“Yeah, they’re tied to us.”
“Go ahead, get in.”
“I think you ought to pull it off the tree or rocks or whatever first. Make sure they’re not hung up.”
“If they are hung up, we’ll need their engine, too,” said Danny.
“It’ll float higher without me in it.”
“Just do it.”
Hera jumped into the other boat.
She was just one of those people who would always want to do the opposite of what anyone else suggested, Danny thought.
He started reversing the engine on the Phantom 21. The line between the two boats grew taut—then snapped.
“How can it be so wedged in there?” Hera asked. “We’re not even hitting anything.”
“Get everything out and into our boat. Maybe it will float a little higher.”
There wasn’t much in the boat except for six jerry cans. Only four had fuel in them. Hera brought them over while Danny retied the line, doubling it this time. They got the other boat to nudge back, only to have it hang up on another submerged piece of the tree. The rope held, but the boat wouldn’t budge.
“The gods are screwing with us,” said Danny. “You take the helm here. I’m going across. Don’t do anything until I tell you.”
Because of the time constraints, the plan called for Nuri and Flash to head for the bus at the nearby stop. The bus would take them to another line that ran to the airport.
Danny and Hera would stash the boats a few miles away at a marina. Then they’d catch another bus to Tehran, arriving several hours later with the gear. Depending on where Tarid went—Nuri was betting on Tehran itself—Danny and Hera would immediately get a hotel room and start making other arrangements to support the surveillance mission.
Ashore, Nuri changed and checked his watch. They had fifteen minutes to walk the mile to the bus stop down the road.
“Flash and I have to get moving,” he said as Danny settled behind the wheel for another try. “We’ll take the bags with us.”
“Hold on, hold on,” said Danny. He revved the engine and shouted to Hera to pull backward. The boat didn’t budge.
“Danny, we’re going,” said Nuri.
“All right,” he said. “You’re better off with them anyway. In case we’re late.”
Nuri had changed everything but his shoes, deciding that his boots would look too American. He squished with every step.
“Car approaching,” warned the Voice.
“There’s a car,” Nuri told Flash, starting off the road.
“Maybe we should hitch.”
“You have an explanation about why we’re here?”
“We went for a midnight swim.”
“That’s not going to work in Iran. Come on—there are some bushes we can duck behind.”
IT TOOK DANNY AND HERA ANOTHER HOUR TO GET THE SUNSEEKER unstuck. By then they had no hope of making their bus.
“What’s Plan B?” asked Hera over the radio as they finally got the two vessels pointed toward the marina. The Voice tied her team short-distance unit into its communications circuit.
“We grow wings and fly,” said Danny.
“How come you can be a wiseass, and I can’t?” snapped Hera.
The remark caught Danny off guard.
“I wasn’t being a wiseass,” he said.
“What do you call it?”
“It was kind of a joke.”
“But I have no sense of humor.”
“You’re being awful sensitive,” he said.
“If I’m going to get canned, I want to understand why.”
“We’re going to get a later bus,” said Danny coldly. “There’s one that passes four hours later.”
“So we just wait? What if they need us?”
“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”
“Why don’t we see if we can rent a car?”
“There are no car rental places. Not even at the marina.”
“Then let’s steal one.”
Danny had considered it earlier, but decided that even the slight risk wasn’t worth taking if they could simply ride on the bus. Now, though, he saw the long gap as a potential problem, leaving him no way to back up Nuri and Flash for hours if something went wrong.
“All right,” he said. “If you can jump a car.”
“With my eyes closed.”
HERA HAD LEARNED HOW TO DEFEAT ALARM SYSTEMS AND jump cars long before she joined the CIA, though the details of her training were glossed over on her résumé.
The problem was finding a vehicle to take. Danny had chosen the marina because the Voice’s analysis of activity there showed that it was nearly always deserted after evening prayers, and tonight was no exception. That meant no one was there to ask questions as he and Hera lifted the suitcases from the boats and rolled them up the dock. But it also meant there were no cars in the parking lot. Nor were there vehicles near the houses or on the road leading up to the small village nearby. The houses were small and battered, and didn’t even look occupied.
The village was centered around a very small mosque. Structures leaned up against it on all sides; these were more stalls than buildings, painted and repainted, covered with tarpaper, and lean-to roofs. Half of them had not been used for years. The others were small stores and stands where a variety of goods were sold when the owners took the time to open them.
Beyond them sat the bus stop, a post on the main road. There were more houses on the other side of the highway. These were modern structures, far larger than the ones in the village. The owners were more prosperous than the people who lived in the village, though none were considered rich, even for Iran. The real money and power—as in most places, they tended to go hand in hand—lived in the hills overlooking the seaside.
“There’s something over there,” said Hera, pointing to a battered pickup truck. It was a late nineties Toyota, easy for her to jump.
“Looks like it’s their only vehicle,” said Danny, examining the property. “I’d hate to take somebody’s only car.”
“You can’t have a conscience in this game, Colonel. It’ll eat up your gut.”
“Go.”
Danny took the bags and walked with them over to the bus stop. A few minutes later Hera drove up at the wheel of a late model Hyundai Genesis.
“I saw a house with two cars in the driveway. This was the fancy one,” she said, rolling down the window.
Danny brought the bags around the back.
“I have to change,” said Hera, running over to the bag. She pulled out the long dress and scarf, covering her black jeans and shirt. The outfit was somewhere between conservative and fashionable, typical of younger women who lived in Tehran, but had strong ties to tradition.
“You better drive,” she told Danny. “Women usually don’t when they’re with a man.”
“I intend on it,” he told her, adjusting the seat so he could fit his knees under the dashboard. He made a three-point turn and headed down the highway, in the direction of Tehran.
“How far we going?” Hera asked.
“That bus stop at Karaj, I guess. It’ll only be a half hour or so from there.”
“Why don’t we just drive it all the way to the city?” she asked. “We can get there before Nuri and Flash.”
“Let’s not push it.”
“There’s no traffic. Which means no police,” she insisted.
“The briefing I heard said there was the possibility of roadblocks.”
“Not at night. That stuff happens down in the south, near Iraq and Afghanistan. Here the police all sleep. Even during the day.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“I’ve been in Iran a lot, Colonel,” said Hera. “I know the country pretty well. It’s not as bad as you think. There aren’t police on every corner, or checkpoints everywhere.”
“All we need is one.”
He leaned back in the seat, trying to relax a little. His neck muscles had seized up on him, and his knees felt as if they were stiff wooden hinges—old injuries reminding him of the past.
“I didn’t cause McGowan’s death,” Hera blurted.