Pandora's grave

“We would undoubtedly lose them, of course. But those are my grandfather’s orders, and they will be followed. Make no mistake of that.”

“Of course,” Thomas replied, shoveling the food into his mouth with the fork that had been provided him. “That is quite understandable…”

7:00 P.M. Baghdad Time

Q-West Airfield

Northern Iraq

The knock came at the door just as Harry had taken a razor to the week-old beard enshrouding his face.

“A message for Harold Nichols, sir.” It was a young woman, one of the orderlies he had seen with Petras the previous evening.

“That would be me.”

“I’ll need you to sign for it, sir,” the brunette replied, extending the clipboard to him.

Harry took it, briefly scrawling his name across the cover sheet before reading the message beneath. When he had finished, he handed it back to her with a smile. “Give Ms. Petras my regards.”

“Of course, sir.”

Harry closed the door behind her and strode across the room to an adjoining door. He rapped hard on the wooden paneling.

“Yes?” came Hamid’s voice.

“Get everybody up and moving. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

8:25 A.M. Tehran Time

The base camp

Devastation. That was the only word Hossein could find to describe it. Even now, forty-eight hours after the commando strike, his soldiers were still repairing the damage.

And despite his confident words to Larijani the previous night, he was far from sure that Tehran would smile upon his part in it. More than likely, he would be relieved of command. And then…

He didn’t like to dwell upon it.

“Major! Major Hossein!” He turned to find a sergeant running across the plateau toward him, a satellite phone in his hand.

“Who is it?” Hossein asked, reaching out his hand.

The soldier’s eyes were wide as he handed the phone over. “It-it is the Supreme Leader himself…”

The major stiffened, his mouth suddenly dry. “Give it here,” he whispered. The Ayatollah Isfahani was the last person he had wanted to hear from this morning.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Is it?” the elderly voice on the other end of the phone asked skeptically. “Major Hossein, I need you to come to Qom immediately.”

Hossein paused, but only for a moment. Despite the rise to power of the IRGC and Mahmoud Shirazi, the Ayatollah was still a man to be feared. And obeyed. “Of course.”

“There is a Colonel Harun Larijani there at your base. I am authorizing you to requisition his helicopter for you to fly here.”

“Where do I meet you?”

“Fly directly to my home. You are to go dark, major. I want you to discuss this call with no one, is that understood? As far as anyone knows, you are flying to your execution.”

“Sir?”

“The Americans have escaped, major. The President will be looking for a scapegoat, and believe me when I say his gaze will not settle upon the incompetence of his nephew.”

“You mean-Larijani?”

The voice that replied was heavily laced with sarcasm. “Surely, major, you did not believe that he earned his rank through his skills as a tactician? Now, we must hurry-I will expect you at my residence by noon. Any questions?”

There were many, but none that Hossein believed diplomatic or safe to ask. “No.”

“Good. And remember, major, not a word to anyone. You’re a condemned man. Act the part.”

Hossein thumbed the “end” button on the phone and shook his head. Very little of what he had just been told made any sense. Or perhaps it did, in the twisted corridors of power that the Ayatollah inhabited. He would be there soon enough…

7:35 A.M. Local Time

Along the beach

Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

The salt breeze rippled through Avi’s hair as he jogged along the nearly deserted beach. It was a morning ritual for the Mossad chief, an iron refusal to bow to the increasing demands of his aging body.

“So, what is the latest after-action report from RAHAB?” he asked of the aide panting at his side. Shoham suppressed a quiet smile as the young man struggled to catch his breath sufficiently to reply. He might be getting older, but he could still set a pace that would put young men to the test.

Some young men, he reflected, casting a critical eye on the bodyguard flanking him on his right, matching his stride effortlessly. There were a full score of Mossad agents spread along the narrow beach, deployed to ensure his safety.

“We-we’re getting the first daytime sat shots now,” the aide gasped out. “It would appear that the Iranians are still cleaning up the damage.”

“We knew that-any indication as to who caused it?”

“No. Another of our satellites picked up abnormal activity at the American base at Q-West late last night.”

“Such as?”

“An MH-53J took off from the airfield at approx twenty hundred hours local time last night, flying north, then turning west before disappearing off the edge of our sat coverage. It returned at a little over two hours later.”