Pandora's grave

It took Estere a moment to discern his meaning, and then she frowned. “You know what I mean. You fight so that your people do not have to. We have no one to do our fighting for us. Which is as it should be,” she went on after a reflective pause. “America has grown soft.”

Thomas could think of no suitable reply to that, and changed the subject. “So, what type of American music do you like?”

“Country, mostly. Keith Urban, Toby Keith-”

“You just have a thing for guys named Keith,” he chuckled. She reached over and punched him playfully in the ribs, laughing with him. “Oh, be quiet!”

“You like country?” she asked a moment later.

“Not particularly,” Thomas replied honestly, watching for her reaction. “I’m more of an oldies fan myself. Ames, Sinatra, the Rat Pack, all that jazz.”

“A romantic.” Estere stated, a speculative glint in her dark eyes.

A crooked grin tugged at the corners of Thomas’s mouth. “Feeling that way tonight, yes.”

Something in her eyes changed and she looked away from him, into the dancing flames of the campfire. An awkward silence. What did I say? Thomas thought, baffled by her reaction.

She turned toward him after a long moment. “Thomas, I know that-”

Whatever she knew was destined to remain a mystery, for at that moment a shout from one of the sentries brought both of them to their feet, Thomas’s hand reaching out for his AK-47. “What’s going on?”

11:04 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“Here’s the meeting place,” Kranemeyer stated, pressing the screen with one finger. The satellite image expanded, zooming in on the resort city of Eilat, Israel.

“We have 3-D imaging?” Harry asked, gazing thoughtfully at the image.

The DCS pushed a couple more buttons and the image on-screen was replaced by a three-dimensional landscape.

“They’ll have surveillance here-and here, at the very least,” Tex observed, indicating a couple of the taller buildings with a long finger.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Probably a back-up team along the marina here-that’s the way I would do it if I were them. Maybe laser mic the area if it’s feasible. I doubt they’ll send Laner in with a wire, that’s too obvious.”

“You’ve worked with the lieutenant in the past, Harry,” Kranemeyer began. “What is your assessment? Is the guy an honest broker?”

Harry gave him an Are you serious? look. “Are any of us?” he asked. “Gideon’s a good guy, a decorated veteran operator-the son of a rabbi. He’s Blue Team as far as it goes. But he’s going to follow his orders, no matter what.”

“And we don’t know what those orders are,” the DCS observed, stating the obvious. “Today’s Saturday. We’ve set up the meeting for Monday at noon. Don’t want to appear too accommodating. Harry, you’ll fly to Israel under a diplomatic visa. It’s an official visit, low-key, but hardly clandestine. Your flight leaves Dulles at seventeen hundred tomorrow. Tex, you’ll be leaving for Jerusalem tonight.”

Richards nodded his understanding, his natural economy with words once again asserting itself. Kranemeyer continued, “Marcus is working up your papers as we speak. Ever had the ambition to go into aid work?”

8:05 P.M. Tehran Time

The Alborz Mountains

Iran

“Do you understand him?” Thomas asked, down on one knee at Estere’s side. The intruder was a Kurdish boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed in the rude clothing of a villager. He hadn’t spoken a coherent word in the ten minutes since he had been grabbed by the sentries, his breath still coming in ragged sobs.

She shook her head, putting a comforting hand against the boy’s tear-stained cheek. “Shhh,” she whispered, speaking to him in their native tongue.

In that moment, Thomas was struck by the tenderness of her touch, the almost maternal compassion in her eyes as she gazed down into the boy’s face. The boy seemed to relax under her hands, his breathing gradually slowing into normality.

She spoke to him once again, still in the same gentle tones. He shook his head and the words seemed to pour forth.

Thomas sat there, unable to understand the words being spoken, his only intimation of their content coming from the expression on the faces of the Kurds gathered round.

Something had happened. That much he knew. And it wasn’t good.

Azad Badir spoke rapidly to his grandson and Sirvan rose, disappearing into the darkness. After a moment, Estere stood as well and strode back toward the campfire where the two of them had talked.

“What’s going on?” Thomas demanded, hurrying to catch up to her. She slung the M-85 over her shoulder as she turned to face him.

“Another Iranian attack,” she replied, her face an emotionless blank. “The village we were to arrive at tomorrow. Everyone there is dying.”

There was something about her words that gave Thomas pause. “Dying?”

“Of disease, Thomas,” she responded flatly. “It’s not the first time we Kurds have been the victims of an experiment.”