Stephen England - Pandora's grave

Tancretti screamed again as Davood pulled fiercely against him, pulling toward the window, toward safety. Tancretti’s pant leg ripped open, the metal that had held it cutting into his skin. His arms and upper body came through the window. He was held by one leg.

Flames licked toward them, consuming the helicopter. Another few moments and the fire would eat through the protective lining of the fuel tank. His time was almost gone.

Davood balanced the pilot’s torso on his shoulder, freeing his hand to reach through the window again. His fingers closed around the trapped ankle, pulling with all his remaining strength.

It came free suddenly and he staggered backward, losing his balance. The colonel landed on top of him, crying out as his leg struck the ground.

They lay there for a moment of time, heat washing over them. Tancretti opened his eyes, looking the CIA man in the face.

“Thanks,” he whispered, forcing the words out past cracked and bleeding lips.

Davood nodded wordlessly, rolling over and running his fingers quickly down the pilot’s legs. A grimace spread slowly across his face.

Both legs were broken below the knee. Tancretti was out of commission.

He leaned down and scooped up the colonel in his arms, staggering to his feet. Flames crackled behind them as he straightened, taking one last look behind him.

The Huey was almost consumed.

He took a step away from the wreck, toward safety. And then the night exploded behind them…

“Copy explosion at the crash site. LONGBOW, do you have visual?”

“Negative, boss. Line-of-sight blocked by the hill behind me.”

“GUNHAND?”

“Nothing clear, the fire’s messing with my NVGs.”

Major Hossein looked up from the map he was studying, shading his flashlight with his hand. He touched his corporal on the arm. “The American they call LONGBOW is somewhere in this area. Take five men and eliminate him.”

The man nodded briefly, rose up from behind the rock where they both crouched. Moved off into the night. Went to his death…

The American would not be taken easily, Hossein knew that. The men he had sent out would die, pawns in the game that had begun in these mountains. Their sacrifice would enable him to pinpoint the sniper’s location.

A means to an end.

“Any sign of FULLBACK?” Harry whispered into his lip mike, clutching his Kalishnikov in sweaty hands as he knelt behind a large boulder.

“Negative, EAGLE SIX.” It was Tex. His voice sounded strained.

“You’re sounding like a broken record, GUNHAND,” Harry replied, grinning for the first time that night. Their conversation was rudely interrupted.

“EAGLE SIX, I have targets.” It was Thomas. “Northwest of your position. Engaging.”

Thomas took quick aim down the scope of the SV-98, resting his cross-hairs on the chest of the point man. Center-of-mass.

That would have to do, until he could find out how badly his scope had been jarred in the landing.

His finger curled slowly around the trigger of the Russian-built sniper rifle, memories flooding back through his mind. Of missions past. Of the men he had killed. Of the last time he had used the SV-98. Azerbaijan…

The rifle’s report echoed through the night like the crack of a whip, a bullet speeding through the darkness. The corporal leading the patrol straightened suddenly, a red stain spreading across the stomach of his shirt.

He crumpled then, like a broken doll, his body sprawling across the sand and dirt. His men scattered, seeking whatever shelter they could find.

Thomas nearly took his eyes off the scope in surprise. He had expected the first shot to be a miss. Chalk one up …

He was shooting a little low, but there wasn’t time to correct that. He would just have to compensate for it.

The figures running for cover glowed pale green in his night-vision scope. A sharp click , the bolt-action sliding crisply into place as he racked another round into the chamber of the SV-98.

Another shot, another kill, another body collapsing into the dust. It was like a shooting gallery…

2:29 A.M.

The drop zone

“Lieutenant, the perimeter is clear. No hostiles. Copy?”

Gideon cupped his hand to his ear, listening to Chaim’s report. “Affirmative. I copy.”

He turned back to the FAV, spreading out a small cloth map on the hood of the vehicle. “We have thirty-two kilometers to go in the next half-hour. Yossi, I want you to take the lead vehicle to an overlook position-here,” he indicated, drawing a circle on the map with his index finger. “Chaim will go with you and prepare to snipe down into the camp. Nathan and I will take the second vehicle and go in the back way.”

He paused and looked around at his team members, their faces shadowed in the glow of his flashlight. “Intelligence indicates our target is inside this building here. We’ve got to hit that building fast, secure it, then escort SCHLIEMANN to the extraction zone. I’ll be sending him with you, Yossi. Understand?”

The small sergeant nodded briefly. “Right, chief.”

“What about the other archaeologists?”

It was Nathan Gur. Gideon glanced at him in the darkness, saw the look on the young man’s face. “We do not have room in the vehicles,” he replied brusquely. “They will be left behind.”

He folded up the map and replaced it in an inner pocket. “Let’s move out.”

2:33 A.M. Tehran Time

The crash site

Davood came back into the realm of the conscious feeling a hand touch his shoulder, a voice whispering to him, “Are you okay, my brother?”

It was Hamid.

Davood rolled over on his back, biting his lip as pain shot through his veins. Tancretti was nowhere to be seen. The explosion must have flung them apart, he thought numbly, the sound still ringing in his ears. He wondered how long he had been unconscious.

“BIRDMASTER?” he whispered, gazing up into Hamid’s face as the tall man bent over him. “Where is he?”

Hamid stood to his feet, glancing around them. Finally he spotted a figure stretched out in the sand about six feet away.

“There,” he said solemnly.

Davood raised himself up on his elbows, testing himself carefully. Nothing seemed to be broken. Just cut-and bruised. Hamid was looking at him again, his face looking strangely misshapen with the night-vision goggles covering his eyes. A giant bug-like creature from one of the American alien movies Davood had watched as a child.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“No. I have to check the colonel,” was his reply, carefully rising to his feet.

“Very good,” Hamid retorted shortly, “I will report our situation to EAGLE SIX.” He paused. “Where is your radio?”

Davood’s hand went to his belt, searching for the small transmitter. He shook his head, a rueful smile crossing his face. “Must have lost it in the explosion.”

A curt nod. “EAGLE SIX, this is FULLBACK. Sitrep?”

12:36 A.M. Local Time

The personal residence of Avi ben Shoham

Overlooking Lake Galilee

Counting sheep had never worked for the Mossad chief. Neither had counting terrorists, for that matter. He knew them by heart, every last man who had struck Israel and was still living to boast about it. They didn’t help him sleep. He went back to his nightstand and closed the dossier on Ibrahim Quasim.

Case closed. Another body in a Palestinian morgue. Another terrorist dead.

His eyes flickered to the portrait of his wife hanging over the bed. It had been a long-time wish of hers. Painted when he had worked in the Israeli Embassy in Paris, it was the way he wanted to remember her. A beautiful woman in the prime of her life.