Pandora's grave

“That’s what I said. Now, I want to make something absolutely clear to the both of you. Despite the watchlisting of PJAK by the Obama administration in 2008, here in Iraq we’re dealing with realpolitik. That said, Ahmedi’s friendship is vital to the stability of this region. If you do anything to offend him or jeopardize our relationship in any way, I will hang you from a nail.”

Hamid exchanged a glance with Davood before turning his attention back to Petras. He could have let it go, but diplomacy had never been his forte. Neither was dealing with bureaucrats.

“My orders from the DCS are clear, Petras,” he stated, rising from his seat at the table. “Extract Parker at all costs. I’m going to do that, no matter whose toes I have to step on. Read me?”

The CIA station chief stared back at him, unblinking. “Tough-guy antics aren’t going to change my mind, Zakiri. I have made my position plain and I will file a report to Langley to that effect.”

“File away.”

12:37 P.M. Tehran Time

The Alborz Mountains

If anything, the second day’s ride was worse than the first. His muscles almost rigid after a night’s sleep, Thomas gritted his teeth as the horses picked their way across the mountainside, each movement sending a jolt straight up his spine.

He’d barely been able to mount when they had risen that morning, but he had done so. Hanged if he was going to ask for help.

The air was cool against his face, the mountain breeze laden with moisture. It felt like rain, but the only clouds in the sky soared light and effortless high over the mountain peaks.

All the same, Estere kept glancing toward the sky as they rode, a worried look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked, after a time.

“The bahoz.” She lifted a hand to the breeze, sniffing at the air. “I can smell rain.”

“What does that have to do with the horse?” he inquired, aware he was treading on a sensitive subject.

Her face wore a puzzled expression for a moment, then it cleared in sudden realization. “Bahoz is the Kurdish word for storm. A storm is coming. We may need to take shelter.”

The TACSAT buzzed at his side and he motioned to Estere to halt. “Hello,” he answered cautiously, reining in the stallion.

“Thomas, this is Hamid.”

“How are things progressing?”

“Fairly well. We’re having to dance around Petras, but I think things are shaping up. Kranemeyer pressured CENTCOM to release a squad of Army Rangers as escort.”

“Is that necessary?”

“I’d prefer it. She’s wanting us to be particularly careful with a Kurdish warlord, one Khebat Ahmedi. She forgets that I was born in this country-I know these people. And I prefer a show of force.”

“Bluff and swagger,” Thomas expressed, summing it up succinctly.

“Exactly. I need to establish our rendevous. Do you have a map?”

“That’s a negative. One moment.” He looked over to where Estere sat on her horse. “How well do you know this area?”

“Quite well,” she replied. There was no bravado there, just a simple statement of fact.

Thomas raised the satphone again. “I’ll let you speak to my guide. She was raised in these mountains.”

“She?” Hamid asked, laughter in his voice “How do you always manage it, Thomas? Put her on.”

He extended the TACSAT to her and she took it, listening as Hamid laid out his plan of action. Thomas watched her as they talked, steadying the impatient stallion between his knees. At length, she closed the cover of the phone and handed it back to Thomas, shooting another anxious glance skyward.

Even in the intervening moments, clouds had begun to move in, darkness drifting across the face of the sun as the mercurial nature of mountain weather asserted itself.

“We need to ride southwest to meet with your military. There is a place-south of the Qandil. I know it well. It is about forty kilometers from here.”

“It looks like your storm may be upon us soon.”

“I know,” she replied, looking up at the clouds. “There is a mountain stream, about twenty-nine kilometers ahead of us. We need to reach the ford before the rain swells the stream.”

“Can’t we go around?”

She shook her head. “A detour of nearly seventy kilometers. It is the nature of these mountains, Thomas. It is what has kept my people alive.”

“Then let’s ride.”

10:45 A.M. Local Time

Mossad Headquarters

Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

Harry raised his eyes from the dossier in front of him, staring through the one-way glass at the civilian in the interrogation room on the other side-Dr. Moshe Tal. In the previous two hours, he had gone through every scrap of information the Israelis were willing to give him on Tal. Unmarried, devoted to his work-and his country. Growing up on a kibbutz in the shadow of the Golan, Tal had early learned what it meant to defend his land.

And yet this reticence. Harry motioned to the guard, who had stood silently by the door the entire time. “I’m ready.”