General Ruhollah went to his telephone and made three calls. The plane would be ready in the morning at six o'clock. It was the smaller one that could land at Chah. At 200 mph top speed, it would take most of the day to get there. Then he would look over the security, and welcome the new troops that would arrive in three days.
If anyone tried to get within ten miles of the plant, they would be met with deadly force.
General Ruhollah poured a small glass of bourbon from a secret bottle in his desk. No good Muslim drank liquor. He sighed and tipped the glass. He had spent too much time in England as an attache. Maybe he wasn't a good Muslim. It didn't matter one way or the other. He had little patience with the old-timers, the hard-liners who wanted Iran's 70 million people to turn back the clock and live the way their grandfathers had.
It was a new world.
Iran must be ready to compete.
Iran must be ready to defend herself with nuclear weapons.
Iran must be ready to conquer the five big Arab states on the peninsula. Then they would speak with one voice to the West. They would dictate the terms of world commerce and the price of their oil.
Iran must be ready!
With six nuclear bombs, they would be ready.
15
They heard the news just after dinner. A young man on a scruffy-looking motorcycle pulled in through the inn's main doors and was met with food and a long drink of cold water. He talked quietly with the owner of the inn and Murrah. Douglas watched the conversation from his second-floor window looking into the courtyard, and he could tell it was bad news.
Douglas took the steps three at a time and ran down into the courtyard. The talk continued. It was in Farsi or something else he didn't understand. After two exchanges, Murrah turned to Douglas.
"We have problem. There is an army unit at Jask turning everyone around who tries to go toward Chah Bahar. Even those who live there must stop and give details about their lives, and their identification papers. The roadblock is tight."
"How far is Jask?"
"Halfway, about two hundred miles," Murrah said.
"I move we get there as fast as we can. Leave in a half hour. Then we'll be there in the dark."
Murrah shook her head. "How will that help us?"
"We'll share riding the pony. We travel down that way, and as soon as we spot the roadblock ahead, the three of us will get off while you and your driver continue on. You're a star in this country. Tell them that you're going to Chah Bahar to entertain the soldiers stationed there. It's a sudden impulse you had to cheer up the troops on such rigorous duty."
Murrah began to smile as he outlined the plan, then she smiled broadly, and kissed his cheek.
"Yes, it will work. I've gotten into war areas more than once in the past. Yes, they will let me through."
"While you chat with the guards, the three of us will circle around the roadblock well into the darkness of the countryside. When we see you get through, we'll head for the road well down and out of sight of the block. We'll get back in the car and hope that's the last roadblock we meet."
Murrah nodded. "Yes, yes, it could work. I'll have a good story worked up, but we have two hundred miles for me to figure it out. Yes. I'll get talking to some people and get things ready. They have the car for us. Good enough to make the run on one tank full of petrol, but not flashy enough to get us in trouble.
"You round up your two friends, and get them down here in fifteen minutes. I'll need that long to get some basic supplies and some of my performance gear packed in the suitcase. I'm never without at least two outfits. Hurry now."
Murrah questioned the cycle rider again. He told her that the roadblock was just past the far side of Jask, so it didn't interfere with local traffic. When he was stopped, there were three soldiers and an officer in a closed car. Two full-sized trucks stretched across the two-lane road from ditch to ditch. One older car had tried to run the blockade going around the side. It had been shot full of holes, and rolled into the ditch, where the driver and two passengers died.
The soldiers left it there as an object lesson.
The soldiers all had submachine guns. He didn't know what type, but they scared hell out of him. He turned around the first time he was ordered to do so, without a word of protest.
"Love to have those sub-guns," Franklin said. "How can we make it look like an accident if we take out that block?"
"No way. Besides the officer in the closed car must have a radio and the word would be out on us before we could go to cover come daylight."
"Afraid so," Franklin said. "Maybe the next roadblock will be smaller, and we can do some good. Hate to be here in enemy territory with only this little peashooter."
"That's a Roger. We'll see what develops. You can't make an oyster stew without killing a few oysters."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Let's get in this car, and try to look like natives."
The road south was worse than they had imagined. By the time they got to Jask, it was after midnight. Their Iranian driver found the right road south but mostly west along the shoreline of the Gulf of Oman. Five miles out of the main port of town, they spotted the roadblock ahead.
Just as the cyclist had said, it was a good one. The death car had been pulled away, but the two large trucks with trailers still blocked the road. A jeep sat in front of it with a mounted.30-caliber machine gun. A staff car showed to one side. Two armed soldiers stood at the barricade.
The three Americans bailed out of the sedan while it kept moving. They vanished into the inland side, and moved cautiously through the sparse vegetation. It wasn't a desert land, but almost.
Douglas watched the sedan roll on down the road, and soon stop at the checkpoint. They jogged then, moving as fast as they could over the uneven ground.
George lagged behind. They waited for him twice. Douglas cut the speed down so the big CIA man could stay with them. They were a hundred yards into the landscape when they came even with the barricade. There were no wires or warning devices they could see or feel.
They saw the two soldiers talking with Murrah, then an officer came from the staff car. There was some laughter. Then as they hurried on past, the Americans heard one of the big trucks' engines start, and the truck pulled out of the way for the star dancer's car to slip through.
"Could have taken the three of them easy," Franklin said.
"Easy, but how would it have looked like an accident? Remember, we can't leave a bunch of bodies around, at least not until we get some backup — like the rest of Third Platoon."
They went faster then, and slanted toward the road. They were two hundred yards down the blacktopped highway when they got back to the road. The car had moved away from the barricade slowly. Now they ran to match its ten-mile-an-hour speed, and get on board.
"Made it," Murrah said when the three were safely in the backseat. "There's one more roadblock ahead, but the Captain said I should have no trouble. All I had to do was mention that I was coming at the specific invitation of General Reza Ruhollah. He's one of the big movers in the new Iranian Army."
"How far to the next block?" Douglas asked.
"Halfway, about a hundred miles. That's about three hours the way we're moving. At least we won't have to worry about any other traffic on the road."
It was a little after 0300 when they spotted the next roadblock.
"This one we're taking out," Douglas said. "We need some weapons. We'll make it look like an accident somehow. Pull up the same way, go a little slower as you get close. If there's an officer, get him out to talk. We'll come in from the darkness at each side. Try not to get too close to any of them, and don't get between them."