“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Jan assured her. “And here’s my cell number if you need to reach me on the way.”
Marseille thanked her, hung up, and tried to assess the situation. She asked Mr. Walsh if he wanted some coffee. He didn’t answer. She offered him tea, but again he didn’t answer. Then she asked him if he’d like a glass of water, and still he couldn’t seem to hear her, much less respond. He just stared blankly out the window, his hands trembling. She poured him a glass anyway and set it on the table in front of him. Then she pulled out her iPhone and dialed her principal back in Portland.
The conversation did not go well. Her boss tried to be sympathetic, to be sure, but he also had to remind her that she had used up all of her vacation time and personal days. What’s more, she had a class of children that hadn’t seen her face in two weeks and expected to see her bright and early the following morning.
“I know, I know,” she said. “But, Mr. Martin, I simply can’t leave.”
“You have a contract, Marseille.”
“I realize that, sir, but I also have an obligation to my friend’s family.”
“Didn’t you say Lexi’s aunt is on the way over there right now?”
“Yes, sir, but I can’t bolt out the minute she gets here. And even if I did, I still might not make the flight, and it’s the last one out there tonight.”
The principal sighed and was silent for a moment. “Look, stay there tonight, and I’ll get another sub for your class tomorrow,” he finally said. “But you need to get back here tomorrow and be in your class ready to go first thing Tuesday morning, or I can’t promise you’ll have a job when you return. Is that understood?”
Marseille assured him it was and thanked him for his understanding, and the two hung up. She covered her face with her hands and did her best not to cry. She was grateful for the reprieve, but she wondered whether twenty-four hours would be enough. It wasn’t just a matter of comforting the Walshes and helping them stabilize. There was a funeral for Lexi and Chris to organize. People to invite. A wake to be arranged, and all that went with that. Was Richard’s sister going to do all that? Maybe yes, maybe no. But it was going to be an enormous task, and even if Jan was emotionally up for it all, she was going to need help.
Plus, Marseille realized, she had an obligation to Lexi to try to lead her parents to the Lord. At least Lexi and Chris were now in heaven with Christ. They were safe and free, and a part of Marseille envied them for it. But she knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t do everything she possibly could to lead Lexi’s parents to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ as well. She hoped that wouldn’t mean losing her job. She couldn’t imagine not going back to those precious children in Portland. But the truth was, someone else could teach them as well as or better than she could. Right now, she was needed here. How long? She had no idea. But in her heart she resolved to stay as long as necessary.
She bowed her head and began to pray for wisdom, then heard a car pull up out front. Assuming it was Jan, she prayed for the Lord to comfort these two grieving parents. She prayed that she and Jan would have the strength and the wisdom to do the right thing and for the Lord to give her the opportunity to share the gospel with them in the right time and the right way and that each of them would be saved. And then she said a prayer for David, too, that wherever he was, Christ would give him the strength and courage to do the right thing as well.
David walked over to Shalev and looked him straight in the eye.
“You want to help me?” he asked.
“I want to save my country,” the Israeli replied.
“You want to help me?” David repeated.
Shalev paused and then nodded.
“Then start spilling your guts. Tell my man here everything you know. He’ll relay it to me on the road. If it checks out, fine. If not, God help you.”
With that, David turned to Mays and Fox and ordered them to get the prisoners secured immediately. They complied without hesitation and despite Shalev’s angry protests.
Once they were all out of the room, David and Torres huddled together to review their options, which both knew were scant at best.
“You think he’s telling us the truth?” Torres asked. “I mean, you think they really have a mole inside the program?”
“I don’t know,” said David. “Why wouldn’t Najjar have told us?”
“Maybe Najjar didn’t know. Najjar was the son-in-law to the director of the entire nuclear program. If you were a mole, would you have confided in Najjar?”
“No.”
“Maybe we really should take this guy with us,” said Torres. “Maybe you should talk to Jack again.”
“Absolutely not,” David shot back, unlocking the gun cabinet and stuffing more boxes of ammo into his backpack. “This Tolik guy is a loose cannon. It’s too much of a risk. Besides, the order to keep the Israelis here until Langley can extract them came from the top, not from Jack.”
“Director Allen?”
“No, the president.”
“The president knows that much detail about what we’re doing?”
“He’s requested updates every half hour. In fact, Jack didn’t come right out and say it, but I get the feeling the president is trying to micromanage this op from the Oval Office.”
“He could end this whole thing with a massive air strike on Al-Mazzah once the warheads get there,” Torres said.
“You’re right,” David said.
“But he’s not going to, is he?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Why not?”
“Do I really need to say it?”
“No, you don’t.”
“We’ve got to find those warheads ourselves, before the Iranians fire them.”
“Of course, but how?”
“I don’t know.”
“And even if by some miracle we can find them, how do we destroy them?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“And how do we get into Syria in the first place?” Torres pressed.
“That I do know,” David said, smiling, and quickly laid out his plan.
They would follow the protocols they’d found in the memos on Omid’s computer. They had the maps Omid had prepared for his father’s security team to drive from Iran to Syria, including detailed directions to get to the Al-Mazzah air base. They had radios and the precise frequencies and encryption codes the Revolutionary Guards would be using. And they would all wear the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps uniforms David had taken from Omid’s closet. In short, they had everything they needed but time.
The warheads, they had to assume, were en route and might already be at the base. There, too, was the Iranian team capable of fitting the warheads on Syrian Scud-Cs, though none of the specific names of that team were mentioned in the memos. Circumstantial evidence suggested the Mahdi was headed to Al-Mazzah as well. At David’s request, Zalinsky and his team at CIA headquarters were already retasking a satellite and several Predator drones to provide 24-7 surveillance of the base. But with the Mahdi expected at the base by noon local time, David feared the missiles could be ready to launch shortly after his arrival.
“We need to get on the road — now,” he told Torres. “Matty will stay and guard the Israelis and try to get more information out of them.”
“But we’ll need Matt with us.”
“We’ll have to make do without him.”
“Just four of us going into Syria to take out two nuclear warheads?”
“I get it, Marco,” David replied. “The odds aren’t exactly promising. But you really think a fifth guy is going to make all the difference?”
“I think we need all the manpower and firepower we can get.”