Pandora's grave

Chapter Seven

9:25 A.M. Tehran Time

A laboratory

In a tunnel network north of Tehran

“The rat showed weakness within the first thirty minutes,” Dr. Ansari noted carefully, typing the observation into the computer in front of him.

His assistant looked up from their charts. “Vomiting of blood followed three hours later-veins bloated and blackened within eleven hours of exposure.”

“Eleven hours, seven minutes,” Ansari corrected, glancing over at the young man. “Precision is a requirement in such matters.” He turned back to the screen. “The rat was dead thirty-one hours, five minutes and twelve seconds from the time of exposure.”

“Weaponizing the bacteria should not be difficult-this seems to be an especially virulent strain.”

Ansari nodded, repressing his internal shudder. “The plague that swept Europe killed far more slowly, which was their damnation, for people could travel long distances before dying, spreading the disease to others in their path. No matter-in these days a man can travel far in thirty-one hours. Once the archaeologists arrive from the base camp, we will be able to conduct further tests.”

“No you won’t.”

The voice came from behind them and both men turned, startled from their calculations. A man in the uniform of an Iranian Army captain stood in the doorway of the laboratory.

“The base camp was raided early this morning by an unidentified group of foreign commandos. They succeeded in freeing the archaeologists. They are gone.”

“They made it out of the country?” Ansari demanded, startled by the revelation.

The captain shook his head. “As yet unknown.”

Sighing, the doctor turned back to his computer. “Well, that’s the end of that.”

Sharp footsteps resounded across the sterile tile of the floor. Ansari turned to find the military man at his shoulder. “Yes?”

“The bacteria is to be weaponized and deployable within the next two weeks.”

“According to whom?”

“The highest authority…”

10:03 A.M.

The mountains

It was the third one he had seen, Thomas thought, pressing himself flat against the canyon wall as a helicopter roared by overhead, rotor wash stirring pebbles and dust into a tornadic frenzy. It hadn’t taken Tehran long to mobilize. That alone bothered him. The thought that it had taken him three hours to get less than a third of the way to LZ RUMRUNNER only added to his problems. He listened for a moment, hearing the rotors fade away in the distance, then picked up his rifle and continued on his journey. The Iranian search would only intensify. That much he knew.

10:30 A.M.

The base camp

“We’ve searched these three quadrants. So far, no sign of them. But we will.”

“What makes you so sure?” Hossein asked wearily, adding the perfunctory “sir” at the end of his question.

Colonel Harun Larijani gestured to the map with his finger, ignoring the three bulletholes which pockmarked the wall it hung from. “Well, it stands to reason, major. You cannot honestly expect that they can escape the cordon we’ve thrown out.”

Hossein kept a straight face, looking hard into the eyes of the young man in front of him. Straight out of military school most likely, green beyond doubt. His only redeeming feature was that he seemed to hold Hossein’s service record in awe, an awe measurably diminished by the report of the previous night.

And the only answer he could give was the impossible one. So he held up the radio instead. “This was given me last night. By one of the commandos.”

Larijani’s eyes narrowed into sharp, glittering points. “One of the commandos? How is this?”

“Tehran did not tell you of this?” The major asked, enjoying for a moment the advantage he held over the junior officer. “BEHDIN. Do you know what that means?”

The young man looked puzzled. “Of good rite, of good religion, a man pure of heart.”

“Wrong,” Hossein stated flatly. “It is the codename for one of the Republic’s most trusted sleepers. The man who gave me this radio. He works for the American CIA.”

“The Central Intelligence Agency?” Harun asked in astonishment.

The major replied with a short nod. “The same.”

“Then why can’t you triangulate their position from monitoring their radio network? This could have saved us hours this morning. We could have had them by now. We could have gotten to the bottom of this. Why didn’t-”

Hossein held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “Very simple. While complex, these radios are also limited. In this case, to a eight-kilometer range in which the signal can be detected. And if they’re demonstrating anywhere near the level of professionalism they showed in their strike on this camp, they’ll be keeping their transmissions brief, almost impossible to pick up.”

“Then what do we do?”