They consisted mostly of low mountains laced with a network of valleys. The yellow overlay indicated the entire sector was thinly populated.
Someone had made a notation that indicated the chart had been updated two years earlier using a series of G-5A satellite photos. The new chart, minus research data, was visually more explicit.
Focusing on Zahko, he called up a map of the town as well as the surrounding area, pinpointing its location east of both the Tigris River and a major north-south oil pipeline. From there he zeroed in on the town itself. There were two large areas immediately east of the town, in Ammash, where construction appeared to be under way.
With that fixed in his mind, he referenced back to the more recent satellite photos, and the areas that had been under construction now appeared to be complete. In addition, the later photos indicated a network of roads had also been built to accommodate whatever was being built at the two construction sites.
He saw enough for him to put a call through to Chief Petty Officer Bet Crimmins at N1. She was known as Peter Langley’s right-hand woman and a first-rate investigator in her own right. So impressed was Miller that he had even made discreet inquiries about her marital status. A laughing Langley had provided him with vague answers and an even vaguer concept of what she looked like. Still, it was a start; Miller knew now that she was single, and he continued to kick around the idea of asking her out to dinner.
When he heard her voice on the other end of the line, he announced himself.
“Robert Miller at ISA.
Need your help.”
As usual. Bet Crimmins sounded happy to hear him. She was as relaxed as Miller was uptight.
“Working late again, Robert? You know what they say about all work and no play, don’t you?”
She had given him an opening, but Miller decided not to take it.
“Dull boy or not, I need your help.”
“Go for it.”
Miller didn’t hesitate.
“Near the town of Zahko, northeast Iraq, there is an area called Ammash.
The latest photos show two large structures and a number of smaller buildings, maybe even an airstrip — all relatively recent construction. What do you know about them?”
“A little out of your bailiwick, isn’t it? I thought ISA was only interested in ZI matters?”
“Call it curiosity.”
“Okay, I’ll call it curiosity.” There was a lull on the other end of the line and he could hear her fingers dancing over the keyboard.
“Okay — the latest G-2 says the building to the east is a military installation of some kind. The larger of the two structures is said to be a pharmaceutical factory.”
“Pharmaceutical company?”
“Affirmative.”
“What else do you know about it?”
“That’ll take some digging. Ill get back to you.”
Miller thanked her, hung up, closed his eyes, and tried to make some sense out of what he had just learned. Then he took out a piece of paper and began to jot down names. He had his own checking to do.
Chapter Two
The flock was restless. Despite that, Taha Hayawi had to struggle to stay awake. This was the second summer of his manhood and his mother, a widow, had entrusted him with the responsibility of tending the flock by himself. At fifteen, there was still much that Taha did not know about tending the flock and there were times, especially in the middle of the night, when he felt both insecure and very much alone.
Added to that was the weight of knowing the flock he watched over represented the sum total of wealth shared by his own family and that of his childless uncle, Gead.
The day had been long for Taha, and now the night was proving to be even longer. Moving the flock to a new meadow was always difficult, even for the most experienced of shepherds, and this particular move had been made all the more wearisome because several of his uncle’s ewes had given birth during the time the flock had grazed in the high-meadow near Abaci. Added to that, Keza, as the Kurd youth called his favorite dog, had given birth to six fine puppies. Three days after they were born, a nervous ewe had trampled and killed one of the pups and a grieving Keza had responded to her loss by ignoring the flock and guarding the remaining pups with extra zeal. Consequently, Keza, usually his most dependable dog, had been little help in moving the flock to the meadows overlooking the village of Kedoni.
In other ways Taha Hayawi had been fortunate.
For one thing, he had located the ideal place to set up his meager camp. There were two streams, one at each end of the lea. The streams flowed with cold, sweet water — and the grass was again lush, made all the more so by two early season snows in the mountains — snows that rapidly melted in the warmth radiated by the early winter sun.
Despite the flock’s restlessness, Hayawi was glad to be at Gead; Gead was the last stop on his nine-month pilgrimage. When the flock had finally grazed the grasses down at Gead, Hayawi and his flock would then be able to return to his own village near Atita.
To help himself stay awake on this night of the first full moon, Taha added more scrub wood and dried sheep chips to his fire. Then he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and propped his back against a large rock. In the distance he could hear the occasional mournful chorus of a pack of wolves — giving him all the more reason to stay alert. Still, there was something enchanting about the sound; their homage to the night resonated in the canyons and somehow seemed to make the sky seem even brighter. On nights like this, when added vigilance was required, Taha often contented himself by counting stars and humming a song his mother had sung to him in the days before his father died.
On this particular night, though, Taha did not feel quite so alone. There was an added pleasure; from time to time he reached out and patted Keza and her pups, enjoying them, consoling them, and trying to convey the thought that he understood her loss.
That was when, for the first time, he noticed the alien sound. It was a clamor, a kind of unsettling disturbance completely out of concert with the otherwise high-meadow sounds. As he sat there, leaning his head to one side, trying to listen more intently, trying to identify what he was hearing, the sound grew louder, and suddenly its source appeared over the ridge of mountains to the south. It was a flying machine, the kind that his father had called a helicopter.
The beast thumped the air like a great wounded bird and a light, as brilliant as any Taha had ever seen, began sweeping back and forth across the pasture where the sheep grazed. There were times when the great light seemed to be turning the night into day. The flock became rapidly unsettled, and Taha stiffened as he realized the light had searched out his campfire.
The great bird seemed to open up and there was more light. It came closer until it was no more than a couple of hundred feet above him and he could see the silhouettes of men inside the craft; they were throwing something out.
At first he wondered — then it assailed him. The strange odor seemed almost aromatic — not unlike that of the nuts and fruit the Turk who called himself Gursel sold from his cart when he visited Taha’s winter encampment. The aroma quickly faded and the pleasant sensation Taha felt when he first noticed it rapidly dissipated into a burning sensation in his throat. The burning was followed by a shortness of breath, and within minutes he was struggling to breathe in any fashion. He was aware now that Keza’s pups were suffering a similar fate. Their cries were tortured.