A garage owner provided them with military uniforms and vehicles. A restaurant server gave them more intel. The guard routines at the garrison, the location of the cameras, the security center, the residential buildings and Rueben and Benisch’s quarters.
Over dinner, at an alfresco establishment, Zeb brought out a map of the city. They would look like tourists to onlookers, going over the next day’s sights.
‘We know what to do,’ Meghan said before he could start.
He folded the map and stuffed it inside his pocket. What was the point in wasting words if they knew?
At one am, seven vehicles came around the garrison on Shahidan Inanlu Boulevard. One of them, an SUV with Iranian Army markings, slowed and eased into a rest stop used by truckers. It parked between two large vehicles and its lights turned off.
Traffic was light that time of the night. No vehicle slowed to give it a second look. The trucks’ occupants didn’t emerge to look at the army ride.
Of the remaining vehicles, three broke off, their drivers positioning themselves to the front and right side of the garrison’s compound walls. Three others carried on, joined Shora Boulevard and two parked at the back of the camp, around its rear exit. The sixth ride looped around the garrison and came to the truck stop fifteen minutes later.
Zeb nosed the military vehicle out, slowing to allow Broker, Roger and Bear to climb in. In the rear mirror, he saw Meghan give a thumbs-up as she navigated her Jeep to occupy the space he had left.
He joined Inanlu Boulevard and sped down the loop.
‘Drones are in the air. Missiles, locked and ready.’ Beth, in their earpieces.
The UAVs were sophisticated equipment, each one of them made of the same light-weight carbon composite used in space shuttles. Stealth paint and RAM, Radar-Absorbent-Material, ferrite isotopes and flying wing design … similar technology that went into the making of the B-21 Northrop Grumman bombers. It was the first outing for the drones outside of the US.
The garrison will have radar and its own drones circling the base. We need our UAVs. They’re the only ones that will evade detection.
Zeb checked his mirrors and eased into Modarres Boulevard. His left blinker flashed as he approached the garrison’s main entrance. He checked his companions. Broker, Bear and Roger, sitting straight, and yet relaxed at the same time. All out-fitted in Iranian Army uniforms, their shoulder-boards indicating they were majors.
‘Ready?’
‘Hell, yeah,’ Roger fist-bumped with Bear while Zeb switched seats with Broker, a maneuver conducted with practiced ease.
Broker turned into the driveway and halted at the cross-barrier. Zeb lowered his passenger window and announced himself in a bored tone. ‘Colonel Rashidi, from the Inspection Directorate.’
That particular division was responsible for ensuring all the camps, the training regimes, were in accordance with IRGC rules and processes. While Quds Force had become an almost independent body, the Inspection Directorate still had jurisdiction over it.
It’s well-known for carrying out surprise visits. The guard, an enlisted soldier, hesitated, glanced inside the vehicle and stiffened at the sight of the other officers.
‘I’ll need to check, agha,’ he replied formally.
Zeb glanced at him coldly. ‘Check? Who will you check with? Don’t you know how we work? We can come at any time.’
The guard moistened his lips. Another armed sentry sauntered from the guard hut. ‘What is it, Feroze? Who are they?’
‘They’re from the Inspection Directorate, Hamid,’ Feroze straightened, glad to have some back-up.
The second guard straightened his shoulders. He seemed to be more experienced and showed no nervousness.
‘Security protocol, agha,’ Hamid nudged Feroze out of the way as he glanced inside, his eyes lingering on Zeb’s shoulder pads and on his name plate. ‘We need to call in for any unannounced visitors.’
Zeb nodded imperiously. They’ll call the security center which will crosscheck with the IRGC command. One more guard inside that hut, his hand on the phone.
‘Don’t waste time. Do it. NOW!’