Claude nodded, and the second man pulled the tape from Bernard’s mouth. The boy screamed as a scalpel was raised above his chest.
Jones exploded through the front door with a kick that sent pieces of shattered wood flying into the living room. Camp lunged forward out of the kitchen and was airborne toward the scalpel-wielding terrorist as Jones tackled the man closest to Bernard. Finn ran up and into the apartment as Camp pushed the scalpel out of Claude’s hand. Both assailants were easily subdued by a former SEAL, a retired FBI agent and the global head of security for a pharmaceutical company in Switzerland who happened to be former MI6.
“Guys,” Raines said with a weak voice as she stood in the doorway to the living room.
The third man had been asleep in his bedroom until Jones opened the door so rudely with the heel of his boot. By the time the other assailant got his 9mm Glock out of his nightstand, Raines was the only one left he could get to.
The Glock was pressed to the left side of her head, and his other arm was wrapped around the neck of Leslie Raines.
“Se tenir debout,” the captor said, motioning for Camp and Jones to stand up and Finn to back away.
Camp let Claude go and stood up slowly. Finn stepped back as Bernard started to cry. Jones slowly rolled off his assailant. He kept his eyes focused on the man holding a gun to the head of Raines. Jones nodded to the man and whispered.
“La police… derriere vous.”
The man smiled then an inquisitive look dashed across his unshaved face. Jones pointed and raised an eyebrow again. The silence in the room was deafening.
The man started to turn his head to look for the police behind him.
Jones reached into his jacket and fired his pistol in one sweeping motion hitting the would-be abductor dead center above the eyes. Blood-splatter sprayed over Raines’ face as his grip loosened and his crumpled body hit the floor.
Finn tied the assailants up as Raines went to the bedroom to find clothes for Bernard. Camp untied the boy.
“Americans?” Bernard said as he fought back the tears.
“You’re okay now, Bernard.” Camp said as Claude and his buddy sat on the floor with ski masks still on and the camera still recording.
“Call your friends from Interpol. The evidence is on the camera,” Jones said as he walked toward the front door.
“You’re leaving?” Finn asked.
“All that’s left is the paperwork. I hate paperwork,” Jones said as he bounced down the steps and down one block where his BMW waited for the drive back to Geneva.
32
ISAF Headquarters
Kabul, Afghanistan
General Ferguson was plowing through AARs, After-Action Reports, as the two coffee-pouring majors on his staff read through the morning’s intelligence briefing.
“Sir, the IAEA got stonewalled this morning in their request to visit Parchin,” Major Spann said as Ferguson kept reading reports.
“What else is new?” Ferguson grumbled without looking up. “What’s Parchin?”
“Sir, military industrial complex about 30 kilometers southeast of Tehran, part of a test-range for liquid-propellant missile engines.”
“That’s nice, but doesn’t sound nuclear to me. Major, the IAEA operates cameras and conducts regular, and surprise visits, to declared nuclear sites including the Fordo and Natanz enrichment centers, reactors in Bushehr and Tehran and a uranium metallurgical laboratory in Isfahan. Parshin isn’t one of the sites we’re interested in.”
The two majors were uncomfortable. Spann tried one more time.
“Sir, intelligence suspects they are working on parallel paths, a civilian energy program which they let us monitor, and a parallel military program which is off limits.”
“I understand all that, major. I don’t require an education.”
“Sir, satellite imagery analysis indicates that high-explosive tests were conducted in a specially built chamber at Parchin, a chamber designed to contain components for a nuclear weapon.”
Ferguson put his papers down.
“There’s more,” Major Spann said. “The Iranians are raising the rhetoric bar another notch. They’re threatening a first strike against Israel if they feel an Israeli attack is imminent.”
“What are the Israelis saying?”
“Nothing today, sir. Oh, and this came in today as well.”
Spann handed Ferguson a classified memo from the CIA.
“I’ll be damned,” Ferguson said as he read the memo. “US Navy Captain Campbell has been officially barred from traveling to Israel on either personal or government business for a period of 180 days… signed by the Director of Central Intelligence.”
“Who’d he piss off?” Spann asked.
“Apparently, Special Agent Daniels… Camp got a bit too cozy with the boys from Mossad to suit Mr. Daniels and his lovely sidekick, Fallon Jessup.”
Tel Aviv, Israel
Yitzhak handed the phone to Reuven and brought up the field report from Bangkok, Thailand.
“Yes,” Reuven said into the phone.
“Looks like the same method as last week in Georgia and India,” the female voice on the other side said.
“Iranian hit squad?”
“Yes, sir, not exactly the same, but similar.”
“Go on.”
“Five bombs in all. We’ve recovered one that was unexploded. Seems to be a $27 dollar portable radio, easy to buy on the streets. Inside, the radio is packed with tiny ball bearings and six magnets. It sticks easily to the metal on the side of a car.”
“Explosive?”
“Looks to be white military-grade explosives with M26 hand-grenade fuse. The assailant pulls the pin from the radio and four and a half seconds later…”
“Smuggled in, or assembled in Bangkok?”
“Probably neither, sir. Our best guess is the diplomatic pouch. Off limits for screening or security.”
Reuven hung up the phone, and Yitzhak rolled his chair closer.
“Get on the chain… we want our Ambassador to the UN to complain that Iran is targeting our foreign diplomats.”
“Retribution?”
“No, not yet… we need to stall, buy some more time… ask for an international investigation… suggest that Israel will remain committed for months for the international court of public opinion to hold Iran responsible for these acts of unilateral terrorism.”
“I’ll make the calls,” Yitzhak said as he started to roll away.
“Yitzhak… get the sailor routed through to my cell phone.”
Qom, Iran
Key members of the Iranian Shura Council had gathered and were sitting on the floor near the marja-i talqid, the one who was chosen for emulation. Senior military officials and members of the intelligence community were seated, as was Ayatollah Yazdi, the spiritual leader in the city of Qom. Yazdi was the one who opposed democratic reforms, the one who was opposed to the people’s uprising and the reform movement, and the one who believed that Iran had become too liberal, and too open, since the Revolution in 1979. The Shoeib was seated. He was quiet and introspective. The Supreme Leader was absent, all according to plan. Some from the Assembly of Experts had gathered as well.
Qazvin was present and sitting next to his grandson and famous microbiologist, Kazi.
Omid was sitting among senior military intelligence advisors.
Hot tea was poured, and all shared in subdued fellowship. The talking began to cease though no one had called the meeting to order. The din in the plain white-walled room fell to silence. Yazdi spoke.