Drake leaned back and watched the battle unfold until it looped to the beginning. “I assume we’re not the only ones with access to this data.”
“You assume right. Those images came from the National Reconnaissance Office.”
None of this was completely unexpected, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. Smith and Howell hadn’t gone into Iran to try to stop Khamenei’s forces on their own. No, they’d contacted the resistance and despite their deaths at the hands of Sepehr Mouradipour, Farrokh had used the information he’d been provided to track down Omidi’s facility. The question was, what should they do about it?
“There’s more,” Collen said. “We have reports of heavy fighting in the streets of a village a hundred miles north of that facility, and the Iranians are airlifting special forces there as well as scrambling a squadron of bombers.”
“ETA?”
“By now, they could have soldiers on the ground. I don’t have current information on the bombers.”
“Is it possible that the parasite has escaped the facility?”
“We don’t have any assets in the area and the satellite’s gone out of range. We won’t have another overhead for six hours.”
Drake let out a frustrated sigh. “I have—”
The phone on his desk rang and he fell silent when he saw the incoming number. The Oval Office.
Castilla tended to be a predictable man wed to his schedules and formal briefings. Impromptu predawn calls were very much not part of his management style.
Collen took a step back and watched him pick up the receiver. “Hello, Mr. President.”
“What the hell is going on in Iran, Larry? Have you looked at these satellite images?”
“I’m just going through them now, sir. We’re still gathering data at—”
“We’ve got a war going on between two unknown factions at a facility that we didn’t know anything about and you’re gathering data?”
“We should know more soon. The—”
“I’m at Camp David, Larry, and you’re going to be in front of me in one hour with everything we’ve got on this. I want to know what the hell the Iranians are doing with an underground bunker in the middle of nowhere and I want to know who just crashed their party. Do you understand me?”
“Sir, that’s not going to be enough time. It’s a complicated—”
“Let me repeat myself, Larry. You are going to be standing in front of me in one hour.”
Drake swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of nausea as the sweat broke across his forehead. “Yes, sir.”
The line went dead and he slowly replaced the receiver. “Get together everything we have on the parasite and the Iranians.”
“Everything?” Collen said, obviously alarmed.
“We’re getting on a helicopter for Camp David. We’ll strategize on the flight and sanitize what we have to. I’m not going to let this fall apart now. Not when we’re this close.”
88
Jon Smith forced himself to slow, glancing over his shoulder at the people strung out behind him. Sarie wasn’t having any trouble keeping up — her life in the African bush had combined with a healthy dose of terror to keep her injured leg turning over. Farrokh was lagging a bit, struggling for breath as he shouted for everyone to stay inside their homes and barricade the doors and windows. Howell was bringing up the rear, running in an awkward sideways lope as he covered their flank.
Satisfied that everyone was all right, Smith faced forward again and leapt over a hastily abandoned basket of vegetables. A burning pain suddenly flared in his head, and he went down on the jagged cobbles, rolling as the sound of the shot bounced off the stone buildings.
His balance was gone and his vision was spinning, making it pointless to attempt to get to his feet. Instead, he stayed as flat as possible, trying to clear his mind. A familiar voice reached him and he crawled toward it, still confused when Sarie grabbed him and dragged him behind a parked car.
“Hold still!” he heard her say as she tore off a piece of the jacket they’d found for her and pressed it to his scalp. “Jon? Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He blinked hard and watched her hand come slowly into focus. “Uh…two?”
She helped him to his feet and then carefully let go, making sure he could stay upright on his own.
“I’m fine. It’s just…It’s just a graze.”
“It’s more than a graze, Jon. It looks pretty deep.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not my first.”
“You still with us, mate?”
Howell had broken out the driver’s window of a vaguely Soviet-looking flatbed, and he and Farrokh were pushing it into a position that blocked the street behind them.
“Not dead yet.”
“Well, if we get pinned down here, you will be soon.”
He was right. They didn’t know how many infected were headed in their direction or the positions and strength of the Iranians fighting against them.
“Omidi gave it to them,” Sarie said, sounding a little dazed. “He infected a bunch of innocent people to keep it alive.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Smith said. “If the guy who just shot me calls in our position or can hop enough rooftops to get above us again, we’re going to have serious problems. We need to keep moving.”
“How? He can—”
“Incoming!” Howell shouted, and they both spun to see a man sprinting around the corner. He let out something between a scream and a choking growl when he saw them, the blood that had run into his mouth spraying down the front of his shirt. Howell rested the butt of his pistol on the hood of the truck while Farrokh fired wildly, managing to hit the man in the stomach and left thigh. Howell did better, catching him just below the sternum and dropping him to the ground. The Brit stayed lined up on the man as he tried desperately to get up, not lowering his weapon until he went completely still.
“Keep our flank covered!” Smith said, pulling Sarie to the wall and tapping the rifle hanging around her neck. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” she said.
He pointed to the roofline. “I need you to shoot the guy up there.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because I can’t see straight, Farrokh can’t shoot straight, and we need Peter behind us.”
“It would be nice if we could get out of here,” Howell called back. “Sooner would be better than later.”
“Working on it!” Smith responded and then turned his attention back to Sarie. “Listen to me. I’m going to run out into the open again. When I do, lean around the corner and sight along the rooftop.”
“Are you crazy? He almost killed you last time and now he’ll be ready.”
“Then you’re going to have to hit him.”
“I’m not a soldier, Jon. I—”
“You are today,” he said, backing away. When he had a good ten yards to get a running start, he took a deep breath and charged forward, passing Sarie as she flattened herself against the building.
He heard a shot and saw the round impact a wall a few feet away. When the second sounded, he tensed, certain it would be the one that got him. He remained upright, though, and a moment later he was safely around the next corner.
A series of bright flashes threw shadows across the building next to him, and he eased back the way he had come, listening to a strange crackling that was impossible to decipher.