46

Khorramabad, Iran

Thirty minutes went by far too fast.

Nevertheless, David forced himself to get up, grabbed his suitcase, and took a back stairway to the first floor, where he cautiously poked his head out. Seeing no one around, he moved as quickly and quietly as he could down a side hallway, though he nearly crashed into a room service tray filled with dirty dinner dishes that apparently hadn’t been cleared from the night before.

Reaching the end of the hallway, he glanced outside and again saw no one. It was five in the morning. There wasn’t likely to be anyone around, but he couldn’t take any chances. Confident it was all clear, he headed back to the parking garage and put his suitcase in the trunk. If he needed to move quickly, he didn’t dare take the risk of leaving behind the only possessions he had with him in the country.

He reentered the hotel and decided to check on the clerk. Sure enough, his instincts were right. The old man was slumped in a chair in the room behind the reception desk, sound asleep and snoring, with an old black-and-white Persian war movie playing on TV. With no one else around and the hotel completely silent, David wasted no time. He slipped behind the desk, found the registration forms for the five men, and snapped a picture of each with his phone. Then he found the video surveillance system—an old VHS system he couldn’t believe still worked—and rewound the two tapes covering the lobby. Using the video feature on his phone, he recorded the images of the five men entering the hotel and checking in. He rewound both tapes again, this time to the beginning, and hit Record on both decks. By the time anyone asked to see this footage, the images on them, including those of him checking in, would be recorded over and gone forever. Then he made sure everything was back in its place and hightailed it back to room 308.

There, he quickly uploaded the photos and the videos to Langley via his secure satellite channel and called Zalinsky to give him another update. Zalinsky promised to get Eva analyzing the images and told David the Predator drone was finally in position over the missile base. If the convoy left or if any other vehicles arrived, he said he would notify David immediately.

* * *

Langley, Virginia

Eva speed-dialed Zalinsky from her office.

It had only taken an hour. She explained that by cross-scanning the photos with the computer files from Dr. Saddaji that David and Najjar Malik had recently smuggled out of the country, she had tracked down the identities of four of the five suspects David was now tracking. She had names, birth dates, and personnel records on each of them. All four were experienced military police officers in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, assigned to Facility 278 in Hamadan. They were all excellent marksmen, two had received letters of commendation, and each had a top-secret security clearance. One had been the deputy director of perimeter security prior to Saddaji’s assassination. She concluded that they fit the profile of a security force that could be tasked with transporting a warhead. She couldn’t be certain, she said, but there was a strong probability.

Zalinsky agreed. It was circumstantial but increasingly compelling evidence that they had found another warhead. But before they could take it to Director Allen or the NSC, they needed more. He told her to call David right away and brief him on what she had found. She agreed but was concerned about Zalinsky. He didn’t sound well.

“Jack, is everything all right?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t hang up either.

“Jack, what’s the matter?”

Zalinsky cleared his throat. “It’s about David.”

“What? Is he all right? Did something happen?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Zalinsky said. “It’s not him directly. It’s his mom. She passed away tonight.”

Eva gasped. “That’s terrible. When?”

“Just after six.”

“How did you hear?”

“We’ve been monitoring Marseille Harper’s calls and e-mails.”

“Who?”

“You know, Marseille Harper? I helped her parents and the Shirazis get out of Iran during the Revolution. She and David were childhood friends, and she met with Tom Murray this morning.”

There were too many dots to connect all at once for Eva. Marseille Harper? She remembered the name. She remembered that the Harpers had a daughter about David’s age and that the death of Mrs. Harper in the 9/11 attacks was a huge turning point in David’s life. But what was Marseille doing in DC? And here, at Langley? It didn’t make sense. “What was she doing here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“But why would we monitor her? I mean, it’s illegal for the CIA to monitor American citizens on US soil. You know that.”

“It’s not us directly,” Zalinsky assured her. “We tipped off the FBI, they got a court order, and they’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“Look, I don’t have time to go through it all now. I’ll fill in the blanks for you later. The bottom line is, Tom let it slip that David works for us. Marseille signed a nondisclosure form, but Tom’s worried she might say something anyway.”

“Let it slip?” Eva asked, incredulous. “How is that possible?”

“Just call David and brief him ASAP.”

“Fine,” Eva said. “But you owe me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Apparently, there’s history between them. I’m not exactly sure what. But I get the sense it’s just flared back up.”

Eva was speechless. Zalinsky was right. She’d had no idea, and she wasn’t thrilled about it either. She hadn’t felt such a strong flash of jealousy in years, and the intensity caught her by surprise. Still, she figured, she was the one in direct contact with David, not Marseille.

“Anytime,” Eva said coolly. “I’m all ears. In the meantime, I’ll tell David about his mom when I call him.”

“No, not right now.”

“Why not?”

“We can’t distract him,” Zalinsky argued. “There’s too much on the line. Let’s get through the next few days and see where we are.”

Eva strongly disagreed but kept silent.

* * *

Khorramabad, Iran

David’s phone rang.

He stepped out of the icy shower—the Delvar Hotel apparently didn’t have any hot water that morning—and checked the caller ID. It was Eva. He grabbed a towel and took the call. She quickly briefed him on each of the four men she had identified so far.

“And the fifth?” David asked.

“No idea, but I’m guessing it’s just another MP.”

“Then why wouldn’t his personnel records be in the files we got from Saddaji?”

“I’m just telling you what I know,” Eva said. “But look, I’m sending you back still images of guys we’ve identified for certain. The rest, my friend, is up to you. And I don’t need to remind you that—”

“—the clock is ticking.”

“Sorry—guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

“Oh, right.”

“Getting any sleep?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, take care of yourself. I’ll say a prayer for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll take it,” David said. “By the way, where are my guardian angels?”

“I heard they just landed at Desert Alpha about fifteen minutes ago and linked up with their local contact and got their vehicles. They’re actually moving faster than expected. They should be to you in less than three hours.”

David could tell by her tone that she was trying to encourage him. But at that moment, the news had just the opposite effect.

“We don’t have three hours.”

* * *

Natanz, Iran

Jalal Zandi was startled awake by the shrieking ring of his mobile phone.

He rolled over, checked his watch, and took the call.

“The cakes arrived safely,” said a voice that was electronically muffled.

“Good,” he said, trying in vain to rub the fatigue out of his eyes. “Get them ready for delivery.”

“We’ve already started.”

* * *

Khorramabad, Iran

David got dressed quickly and headed down to the lobby.

He was going through caffeine withdrawal and hoped the desk clerk either had made a pot of coffee or could point him in the right direction posthaste. Fortunately, even before he got off the elevator, he could smell the answer. He reached the first floor and made his way directly to a small table where a fresh pot had just finished brewing. He poured himself a large cup, tossed in a few sugars for good measure, then noticed that the hotel actually had a gift shop and that it was open. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it a few hours earlier, but then he’d had other things on his mind. He went in, bought a local newspaper, and sat down on one of the forty-year-old overstuffed chairs in the lobby to wait.

About twenty minutes later, a young man in his thirties wearing khaki pants, a blue dress shirt, and a black leather jacket stepped off the elevator and rang the silver bell at the front desk. He was unshaven but well built, about five feet ten inches tall, with closely cropped hair. David recognized him instantly but took a quick check of the still photos Eva had sent just to make sure. Slowly the barely awake clerk padded out from the back room.

“Yes?” he groaned.

“I want to buy some gum, and I need some petrol for my truck,” the young man said.

The clerk mumbled something about the gift shop and gave the young man directions to a gas station “two blocks down that way and one block to your left.”

David stood, folded his paper, gulped down his coffee, and nodded politely as the young man headed into the gift shop. The moment the man was out of sight, David moved quickly down the side hallway toward the exit. Seeing the room service tray still in the hallway, he scooped up a used steak knife as he passed by and then bolted for the parking garage.

It was still early. There were only a few cars on the street and no one in the garage.

After verifying that there were no security cameras in the garage, David headed directly for the black SUV, then plunged the knife into the right rear tire several times. Within seconds, the tire had deflated. Next, David walked over to his Peugeot, opened the trunk, tucked the steak knife into a side pocket of his suitcase, and placed the suitcase on the floor by the front passenger seat. Then he grabbed the tire iron out of the trunk and pried off his license plates, first in the back and then in the front. He stuffed these in his suitcase as well and returned to the open trunk.

Soon the young man in the leather jacket came strolling into the garage. He was whistling until he saw the flat tire; then he started cursing up a storm.

“What’s wrong?” David asked innocently, preparing to close his trunk.

The man pointed to the tire and just stared at it, cursing some more. David walked over to take a look.

“Need some help?” he asked, approaching the man from behind.

Still grumbling, the man turned toward David. Just then, David sucker punched him in the face full force with the tire iron in one violent motion. The man flew back against the SUV, and David smashed him over the head with the iron, sending him crashing to the pavement, bleeding and unconscious.

David looked around. There was still no one in sight, but that might not last for long. He checked the guy’s pulse. He was still alive. Then he quickly looked inside the guy’s coat and, as he’d expected, found a holster with a silencer-equipped pistol. He removed the pistol and tucked it into the back of his own trousers. He picked the man up, carried him over to the Peugeot, and set him in the trunk. He quickly fished through the guy’s pockets, removed his wallet, car keys, room key, IRGC ID badge, mobile phone, and an extra magazine of 9mm ammunition, and put all those in his own pockets. Satisfied that the young man was picked clean, he closed the trunk and locked it. Then he got in the car, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking garage, heading east on Route 62.