Pandora's grave

Thomas aimed the barrel of the AK up the ridge, seeking out their hiding places. Movement came from a thicket and he squeezed the trigger gently, a burst of fire ripping out from the rifle’s barrel.

The movement stopped.

His eyes scanned the landscape carefully, looking for further threats. Three bodies were in sight. Another perhaps lay dead in the scrub.

That left one. Thomas hit the magazine release and checked on his ammunition supply. Seven rounds remaining. It would have to be enough.

He looked over and saw Estere laying there prone on the hill, a Tokarev pistol clutched in both hands, her eyes focused intently up the slope.

Then he saw it, a betraying movement out of the corner of his eye. A hand reaching for a discarded Kalishnikov about ten meters to his right.

Thomas held his breath, shifting the AK carefully to his shoulder. The man had learned caution, and was crawling forward on his belly, Thomas judged, unable to see anything but the hand.

Time itself seemed to slow down as the man shifted forward. He had almost reached his rifle when he put his head up to look.

Thomas squeezed the trigger twice, sending two 7.62mm bullets crashing through the man’s brain.

Target down. He felt the tension drain from his body and realized suddenly that the palms of his hands were slick with sweat. He didn’t remember being that nervous in years.

Silence. It hit him suddenly, that all the firing, even from below in the camp, had ceased. Estere rose and walked over to where one of the Iranian soldiers lay moaning, his legs nearly torn off by the grenade blast.

She aimed the Tokarev down and pulled the trigger once. The moaning stopped suddenly.

“Estere!” Thomas turned to see Sirvan appear from below, at the head of his fighters, his clothing stained with blood. He swept his sister into his arms, embracing her fiercely.

For a long moment, Thomas stood there, awkwardly, his hands still gripping the nearly-empty AK. Then Sirvan glanced at him over his sister’s shoulder and mouthed a single word.

Thanks.

5:30 A.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

A light rain was falling as Director Lay’s car wound its way through the network of checkpoints stretching into the bowels of the parking garage. It was shaping up to be an ugly day, not to mention the weather.

The sight of Ron Carter standing next to his parking space did little to lighten his mood. “What’s going wrong now, Ron?” Director Lay snapped, exiting the limousine as his bodyguard opened the door for him.

“I’ve got something you need to see, sir.”

“Don’t you always?” Lay asked, regretting the sarcasm moments after it left his lips. When Carter failed to rise at the sally, the DCIA sighed. “My office or yours?”

“Yours, sir.”

Lay nodded to his bodyguard as they entered the elevator. “Take us up, Pete.”

Not another word was spoken between the two men until the door of Lay’s office closed behind them. “Coffee?” Lay offered.

“No thanks, boss. Any more caffeine in my system and something’s bound to go haywire.”

“Late night?”

“Didn’t go home,” was the succinct reply. “We got this about four hours ago.”

Lay accepted the thick folder, taking a seat behind his desk. “What is it?”

“A report from Dr. Maria Schuyler, over at Bethesda.”

“She’s running their bio-weapons research department, right?” Lay asked, his brow furrowing. “What does she want with us?”

“If you will recall, boss, we had the boys at Intel send over those pictures of the cadaver from the field team. It would appear as though that fell within her purview.”

“The pictures were scrubbed of background data, I trust?”

“Of course, sir. We got another memo from her at 0400, demanding to know where they were taken.”

“Great,” Lay murmured. He was suffering from the beginnings of a headache, and from the looks of the day, it was only going to get worse. “And we replied?”

“We haven’t. I figured you’d better take a look at her data before formulating a response.”

The DCIA opened the folder with a half-hearted gesture. “What did she conclude?”

“That’s something I think you should read for yourself, sir.”

By the time he had finished fifteen minutes later, the blood had largely drained from Lay’s face. His fingers trembled as he tucked the last sheet back into the folder. Outside the window, the rain continued to fall unabated.

“Did you have the Intelligence Directorate run her figures?”

The analyst nodded wordlessly.

Lay pursed his lips together, still staring out the window. “Dear God, they’ve opened Pandora’s grave…”

7:45 A.M.

Dulles International Airport

Virginia