Oath of Office

“So,” Ryan said, “what you’re saying is, we put on the brakes and the missile flies right by?”

“What?” Van Orden said, missing the Top Gun reference.

Hardy nodded. “Essentially, yes, Mr. President. As long as the missile didn’t reacquire, then it would continue past, eventually falling back to earth.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “Nuclear or kinetic, we still have a major problem. So let’s have it.”

“Pardon?” Van Orden said.

“Crux,” Ryan said. “The satellite Dr. Tabrizi talks about in her theory. We can’t move it until we know which one it is?”

Van Orden and Hardy looked at each other, then at the President.

The professor spoke first. “We believe there are five that would work,” he said.

Hardy added, “Maybe as many as nine. And that’s just talking about ours.”

64

Atash Yazdani was bouncing in place when Dovzhenko pulled into the parking lot near Akbar Children’s Hospital. His son Ibrahim stood beside him, looking small and drawn. Arm around the boy’s shoulders, the Iranian bent down and stuck his head in the Toyota’s window. He showed his teeth in the first smile since they’d met him.

“There has been an attack at the missile site west of the city,” he said. “Your plan has worked. The missiles are destroyed. You can now keep your end of the bargain and take my son out.”

His face fell when he noticed the mood in the truck. “What has happened?” He put a hand on top of his head and looked skyward. “Do not tell me there is yet another delay.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “But only one missile was destroyed. There is still one at large.”

“That does not matter anymore,” Yazdani said, almost in tears. “I have done what you asked. I can do no more.” He turned to his son. “Ibrahim, get in the truck. These people are taking us to get you medicine.”

“And we will,” Jack said. “You have my word—”

“Your word will get us all killed!”

The boy began to cough, hacking until his face turned red. Yazdani pounded on his back and he was finally able to gain control.

“We are still going to help,” Jack said again. “But we have to find that second missile.”

Yazdani stared daggers at him, then threw up his hands. “There are some caves approximately ten kilometers south of the test site. It is possible they took one of the erector launchers there.”

Dovzhenko passed him a map. “Show me on this.”

Yazdani pointed out a spot to the west of the city, on a narrow goat track of a road past the village of Noghondar. He took out a pen and drew an X. “The caves are here,” he said. “I know they are large enough, but that does not mean the missile is there.”

“We’ve got to try,” Ryan said, scrawling instructions on a scrap of paper. “Taybad is just a few kilometers from the Afghan border. Take your son and wait there. If you do not hear from us in four hours, then call this number.”

“I have no choice,” Yazdani said.

Ryan shrugged. “None of us do,” he said.

* * *

It seemed that virtually every military and militia vehicle was racing out of Mashhad toward the scene of explosions. Dovzhenko fell in with the parade, speeding west with the group. Ysabel translated the radio broadcasts as they drove.

The official stand was that Israel had fired a salvo of missiles at an Iranian school, killing hundreds of innocent children. That did not explain the massive secondary explosion some were reporting, but the media, accustomed to toeing the government line, made no attempt to explain much of anything.

“Turn here,” Ryan said, navigating while Dovzhenko drove.

The Russian left the convoy to head south into a wooded valley when they were close enough to see the glow of flames in the distance. A mile down the road he slowed and turned off his headlights, running on parking lights alone. Continuing toward Yazdani’s X, they were gratified to see the glow of bright construction lights in the distance.

“Way to go, Atash!” Ryan said. He rolled down his window, letting in the cool air of the mountain valley. “Hear that?”

“What?” Ysabel asked. “I hear the sound of a stream running along the road.”

“A generator,” Dovzhenko said. “I’ll go a little farther, then we should walk up.”

Ryan checked the AKs, consolidating all the ammo into four twenty-round magazines. Eighty rounds sounded like a lot — until you were getting shot at.

Dovzhenko parked in the trees, and they each slung a rifle, easing their doors shut to hide any noise of their approach. They crept forward on their hands and knees until they reached the edge of the clearing.

The stark construction lighting, powered by the humming generator, illuminated the area beyond the trees like a stage. A rocky mountain lay beyond the pool of light. The same gravel road on which they now walked led into a black hole in the side of the mountain, while a secondary road forked to the west, continuing down into a dry wadi and then over an adjacent hill. More light spilled from the interior of a squat stone building to the right of the cave.

Three uniformed guards were posted outside — one beside the building, two at the edge of the light nearer the cave entrance.