Either they would attack another lab or they would seek to escape.

They would have to wait until nightfall in any event. Traveling during the day was too dangerous—as Khorasani had just proven.

Where to hide? The barren lands nearby were less than ideal, since they could be scouted by air—and would be.

Kaveh Industrial City was twenty-one miles away, due west. There were many buildings there, including several dozen that were abandoned. It would be an ideal place to hide.

Could they reach it on foot?

Too far.

“What’s the town in the distance?” Khorasani asked one of the soldiers standing nearby.

“Istgah-E Kuh Pang.”

“Is it big?”

“No, Colonel. A few buildings. The train runs through.”

“Find your sergeant and tell him I want an immediate report. I will be at my car.” Khorasani walked down the hill to his vehicle, where Sergeant Karim had just finished counting the money. “Find me a map of this place Istgah-E Kuh,” he said. “See what units are in the area. Have them secure it and wait for our arrival.”

“Yes, Colonel. Air General Shirazi wanted to speak to you. He said it was urgent.”

“Urgent.” The word seemed like a spoon of bitter medicine in his throat. Khorasani considered blowing him off, but decided it would be more useful to know exactly what the general was thinking.

“Get him,” he told the aide.

Khorasani braced himself for an argument when the general came on the line, but Shirazi surprised him by apologizing.

“It was wrong of me to hang up on you,” said the general. “We both have the same goal. The pressure, of course, is on both of us.”

“The air force especially,” said Khorasani sharply.

“I have spoken to all of my squadron commanders personally. We have seen no aircraft. The radar data backs this up, as do our allies.”

Allies meant Russia, which had loaned Iran radar technicians some months before. The technicians were low-level people, and not necessarily the most savory characters, Khorasani knew, but they did lend some credence to Shirazi’s contention.

Khorasani, however, was not ready to back down.

“The American planes are stealthy and launch from great distances,” he said. “They could easily have launched this attack.”

“Nonsense. I’ve already seen the damage at Fordow 12. There is no bomb crater—the attack was done from the inside.”

“Doubtful.”

“You’ve already completed your investigation? Of an attack that is less than a few hours old?” said Shirazi.

Khorasani rubbed his cheek. “What is your point, General? Why did you call?”

“My point is that you should be looking for infiltrators and spies,” said Shirazi. “As the air force is.”

“I am doing everything I am supposed to do.”

“You are in pursuit?”

“We are not sure what happened,” said Khorasani, unsure what the general wanted. “We are leaving nothing to chance.”

“I understand several vehicles were stolen from Guard units.”

“And?”

“I have reconnaissance aircraft that could assist in a search. The planes that we have in the area now are needed for defense, in case the Americans do launch an attack. I am proposing that we work together to discover what happened.”

The general explained that he had a squadron of F-4 Phantoms, which were used for reconnaissance. He could transfer them to the area to aid with the search. He didn’t need Khorasani’s help or permission, he added, but if they were working together, they should coordinate their efforts.

Still wary, Khorasani let the general ramble until he came to what seemed to be the point: he wanted to base the reconnaissance planes at Manzariyeh and establish a support unit there.

“The planes could help you search for guerrillas,” said Shirazi.

“The base is under Pasdaran control.”

“And so it would remain. We need only a small place for those planes. And their escorts.”

“Escorts?”

“The planes that assisted you. They were short of fuel.”

“Yes . . . I would appreciate your help,” continued Khorasani, choosing his words carefully. “The search efforts need to be . . . discreet.”

“Understandable. And this is my point. If the planes are based at a regular air base, there will be rumors,” continued the general. “If, however, they were at a base near the attacks, such as Manzariyeh, things would be easier to coordinate. We find the true cause of these incidents.”

Shirazi was angling to reopen the air base, obviously, and who knew what else.

But cooperation might be useful, Khorasani thought. For one thing, he could use more air patrols to survey the area.

“I see the logic,” he told the general. “How soon can you arrange the flights?”

“Within a few hours,” Shirazi told him. “I’m sure you will find the pilots cooperative and our alliance fruitful.”

6

CIA campus, Virginia

“FIRST SATELLITE IMAGES ARE JUST COMING IN NOW, Ray,” Breanna told Rubeo. “A big crater—it looks like a meteor strike. Much deeper than the first site.”

Rubeo tapped the display area of the table, then toggled down to the incoming intelligence report. The preliminary analysis indicated that the designs were not particularly efficient. But how efficient did a nuclear weapon have to be to be considered a success?

The Hydra attack, on the other hand, had been a complete success. They had saved hundreds of thousands of lives.

And yet, the scientist felt uneasy. If the Iranians had come this close, undoubtedly they would try again. They would learn from their mistakes, making their bunkers even more formidable.

The conflict would never be over.

Science could do so much good, and yet be put to so much evil.

“Ray?”

Rubeo glanced up and saw Breanna staring at him, a quizzical look on her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear,” he said.

“Turk’s satellite phone hasn’t been on since shortly after the attack,” said Breanna, repeating what she had said. “There was an error code that might indicate it malfunctioned or was damaged.”

“Thomas can help you,” he told her. “He’s the expert on the system.”

“Thank you. He’s still alive,” Breanna added hopefully. “He’s moving. Very slowly.”

Rubeo nodded. They had already determined that the sergeant with him, who also had an implant, was dead.

“Do you want to go home and take a nap?” asked Breanna.

“There’s much work to be done, analyzing this and checking our performance,” he said, tapping the display area to close it. “I need to get started on it without delay.”

7

Iran

TURK RESTED AGAINST THE POWER LINE POLE, TRYING to fight off the fatigue that was pushing down his eyelids. The pole rose from a ditch, sheltering him on two sides; he sat in the shadow against a jumble of rocks, willing himself invisible.

The worst thing was the urge to sleep. He knew if he fell asleep, he’d wake up either under arrest or dead, assuming one could be said to wake up in the afterlife.

A small Iranian village sat to his left behind a low hill, barely discernible in the rising haze of heat. In front of him, perhaps twenty feet away, were train tracks. When Turk first spotted them, having walked along the power lines for a short distance, he thought he might hop aboard a passing freight train and escape. It was something he had done often as a teenager, running alongside a boxcar and leaping up the ladder at just the right moment. But after watching awhile, he realized it was hardly a plan at all. He had no idea where the train would go, nor could he expect to remain unseen on it.

And besides, no train seemed to be coming.

He needed a plan, something more than the vague notion that he would escape.