Pandora's grave

Hamid closed his eyes, fighting against the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him, his fingers wound tightly in the mesh netting stretched against the side of the fuselage. Flying. It gave him a feeling of helplessness. There was nothing to do, nothing he could do except pray. Allah give us wings..

“Climb, climb,” Hanson whispered through clenched teeth, his knuckles white as he pulled back on the yoke, urging the heavy plane higher. It seemed to falter, the engines groaning as the rain hit full force, droplets of water pelting against the windows of the cockpit. The airfield lights disappeared in the gale and Hanson forced his gaze down, focusing on his instruments. There was only one way out. Up…

Thirty minutes later the battered aircraft rose above the clouds, into the clear, starlit black of night. Hanson released control of the Hercules to autopilot and leaned back in his seat, letting out a sigh of relief. The danger was past. The hardest part of the mission was over.

For his passengers in the back, it was only beginning.

Feeling the tremors of the airframe subside, Hamid released his deathgrip on the mesh and opened his eyes.

“That was fun,” Thomas observed sarcastically.

“Yeah.” Hamid checked his dive watch and marked the time. A tight smile on his face, he looked over at his team and announced, “We drop at oh-one hundred. Less than two hours…”

Chapter Seventeen

12:03 A.M. Local Time, October 4th

The marina

Tel Aviv-Yafo, Israel

A forest of masts reached into the night sky from the multitude of sailboats and yachts docked in the marina. Tex put the car into park and Harry motioned for Hossein to get out, keeping the.45 in his pocket trained on the major as they exited the car.

It was a beautiful, clear night. The water shimmered with the reflection of hundreds of lights from the boats at anchor, flickering like diamonds set afire. Loud music pulsed from the deck of a nearby yacht as the agents moved down toward the wharf. A party was still in full swing.

Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Harry moved closer to Farshid Hossein as the trio made their way through the crowd.

A woman was standing outside the small office that served as the marina headquarters and security office, her form backlit by the building lights. She looked up at his approach, taking another long drag on the cigarette between her fingers.

“Evening,” was her curt greeting. “You need something?”

“Bonjour. My friends and I are in need of a boat,” Harry began, gesturing to Tex and Hossein.

“What do you plan to use the boat for?” she responded, exhaling the smoke and watching as the breeze blew it away.

He smiled. “We’re birdwatchers from southern France. Following the migration of the whippoorwill.”

“They are flying south this time of year, aren’t they?” she asked, throwing the cigarette butt against the gravel of the roadway.

“Well nigh from Paris to Dakar,” he replied, finishing the code exchange.

She nodded. “Come with me. I think I have what you’re looking for.”

4:42 P.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“We just heard from Nichols,” Kranemeyer announced, sweeping hurriedly into the DCIA’s office. “They’re at sea, on their way to the drop zone.”

David Lay looked up, his fingers laced together as he leaned forward in his chair. “Have a seat, Barney.”

“Thanks.” The DCS sighed heavily as he sank into the chair in front of Lay’s desk. “Haven’t kept this type of hours since the skinnies holed us up in Mogadishu.”

Lay nodded. “We have a problem.”

“Oh?”

“I just got off the phone with Tahir al-Din Husayni. He’s agreed to help.”

A wary look came into Kranemeyer’s eyes. “And? Where’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one, really. At least not from his perspective. Just necessary concessions to his religious sensibilities. He can’t permit non-Muslims to enter the mosque proper.”

“Then we’ll have to stop them before they get inside,” Kranemeyer retorted. “That, or rely on Zakiri and Sarami.”

The CIA director grimaced. “Make sure Nichols and Zakiri have the message loud and clear. Under no circumstances is Sarami to be left unattended on this mission. No circumstances. Where are we with the extraction of Isfahani?”

“Our people are with him, at his residence. He wants to see this through before he leaves.”

“That’s his decision,” Lay acknowledged. “Instruct your assets to monitor his communications and make sure his inquiries don’t jeopardize operational security or his personal well-being.”

“A protective detail, essentially?”

“That’s right. If he gets taken out at this point, it becomes a whole new ballgame. After the mission is over…”

“We can’t bring him back to the States,” Kranemeyer said, rising to his feet. “There’s no way that’s viable politically.”

“Never intended to.”

“Meaning?”