The ringing in her ears faded away, making room for the terrified whimpers of the women and children she’d come to rescue. Helen turned slowly through a full circle, checking them over. Beyond a few bruises and scrapes, nobody seemed seriously hurt. At least physically. They would all have nightmares for years, she knew.
She spoke into her radio again. “Sierra One, this is Alpha. The loft is secure. Repeat, the loft is secure.”
But she barely heard Lang’s jubilant response. It was as though her words had broken through a massive dam inside, opening the way for the great wave of weariness and sorrow that came crashing over her.
Helen found herself staring through a numbed haze at the mangled remains of the older man she’d shot. Then her knees buckled and she sat down hard with her head spinning. She heard retching noises from close by as other men under her command threw up. Most of them had never killed anyone before. Even the veterans who had seen death before stood silent and hollow-eyed. She closed her own eyes tightly, shutting out the carnage.
When she opened them, she saw Lang kneeling beside her, watching her closely.
Helen smiled faintly. “Well, John, I guess we won.”
He nodded somberly. “You won.”
CHAPTER 10
BACKGROUND NOISE
The producers of the PBS Newshour were delighted with their Washington-based anchor’s interview of the U.S. Attorney General. Normally dour and reserved, Sarah Carpenter was in full swing and high dudgeon the very picture of official outrage at the terrorist attack on Temple Emet. She was making her anger and disgust plain with every icy word.
“According to reports this morning, the FBI has now positively identified the three dead terrorists James Burke, Anthony McGowan, and David Keller as ringleaders of a neo-Nazi fringe group located just outside of Richmond, Virginia. Are those reports accurate?” the interviewer asked.
The Attorney General nodded briskly. “They are. Our investigation has revealed that these men were the leaders of a white supremacist organisation called the Aryan Sword. We believe this organisation may also have been involved in the earlier murder of a local civil rights leader, John Malcolm.” She pursed her lips. “Past administrations have turned a blind eye toward the activities of fanatical, right-wing hate groups. This administration will not.”
“In what way, Ms. Carpenter?”
She leaned forward. “With the President’s approval, I have instructed the FBI and all other appropriate federal law enforcement agencies to immediately redouble their efforts against these potential terrorists.”
“And can you give us the broad outlines of these expanded efforts?”
“Certainly. We intend to mount a coordinated campaign on a number of fronts. First, we will increase our surveillance of known and suspected neo-Nazi terror groups. Second, I will direct the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms to take other steps to boost its seizures of illegal weapons and explosives. We will also take legal measures against illicit underground publications that advocate violence or promote bigotry and race hatred.” The Attorney General tapped the table in front of her for emphasis as she spoke. “Perhaps most important of all, I intend to seek immediate congressional action to toughen and expand our federal gun control laws. We must make it impossible for these criminals and right-wing hatemongers to acquire weapons of death and destruction.”
The PBS anchorman arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Surely only a very small proportion of the American people espouse such extremist views?”
“On the surface, the numbers are small,” she agreed. “But I believe it would be a grave error to underestimate the threat the radical right poses to this nation. We live in an increasingly complex and fragile society. In such a situation, even a tiny number of fanatics are capable of causing enormous damage.”
“You sound as though you anticipate more terror attacks like the one at Temple Emet, Ms. Carpenter.”
The Attorney General nodded grimly. “In my considered judgment, we now face a much graver threat from within our borders than from without. I’m afraid that the new terrorist threat we must combat is largely homegrown the terrible product of American racism and bigotry.”
General Amir Taleh watched the images flickering across his television screen with satisfaction. This American official, Sarah Carpenter, was unknowingly sowing the seeds for his own campaign.
Monitoring U.S. news broadcasts for items of special interest was one of the primary duties of the Iranian Interest section in Washington, D.C. At Taleh’s express order, tapes that met certain preselected criteria were flown to Tehran via diplomatic pouch for further study and analysis by his special intelligence staff. And so the full tape of this Newshour interview with the American Attorney General had made its way to his office within forty-eight hours.
Captain Farhad Kazemi waited until the picture faded to black before punching the eject button on the general’s videotape player. He straightened up with the tape in hand. “This was good news, sir?”
“Very good news,” Taleh confirmed. “As always, the Americans see only what they want to see. We shall have the element of surprise.” At that thought he felt again the surge of fierce joy that burned away much of his fatigue. But not all of it. After so many months spent in this office and in the field, he was all too aware of the enormous mental and physical strain he incurred by managing almost every aspect of this complex operation.
In theory he should have delegated more of that work to his subordinates.
Taleh snorted to himself. Theories were rarely worth the space wasted on them in textbooks. In the real world of the Iranian Army, there were few junior or senior officers with the grasp of strategy, logistics, and politics needed to fully comprehend his master design. And there were fewer still he could fully trust.
His mind turned to the staff conference scheduled for that evening. He had intended to use the meeting to finalise a decision to proceed with his plans. But why? He already knew what his decision would be. Seeing the news reports of the foolhardy Aryan Sword terror attack and watching the Americans rushing to confuse themselves only strengthened his resolve. After all, had not God Himself joined the fray drawing a concealing cloak over the marshaling armies of the Faithful?
Taleh nodded abruptly. Why waste more time? He looked at his military aide. “Cancel the staff conference, Farhad.”
“Sir?”
“Instead, contact London and all first-wave field commands. Instruct them to activate SCIMITAR as planned.”
Hamir Pahesh closed and locked the door of the small, rundown apartment. When he was in Tehran, he shared the apartment with another man, his wife, and their four children. There really wasn’t room for Pahesh, but both men came from the same village, and ties like that, especially in a foreign, hostile land, were almost as good as family. Besides, the truck driver was gone a lot and always returned with gifts: usually food, sometimes medicine. Mohammed Nadhir, his host, worked as a day laborer for even worse wages than he did, and the man had a family to support.
Pahesh would have helped a fellow countryman out in any case, and now because of his “extra income,” he was the Afghan equivalent of the rich uncle. Thus, whenever he asked after the health of their nearby friends, the whole family packed up and left, usually bearing one of his gift packages. They thought he was a smuggler, which explained not only his need for privacy but his extra income.