“Maybe,” said the other man doubtfully. He was now starting to think that he had either imagined it or that the ghosts some of his neighbors believed in were real.
“Well, go ask him, and leave me alone,” said the first.
During the search, Nuri and Hera circled around to the other side of the road, back in the direction of the motorcycle in case they had to make a quick getaway.
Nuri stopped when he heard there was another man in the building.
Finally he understand what was going on there. Or at least part of it.
He reached into his pocket and took out the small iPodlike control for the Voice unit. Then he told the computer to track the bug feed on an outline of the building.
“What are we seeing?” Hera asked, looking over his shoulder at the tiny image.
“I slipped a bug into the guard’s rifle.”
“Where?”
“In the barrel.”
“That’s not an image.”
“I wasn’t lucky enough to get it in heads-up. Next time I’ll do better.”
Actually, the gum surrounding it would have made it very difficult for the camera to pick up anything. Hera wasn’t sure whether slipping the bug into the gun was the ballsiest thing she’d ever heard — or the craziest. She kept silent, deciding she didn’t want to compliment him. He had enough of a swelled head already.
The guard returned to the hall, and then to the area where the restroom was. And then he went behind the building — downstairs, Nuri realized, into some sort of secret basement that extended into the hill behind the building.
The earth hampered the audio transmission, but he had heard and seen enough.
“We have to plant radiation traps around the site,” he told Hera. “And get some soil samples from the front yard.”
“What’s going on?”
“I think we just found out where those metal tubes are.”
31
The voice told Danny there was a road to the north about a half mile away. If they took it, they could follow a series of trails north and then back east to their camp. The detour would require that they drive through two leveled fields, but seemed considerably safer than running past the approaching government forces.
Boston had trouble finding the turnoff. Then the road petered out after barely half a mile. Even with the night glasses and the GPS, it was slow going.
“Danny, you on?” said Nuri, coming over the line.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“What’s your situation?”
“We’re heading back to camp. Red Henri and then the Sudanese army ambushed us.”
“The Sudanese ambushed you?”
“Right.”
“Are they working with Red Henri?”
“No. He ended up in the cross fire. Red Henri got wind of the meeting somehow and showed up. The Sudanese army came a little while after that. With helicopters.”
“There are plenty of informers in both rebel groups,” said Nuri. “Colonel Zsar’s especially. They may have tipped the government off.”
“I guess.”
“Did you tag the Iranian?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you got someone else, too,” said Nuri.
“Tilia, Uncle Dpap’s aide,” said Danny. “It was an accident.”
“It’s not important. Don’t worry. Damn. The Sudanese are throwing all sorts of troops at these guys. This must be Egypt’s doing, helping them. Damn.”
“I don’t know if our guy is going to get out,” said Danny. “They have a lot of troops coming.”
“That may not be critical right now,” said Nuri.
“Turn into field, point-one miles,” said the Voice.
Danny told Nuri to hold while he helped Boston navigate. The rutted field was filled with large rocks, but the ground was firm. They slowed to about five miles an hour, then followed a serpentine section of wall to a shallow streambed. Nearly a mile later they came to the road.
“All right,” said Danny.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to drive back to the States,” said Nuri when he got back to him.
“Just having trouble with the terrain. How did you do?”
“Better than expected. And worse. I think the Iranians are building a bomb.”
“Here?”
“No, I don’t know. We got some hits on uranium, but not weapons grade.”
Actually, the detectors had found traces of material that typically accompanied uranium, signaling that some sort of storage or processing was carried out there. Finding actual weapons grade uranium required very sensitive gear placed very close to the material, and even then would have taken quite a bit of luck. Still, the finding was critical.
“I don’t have it all figured out,” added Nuri, “but I think they’re doing this in stages. This would be an early stage. I have to talk to Reid and Stockard.”
“Right.”
“I’ll let them know we’ve tagged the Iranian and we’re going to follow him. If they have other plants, he’ll take us to them.”
“If he makes it out of the ambush,” said Danny.
“I’ll be at the base in another twenty minutes,” said Nuri, ignoring Danny’s pessimism. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
Two minutes later the Voice warned Danny that four Sudanese army trucks were traveling on the road they were headed for. Rather than engage in a firefight, Danny decided their best option would be to simply go far enough off the road so they couldn’t be seen and wait for them to pass. They crossed the field until they found a cluster of low trees and waited.
Meanwhile, the remains of colonel Zsar’s forces had regrouped south of the road and were sweeping east to escape the army troops. Four of Zsar’s men had been killed; nearly all the rest, including himself, had suffered at least minor injuries.
Tarid was among the few who hadn’t been hit. He found the colonel as he retreated, and joined him in a pickup truck. They rode together in the front of the pickup, jostling against each other and the colonel’s driver as they streaked across the rutted road.
“Red Henri must have betrayed us,” said Zsar. “He must have planned the entire venture.”
“More likely it was one of Dpap’s men,” said Tarid. “Or one of yours.”
Colonel Zsar bristled. “Maybe the arms dealer was the culprit.”
“No.”
“No rebel would do this.”
“His men shot down two of the helicopters,” said Tarid. “He warned us. He has very good intelligence. He’s smarter than you think. Greedy, but smart.”
“The helicopters may have been a show,” said Colonel Zsar. He prided himself on never having retreated in the face of the Sudanese army. His ego had been stung by the reversal. “We could have taken them, all of them,” he added. “If I’d brought more men.”
“You can take them another time.”
The more Colonel Zsar brooded about his reputation, the more he realized that he couldn’t simply run. He had to do something — he had to defeat the army.
“Turn the truck around,” he told the driver. He took out his satellite phone.
“What are you doing?” asked Tarid.
“We’re going back.”
“You can’t go back — they’ve got you outgunned. They’re bringing more reinforcements.”
“So will I.”
Tarid argued, but it was a waste of breath. Colonel Zsar had decided his reputation demanded that he defeat the army soldiers who had attacked. Even if the victory was symbolic — a simple return to the battlefield would do — he would be able to restore his reputation.
“You’re letting your ego guide you,” said Tarid. “A dangerous thing.”
Zsar frowned.
“Then let me out,” said Tarid.
The door was locked. As he reached to pull up the lock, Colonel Zsar pointed his pistol at him. If he let Tarid go, the others might follow.