Pandora's grave

Gideon Laner toggled his lip mike. “Time to roll, Yossi. Where are you?”

“I’ve got eyes on you, boss. We’re parked at your nine o’clock. See the green SUV?”

“Roger,” Gideon replied. “Coming to you.”

He wrapped an affectionate arm around the young woman’s waist and led her across the parking lot, laughing like a couple very much in love.

The first stage of the mission was a success…

10:08 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

There. Ron Carter’s hand flicked the mouse cursor across the screen, double-clicking on a Deployment folder.

The folder opened in a separate window and he ran two fingers through his hair, a nervous tic common to his moments of anxiety.

The phone rang, jarring him from his concentration. He grabbed it and tucked it between ear and shoulder, his eyes running down the database index that filled the screen.

“Yes? Yes, Stacy, include Morgan in the hourlies-he’s cleared for CRITIC effective last Wednesday. It’s time he got brought up to speed. Yes, I understand.”

A line caught his attention and everything else went blank as he focused in on the screen before. Yes. Yes!

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, ignoring a confused query from the party on the other end of the line.

He abruptly disconnected the call and began dialing a new number. “Margaret, I need to speak to Director Lay.”

7:25 P.M. Tehran Time

The Alborz Mountains

“I’ll make an incision here with my combat knife,” Thomas stated, drawing an imaginary “Y” on his own chest. “Then we will need to saw off the sternum and lift the heart from the chest cavity.”

Sirvan winced. “This is necessary?”

Thomas nodded. “We’ve got to drain blood from the aorta in order to obtain the samples I need. That’s the whole purpose of going down there.” He looked into the young Kurd’s face and went on. “I can do this myself if you’d rather not.”

Azad Badir leaned forward, a resolute look on his weathered face. “You misunderstand my grandson, Thomas. A Kurd has not been born that fears the shedding of blood. It is just that-what you suggest, in our culture, implies the desecration of the dead.”

“I understand,” Thomas replied, choosing his words with care. “But you must understand how important this is. If the Iranians are not stopped, they could use this bacteria anywhere. Against your people again, against mine-or any other. This is our chance.”

The shepherd seemed to consider this statement for a long moment, as though struggling within himself. At length he raised his eyes to look Thomas in the face.

“You are a brave man, Mr. Patterson. I have seen many such, and never have I let bravery go unrewarded. Go, and may Allah guide your feet.”

Thomas stood, picking up the AK from where it lay at his side. “I thank you,” he responded, reaching forward to clasp the shepherd’s hand.

Sirvan rose to his feet, advancing toward him. “It is not right that you should go alone,” he announced grimly. “You have proven yourself as one of the peshmerga. You have killed in our defense. You are blood of our blood and flesh of our flesh. I have given my word and I will not go back.”

Thomas turned, looking into those dark, enigmatic eyes, reading the friendship written there. “Welcome.”

All at once, a sharp buzzing broke the silence among the three men and Azad Badir reached for the satellite phone on his hip.

“Yes? Thomas, it is for you.”

10:34 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“We’ve had a development here, Thomas,” Director Kranemeyer announced, his eyes running down the screen before him in the nerve center of the Clandestine Service.

“Yes?”

“I want you to hold off on your operation in the valley. Carter just located an Army bio-weapons outfit in Mosul. We’ve contacted CENTCOM and are drawing up requisition orders for the bio-suit you’ll need.”

“Make that two, if at all possible,” Thomas interjected. “I have a volunteer. What is your means of delivery?”

“A GPS-guided High Altitude Low Opening HALO drop. We’ll run it out of Q-West again. Should be able to rig up everything you’ll need to properly secure the samples.”

“What is my timeframe?”

“Yet to be determined. I’d say early morning, your time. Any questions?”

“No. I think we’re good.”

11:23 A.M.

A park

Fairfax, Virginia

Perhaps it was a reflection upon his failures as a father that his wife had expressed surprise at his desire to take the children out to the public park. Thinking back, Michael Shapiro couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.

It was a beautiful day, after all. And the twins wouldn’t be harmed by missing mass this once.

He watched them at play, a sad smile curving his lips as he remembered the day they had come home from the hospital. His precious baby boy and girl. The American dream.

They were growing up without him. Perhaps, in the end, that was just as well.