Oleg lay on top of Rahimi, smothering him. He’d wanted to leap up instantly to aim at Dale, but in the tangled fall with the scientist, he’d lost a few seconds. Now, rolling off the Iranian, Oleg found a gap in the bushes and raised his AK. He scanned through the dark across the corral, looking for movement on the other side. No sign of Dale.
Grovno, Oleg cursed, annoyed with himself for not finishing the kill when he’d had the chance. With that truck getting closer, the delay in hunting Dale would be costly. He didn’t need this wrinkle.
Then again, it should be quick. Oleg had seen Dale go down with the earlier rifle shot. He must be injured—and outgunned. Dale’s weak attempt at an assault told Oleg that the CIA man was lightly armed and alone.
Rahimi said something to him in Farsi. Uncomprehending, Oleg looked down at him and considered zip-tying the scientist’s wrists and ankles, treating him like a hostage. Oleg didn’t need the extra hassle of Rahimi running off. Especially with Dale still out there.
The scientist switched to English. “Reza, you hear the truck, yes? Is that how we’re getting out?”
Hearing the name Reza reminded Oleg that Rahimi thought he was in the company of John Dale himself. No need for the zip ties, then. They’d serve only to spook the scientist.
“No,” Oleg replied carefully. His English had a slight Russian accent that he’d never quite gotten rid of. He hoped Rahimi wouldn’t notice. “The truck is probably IRGC. I have a car down there. But first I have to neutralize that shooter. Then we run for it.”
“Yes. Who is he, the shooter?”
“Someone who wants to kill us both,” Oleg said.
The Russian rolled onto his back. He retrieved his NVGs from a cargo pocket and flipped them over his eyes. He lay still, allowing them to warm up, staring up at the starry sky. When the image turned green, he rolled back to his stomach, raised himself on an elbow, and scanned the bilious terrain.
With the spindly black tubes over his eyes, leaning on his elbows, the man next to Zana looked like an insect, a praying mantis.
The insect turned to Zana. He grasped the Iranian’s shoulder tightly.
“You stay right here,” the goggled man said. “Do not move. Understand me?”
Zana nodded. The man he thought was Reza rose to a crouch and crept forward, a rifle cradled across his forearms.
Kasem asked the sergeant to stop the truck. They were on a low rise, a reasonable vantage point. A short valley stood before them, a few hundred yards across, veiny shadows at the bottom that indicated dry creek beds. Once they entered that valley for the final push to the farm, Kasem would lose his high ground.
He climbed onto the flatbed. Leaning against the fifty-cal, he scanned the farm with his IR scope.
Jackpot. He saw a man creeping forward in a tactical crouch at the edge of the field, toward the valley in front of him, an assault rifle at the ready. Kasem swept the scope farther right, anticipating the man’s path, wondering who he was and what he was hunting.
There. Another white blob, a man lying prone at the field’s edge, a pistol in his hand.
Was that everyone? Everything?
Kasem swept the rest of the landscape. Sheep pen. Small house. Farther afield he saw a vehicle, a small car, still warm from its travels. Farther still there was another one, barely visible because its engine was nearly cold.
Kasem sensed opportunity. Whatever egress the CIA man had plotted for his spy was now fouled. There was a gunfight playing out here, now, right in front of him. He, Kasem, stood between them and the Iraqi border. They had no chance. He smiled behind the scope.
“Radio the garrison at Saqqez,” he said to the sergeant over the rattle of the idling diesel engine.
Once the captain was on the line, Kasem ordered a surge of all air and ground assets to Alut. He gave the precise grid coordinates, referencing the truck’s GPS. He ordered the advanced guard to come by the fastest air possible toward the border. He told them he’d meet them there to set up a perimeter.
He emphasized the urgency, used all his juice as a Quds man, Soleimani’s former adjutant. It worked. They were on their way.
Riding the truck back toward the border road now, Kasem allowed himself to relax in the bucking cab. He’d found the spies. The jig was up. Whatever was playing out over there in that field didn’t much matter anymore. Dr. Rahimi would be held to account. Kasem would be a hero. Kasra could come home.
“We’ve got FLIR!” one of the SEALs said over the helo’s intercom.
They all looked forward over the tablet in the center of the cargo bay. The nose-mounted FLIR turret was painting a flickering picture that looked like a blurry photo negative.
“Whoa!” Tex shouted.
They were watching a man with an AK in front of him edge along the side of a field. A dozen yards to his rear was another man, lying flat in a thicket. The FLIR video shifted right, indicating a brilliant white flash.
“IR reflector,” said the senior chief, asking the copilot to adjust the gain so they could get a more detailed view. The focus improved.
When a clearer picture emerged, they saw the man with the IR reflector lying prone. He seemed to be aiming a pistol in the general direction of the man with the AK.
“That’s our guy!” Meredith shouted, smacking them all on the shoulders. She put her finger on the tablet screen. “That guy there, he’s our officer. This guy in the middle with the rifle needs to die. Quick!”
The SEAL team leader asked for an ETA. Two mikes out, answered the pilot.
Meredith shook her head, cursing.
“We got this,” Tex said.
All the SEALs started tightening straps, snapping gear in place.
“We’ve got a problem,” said the Air Force colonel over the radio from back at the ops center, Hammer.
What fucking now? Meredith thought. She asked the colonel to spit it out, quick.
“Bandits speeding toward your pos,” he said. “Flight of two MiG-29s just took off, climbing on burner, turning your way. We’ve also got two MI-8 helos heading toward you from the north.”
Fucking hell. “How much time have we got?” Meredith asked the colonel.
“Wait one.”
Intent on the tablet screen, she watched John holding his pistol, vulnerable, his hands before him, elbows bent, as if in prayer.
We could use a divine intervention, she thought.
“One minute!” shouted the senior chief.
He’d flicked clear goggles down over his eyes. Tex indicated to Meredith to do the same. Over their helmets they had their NVGs tilted up, at the ready.
The helicopter slowed, barely. It banked left, hard, throwing Meredith against the bulkhead.
The colonel came back on the line. “We assess about fifteen minutes on the fast movers, maybe a few minutes more for the helos to your pos. Lot of air defense radars lighting up your area too. This may be a hot LZ.”
Meredith acknowledged the colonel’s call.
Tex was fiddling with more straps on her vest, asking her for a thumbs-up.
She ignored him. “What’s our antiair?” she asked the helo’s copilot.
“Not much against MiGs, ma’am. Flares if they launch heat seekers. Nap of the earth flying if they hit us with radar-guided stuff. The good news is that there are no SAMs in the area. We’ll only have to worry about those fighters.”
That’s the good news? Meredith thought. What a clusterfuck.
The senior chief yanked the fabric of Meredith’s shirt up near her shoulder, repaying the treatment she’d given him earlier. “The guy with the AK just hopped into a ditch or something.” He pointed at the tablet screen. John hadn’t moved, but AK man had somehow disappeared from view. With that threat now unaccounted for, the SEAL leader directed a landing at a different spot, orienting the helo so the door gunner could cover their egress, guarding against the threat.
“Thirty seconds!” the SEAL team’s number two shouted.
Tex pushed Meredith forward, steadying a hand on her back, ready to shove her out.
“Ma’am? You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she said.
Coming from higher ground, Oleg had seen that this dry creek bed wound a broad semicircle toward the spot where Dale had to be hiding. If he guessed right, it would end in a flanking position to the CIA man’s left. If he guessed wrong, he’d be surrendering his higher ground, losing a tactical advantage.
But Oleg didn’t have time to wait Dale out. He had to flush him out of his hide. That truck was still out there somewhere. He thought he also detected the faint, distant sound of a helicopter. If he was to kill Dale and nab Rahimi, he had to act quickly before the IRGC moved in. The flanking maneuver was worth the risk.
The floor of the creek bed was soft, sandy, quiet. There were few obstructions, so Oleg was able to cover the distance quickly. As he approached, he paused frequently, looking for movement.
He saw something. A blocky shift against a low tree just ahead. He raised the AK, put the stunted tree in his sights, straining to discern the shape of a man through the leaves. He thought he recognized the shape of a head in NVGs, a dark circle, potentially a nose. It moved slightly.
Yes.
Oleg was certain now. He exhaled slowly, stilling himself, preparing to fire.