The Enemy Within

Before Thorn could protest any further delay, Farrell caught his eye and shook his head slightly. He sat back. The general seemed satisfied by what they had accomplished. Presumably, the older man knew enough about the way this White House worked to be confident the President would approve their final plan.

Thorn just hoped the JSOC commander’s confidence was justified. They were already pushing the outer edge of the time envelope for planning, organising, and carrying out a large-scale commando attack.

He paid little attention to the meeting’s closing formalities. His mind was already far, far away wrestling with the challenge of inserting a strike force deep into the heart of an enemy country.

A tiny, ill-dressed man stopped him on the way out the launcher. Soldiers and technicians were busy piling sandbags around the vehicle and stringing camouflage netting over it. More men were occupied elsewhere around the field, digging in towed antiaircraft guns and building missile and ammunition storage bunkers.

The logistician breathed a little easier. Each load of military supplies ferried in by coast freighter, train, truck, or aircraft had made the little port city a more inviting target for a preemptive strike. Now, as General Taleh’s plans took final shape, Bushehr’s own defences were at last being strengthened.

Operation NEMESIS planning cell, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Colonel Peter Thorn was practically hip-deep in maps, satellite photographs of Tehran, and intelligence reports when one of the senior sergeants assigned to his planning cell looked in the door of his temporary office. “Sir, Major General Farrell is on secure line one.”

“Thanks, Hal.” Thorn dumped the pile of papers in his hand to one side and grabbed the phone. The JSOC commander was still in Washington, shepherding events there while he ran things at this end. “Thorn here.”

Farrell didn’t waste any time. “NEMESIS is a go, Pete. The President signed off this morning after seeing your preliminary ops plan. He also confirmed you as mission commander.”

Thorn relaxed slightly. NEMESIS was his plan to kill Taleh. “Thank you, sir.”

Farrell snorted. “You ought to thank me. I’ve had Bill Henderson and the other guys in my face ever since they heard the news.” “Sorry about that,” Thorn said without much real remorse.

He wasn’t surprised by his peers’ reaction. In the normal course of events, Hendewn or one of the other Delta Force squadron commanders would have been selected to lead the raiding force.

Certainly, no one would have expected command to fall to a staff officer even one who was a Delta veteran with a sterling combat record. But he had been prepared to pull every string and use every chit accumulated over his career to wangle this assignment. In the end, Farrell had agreed to give him the job for two very good reasons. First, he knew the territory and Taleh’s mind and personality better than any other officer in the U.S. Army. Second, the NEMESIS force would, of necessity, be a mixed outfit one hastily drawn from the existing Delta Force squadrons. Given the limited time available, that was the only way to create a team with the needed language and combat skills. Besides, if NEMESIS failed to stop Taleh’s planned invasion, Farrell’s other officers would have more than enough bloody work for their own skilled hands.

There was a third reason, of course one he and the general left unspoken. Helen Gray. Both men knew this mission would be the most difficult and dangerous operation ever mounted by the Delta Force. Much could go wrong in the blink of an eye. And both men instinctively knew the on scene commander might need the driving force of a very personal and very compelling passion to push NEMESIS through to victory. Peter Thorn had that fiery drive for vengeance. He wanted Amir Taleh dead more than any other man alive.

“Are you getting the data you need on the Iranian HQ?” Farrell asked.

Thorn’s mind came rapidly back to the present. “Yes, sir. The CIA and NSA assessments agree with our own. Taleh and his staff are definitely working out of the old Pasdaran building near Khorasan Square.”

Fragments of intercepted telephone conversations, satellite photographs showing upgraded defences, and gossip the CIA’s agents inside Tehran had picked up from local residents all confirmed Amir Taleh’s presence there. With their primary target locked in, Thorn’s planners had kicked their work into high gear.

“You have enough to build your HQ mock-up?”

The Delta Force always tried to run its assault teams through detailed mock-ups of their targets before any major operation. In the Delta Bible, elaborate, full-scale dress rehearsals were essential to reducing both confusion and casualties.

“Yes, sir,” Thorn answered. “I have the construction crews out working now. We’re using satellite photos for details on the outer defences. We were even able to dig up a set of floor plans for the interior.”

Farrell whistled appreciatively. “How the hell did you manage that?”