Stephen England - Pandora's grave

None of it made sense. The sound of boots against the hard trailer floor penetrated the loud ringing in his ears. A voice proceeding out of the darkness which had once again descended over him.

“Dr. Moshe Tal?” the voice demanded, speaking English. Moshe rolled to his feet, his hands gripping the bars of his cell. “Here!”

More footsteps. Moshe blinked as a tactical flashlight was shone in on him. It played on his face for a moment while its owner apparently satisfied a question as to his identity.

“Stand in the corner of the cell, doctor. Keep your head down and cover your ears. I’m going to blow this lock.”

“Who are you?”

“Friends,” the voice replied with alarming ambiguity. “Now move it. We don’t have all night. Place the charge, sergeant.”

Gideon watched as Yossi shaped the plastic explosive with his hands, wrapping it around the crude lock. He could have shot the lock with his Uzi, but he had come too far to risk one of the bullets ricocheting and injuring Dr. Tal. Gideon shuddered at the very thought.

The Sayeret Matkal sergeant fixed a detonator to the charge and stepped back. “Charge placed, people. Stand clear.”

The team backed away while Gideon flashed the light in again on the man who had brought them all this way. He was squatted in the corner as instructed, his head tucked down. Clearly the archaeologist hadn’t forgotten his military training.

“Fire in the hole,” Yossi announced gravely.

“Fire in the hole, aye,” Gideon repeated as the sergeant pressed the detonator. The explosion echoed in the small confines of the trailer and the door went swinging inward, nearly ripped from its hinges.

Moshe felt a piece of the metal dig itself into his shoulder, but he ignored it with an effort.

Hands took hold of his arms, lifting him up. “Let’s go, doctor,” the voice ordered, low and urgent. He could dimly make out a man in commando uniform, but couldn’t see his face.

They turned him around and hurried him toward the door. That was when he realized what was going on. “My team !”

They ignored him. “You’re leaving them!” he protested, attempting to drag his feet on the smooth tile floor of the trailer.

The commando leader paused at the door, turning to face him. “We were sent to rescue you , Dr. Tal,” he stated bluntly. “My orders include no one else.”

And then they went out into the night…

6:25 P.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“I have something you need to see.” It was Ron Carter’s voice on the phone, its tone calm but unmistakably urgent.

“What is it?” Bernard Kranemeyer asked.

“An update on the sat shots Sorenson gave us.”

“I’ll be right down.”

“No need, boss,” the analyst replied. Vintage Carter, calm, cool, and collected. They hadn’t seen too much of that tonight. “I’m arranging a live stream to your terminal. Just sit tight.”

The DCS nodded, turning to his computer and switching the monitor on. A moment later the screen flashed to black and then the satellite imagery appeared.

“They’re still moving.”

“So much I see,” Kranemeyer replied, irritation in his voice. “Any idea where they’re going?”

“Every idea. Look to the right side of your screen,” Carter instructed. “Tell me what you see?”

“More thermal blooms. What is that-” Kranemeyer’s face lit up with a sudden realization. “The base camp! That stubborn son of a gun is still headed for the base camp.”

“I know. And that’s not all. See what you make of this.”

Another shot came flashing up on the screen, this time of the base camp itself. Figures were hurrying from one of the trailers toward two small vehicles parked on the edge of camp.

“What’s going on, Carter?”

“Wish I knew. I’ve ID’d the fast attack vehicles. They’re an American make, Chenowth Racing Products, Inc., built under license in Germany.”

“Exported to which countries?”

“Haven’t come up with that yet, boss.”

Kranemeyer studied the photograph for another minute. The night was going from bad to worse, spinning out of control. “I need to communicate with Nichols,” he said at last. “Right away.”

“Last I talked with Danny they’d been trying. He’s just not answering the phone.”

“Then find another way, blast it! Is there a way to override the vibrator on Nichols’ TACSAT?”

“I believe so. Let me have a chat with the boys over at S amp;T-the TACSAT-10 is their toy, after all.”

“No,” Kranemeyer replied, cutting the analyst short. “You’ll handle it. Find a work-around, but keep the circle close. Orders of the DCIA.”

“What’s going on?”

“That’s not your concern. Just play it close to the vest tonight, Ron.”

3:26 A.M.

The base camp

“All right,” Harry whispered, holding up his hand for a halt. He dropped to one knee behind a rock formation, the rest of the team forming in a huddle behind him. “This is where we break up. Go the rest of the way on our bellies.” He reached into his shirt and unfolded a small map. It was plain, no marks save those chiseled into his mind back in Washington.

“Intel says the hostages should be in one of these two trailers. They’re both in the northeast quadrant of the camp. I want them hit, fast and hard. If it’s carrying a gun, it goes down, just remember your fields of fire and stick to them. Tex, you and Davood take that quadrant. Hamid, I need you on the northwest. I’ll be coming in from due west. When you are in position, signify by toggling your mike switch twice. Other than that, maintain radio silence. No exceptions.” He glanced at the dark faces surrounding him. “Any questions?”

Davood nodded. “It’s going to be hard to stage this attack without using the radios. So why can’t we? Langley said they’re secure.”

“Langley also said the Iranians had no idea we were coming.” A grim smile creased Harry’s face. “The suits get it wrong from time to time. ‘Bout time you learned that. Radio silence. And for heaven’s sake, remember your fields of fire. Let’s roll ‘em.”

One by one, his team members slipped away into the night, leaving Harry alone again.

Time to move. He took his Kalishnikov in one hand, raising himself from behind the rocks. The camp was spread out below him, in a hollow of the valley, lab trailers ghostly white in the moonlight. His eyes swept from side to side, in an attempt to pick out the sentries he knew must be patrolling the perimeter.

Nothing. Only silence hung over the plateau. He crawled fifty meters, then covered behind a large rock, plucking a small pair of binoculars from a pocket of his combat vest.

His radio buzzed with static, then Hamid’s voice came through, loud and clear. “FULLBACK to EAGLE SIX, the camp is empty. No signs of life.”

“Confound it, FULLBACK,” Harry hissed, “you were told to maintain radio silence.”

“Roger that, boss, but it’s like a ghost town. Didn’t the tangos leave anyone home?”

Major Hossein’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. What was going on? He didn’t understand-the next words answered his question.

“Continue moving in on the base camp, EAGLE SIX?”

“Follow your orders, FULLBACK,” the American leader replied, anger clear in his tones. “Toggle mikes twice to signal your position. Now get the deuce off the air.”

“Roger, EAGLE SIX.”

Hossein spun into action, charging down the hillside toward the main body of his men, heedless of the American sniper who was still out there somewhere.

“I want twenty men back in the trucks!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the rocky slopes. “The Americans have tricked us.”