents that Klein maintained contact with all across the globe.
Howell leapt out after the Turk, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they made their way to the rear of the vehicle. It was good to see him back to normal. Bahame was dead and they were well past the time symptoms would have presented if they’d been infected. In the context of the lives they’d chosen, things were more or less back to normal.
Their skis and packs were already lying in the snow next to the car when Smith eased himself out into the cold. He felt like he’d been run over by a semi. No serious injuries, but at least two lifetimes’ worth of bruises, strains, and abrasions. Combined with the fact that he’d spent most of the flight to Turkey monitoring every angry impulse and moment of confusion while Howell snored into his scotch bottle, he wasn’t sure how much he had left.
“This is the best I could do without making it look like camouflage,” Nazim said, handing them each a stack of used backcountry clothing in tones of light gray and white. Smith stripped, letting the cold attack the swelling in his lower back and elbow for a few moments before getting dressed.
“I checked over the skis personally and they’re in perfect condition,” Nazim said. “One of the pairs of boots is less so, but I’m told that this isn’t a problem.”
When he saw them, Smith managed a smile at Klein’s — or more likely Maggie Templeton’s — otherworldly efficiency. They were his. Taken from his garage and flown to Turkey in time for their arrival.