When the load master came back into the cabin, the two SEALs stood. He hit a switch somewhere and there was a grinding, whirling sound and the rear ramp section of the big transport swung down revealing a square of pure black space. For a moment Franklin thought he saw lights below, but he wasn't sure.
The Air Force sergeant hooked up the SEALs to the static line, one on each side of the wide hatch. The static line would automatically pull the rip cord, and their round chutes would deploy as soon as they jumped out the door. Douglas had heard that it took a chute three hundred feet to fully deploy and start slowing a man's decent. Then within a few seconds they would drop through the other five hundred feet to the ground.
They couldn't use the rectangular steerable chutes this close to the ground. The round chutes would spill air on one side or the other for some control. But not much. Soon now. They were both hooked up to the static line and ready.
"Stand by," the load master shouted against the roar of the wind behind the plane. They watched the red light on the bulkhead over the door. In a heartbeat it turned to green. "Go, go, go," Douglas shouted.
The two SEALs ran the ten feet to the gaping hole in the back of the big transport and raced into space.
The slipstream of the big transport battered Douglas for a moment, then he felt the chute open behind him. The big round chute caught the wind with a shrilling crack. At the same time the parachute harness jerked at his legs, thighs, and shoulders. He'd been halfway upside down in the slipstream, the chute yanked him savagely upright. It was harder than Douglas had ever felt on a chute opening, even with sixty pounds of gear.
He shook his head, and looked above him. The glorious jet-black canopy billowed there, fully open, and cutting his rate of descent to a modest speed. He looked around, but couldn't find the other chute.
The ground. He looked down, and in the faint moonlight he could see it. What appeared to be some kind of a road showed to the left maybe half a klick. That might be the highway they were to use to get to Tehran.
Suddenly there were trees ahead of him. He pulled the cord on the right side of the chute, spilling some air on that side and drifting him to the right of the trees.
Then the ground rushed at him. He took it the way he had dozens of times, with his knees slightly bent and his hands on the chute release. He hit the ground and ran, dumped the chute, and began pulling it into a big wad. For a moment he didn't make a sound, and listened. He heard a grunt from his right.
"You okay?" he said, half aloud.
"Hell yes," the short reply came.
They found each other a minute later. Franklin used the entrenching tool he carried to dig a hole for his chute and harness. He covered the spot with some branches and dead leaves. Douglas did the same with his chute and gear, then pushed the digging tool under the pile and looked around.
"Thought I saw a road when we came in," Douglas said.
"To the left, half a klick," Franklin said. "We better move."
They found the road twenty minutes later. There was little traffic. It was paved and two lanes, looked like a main highway for this country. Half a dozen trucks sped by. The two SEALs moved down closer. The route ran generally northeast by southwest. From there they had to go northeast.
After a half hour's wait near the road, they heard an older rig coming that had to be smaller than the others. Franklin watched it come through the darkness, then walked out near the side of the road and waved both arms in the glare of the headlights. The old, much used farm truck, with a stake body, slowed, then stopped.
Franklin chattered for a moment in Farsi with the man in the small truck, then waved at Douglas. They both crawled into the cab. They saw the rig had crates of live chickens in the back.
Franklin took some bills from his pocket and gave the farmer two 10,000 rial notes. The old man grinned, showing snaggle teeth, and then he nodded. He said something to Franklin. They both laughed.
"Told him we missed our bus to Tehran," Franklin whispered.
They got to the big city before daylight. Franklin told the farmer where they wanted to go, and he explained how to get there. The farmer stopped at an open-air market that was almost filled already with merchant booths.
The sun had been up for two hours when Franklin knocked on a door in a falling-apart neighborhood. A small man answered, and stared at Franklin in surprise. Before he could say anything, the small man was pushed aside, and a tall man who looked remarkably American stepped into his place. He carried a huge-looking .45 automatic in his right hand and waved it at Franklin.
"George?" Franklin asked.
"Oh, God, yes," the man said, and motioned them inside.
Douglas checked out the place. It was sparsely furnished — no modern appliances, a cot, a small cooking area, and a mattress on the floor.
They introduced themselves and George sighed.
"Am I glad to see you guys. The Secret Police have been hounding me the past two days, and I haven't made any progress. I was afraid you'd get lost."
"Okay, George, we're here," Franklin said. "Now what the fuck happens?"
12
"What are we going to do?" George asked. "We're going to find out exactly where that damned Iranian nuke plant is. I've been on the phone this morning. The damned Secret Police can't keep tabs on every one of the seven million people in town."
"So?" Douglas asked.
"Peter, my last contact was a total bust. Now I have a noon meet with a guy who says he worked at the nuke plant. He may have; he may just be looking for some cash."
"Or he may be ready to turn you in to the cops if you don't pay him," Franklin said.
"True. That's why I'm glad for some backup. I've got this one laid out just right."
"Stroh said you'd have some better firepower for us," Douglas said.
"What are you packing?" George asked. They showed him.
"Yeah, good for a hideout, not much on stopping power. I like a forty-five."
"We saw it. Where's ours?" Franklin asked.
George chuckled. "They told me you might be a little gung ho. Look, one thing I don't need is a bunch of bodies around here. The cops here are tough as shit about that. I need security, not a couple of hit men. Understood?"
"Roger, that," Douglas said. "So what do we do?"
"This is my last safe house. I want to keep it safe. The Secret Police don't know a thing about it. My other two were raided. Two of my friends were killed. I don't know about the third one, Tauksun."
"Tauksaun?" Franklin asked. "Sounds like the Japanese word for big, large, a lot."
"That he is, maybe six hundred pounds. The point is he's compromised now and I can't use him even if he is alive."
"So, how close are you to getting the exact spot down south?"
"Not far enough. We know it's inland somewhere from that port city down there. The satellite is supposed to get some better pictures of the area. We're trying to follow roads. There has to be a big hairy road leading into the site. Unless they bulldozed it out after they got the place built, and all the structures in place."
"Camouflaged?" Rogers asked.
"The main plant, yes. It's either that or underground in a big natural cave, or a dug-out one."
"So who is this guy you meet this noon?" Franklin asked.
"I know him only as Lefty. He's another lens grinder. They used a lot of locals to grind some of the finely tuned parts of the bombs. Not sure what parts, but it's our best local tie-in.
"I'm talking with him in the middle of a soccer field. I'll tell him the location fifteen minutes before the meeting time. He won't have time to set up anything with anybody if he's crooked. I'll want you two on the sides of the place to give me some support. Anybody who tries to get on the field, you stop. Gently, not with bullets."