Strike Force

“We’re outta here.” Boomer began dragging Lefferts away……just as another explosive ripped across the Black Stallion, sending pieces of composite skin flying in the air atop a column of fire. Boomer, egged on by the feeling that the entire front of his body was afire, kept on going as fast as he could. He knew that the concrete pump house was the only bit of cover nearby, so he pulled and pulled as fast as he…

Just then it appeared as if the entire fuselage of the XR-A9 Black Stallion erupted and burst apart like a child’s balloon. Boomer had a brief sensation of floating in mid-air before hitting something behind him. The cloud of fire and smoke enveloped him, as did several pieces of his beloved spaceplane, and then everything went dark…

SAPAMURAD NIYAZOV CENTER FOR LAW

AND ORDER, ASHKHABAD, TURKMENISTAN

THAT SAME TIME

“I hope I didn’t offend you, Mr. President,” Azar said. “I am thankful and more than a little surprised to be under the supervision of the president of Turkmenistan himself.” She paused, then asked, “Whom are we waiting for, Mr. President?”

“Your benefactors, Princess,” Turabi said. “I wish I could take all the credit for this event, but I’m doing this as a favor to an old friend.”

“I am still grateful for any assistance you might provide us, Mr. President.”

“Not at all.” Turabi looked at his watch impatiently. “But if your benefactors don’t show up soon, there might be…how shall I say it…unexpected complications.”

“Like what, Turabi?” an electronically synthesized voice said in Turkmeni. The ex — Afghan fighter whirled around. Perched atop a nearby lamppost, completely hidden in the shadows and glare, was a figure in a dark outfit. “What are you doing here?”

Those on the ground could make out no other details — but despite that, Turabi smiled. “Judging by your size and gruff tone of voice, I would say I am speaking to the infamous Master Sergeant Christopher Wohl,” he said. Azar strained to see who Turabi was talking to, but that was impossible. “I am here to make sure this transfer goes smoothly.”

“That was not smart, Turabi,” the voice of Chris Wohl said. “You should get out of here, now.”

“Where is your comrade General Briggs?”

“Never mind the chit-chat, Turabi,” Wohl said. “Turn that armored car around and head for the airport as planned.”

“Very well, very well,” Turabi said. “I will leave the rest in your very capable hands, Master Sergeant.” He shouted orders to the drivers and guards, who closed the doors and boarded the armored car, then motioned to his guards. “Open the gates and let the vehicles pass.” He got into his sedan and, with his guards flanking the vehicle, it motored in reverse toward the gate.

Chris jumped down from his hiding place and approached the armored vehicle. The guards fearfully stepped back away from the menacing figure, their weapons upraised. Parviz Najar and Mara Saidi pushed Azar behind them protectively when they saw the gray-clad helmeted figure in the door of the vehicle. “Stop where you are!” Najar shouted in Farsi.

“I am here to take the princess and you out of here,” Chris spoke in electronically synthesized Farsi. “Get in the driver’s seat.”

“Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” Chris responded through his electronic translator. “Use the vehicle radio or telephone to contact your network and let’s get out of here.”

“What network? What princess? What are you talking about?”

“Listen carefully,” the unearthly apparition said angrily, leaning into the vehicle menacingly to emphasize his point. “I don’t know you, and I don’t care one bit about you, but I’ve been ordered to get you out of the city and in the hands of your escape network into Iran. If you deny you’re the Iranian princess and her bodyguards who escaped from protective custody in the United States and are trying to return to Iran, then I’ve made a mistake. In that case, I’ll be happy to leave you here in the custody of the Turkmenis and the Iranians. Now which will it be?”

Azar elbowed her way between Najar and Saidi. “I am Azar Qagev, sir, heir to the Peacock Throne of Persia,” she said in perfect English, “and I am grateful for your help. Major, take the wheel. Lieutenant, get those weapons from the guards, then call the secondary blind drop number as soon as we’re on our way. We’ll proceed to the secondary contact point as planned.”

“Glad to see someone’s taking charge and not playing games,” Chris said. “Move out.”

“Where will you be, sir?”

“Not far. Move.” And in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.