The Enemy Within

Pahesh climbed back into his truck and drove off without looking back. To find the others, he followed the truck tracks with his headlights as they led him over the ridge.

The rest of his little band were gathered around a small fire of their own, and they were cooking a light supper. The circle of bearded faces, lit only by the leaping flames, reminded the Afghan strongly of the days long ago the days in his own country when the mujahideen ruled the hills and mountains and kept their Soviet foes in fear.

He lugged his duffel a short way from the fire and set up his SATCOM radio. He did not hide his actions from others, but he did not invite them closer either.

Somewhere off in far distant America, Granite was waiting by the radio for his signal. “Granite here.”

“This is Stone,” Pahesh reported. “We are in Kabul.” Translated, that meant they were at the proper coordinates and there were no obstructions blocking the road.

Even across the ten thousand miles, he could hear the relief in the American’s voice. “Understood, Stone. Expect your shipment tonight.” Pahesh paused and then said, “Wish them safe journey.”

After stashing the radio out of sight again, he rejoined his compatriots at the fire.

“These friends of yours will arrive soon?” Agdas asked quietly.

“Soon,” Pahesh agreed.

“Can you tell us yet what this cargo of yours is?” the other man pressed. “This is mysterious… even for you, Hamir.”

“Yes, it is.” The Afghan shrugged. “You will see soon enough.”

“So what now?” one of the other men asked. “What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

Pahesh smiled at him across the campfire. “We wait, my friend. We wait.”

CHAPTER 25 NEMESIS

DECEMBER 13

NEMESIS strike force, south of Lake Van, near the Turkish-Iranian border.

(D MINUS 2)

Lit red by the setting sun, November One-Zero, the lead C17 Globemaster assigned to NEMESIS, flew eastward toward Iran at twenty thousand feet, drawing jet fuel down a boom from the giant KC-10 aerial tanker just above and ahead. The formation’s two other C-17s, November TwoZero and Three-Zero, were in position to the rear right and left, each tanking from their own dedicated KC-10.

“We’re nearly full up, Mack,” November One-Zero’s copilot reported.

“Roger,” Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Thomas McPherson replied. He spoke to the tanker’s boom operator. “Ready to disconnect, Foxtrot Alpha.”

“Understood, One-Zero. Pumping stopped.” The operator aboard the KC-10 paused briefly and then announced, “Released.”

White vaporpuffed into the darkening sky as the jet fuel boom popped out. McPherson slid his throttles back a tiny bit and watched the KC-10 pull further ahead.

Within seconds the two other C-17s finished gassing up and broke away from their own tankers. November TwoZero slid into position behind McPherson’s plane, while the third Globemaster, brought this far as a spare in case one of the first broke down, slotted itself into the KC-10 formation.

“Coming up on Point Echo,” One-Zero’s copilot warned. They were nearing the coordinates preselected for their covert entry into Iranian airspace.

McPherson nodded. “Got it. Here we go.” He drew a breath, steeling himself for the difficult flying ahead. “Navigation lights off.”

“Nay lights off,” his copilot confirmed, flicking switches that shut down the blinking lights on the C-17’s fuselage, tail, and wingtips.

“FLIR on. TFR on standby,” McPherson said. His wide-angled, heads-up display HU~came on, showing the dark, rugged landscape ahead and below them in clear, black-and white detail. To allow them to fly below Iranian radar and through the middle of the jagged mountains around Tehran, Air Force technicians had specially modified each of the C17s assigned to NEMESIS. The LANTIRN-type pod installed in each aircraft’s starboard fuselage cheek contained both a FLIR, a forward-looking infrared sensor, and a terrain-following radar.

He spoke into the intercom system. “We’re starting the E-ticket ride, Pete. Have your guys strap in.”

Colonel Peter Thorn’s unruffled voice came back through his headset.

“We’re all set, Mack. Let her rip.”

McPherson pulled November One-Zero into a tight, diving turn to the right, angling east-southeast toward the Iranian border. He kept his eyes fixed on the altitude indicator winding down on the right side of his HUD. Trailing one thousand feet behind, the second C-17 followed him down with its own navigation lights off.

Now ten thousand feet above and several miles behind them, the three KC-10s and the spare transport cumed right in a gentle, sweeping turn that would take them back toward Incirlik.

McPherson levered off just three hundred feet above the sharp-edged, snow-covered ridges that separated Turkey from the Islamic Republic of Iran. The two American aircraft crossed the border in total darkness, flying low at nearly four hundred knots over the great salt lake of Orumiyeh and on over an arid, sparsely populated plateau.