The Enemy Within

“I think it is likely,” Taleh agreed. “The Iraqis have ample reason to hate America and its allies.”

Thorn nodded to himself. The Iranian general’s theory fit neatly into the composite picture of the current Islamic terrorism threat that Rossini and his analysts were putting together. Communications intercepts and reports from human sources already showed that the surviving fragments of the HizbAllah, Hammas, and other radical groups were drifting into Baghdad’s orbit. If Bosnian Muslims were being rounded up for a new terrorist campaign, the Iraq government was clearly the prime suspect.

“I wish that I could have been more helpful. I promise, you will be the first to know if I learn anything more.”

“Thank you. I’ll be grateful for any assistance you can provide,” Thorn said. “In the meantime, we’ll keep probing on our end.”

“Of course. Go with God, Peter.”

The connection to Tehran broke, leaving Thorn listening to a dial tone. He put the phone down, stood up, and poked his head outside his office.

His secretary, a prim, middle-aged woman, was just hanging her purse on the back of her chair.

“Peggy, will you ask Joe Rossini to see me as soon as he comes in? I just had a call we need to discuss.”

Thorn pulled his head back inside before she could reply and sat down again at his keyboard. Hesitantly at first and then with increasing speed, he began typing in the commands needed to pull up the latest files on Iraq and its Ba’thist regime.

Defense Ministry, Tehran

(D MINUS 177)

General Amir Taleh turned away from his desk to find nix, military aide watching him intently.

“Do they know, General?” Kazemi asked quietly.

Taleh shook his head firmly. “No.” He shrugged. “As we thought, Farhad, the Americans have heard whispers in the wind. Nothing moreHe thought for a moment longer, pondering what ThorD had told him. Abruptly, he made a decision. “Nonetheless, the risks of our Bosnian enterprise are no longer worth the reward. We already have the men we need. Instruct General Sa’idi to close down our operations there immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Taleh nodded to himself. The agents he had commissioned to find recruits had been cautious, using cutouts and false papers to shield their true identities. Even if Thorn kept “probing,” there should be no direct trail for the American to follow back to Iran. He looked up. Kazemi was still watching him.

“Do you think the American colonel believed what you told him, General?”

“For now.” Taleh smiled thinly at his subordinate. “Peter Thorn is a very determined, very intelligent man, Farhad. But he has one fatal weakness. He is an honest man who sees his own virtues in others. He does not understand that candor is a luxury for the strong. The weak cannot afford such nobility.”

Kazemi nodded.

“My old friend also puts too much faith in the common bond between soldiers.” Taleh frowned slightly. “There is such a bond, but there are ties which are stronger those of blood and those to the one, true God. One may respect an enemy and yet remain committed to his destruction. After all, even the great Saladin and Richard the Lion-Hearted broke bread together and spoke as friends. But either would gladly have slashed the other out of the saddle on a battlefield.”

He dismissed the whole question with an impatient wave. “We have more urgent matters to deal with than one American colonel, Farhad. Speak to Sa’idi and then bring me the latest personnel reports from the Masegarh training camp. I want to go over the composition of the strike teams again.”

“Yes, sir.” Kazemi hurried out to obey his orders.

Taleh moved closer to a large-scale map pinned to one of his office walls. He studied it for a few moments, weighing and rejecting alternate plans. Convinced again that his original strategic concepts were still valid, he turned his gaze toward the calendar posted beside the map. NO, he thought in satisfaction, Thorn and his compatriots would not pierce the veil he had drawn across their eyes not in the time left to them.

JUNE 24

Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Colonel Peter Thorn glanced at his team as they crouched to either side of a locked door. Like him, each man was clad from head to toe in dark-colored clothing and body armor. Black Kevlar helmets, shatterproof goggles, and flame-resistant Nomex balaclavas protected their heads. Their assault vests and leg pouches held an arsenal of grenades, spare pistol and SMG magazines, and other gear. Each of the four men held a German-made Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun in his gloved hands.

“Sniper One, ready. No target.”

“Sniper Two, ready. No target.”

Thorn tensed as the whispered reports from the two-man sniper teams he’d posted outside sounded in his earphones. They confirmed what he’d suspected from the moment his assault force infiltrated this compound. All the terrorists and hostages were inside the room in front of him. And the bad guys were being very, very careful. They were staying well away from the windows and any exposure to his long-range firepower.