The Enemy Within

Special operations headquarters, Tehran General Amir Taleh looked at the bustle around him with undisguised pleasure. The Khorasan Square headquarters building was a hive of purposeful activity. In every room, staff officers hunched over keyboards or spoke into telephones, urging greater speed on the field commanders. Enlisted men updated status boards or carried messages and printouts. The long, hard months of training, reorganisation, and reform were coming together perfectly. His staff was functioning like a well-oiled machine.

That was just as well. In less than twenty-four hours, he would issue the final orders setting the invasion in motion. Six hours after that, the first attack transports would depart Bushehr and Bandar-e Khomeini, bound for the Saudi coast.

At this stage, even a half-hour hiccup in the schedule would have been cause for concern.

Taleh turned as General Hashemi, his senior operations officer, approached. The older man looked worried.

“Yes, Hashemi?”

“Captain Kazemi has informed me that you intend to activate his special security plan before our final staff conference.”

Taleh nodded. “That is correct.” Hashemi hesitated and then said cautiously, “You realise, sir, that such a move may complicate our work at a critical moment? Since there is no sign of any unusual enemy activity, wouldn’t it be more prudent to wait a while longer?”

Taleh shook his head. “No, General. I have not survived this many years by depending on foolish behavior from my adversaries. We will go on a full war footing as scheduled. In battle our soldiers must expect the unexpected. I see no reason that my staff should expect more certainty and convenience in their own lives.”

Despite his native caution, Taleh was sure the first stroke would be his. SCIMITAR would fall where and when he wished, on an ignorant and ill-prepared enemy.

NEMESIS strike force, Incirlik Air Base, Turkey

Colonel Peter Thorn slipped through the side door of the massive hangar hiding his lead C-17 transport from prying eyes and stood watching the American warplanes taxiing across the field.

Officially, the NEMESIS force did not exist. Its black, brown, and grey camouflaged aircraft had been moved out of sight almost as soon as they were wheels down. Heavily armed Air Force security detachments were on guard around the three hangars allocated to his planes. Major General Farrell wanted to make sure the Iranians didn’t get wind of the impending raid. The JCS and the President were equally determined to make sure the Turks didn’t find out. NATO host countries tended to be picky about covert operations launched from their territory.

Inside the hangars, some of the more than one hundred soldiers and airmen under his command were busy making final checks of their weapons and gear. Others were resting following the old Army tradition of catching up on your sleep whenever somebody wasn’t actively yelling or shooting at you.

Thorn smothered a yawn. He’d tried to grab some shuteye during the seven-and-a-half-hour flight from Pope, but he hadn’t managed very much. He’d told himself that was because of the eight-hour time difference between late night in North Carolina and pale noon sunshine in Turkey. He’d also blamed his restlessness on the pressures of command and on the need to go over every last piece of his plan for the hundredth time.

The truth was both simpler and more complicated. Every time Thorn closed his eyes, he saw Helen lying helpless and in pain in her hospital bed. The last report from Louisa Farrell was not very encouraging. Although the doctors now believed she would live, they weren’t sure she would ever regain the use of her legs.

He felt a sudden stab of sorrow. Helen was so intensely physical, so intensely alive on her feet and in motion. Robbing her of the ability to walk unaided would almost be worse than robbing her of life itself. What kind of life would she be willing to build with him if her injuries were permanent? He stared out across the runway, trying to suppress, for even a short time, his fears for her and for himself.

The noise outside was ear-shattering. Caught unaware by what most people on the base thought was a practice alert, Incirlik was in a sustained uproar. Pair by pair, F-1SE Strike Eagles were arriving from bases further west in Europe. As fast as they arrived, ground crews swarmed over them, arming and refueling each fighter-bomber at the double-quick.

Thorn shook his head. If NEMESIS and a follow-up Tomahawk strike failed to stop Taleh’s attack, the planes hurriedly assembling here would be thrown into a series of desperate, extended-range attacks against the Iranian invasion force. Given the relative numbers of aircraft involved and the fact that. Iran’s MiGs would be operating close to their own bases, American losses were certain to be high maybe even crippling.

Tehran