“Better.”
“Ready for some action?”
A wry grin twisted Thomas’ mouth. “That depends on the type of action. Women or guns?”
“Why don’t I rephrase that-are you up for a mission?” Hamid asked, chuckling. “We’ve got a developing situation in Israel.”
Thomas listened as his friend outlined the state of affairs. After he had finished, he asked quietly, “How do we get in?”
“I was hoping you would ask. We don’t have time to wait for nightfall, so we’re going to fast-rope into the Mediterranean. Harry and Tex will meet us in a boat rented from the Tel Aviv marina. I’ve got Davood out right now looking for a Zodiac to keep us afloat till the rendevous.”
“Does he know the details of the op?”
“No,” Hamid sighed, a look of concern on his face. “I didn’t think it was wise.”
Thomas reached for his jacket, slipping it on over his bandages. “Why are we taking him with us?”
“Orders from Langley. I suppose they think he might expose his true loyalties on this mission.”
“Or get us all killed,” Thomas retorted, grunting with pain as he stood.
“Are you up to this?”
A grim smile crossed the New Yorker’s face. “Don’t have much choice, do I? You’re already down one man with Davood.”
Hamid clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you. Get your kit together and meet me at the airfield. Wheels-up in two hours.”
8:58 P.M. Local Time
The safehouse
Ramallah
The broken asphalt crunched under his knee as Gideon knelt beside the corpses in front of the steel gates. His hands moved carefully around their distorted limbs, feeling for explosives.
Nothing.
The bodies were still slightly warm, lying in a pool of congealed blood. They hadn’t been dead for long.
He took the arm of the older man and rolled him over, shining his taclight full into the corpse’s face. The man’s visage was distorted in the agonies of death, but his identity was clear.
“Concur?” Gideon asked, glancing up at Sergeant Eiland.
Yossi nodded. “I’ll contact the general. Achmed Asefi is dead. And Nichols is nowhere to be seen.”
Gideon glanced around the courtyard at the sprawled bodies. Each killed precisely. Minimal force. “But he was here…”
9:07 P.M.
The road to Tel Aviv
“Cigarette?” Hossein asked in clear, unaccented English, glancing into his rear-view mirror. From the backseat, Harry shook his head.
“You’ll live.” The major’s lighter and pack of Marlboros reposed in Harry’s shirt pocket and that was where they were staying.
Hossein frowned in disappointment and turned his attention back to his driving. Harry stared at the back of the man’s head, lost in thought. Abu al-Mawt. The father of death.
Since that time in Iraq, years had passed and loyalties had shifted. Or had they? Nothing was ever as it seemed.
Tex’s voice broke in upon his thoughts. “What did you hear from WHIPPOORWILL?”
“She’ll meet us at the marina,” Harry replied. “A boat is to be waiting. She’ll handle disposal of this vehic-”
His expression changed and he broke off in mid-sentence, reaching in his pocket for the vibrating TACSAT. “Here.”
“Plans have changed, Harry.” Kranemeyer’s grim voice.
“How so?”
“We’re not going to be able to use a Pave Low. The nearest one is in Cairo-a detachment of the 160th on joint exercises with the Egyptian Army.”
“Then fly it in,” Harry retorted.
“The logistics don’t work. To get the team from Crete to you we’d need to arrange mid-flight refueling.”
“And that’s not feasible?”
“There’s a KC-135 Stratotanker stationed at Ramstein. It’s down for maintenance.”
Harry looked out at the road flashing past in the darkness. “Then Tex and I will go in as originally planned.”
“I said that plans had changed, not that they had been scrapped. Fortunately, there is a C-130 there at Souda Bay. We’ll launch a rubber duck operation.”
Harry sucked in a deep breath. “No.”
“You’re not in command of this operation, Nichols. I am. And this was my decision.”
“And respectfully, boss, it’s the wrong one,” Harry fired back, causing Tex to look back at him in surprise. “A parachute jump, over water, at night? The Navy lost good people at Grenada pulling that type of stunt.”
“I appreciate your input,” Kranemeyer replied coldly, the tone of his voice making it clear that he didn’t. “My decision stands.”
9:35 P.M. Local Time
US Naval Support Activity
Souda Bay, Crete
The C-130 had apparently been in service since the Vietnam War. Hamid found the inscription Khe Sanh carved into a wood frame near the door. Despite its age, the aircraft seemed to be in superb shape.
A shadow fell across the door as Hamid worked through the equipment locker, and he looked up to see a black man in Air Force fatigues standing there watching him, backlit by the runway lights.
“I was told to expect a spec-ops team,” the man announced. “Would that be you?”
“That’s right,” Hamid smiled, extending a hand. “Sergeant White’s the name. The rest of my people should be here soon. We’re out looking for a Zodiac at the moment.”
“Lieutenant Eric Hanson, United States Air Force,” he introduced himself. “I’m your pilot.”
He cast a critical glance at Hamid’s jeans and sweatshirt. “Sergeant, eh? You guys Army?”
“Not exactly,” Hamid replied, his smile vanishing. “Let me make something clear, lieutenant. My men and I, we don’t exist. We weren’t here. You never saw us. You never flew this mission. Your flight logs will be adjusted to reflect this reality. Am I coming through?”
“Loud and clear. Never flew a mission like this before.”
Hamid acknowledged the statement with a nod. “Well, there’s a first time for everything-just follow my instructions and we’ll be fine. What type of missions do they have you flying?”
The pilot laughed. “Ferry. I was taking this baby back to Iraq from Ramstein when my orders had me diverted here.”
The sound of a diesel approached and Hamid looked out to see a utility truck pull up beside the plane. Davood stepped out of the cab, waving to the Zodiac Combat Rubber Raiding Craft(CRRC) in the trailer behind it. “Finally found one. Needed a little work on the engine, but I think that Navy mechanic got things in order.”
“Lieutenant, I’d like you to meet one of my men. This is Sergeant Black.”
9:43 P.M. Local Time
A Hezbollah safehouse
Jerusalem
“I understand. Do they have intelligence regarding our present location?” Farouk’s face expanded into a grin as he heard the answer. “The blessings of Allah, the most glorified, the most high, be upon you, my brother.”
He closed the satellite phone and looked around the room at the members of his cell. They were few in number, just the four of them. He and Harun. Rashid, the bombmaker. And the fourth, the woman taken in fornication. He had never bothered to learn the whore’s name.
“BEHDIN,” he announced simply. “The Americans are on their way to the marina in Tel Aviv. They intend to rendevous at sea with the rest of their team. They have learned of our presence here in the city, along with the time and place of our attack.”
Harun’s jaw fell open. “How?”
The Hezbollah commander turned to face him, and there was cool appraisal in his eyes as he did so. “There is a traitor somewhere, clearly. Who is a question that BEHDIN was not prepared to answer.”
A low murmur ran around the room as dark looks shot back and forth. “Silence,” Farouk demanded, raising his hands. “Let this not be a tool of Shaitan to divide us.”