Over northern Ethiopia
Breanna realized the Israeli attack on the Sudan weapons material factory would complicate the operation in Iran. Even if the government wasn’t responsible for the program there, the high-ranking people who were might make things difficult for foreigners, either as a smoke screen or simply for revenge. Iran had an ugly history on that score.
She immediately began working out the details for an evac mission. Fortunately, she had some of the key ingredients close at hand — a pair of Ospreys, and the rest of the Whiplash crew.
“The closer you can get us to the border, the easier it’ll be,” said Boston when she reviewed the situation with him using a map display on her console. “Easiest thing to do is let them come out the way they planned: They get into their speedboats and go out to sea. Then we have the Ospreys meet them and pick them up.”
“But what if they can’t get to the speedboats?” asked Breanna. “That’s what I’m worried about. They can’t get the speedboats and they can’t get out through the airports, because they’re shut down or being watched.”
“Then you either send a new set of speedboats to make a pickup, or we have the Ospreys grab them. Another thing,” Boston added, “would be to have them sneak over the border into northern Iraq. Trouble is, the Iraqis are kinda on guard there. The smuggling’s not as bad as it is down south, but you’d still have patrols to dodge.”
“We could work something out there with the government,” said Breanna. “It’d be just a question of going through channels.”
“I’ll tell you right now, you want to avoid as many channels as possible where the Iraqis are concerned. The command structure’s a sieve. Anything they know in Baghdad is known in Tehran inside an hour, as a general rule.”
He was exaggerating, though not by much.
“We’re going to land in Turkey and refuel in a few minutes,” Breanna told him. “Tell me what sort of reinforcements you’d need for a rescue operation. I’ll get them lined up.”
“Hell, I’d take whatever we can get. Battalion of soldiers. Company of Rangers.” Boston smiled. “Or a squad of Marines. Same difference.”
68
Danny watched the small screen as three men left the warehouse. It was impossible to tell who was who on the small screen, but the Voice had no trouble identifying one of the men as Bani Aberhadji.
He got into the cab of one of the trucks with the two men. The truck did not contain one of the marked crates. In fact, the box it carried was rather small. The truck took up its spot at the rear of the convoy, following the other trucks as they headed down the narrow farm lane with its tight cutback to the dirt road and then south toward the village.
There was no way of knowing where the trucks were going in advance, but Danny guessed that they would pick one of the bases in the Great Salt Desert. Most of Iraq’s special weapons programs had been located there before the treaty agreement, and a network of underground bunkers and other facilities remained where the material could be protected. While inspections of the known and announced sites were conducted on a random basis, there were still plenty of places where the material might be hidden.
So he wasn’t surprised when the first vehicle, which had one of the marked crates, turned toward the southeast. He directed the Voice to keep the Owl over it. Then he started the van and did a U-turn in the deserted roadway. The convoy was roughly two miles away; he figured that was a good distance.
Once it reached good roads, the convoy began stretching out. The lead driver had something of a lead foot, and in less than a minute the Owl could no longer catch the train of trucks in one image.
“Circle back so you can see the entire convoy on a regular basis,” said Danny. “Fly in a surveillance pattern above them.”
“Confirmed.”
“Are all the trucks together?”
“Truck One, Truck Two, Truck Three, Truck Five, Truck Six, and Truck Seven are on local route 31.”
“Where are the rest?”
“Truck Four and Truck Eight are on local route 2. Truck Nine is on local route 25. Truck Ten is on an unmarked road heading west. About to exit range of Owl.”
Truck Ten was the vehicle with Bani Aberhadji.
“Display a map,” he told the Voice. “And locate the trucks.”
The map popped into the screen. Truck Ten was nearly parallel to them, on a small road to the north that snaked through the mountain. Danny stared at the screen, trying to guess where Aberhadji was headed.
“Danny!” said Hera.
He looked up, then turned the wheel sharply, veering the van back onto the highway. He’d drifted all the way to the opposite shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“Why don’t you let me look at that?” she asked.
“It won’t interact with you.”
“I can lean over and look at the goddamn map,” she told him.
She unsnapped her seat belt and moved closer. Danny held it out to her.
“That’s the truck with Aberhadji,” he told her. “Where do you think he’s going?”
“The computer didn’t tell you?”
“It’s not omniscient.”
“It must be to another hiding place. Why disperse the crates?”
“It would help if we knew what was in them,” said Danny.
“You were right to check the place out and have it ready for us to leave first,” said Hera. “They would have caught us in the middle.”
“I know. I’m going to turn around and follow Aberhadji,” he said, slowing and looking for a place to do just that.
Bani Aberhadji ran his fingers down both sides of his Adam’s apple as they drove, contemplating what would happen after he unleashed the weapon on Israel.
The Israelis would attack Iran. Of that there could be no doubt. The suffering would be great. But in the aftermath, the Guard could reassert itself. Following a period of great hardship, Islam would begin to rebuild itself. Purity of belief, and as always Allah’s help, would provide the victory.
The most critical period would come in the weeks following the retaliation. Muslims would rally to Iran’s side, but what would the rest of the world do? The Americans were particularly unpredictable. It was very likely they would try and seek him out, make him and other brothers in the Guard scapegoats for the attacks.
He would stand defiantly. He would pray for a trial where his views could be heard.
Or he could drive to Tehran after the missile was launched and wait for the expected counterblow. Becoming a martyr was a welcome prospect. He felt tired, and daunted by the enormity of the next steps he would have to take.
“No, not here,” he told the driver as the man prepared to pull into the Guard base. “Keep going straight.”
“I’m sorry, Imam. I thought—”
“It’s not your fault. We are going to a base at Tajevil that I use,” explained Aberhadji. “It is only a little way further. Be careful in your driving. Our cargo is precious.”
The roads were sparse in this corner of Iran, and Danny had to drive nearly five miles north before finding one that would take him back toward the area where Aberhadji had headed. By that time, the truck had stopped at a small air base in the mountains near Tajevil. According to the Voice, the strip was long but only made of packed dirt.
“There are no aircraft on the ground,” said the Voice. “Database indicates strip has not been used within past decade. Runway length estimated at 3,310.7 meters, not counting apron area and—”
“Get me Breanna Stockard,” said Danny.
Breanna, en route to Turkey, answered from the C-17.
“Someone must be on their way to meet him at this airstrip,” he told her. “We have to track the aircraft.”