Oath of Office

Rock-strewn smuggling trails crisscrossed the desert, leaving law enforcement and military on both sides of the border guessing. Ysabel had warned of loitering unmanned aerial vehicles, jeep patrols, motion sensors, and cameras, but explained that graft was rampant and staffing was abysmally low. Beyond that, the wind rendered all of it nearly useless.

Crossing the border was the easiest thing any of them had done in the past day. The most difficult thing about it turned out to be putting up with the bumpy ride. The Wind of 120 Days began to blow in the early summer and didn’t let up until the fall. It laid down some during the night, but was still stiff enough to cloud the air with dust that could be felt biting the skin. Every crack and surface inside of the Toyota was clogged and covered in a thin yellow patina. Jack had a chronic cough by the time they’d traveled the forty miles to rejoin the paved highway. Taybad lay just a few miles ahead. It was a small city by Iranian standards — around fifty thousand people — just large enough so strangers could blend in, but small enough that there were few people on the road at two o’clock in the morning. Unlike cities in America, it was almost completely dark.

Ysabel stirred when they hit smooth pavement, jolted by the sudden comfort of the ride. Arms over her head, she gave a long feline stretch, which did not go unnoticed by either man.

Dovzhenko took a chance and drove into a quiet neighborhood on the eastern side of town. Toyota Hilux trucks were common and Dovzhenko dropped Ryan off with a screwdriver from the glovebox so he could steal a local license plate. Islam’s feelings about dogs made them few and far between in Iran, so he didn’t have to contend with any barking while he unscrewed the plate. Dirt all but cemented the license plate to the truck’s frame, but the constant moan of wind helped to cover any errant squeaks and clanks when Ryan pried it loose. With any luck, they’d be in Mashhad before the theft was reported.

The new plate attached to the rear of the Toyota, Dovzhenko left Taybad in the blowing dust. Ryan took a quick moment to send a flash message to Clark on the laptop with the satellite hookup. The signal was active for less than two minutes before he powered off the phone and closed the laptop. Headlights cut the blackness ahead and silence settled inside the vehicle.

Dovzhenko knew the name of the engineer they hoped to turn was Yazdani. He knew the hospital where Yazdani’s son received medical treatments, but he had no idea where the man lived. They moved forward with only the vaguest of plans.

Pitching a foreign national was touchy, even if one had something tangible to offer, like the promise of medication for a sick child. Some people put patriotism above all else. Even those who might eventually come around had to leap over hurdles of conscience. That took time — something Ryan and the others did not have.

The pitch would have to be made at Yazdani’s home, where the rules of Persian hospitality dictated he invite visitors in and offer them refreshment. Ysabel could use her credentials from the UN Office on Drugs and Crime at the children’s hospital and, she hoped, find out where Yazdani lived. Then they would simply knock on the door. If he refused… Ryan didn’t want to think about that.

But first they had to rest.

Dovzhenko knew a place, a woman who he’d worked with in the past, he said. The iffy friend of an unproven Russian spy didn’t exactly fill Ryan with confidence. But his ear was starting to throb and probably needed to be looked at. Judging from the muddy slop he’d had to swim through to get out of the burning van, a double dose of antibiotics was in order. The worst part, at least in the near term, was the bandage around his head. Wounds said there’d been a fight, and fights drew unwanted police attention. It couldn’t be helped, so he put it out of his mind. He had enough to worry about. Fatigue already threatened to lead to stupid mistakes, and in a country like Iran, they weren’t likely to get many do-overs. The physical and mental stress of the past few hours had taken a tremendous toll on all of them.

Ryan leaned forward against the bench seat, resting his chin on the back of his hands. He told himself it was to stretch, but in reality, he just wanted to be as close as possible to Ysabel.