As he nudged back toward the road, he spotted the bus about two kilometers ahead. Slowing to just above stall speed, he leaned toward the canopy, getting a good view of the road and the vehicle. It was facing south, off the road on the shoulder. The old highway was to the right.

“I have found a bus,” Vahid told the local ground commander. “Stand by for the position.”

The commander took the information with great enthusiasm. Vahid’s description seemed to match the bus that had been stolen. The only problem was it was facing in the wrong direction—toward the town where it had been taken. But that didn’t seem to bother the ground commander, who asked Vahid to take a low pass and see if there were enemies nearby.

“Vehicle looks abandoned,” Vahid radioed the ground unit. “The area around it is empty.”

“Acknowledged, Shahin One,” said a new, more authoritative voice. It belonged to Colonel Khorasani, the Guard officer who had been assigned to investigate the situation. He was handling his communications personally. “I have ground units en route. They should arrive in zero-five minutes.”

“Acknowledged. We’re going to spin around the area and see if we can find anyone.”

“Police units are coming down from the north,” added the local ground commander. “They will arrive quickly.”

“Acknowledged.”

Vahid and his wingman began a slow, spiraling rise above the area.

“Farm building to the north on the side of the hill,” said Kayvan. “Maybe they are there.”

“Make a run,” Vahid told him. “I’ll follow you.”

Vahid climbed out and changed positions with his wingman, so that Shahin One was now trailing Shahin Two. The buildings were on a small, nearly flat tongue of land. Just below, he saw an abandoned orchard, its trees parched stubs.

A crooked road ran from the highway to the farm, then petered out. Neither Vahid nor the wingman could see any other vehicles, let alone people.

“Shahin One, what’s your status?” asked the Pasdaran colonel.

“We’re waiting for ground units to arrive. We have no contacts.”

“We have a report of a vehicle stolen from Sar-e-Kavir. A farm vehicle. We believe there may be a connection.”

“Do you have a description?”

“Stand by.”

20

Iran

THEY TOOK A SHORTCUT ACROSS THE RIDGE, DRIVING on a hard-pack road that got them out in front of Granderson and the others. Grease had been studying the maps and gotten advice from Granderson; there was an Iranian army barracks about twenty-five miles ahead on the highway. Once past that, they should have an easy time north; they could cut south of the cities of Semna¯n and Sorkheh, then follow the highway west for another two hours or so before veering once more onto narrower roads in the mountain foothills. At this point they would pick up one of the trails the Delta team had scouted as an alternate route to the target area, aiming for a hiding place originally planned as part of the escape route. Ironically, it was within a half-hour drive of their new target area. They would stay there through the next day, achieve their objective, and leave.

It was easy when you laid it out step by step that way. Simple and direct.

Turk leaned into the back, grabbing one of their last two bottles of water. He took two sips, then put it back.

“Rationing yourself?” Grease asked.

“Yeah.”

“There should be more water at the place where we stop. A team went in and set it up two weeks ago.”

“What if it’s been found?”

“Nobody’ll find it.”

Turk folded his arms. “I hope you’re right.”

“Granderson and the truck are two miles ahead,” said Grease. “Pickup’s about a half mile ahead of that. Gorud’s driving. The Israeli swapped with him in the troop truck.”

“Why?”

“His leg’s pretty screwed up. Didn’t you notice?”

“I thought he was all right.”

Grease shook his head. Badly battered when they encountered the police, the Israeli’s knee had locked; most likely there were torn ligaments and cartilage damage as well.

“You think Green and the others are going to make it?” Turk asked.

Grease thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Probably or maybe?”

Another pause as he weighed his estimate. “Probably,” he announced at last.

“That’s what everybody has to say, right?” asked Turk, suddenly oppressed by the weight of what they had to do. His energy had completely drained, taking his optimism with it.

“You know what will help?” asked Grease. “Focus your mind on the next checkpoint, the next step along the way. If you try to keep the whole mission in your head, it may wig you out. But if you go from A to B to C, it’ll be much easier. It’s a fact.”

Turk’s ears perked up—he heard a jet nearby, low.

Two of them.

“Somebody’s looking for us,” he told Grease, thumbing above.

FIVE HUNDRED METERS ABOVE THE GROUND, VAHID rode Shahin One up over the ridge, banking easily to the west. There was a car ahead, white and fairly new—probably a government official, Vahid thought, maybe even someone from the interior ministry. As he nudged a little lower, he saw a glint in the distance—another vehicle three or four kilometers farther along the highway.

In normal times this would hardly have been unusual, but today there was so little traffic it couldn’t help but pique his interest. Vahid steadied himself at three hundred meters and waited for the vehicle to appear.

It was a pickup truck. Just as Vahid was about to turn off, he saw the top of another vehicle just descending a low hill. This one was larger, another truck.

“Shahin Two, do you see the vehicle beyond the pickup?”

“Confirmed.”

“Looks like it could be a farm truck. I’m going to get a closer look.”

“On your six.”

Vahid pushed even lower, dropping through three hundred meters. The truck matched the description—a green farm vehicle with slat sides—but it had a canvas top, which hadn’t been described.

“Two, radio the Pasdaran colonel and see if you can get a definitive description,” said Vahid. “I’m going to take another pass.”

TURK FELT THE MUSCLES IN HIS STOMACH TIGHTEN AS the MiGs turned ahead. They were definitely interested in something on the highway, and since there was no other traffic nearby, that meant them. He bent forward to the dashboard, trying to get a glimpse as the planes flew by.

“Only air-to-air missiles,” he said as the lead plane thundered past. The wingman was higher and offset to the south; hard to see, but Turk guessed he would be equipped the same.

“What’s that mean?” asked Grease.

“Means he won’t be able to bomb us. But he’ll have a cannon he can use if he decides to shoot.”

Turk opened the car window and leaned out, trying to see where the planes were. He wished them away far to the east. Instead, he saw them turning in the distance behind them.

“Coming back for another look,” he told Grease.

“Captain, you seeing those airplanes?” Grease asked over the team radio as Turk slid back down. The sun was just setting; the red glow on the horizon might make it tough for the pilot to see.

Not tough enough, though.

VAHID ASKED THE COMMANDER TO REPEAT WHAT HE SAID.

“You are ordered to stop the farm truck,” said Colonel Khorasani. “Destroy it.”

“Colonel, it appears to be a civilian vehicle.”

“It is a vehicle filled with Israeli commandos.”

The colonel’s voice was completely rational, and soft rather than loud—which chilled Vahid even more. “It is a little different than you described when you radioed me earlier.”

The colonel was silent for a moment. “Should I call your commander?”

“Of course not,” said Vahid. “I want to make sure I understand your requirements. My fuel tanks are close to empty.”