Pandora's grave

The DCIA took a deep breath. This was going to be the difficult part. “Badir is in need of surface-to-air missiles, or SAMs-Stingers, more specifically. He has requested a shipment in exchange for delivering our agent to our forces in Iraq.”

Hancock’s expression didn’t change. “So,” he said finally, “we’re now paying for the release of a hostage, is that it?”

“I would prefer not to put it in those terms, Mr. President,” Lay said with a grimace. “Look upon it rather as rewarding Badir for his services. One could hardly expect the man to risk his forces for nothing.”

“And when an Iranian airliner is brought down on final approach to Tehran, what then?” the President demanded.

“There will be nothing to tie the missile to us,” Lay responded without the barest hint of compunction. “We can easily forge armory records in Germany to show a theft. In the end, sir, a crate of SAMs is far more deniable than an American agent.”

“I will need time to consider the decision,” Hancock replied finally. “In the mean time, I want you to keep a lid on this thing. Do you understand?”

“Of course. Also, we are launching an internal investigation to determine the source of the leak which initially compromised Operation TALON.”

“Very good, director,” Hancock pronounced. “That will be all, I believe. I’ll let you get back to running your agency.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Lay rose, exiting the Oval Office past the Secret Service agents stationed at the door.

Hancock waited until the door closed behind the CIA director before turning to Lawrence Bell.

“Something further, Mr. President?” the DNI asked.

“I think we both know the efficacy of ‘internal’ investigations, Lawrence. Have the FBI launch a probe into the matter…”

Chapter Eight

6:20 A.M. Local Time, September 27th

Lufthansa Flight 298

Over the Atlantic Ocean

Their stay in Germany had been unexpectedly brief, Harry thought, gazing out the window of the Airbus at the predawn sky. The folder tucked securely into his carry-on bag explained why.

The team had been recalled stateside, ordered to stand down “pending an internal investigation.”

Harry didn’t need to guess what that meant. He knew. It wasn’t the first time his team had been subjected to the bureaucratic intrusions of an investigation designed more for the purposes of saving face than arriving at the truth.

Truth. The official motto of the Central Intelligence Agency was taken from the Gospel of John, “For you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” Harry had often thought they would have been better off going with Pilate’s cynical soliloquy, “What is truth?”

For in the high-stakes poker of espionage and international relations, truth was rarely even on the table, let alone in play. And all players were equally concerned that it remain that way.

The airliner was less than half full, mostly weary businessmen catching the trans-Atlantic flight after a tiring week. He glanced back and caught Hamid’s eye. The agent had put his seat back and was doing his best impression of complete inertia. Harry wasn’t fooled, recognizing the quiet tension in the Iraqi-American’s body, the complete awareness of his surroundings.

The team had come aboard separately, under a variety of new identities assigned to them by the CIA chief of station(Berlin). Harry flipped his wallet open, gazing at the passport of one Todd Winters. A small grin creased his lips as he thumbed through the snapshots placed within by the station’s ever-meticulous staff.

Mighty good-looking woman. Didn’t even know I was married…

11:09 A.M. Tehran Time

The Ayatollah’s Residence

Qom, Iran

Major Hossein felt the presence without turning, that sixth sense that had kept him alive so many times alerting him to the presence of man.

He ignored it, looking out from the balcony across the holy city. It had been almost twenty-four hours since the Ayatollah had laid out before him the sketch of President Shirazi’s plan, but the enormity of it all still stunned him. The audacity of it.

Fortune favors the audacious.

The strike was cunning in its conception, but the practical side of Hossein had detected a fatal flaw from the outset. There was no fall back. If the attack failed and they were implicated in its execution-had an entire nation ever before committed suicide?

Like he was doing now. Hossein rolled the rough coral beads of the tasbih between his callused fingers, mouthing the names of Allah in a silent prayer.