“This may be a suicide mission,” he said, staring straight out the front window. “Assuming it’s authorized, you’ll be dropped into Iran. It’s doubtful they’d keep you alive if you are captured.”

“OK.”

“You have to locate someone,” added Danny. “An American. He may be in custody by the time the mission is approved. If so, the mission will continue.”

“OK.”

“He can’t be allowed to tell the Iranians anything.”

“OK.”

Danny turned to look at Stoner. The former CIA officer was looking straight ahead, as if he were watching a movie. It would have to be a boring movie, as his face was expressionless.

“You’ll have to leave promptly.”

“Sure.”

“Immediately.”

“Yes.”

“You can say no,” Danny told him.

“Understood. Let’s go.”

6

Iran

THEY HID THE CAR ABOUT THREE MILES FROM THE CAVE that would be their sanctuary, parking it behind a ramshackle cottage off Highway 81 that the advance team had scouted a few weeks before. Grease arranged some threads on the seat as markers to tell them if it had been disturbed—the last of their surveillance devices had been destroyed with the truck—and then ran to join Turk and Gorud in the pickup. Grease suggested he’d drive, but Gorud insisted on staying at the wheel. He was better with the language.

Turk, exhausted, slumped in the middle, giving way to fatigue. He drifted into a vague sleep. Li was there, walking with him, talking. They were in Sicily, though not anywhere that he could remember being, even though it felt very familiar.

The beach was made of rocks rather than sand. Surf frothed up, running over their shoes and pants—he was in his dress uniform; Li was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that clung between her breasts.

A truck careened down on the beach. It was the military vehicle the team had been driving when they first met.

Dread was at the wheel, eyes fixed on some destination beyond them, in the water. When the truck drew near, Grease leapt from the back. The truck burst into flames as it reached the water’s edge.

It exploded. Li ran. Turk turned and saw Grease coming at him, an AK-47 aimed at his skull—

“Hey, come on. You’re too damn heavy to carry.”

Turk bolted from the dream back into reality. Grease was standing outside the truck, leaning in and shaking him. They were in the cave.

Turk shook his head, as if that might shake off the horrible image that lingered.

“You’re drooling,” said Grease. “I hope she was worth it.”

Turk wiped his mouth as he got out. There was a faint bluish glow to his right. He walked toward it, cautious at first, worried that he was still in the dream.

He found a turn and was nearly blinded by the flood of late afternoon sun. Gorud, an AK-47 cradled in his arms, knelt on one knee behind some rocks ahead. The mouth of the cave was another fifty feet away, up a gentle slope.

“How long did I sleep?” Turk asked the CIA officer.

“A bit.”

“I don’t remember getting here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This place is bigger than I thought it would be.”

Gorud said nothing. A pair of binoculars sat on the rock right in front of him.

“Mind if I take a look?” asked Turk, reaching for them. Gorud didn’t stop him.

From their vantage point they had a good view of the countryside, speckled with more green than the area they were in the day before. A wide expanse of concrete sat in the distance; he focused the binoculars, moved them around, then finally satisfied himself that he was looking at a runway. He couldn’t see any planes, except for the glowing white carcasses of two old trainers—Texans, he thought, though from this distance it was impossible to tell.

“That’s an airport?” he asked Gorud.

“Was. They only use it to fly equipment and VIPs in and out now,” said the CIA officer.

“We could use it to get out.”

“There are no planes there. The standing orders direct that any air force plane attempting to land there be shot down. If the pilot survives, he’s to be shot summarily. We thought of using it,” added Gorud. “Too risky getting in with anything smaller than two full companies. Didn’t work.”

Turk nodded, though he continued to stare at the runway. It was long, in perfect shape except for a patched wedge at one side.

“How are you feeling?” Gorud asked.

“I’m good.”

“You should get some sleep,” Grease said from the shadows behind them. Even after all this time, the fact that he was hovering nearby surprised Turk.

“I just slept. You go.” He looked at Gorud. “Where are we?”

“Within ten miles of both possible targets,” said Gorud. “Site Two is that way. One is a little farther away, on the left, down.”

Turk looked in the direction of the second site. “There’s a village.”

“It’s about a mile farther on.”

“People.” He couldn’t see past the village. The uneven ground blocked his view. “It’s probably not the right one.”

“They say it’s more likely.”

“What kind of idiots would put a plant so close to people?”

Grease snorted in derision; to him the answer was obvious: that was exactly where they would put it to make the Americans less likely to attack.

Turk put the glasses down and walked back into the cave to the pickup. The space was about three times as wide as the vehicle was long, though it narrowed the deeper he went. The top and the side on his right were jagged, but straight lines ran down the wall on the left. He guessed they were left from drilling and explosives; the cave had clearly been widened before it was abandoned.

If that was so, he soon found a possible reason: he could hear the sound of water dripping in the distance. He walked toward it, gradually losing the light until he had to reach to the wall to make sure of where he was.

“Careful,” said Grease when he stumbled. The Delta sergeant flicked on a small light. “There’s a pool of water ahead.”

The beam caught the edge.

“Salty in here,” said Turk. “Like being at the sea.”

“Must’ve been part of the ocean a couple of million years ago.” Grease shone the light to the right. “There’s a passage up around the water. Come on.”

He led Turk to a narrow, slippery ledge. As they started to walk, Turk slipped. Grease grabbed him and pushed him hard against the rocks to keep him from falling in.

“Easy,” said Turk. “I can swim.”

“We’re not sure how deep it is,” said Grease. “But it’s more than a hundred feet.”

“Really?”

“This was originally cut for a bunker.”

Sobered, Turk clung to the wall but kept going. The path extended another thirty feet or so. After that, the ledge became more of a walkway, wide enough for two people. Twenty feet farther, it widened into a large hall. Grease led Turk to a pile of rocks, playing the light on it. There were packs and boxes just beyond them.

“Backup gear,” he said. “MREs, ammo, more guns. Spare radios.”

“Damn, I forgot to check in,” said Turk.

“I did it.”

“You did it?”

“You were sleeping. I didn’t want them worrying.”

“You should’ve woken me up. Did they say anything?”

Grease shook his head.

“Did you ask about extraction?” asked Turk.

“No.”

“Did they say anything?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“They’re not going to come for us. The reaction team. The SEALs were pulled back.” Grease knew as much. Turk was just telling himself, needed to state reality so it was clear to him. “If something screws up, they’re not going to come for us. We’re on our own.”

“Something did screw up,” said Grease. “The mission changed. Come on with me this way. I’ll show you the back exit. There are some rocks that have to be taken out of the way so it can be used.”