Mokhtari held up his hand, fumbled with a cassette recorder on his desk trying to get it to work. As a guard came over and tried to make the recorder work, Mary used the time to think. She had to follow Doc Landis’ advice — try to make them want to keep her alive … Again her stubborn spirit flared — I will not sacrifice myself and all I believe in to this creature …
The commandant gave a jerk of his head and Mary started to talk. “Is it on? The dash fifty-nine system … Are you sure it’s working?” She gasped for air. “It’s a D-band radar we use for air surveillance. It uses a phased-array antenna, not the normal parabolic style. I found that confusing because the old-style antenna on the AN slash FPS dash eight radar system gave a much more reliable return …” She couldn’t stop herself, she was going to feed them misinformation she hoped they couldn’t verify. Now she started to give out a story about how she had pointed this out to her superiors and had been chastised for not being able to use the equipment they had trained her to use. As a punishment she had been sent to Ras Assanya—
A guard rushed into the room, stopping Mary’s flow of words. “Commandant, the general is here.”
Mokhtari was on his feet. “Why wasn’t I told he was coming?” Panic worked at the edges of his mind. Mary caught enough of the conversation to understand that the general who commanded the People’s Soldiers of Islam had returned to the prison, the same general who had lost his eye and leg in an attack led by Muddy Waters of the 45th Tactical Fighter Wing.
Sunday morning traffic was almost non-existent as Stansell drove back to Barbara’s apartment. “How’s Jack doing?” he said in a low voice.
Dewa twisted around in the front seat and looked at the pilot. “Sleeping like a baby.”
“He deserves it.” They waited for a red light to change. “He just may have saved the mission, but we still have a gap to plug … Cunningham needs to know …”
“Transportation on the ground,” Dewa said, filling in his thought. He could only look at her, surprised at how easily she matched his thinking … “The light, Colonel. It’s green.”
They drove in silence, then: “Colonel?” It was Jack’s voice from the rear. “I’d like to spend a little time with Gillian and fly over to March Air Force Base near Riverside tomorrow. Be a good chance to show Thunder what the Strike Eagle can do.”
“What you got in mind?”
“I’ve got to get the attention of the F-15 jocks and need the help of the National Guard. If I read the situation right I’ve got about a week to teach them that when you’re on the bad guy’s turf the rules change. They’ve got to do it our way.”
“Have at it, I’ve got to move on your changes in the plan. I’ll tell Mado and get the word to Cunningham. I’ll have to go to Fort Fumble to get his blessing … be back by Wednesday.”
Stansell parked the car and watched Jack disappear in the direction of his apartment, where Gillian waited. He walked softly with Dewa toward her apartment, not wanting to end the moment. They climbed the outside stairs to the second floor, paused, leaning over the railing, still talking when Barbara came out of her apartment below them, complete — or incomplete — with tight jeans and a short denim jacket open in the front, revealing a clinging tee shirt. Mado walked out behind her. The click of Barbara’s heels echoed through the courtyard as they disappeared out the front gate, never seeing the two watching them.
“I think the general will be busy today,” Dewa said, straight-faced. “Would you like some breakfast?”
She unlocked the door, knowing they would be back at work in a few hours. But for a few minutes …
Mokhtari nervously looked over the quadrangle as the general’s car drove through the inner gate of the entrance tunnel. There must not be any room for criticism. The dusty gray Mercedes halted at the base of the steps and a colonel from the second car in line ran up to the right passenger door, snapped it open. Mokhtari could see a frail shadow sitting in the back seat. “Come,” the colonel said, gesturing at the door. Mokhtari ran down the steps, then was halted as he started to climb into the rear seat. He stood at attention.
“We are pleased with your reports,” the general said. “You have shown progress since my last visit.”
“Thank you, your excellency. Sergeant Nesbit is a good source of information. Even the woman is now cooperating and will soon be dry as a witch’s tit. They will both die … of pneumonia … when I am finished.”
“No, we will need them shortly.”
“They are to be returned to the Americans?”
“Don’t be stupid. We will give half of them to our weak-willed brothers who demand to share power with us. Of course, you will select which prisoners to send.”
“Yes, I understand. One of the prisoners is a doctor. Shall I allow him to treat them?”
“No. But I want no more deaths for now. The old barracks behind the prison … I need them.”
“Of course, sir. There are some Kurdish squatters living in there now but they will be removed today.”
“Within this hour, my men must move under cover immediately.” The car door slammed shut and the rear wheels of the Mercedes spun in the dust as it turned toward the gate.
Mokhtari barked orders to the captain of the guards to clear the old barracks immediately. “How many men does the general have waiting?”
“There are eight trucks outside,” the captain told him, “and a tank carrier. When I approached the trucks I was ordered away.” “What type of tank is on the carrier?”
“It was covered with a canvas tarp, commandant. It looked like a small tank, perhaps a PT-76. But there was no cannon. It might be a Shilka.”
Mokhtari shrugged and returned to his office, not caring about Shilkas. He slammed the door behind him, frustrated that Mary Hauser would live a while longer.
The key turning in the lock was enough warning. Mary had the bag over her head when the door swung open. She suspected the guards knew she only put the bag on when they opened the door. Why else would they fumble at the lock for so long and keep the light on? She could see a pair of boots from under the bottom of the bag. “Here,” a familiar voice said, and a bundle of clothes dropped at her feet. “Wear these under your chador.” The door clanged shut and the key scratched in the lock. Mary jerked the bag off and picked up the bundle. It was her uniform and it had been laundered.
DO WE HAVE A FRIEND, she tapped on the wall.
THINK SO, Doc Landis replied.
CHAPTER 26
The antenna of the search radar swept the horizon with its relentless beat. The winds blew constantly at the radar site, gusting past thirty knots, and because the site’s elevation was 7,000 feet, located near the top of the mountain overlooking the town of Maragheh, it was always a cold wind. The Americans had built the site for the Iranians in the late 1970s when the Shah was still in power, and its location 2,600 feet above the valley floor gave it an excellent search capability.
Inside the module at the base of the antenna the four operators were warm enough, but less than vigilant. Since the end of the Iran-Iraq war there seemed little need for manning the search radar, and all were looking forward to shift-change in six hours.