Pandora's grave

Whoever the Americans had sent, they had been skilled professionals. Hossein straightened up, looking into the eyes of Colonel Larijani.

“A good man,” he announced, “too good to die this way.”

The young colonel flinched at the tacit accusation, but his mind was too preoccupied with other matters to pull rank. “Are you sure they have gone?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The major smiled at the pallor of Larijani’s cheeks. “Not quite sure,” he responded wickedly, grinning at the way the young man jumped.

“Of course,” he amended. “You can see the marks of helicopter downwash on the plateau below here. They were secluded on this peak during the daytime, and took out our patrol only moments before they were extracted. No doubt they are safely within imperialist lines in Iraq by this time.”

“Your man was supposed to prevent this!” Larijani exploded suddenly, his confidence returning with his feeling of safety.

“My man? BEHDIN?”

“Yes!”

“Another few years in the field, sir, and you will find that the impossible cannot be prevented. No doubt there were extenuating circumstances that prevented his further communication with us.”

“Tehran must hear of this,” the colonel continued, still fuming.

Hossein sighed, his eyes locking with those of the young man. “Never fear, my colonel. They will…”

9:56 P.M. Baghdad Time

The Pave Low

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Major Padilla announced over the helicopter’s intercom, “we’ve crossed the Iraqi border. We’re in friendly territory now. ETA in Q-West is thirty minutes.”

Harry allowed himself a weary smile, leaning back against a crate of machine-gun ammo stationed near the pintle-mounted 7.62mm. Time to stand down.

Reaching over, he removed the clip from the ammo port of his AK-47 and separated rifle from ammo. His pistol remained at his hip, loaded as it always was, mission-status notwithstanding.

The archaeologists were huddled together toward the back of the cabin, their faces still showing bewilderment from the events of the last forty-eight hours.

The roar of the Pave Low’s turbos made conversation impossible, which was just as well, from Harry’s point of view. There wasn’t a great deal he wished to discuss, at least nothing that couldn’t wait for the debriefing at Q-West.

Someone had betrayed his team. And he had lost a man because of it. There was nothing in all that to take pride in. Nothing at all…

11:25 P.M. Tehran Time

The camp

Perhaps they expected him to sleep, Thomas pondered, sitting down upon the rude wooden cot in the corner of his room. Cell would be a more appropriate name for it, for that’s what it was.

At least an hour had passed, he surmised, maybe more, it was impossible to tell. His Doxa dive watch had been taken from him, along with the rest of his belongings, including his clothes. His tradecraft told him they were likely burning them, well away from the camp, to destroy any possible electronic tracking devices. In their place he was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt loaned him by Badir’s grandson. His request for shoes had been turned down with the smile from Sirvan. Whatever their plans for him, they had no intention of him going anywhere without them, and despite his physical stamina, Thomas doubted that he could make it through the terrain barefoot.

The room wasn’t wired. He had been searching for a bug ever since his “hosts” had departed and hadn’t found one yet. Just stark concrete block.

Thomas leaned back against the cot, taking off the t-shirt to ball up and use as a pillow. He needed rest before he could try anything. Haste would accomplish nothing.

2:30 P.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

The phone on Director Lay’s desk rang suddenly and he reached over to press the speaker button. “Yes?”

It was Carter’s voice. “We just got confirmation from JSOC. The Pave Low is on the ground in Iraq. Hostages and remaining team are safe.”

Good, Lay thought, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Relief, however, was a transient feeling. Back to business. “Is Petras in position?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have her set up a video uplink from the base to us. I want to be patched into the debriefing live, along with Director Kranemeyer.”

“I believe the uplink is already on-line. I can stream it through into your terminal when the team is ready to start.”

“Do it.”

10:34 P.M. Baghdad Time

Q-West Airbase

Northern Iraq

Harry and his team were down the rear ramp of the helicopter almost as soon as it was lowered. Each of his men had a hostage by the arm, leading them down the ramp. To safety.