Chapter Seventeen
12:03 A.M. Local Time, October 4th
The marina
Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel
A forest of masts reached into the night sky from the multitude of sailboats and yachts docked in the marina. Tex put the car into park and Harry motioned for Hossein to get out, keeping the.45 in his pocket trained on the major as they exited the car.
It was a beautiful, clear night. The water shimmered with the reflection of hundreds of lights from the boats at anchor, flickering like diamonds set afire. Loud music pulsed from the deck of a nearby yacht as the agents moved down toward the wharf. A party was still in full swing.
Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Harry moved closer to Farshid Hossein as the trio made their way through the crowd.
A woman was standing outside the small office that served as the marina headquarters and security office, her form backlit by the building lights. She looked up at his approach, taking another long drag on the cigarette between her fingers.
“Evening,” was her curt greeting. “You need something?”
“Bonjour. My friends and I are in need of a boat,” Harry began, gesturing to Tex and Hossein.
“What do you plan to use the boat for?” she responded, exhaling the smoke and watching as the breeze blew it away.
He smiled. “We’re birdwatchers from southern France. Following the migration of the whippoorwill.”
“They are flying south this time of year, aren’t they?” she asked, throwing the cigarette butt against the gravel of the roadway.
“Well nigh from Paris to Dakar,” he replied, finishing the code exchange.
She nodded. “Come with me. I think I have what you’re looking for.”
4:42 P.M. Eastern Time
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“We just heard from Nichols,” Kranemeyer announced, sweeping hurriedly into the DCIA’s office. “They’re at sea, on their way to the drop zone.”
David Lay looked up, his fingers laced together as he leaned forward in his chair. “Have a seat, Barney.”
“Thanks.” The DCS sighed heavily as he sank into the chair in front of Lay’s desk. “Haven’t kept this type of hours since the skinnies holed us up in Mogadishu.”
Lay nodded. “We have a problem.”
“Oh?”
“I just got off the phone with Tahir al-Din Husayni. He’s agreed to help.”
A wary look came into Kranemeyer’s eyes. “And? Where’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one, really. At least not from his perspective. Just necessary concessions to his religious sensibilities. He can’t permit non-Muslims to enter the mosque proper.”
“Then we’ll have to stop them before they get inside,” Kranemeyer retorted. “That, or rely on Zakiri and Sarami.”
The CIA director grimaced. “Make sure Nichols and Zakiri have the message loud and clear. Under no circumstances is Sarami to be left unattended on this mission. No circumstances. Where are we with the extraction of Isfahani?”
“Our people are with him, at his residence. He wants to see this through before he leaves.”
“That’s his decision,” Lay acknowledged. “Instruct your assets to monitor his communications and make sure his inquiries don’t jeopardize operational security or his personal well-being.”
“A protective detail, essentially?”
“That’s right. If he gets taken out at this point, it becomes a whole new ballgame. After the mission is over…”
“We can’t bring him back to the States,” Kranemeyer said, rising to his feet. “There’s no way that’s viable politically.”
“Never intended to.”
“Meaning?”
Lay cleared his throat. “Meaning we finish what we started in 2011, Barney. Just make sure our hands stay clean.”
12:49 A.M.
The cruiser
The Mediterranean
They were in international waters now. Harry took a look at the GPS screen and mentally calculated their distance to the drop zone. Thirty minutes out, at their current rate of speed.
Tex had the wheel, if you could use that metaphor to describe the sophisticated control console. The big man had a lot of experience with boats, dating back to his time in the Marine Corps.
Hossein stood near the rail, calmly puffing a cigarette as he watched the spray kicked up by the rapidly-moving craft. He had gotten a light from WHIPPOORWILL, but Harry didn’t know where he had obtained the cigarette. He must have had another pack stashed somewhere they hadn’t found it.
Abu al-mawt. The father of death. Harry turned and spat into the sea. He and a team of Green Berets had spent five months tracking the insurgent leader through the Iraqi desert. Five months of fruitless search.
And now to have him right here. He could close his eyes and see Juan Delgado’s mutilated torso, feel the bile rise in his throat as he thought back. They had never found his severed head. Perhaps it was just as well.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Harry jerked his head up to see Hossein looking across at him, a strangely enigmatic look playing across that sharply-chiseled Persian face.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?” he asked, taking a step toward the Iranian major. Another step and they stood side by side.
“A feeling, perhaps,” Hossein replied, looking out at the churning foam.
“I wouldn’t feel the slightest compunction in putting a bullet through your head, if that’s what you mean.”
Hossein exhaled, watching the smoke blow away in the wind. “That’s what I thought,” he said, still seeming utterly composed. “I must confess a curiosity as to whether this hatred is personal or professional?”
“There’s no such thing as professional hatred,” Harry responded, frankly baffled by the man’s calm. “You should know that. And I have killed a good many men whom I did not hate.”
“Too true. Then, I take it that we have a history?”
There was no answer to his question.
Hossein finished his cigarette and tossed it into the sea, watching as the glowing ember was extinguished in the foam of their wake. “Quite like a life, don’t you think?”
A nod served as his reply.
“Iraq?” Hossein asked, glancing sideways at Harry.
“I don’t know where you think you’ll get with a game of ‘Twenty Questions’,” Harry sighed.
“Truth, perhaps.”
Harry snorted in disbelief. “You beheaded a friend of mine in Iraq. Sergeant Major Juan Delgado, United States Army.”
“I remember him,” the Iranian replied simply. “A brave man. We didn’t get anything from him. His death gave me no pleasure, if that’s what you were wanting to know.”
A moment passed, then Harry turned to look at him. “Is that all you can say?” he asked, his voice little more than a hiss. His hands trembled with barely-contained anger.
Hossein shrugged. “It is as you say. I, too, have killed many men whom I did not hate. We are warriors, you and I, and killing is our birthright.”
“Warriors?” Harry asked, unable to escape the irony of the comment. “You and I? Where is the heroism in beheading a man whose hands are tied?”
The Iranian shook his head. “Should I tell you I regret his death and stay your hand of execution? You’ve made up your mind already. And I see no reason to lie now…”
12:57 A.M.
The C-130 “Hercules”
It was time. Hamid checked the fastenings holding the Zodiac against its plywood backing for the last time and knelt down beside it, his arm braced.
Davood knelt opposite to him, ready to help push it out the back. The young agent’s face was pale in the eerie red lights of the cabin.