Pandora's grave

The movies never show you losing your luggage, Harry thought, suppressing an amused smile at the irony of it all. No indeed, the movies never showed the mundane truth of the spy business, and he found that mildly funny. No trace of his humor escaped onto his face, however. He wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t Harry Nichols. He was Todd Winters-average Joe Citizen-and mad as the devil over losing his luggage.

That the aforementioned luggage consisted of a teddy bear for a child he didn’t have, Swiss chocolates for a wife he had never seen, and paperwork for a company he had never worked for was largely extraneous. The average businessman would raise Cain over losing them, and so that was the part he had been assigned to play.

All the world’s a stage. A sharp buzz jabbed at his ribs as his cellphone went off. “Winters speaking.”

It was Hamid’s voice. “Hey, Todd! You just make it in, bro?”

“Yeah, I’m still at the airport. The turkeys over here lost my luggage.”

“Well, hurry on down just as soon as you can. Grandma’s put on the roast in celebration of your return.”

The rest of the team had left the terminal without drawing untoward attention to themselves. Time to exit, stage right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed man headed toward him, a suitcase in one hand and an oversized, stupid-looking stuffed bear in the other.

“Here you go, Mr. Winters. Somehow they got sent to the opposite end of the terminal by mistake.”

Harry snarled something appropriately ungracious under his breath and stalked off, the very picture of a weary, haggard businessman just off the red-eye, balancing the bear and suitcase with practiced clumsiness.

It was raining outside, a slow miserable drizzle as he wound his way toward the Agency car. Harry slid inside, tossing the bear carelessly onto the seat between himself and Davood. Hamid glanced back from the driver’s seat, a grin splitting his face. “Why if it isn’t Goldilocks and the baby bear!”

Harry leaned back against the seat of the car and shot a murderous look at his friend. “Just shut up and drive.”

As they pulled onto Dulles Airport Road, another car, nearly obscured by the rain, swung out to follow them…

2:56 P.M. Local Time

Mossad Headquarters

Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

Shoham turned away from the monitor with a look of sadness in his eyes. “He’s not eating.”

The general’s words had been a statement, rather than a question, but his aide answered anyway. “No, sir.”

“What are we getting from Langley?” Shoham asked, glancing back over his shoulder at the image of Moshe Tal on monitor.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Unofficially, of course,” the Mossad chief clarified, irritation creeping into his tones. “What are our sources telling us?”

“Virtually nothing, sir.”

“And what do you mean by virtually?”

“If the Americans rescued the other hostages, they’re keeping it a very tight secret. We were, however, able to confirm that they had an NCS strike team deployed during the operational window.”

“Any details?”

“None, except that briefs were sent to General Westheimer with instructions to cooperate fully with the Clandestine Service.”

The commander of the American forces in Iraq, Shoham mused. Interesting. “Locate Lt. Laner for me as soon as possible. I have a few questions he may be able to answer.”

8:25 A.M. Eastern Time

Virginia

Five minutes had passed since Hamid had first noticed the car in back of them, and now Harry was sure of it. They were being followed.

He ran his thumb down the screen of his TACSAT. “Hamid, there’s a gas station 1.5 miles ahead. I want you to pull in there. I’m gonna call Langley and have them run this guy’s tags.”

“Roger that.”

Harry exited from the mapscreen and dialed a number from memory. “Good morning, Hannah,” he said when the encryption sequence finished. “I need you to run a number for me. Yes, it’s got Virginia tags. I’m looking at a brown Ford Taurus, license number: Echo-Yankee-Golf-three-seven-niner. Yes, I know it will take a couple minutes, just do it as fast as you can. Yes, I’ll wait.”

The car slowed, turning off into a small Mobil gas station on the side of the highway. “Hamid,” Harry instructed, covering the phone with his hand. “I want you to go into the store and buy some gas, a couple bagels and a coffee.”

“I’m fresh out of cash, boss,” the agent grinned. “Loan me a twenty?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Makes that forty you owe me,” he said, placing a bill in Hamid’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t worry-it’s deductible,” was the Parthian shot as Hamid pushed the door open, exiting into the drizzle.

“Yes, Hannah, you’ve got it?” Harry asked, realizing his phone had come alive again. He listened patiently for a moment. “Thank you, that’s what I figured.”

“What did she tell you?” Tex looked back as Harry closed the phone.