by Eric Meyer
He nodded. “Auschwitz.”
It was almost as if the temperature of the room had dropped by several degrees. The mere mention of the name in a synagogue, a German synagogue, was enough to sober men's minds. There was little more to be said. Rovere looked grave.
"It’s about time these people gave up and left you alone. No sooner do you rid yourselves of the Nazis than along come the Muslims.”
“At least the Muslims are hard at work killing each other,” Guy remarked, as he joined them. “It takes their minds off killing Jews, for some of the time at least.”
Israel looked at him strangely. “You are Jewish, my friend?”
“I’m not anything, not anymore. But my family is Jewish, some of them. What difference does it make?”
“Refugees from Nazi Germany?”
“Yes, I suppose they were.”
“Then I trust they have found what they were looking for. You are English, are you not?”
“That’s right.” He looked around the devastation, the damage, the bodies on the ground, and the smoke still hanging in the air. “How can any of you as Jews find peace as long as these vermin keep trying to kill you?”
“It is a long fight.” Joshua had begun to recover his composure, and his voice sounded calmer, more measured. “They have been trying for thousands of years to kill us. But we are still here, and will always be here. We are God’s chosen people, and we will prevail, even if it takes ten thousand years.”
Guy went to reply, but Talley interrupted. “In ten thousand years, Rabbi, everyone here will be long forgotten. Best take care of the living, and worry about the rest later. Be thankful for what you have.”
The Jew wearily inclined his head. “Perhaps you are right. Again, you have my thanks.”
He plodded back to the Ark where German police were trying to put out the last of the flames. Talley called Echo Six to be ready to move out. Their job there was finished. It was time to get back to Ramstein and continue preparing for the real work of stopping the Islamic lunatics from acquiring a weapon that could turn the whole of the Middle East, if not the world, into a glowing, radioactive fireball. The men assembled outside in the fresh air.
“Lieutenant!”
He looked around. Hauptmann Werner Baumann was running up to him.
“Yeah?”
“You did a good job, my friend. A wonderful job.”
“Thanks. Maybe you could keep an eye on these Islamic troublemakers. Make sure none of the scum try something like it again.”
“We do our best, but our resources are limited.”
“They weren’t limited when the Nazis were killing them. There’s not that many left, so maybe it’s time you started working to keep them alive.”
The Captain’s jaw dropped. He started to bluster, but Talley stopped him. “And next time, if there is a next time, maybe you should do the job you’re paid to do and fuck the politics. Goodbye, Captain.”
They walked out to the waiting Chinook and climbed aboard. Only as the engines started, and the rotors began whirling, did Rovere chuckle.
“You told that German where to get off. Shakespeare said, ‘For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, quite vanquished him, then burst his mighty heart.’ It’ll give that pompous German something to think about.”
“Rovere?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
They rode in silence until Guy spoke to him. “That Rabbi back there. It’s attitudes like his that get people killed. It wasn’t until the Israeli Jews started fighting back that people began to think twice about kicking them around.”
“It is difficult for us Germans,” Buchmann interjected. “We have a tarnished history that is not easy to live down. Those GSG9 guys, I can understand their reluctance. If anything goes wrong, there’s an international outcry, like after the Munich Olympics.”
Talley called for their attention. “Men, I’ll say this, and I’ll say it once. Religion has no part to play in the job we have to do. We fight for NATO, for the democracies of the US, UK, Europe, against anyone who tries to attack them. It means we’ll encounter two types of humankind in the field. People, who deserve to live their lives in peace and security, and terrorists, murderous scum who prey on their own people. People we leave alone and protect when necessary, and the scum, we put down like rabid dogs. Religion has no part of it. There’s only good or bad, and that GSG9 Captain was wrong. We do our job regardless of religion. Period.”
There were several raised eyebrows, but they sensibly left it at that. When they put down at Ramstein, they began to walk down the rear ramp of the Chinook. A civilian was standing nearby, watching them. Abruptly, he stomped up to Talley.
“What’s this crap about Jews? You were supposed to be here to meet me a couple of hours ago. I’ve been sitting on my ass here while you go charging off on some idiot rescue mission, like a bunch of boy scouts! It’s a stupid waste of my time. I’m inclined to cancel the arrangement.”
The men stood staring at the stranger. He was a tall man, even taller than Talley, dressed in cord pants tucked into cowboy boots and a battered but expensive and still stylish bush jacket. His hair was long and wavy, dark with streaks of blonde that looked very contrived. Most women would undeniably find his face attractive, clean-shaven, tanned, and perfectly proportioned. A good-looking guy, and he knew it, reveled in it. Talley disliked him on sight, apart from his racist rant, which he chose to ignore. This was clearly Professor Wenstrom, their passport into Iran. He couldn’t be anyone else. Talley opened his mouth to greet him, but Guy pushed him aside in his eagerness to reach the academic. He was shorter than Wenstrom, but the SAS man possessed a raw, elemental strength that obviously shocked the Professor.
“What the fuck did you say, asshole? You have a problem with Jews?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” He tried and failed to push Welland away from him. “I have to be back at the dig, you see. My time is too precious to waste while you chase around the countryside. Much too precious.”
“More important than people’s lives?”
“Well, it’s not that. Let me go, man!”
Talley pulled him off. “Leave him, Guy. It’s not worth it.”
“I’ll break his fucking neck, he starts that again.”
“Sure, sure. He’ll be okay now. Professor, I’m Lieutenant Talley. Come with me, and let’s talk about how we’re going to play this when we arrive at the dig.”
The man recovered some of his composure and straightened his clothes. “I’m not sure this is altogether a good idea, Talley. I mean, that man of yours, he’s a savage, attacking me like that.”
“Maybe you’d be something of a savage if almost your entire race had been murdered by racists. It kind of makes people pretty sensitive when you suggest your travel arrangements are more important than their lives.”
Wenstrom nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay, point taken. What do you want from me, Talley?”
He's going to back down, thank Christ. He sure is anti-Semitic, but he won’t be the first, or the last. A second-in-command of Jewish descent, and a rabid Jew-hater running the project we're counting on to shelter us from the gaze of the Iranian authorities. Great!
“I want what they told you we’d need, for you to provide cover for my unit. We’ll just blend into your archaeological dig. It shouldn’t be too difficult. We’ll be coming and going a lot, mostly at night. During the day, we’ll just need to bed down and stay out of people’s way.”
Wenstrom grunted. “I suppose I can organize that. Why are you coming to Iran, what’s your mission?”
“That’s classified, Professor. Sorry, but you’re not cleared for that information.”
“Is it an assassination? Is that what you’re planning?”
Talley considered his reply.
If there is going to be an assassination, I’d like to put this odious
creep at the top of the list. Except we need him.
“I told you, it’s classified. But no, it’s not an assassination.”
Wenstrom nodded. “In that case, I’ll go along with it. When will you arrive?”
“We’re flying out Friday, direct to Iraq, and we’ll fly over the border and join you during the night. We’ll need space for our gear and somewhere to sleep.”
“Yes, I can provide that. You’ll be in tents, like the rest of us.”
“We’re used to it,” Talley smiled. For some of their operations, a tent would be a considerable luxury. “Make certain there is some distance between us and the rest of your people. As I said, we’ll be coming and going during the night, and they may be curious.”
“Oh, they’ll be curious all right. You’ll just have to find a way to deal with it.”
“Just be sure our tents are separate from your people, that’s all. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Very well,” he muttered. “I’ll try and have it all ready for you.”
Talley stared at him. “You do that, Professor. As you’ve seen, some of my people get really pissed off when they think someone’s screwing around with them.”
Wenstrom ignored the warning and looked at his watch. “I have to go. They’re sending transport for me. It should be here shortly.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
There was an air taxi laid on by NATO waiting on the tarmac, a Piper twin. It would take Wenstrom to Frankfurt where he’d pick up a connection to Tehran. Talley walked with him across the tarmac. Wenstrom turned to him just before they reached the aircraft.
“I hope you’ll rein in that man of yours, Talley. I don’t want any trouble with him when we’re on the site.”
“He’ll be fine, Professor. He just has this little problem.”
“What problem is that?”
“It’s with anti-Semites. They make him violent.”
Wenstrom snorted. “He’ll have a problem in Iran. They’re all anti-Semites over there. Some of my best friends are anti-Semites, but we still get along. He’ll have to learn to control his violent tendencies.”
“They’re what we pay him for. Guy is ex-British SAS. He happens to be very good at what he does. Very good, and believe me, he can get very, very violent. I’d remember that if I were you.”
They came to the Piper Seneca, and Wenstrom stopped.
“You’ll have to keep him under control when he’s inside Iran.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Professor. You stay away from him if you can’t avoid making racist comments. It’s safer that way.”
This time Wenstrom flushed, so he’d understood the warning. Talley handed the academic over to the waiting pilot, who took his bag and stowed it in the aircraft. Wenstrom boarded, and the pilot climbed in and closed the door. Talley could see the Professor staring back at him as the Piper taxied across the apron and turned onto the runway. The engines roared, and it shot forward to climb into the sky.
That guy is capable of making trouble, that’s for sure, even though NATO is paying him well to turn a blind eye. I hope it’s enough to shut him up. If it isn’t, there are other ways of dealing with the arrogant little shit. I'm sure Guy will be more than happy to shut him up.
“It’s good to see the back of that sonofabitch,” Guy murmured. He’d walked up behind him.
“I agree, but we’re relying on his project to give us cover, so we’d better not upset him. Not too much, anyway.”
“Maybe it would be better to give Mossad a heads up about the fool. I don’t trust him, and I don’t like having to use him for cover while we’re in country. He could blow us to the Iranians at any time.”
“Not while there’s money on the table, Guy. His precious project is all that matters to him. Besides, we have to look after him, he’s important to us.”
“And if he sold us out to the Iranians for more money?”
“I think he knows he’d find a world of pain fall on his head if he tried it.”
“Does he?” Guy asked, looking at Talley intently. “A total ass like that, I’m not so sure.”
Talley was thoughtful. I need to keep a close watch on Wenstrom, but how? Of course, Doctor Anika Frost, and talking to her about her employer will mean being close to her again. Yes, she’ll be able to watch him.
* * *
The desert night was balmy and dry. He realized with a pang what he’d miss if they went through with their plans to promote him. He resolved to fight them every inch of the way before he gave in tamely and sat behind a desk.
They were watching the spectacular view of the sands as they rushed past, seated next to the open doors of the MH60. The helo, the stealth variant of the venerable Black Hawk, had become the workhorse of the US and certain NATO military forces. The aircraft was the property of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the special operations unit of the United States Army that provided helicopter aviation support for special operations forces, and was frequently sidelined by NATO for their own operations. They’d taken off from Base Balad, formerly Balad Air Base and before that, Logistics Support Area Anaconda. Since it had been returned to the Iraqi Air Force in 2011, the US had maintained facilities at the base, which meant that Echo Six could arrive, transfer to the MH60s after dark, and take off again without arousing undue attention. They had plenty of space. They’d been loaned four MH60s, part of a 160th training flight that had been diverted. Talley could see the dark outlines of the other three helos as they flew fast and low over the undulating landscape of ancient Persia. His headset clicked.
“This is the pilot. We just left Iraq. We are now over enemy territory. Stay sharp, people. This is Iran. Home of the big, bad bastard dictator, Ahmadinejad.”
Talley watched the pinpoints of light that had to be a city, grow nearer. He was curious, and he clicked his mike to transmit.
“Pilot, what’s that place down there?”
“That’s called Kermanshah, Lieutenant, plenty of history all the way back to the Stone Age. Lots of archaeological stuff going on down there.”
“Copy that.”
It was a name worth remembering, Kermanshah, in case they were ever questioned. Any archaeologist would look bad if they hadn’t heard of the place.
“I wouldn’t take this historical thing too seriously,” Guy said. He was seated next to him in the body of the helo, and like him was watching the landscape rush past, dimly lit in the light of a quarter moon. ”We’ll be in and out of here fast, so I doubt we’ll have occasion to talk to anyone about ancient civilizations.”
“Maybe, but we could be stopped by the cops in a random roadside check.”
“In that case, we’ll have to deal with it in the time honored way.”
“You mean kill them?”
“I mean deal with them the way they’d deal with us.”
Talley nodded. So he meant kill them. The SAS is not known for its gentle handling of those who opposed the Regiment, and surviving prisoners of the SAS are something of a rarity.
“Let’s save that for the last resort, Guy.”
He heard the man grunt, but it didn’t sound like agreement. He remembered his response to Wenstrom’s racist rant.
It's true, Guy is good, the best Special Forces operative I've ever known, but his extraordinary skills need to be kept within bounds. He's a deadly weapon. Then there's Kay and the kids. There's another fight and one that could devastate my life, and the lives of Joshua and James if it goes wrong. As if it isn’t enough to fight the Iranians, I've NATFOR in Brussels to go to battle with, and Kay back in the US. Fuck it, a war on three fronts. Whoever said life isn’t easy had it bang to rights.
“Heads up, Iranian Air Force flight, ten kilometers to the south. It looks like a pair of MIG 29s. They haven’t picked us up, but if they do, it could get interesting. Hold tight, I’m going lower.”
The helo dropped down until it was skimming the surface of the sand barely fifteen meters below them, and the
other three helos kept station, dropping down to stay alongside. Everyone held his breath. Tangling with MIG 29s from a helo was a strictly shut end operation. If they did attract their attention, their only hope would be to land and fight it out. He watched the desert rush past, and at times it seemed only inches below them. They were looking south, waiting for the flash of navigation lights that would announce the arrival of the enemy fighters; fast movers that could finish them in a single pass, a missile launch or shattering burst of cannon fire. But they never came.
“This is the pilot. We’re all clear, people. They’ve headed in the opposite direction, but I intend staying at low level. There’s no need to tempt them to look our way.”
There was no disagreement there. They flew on, and even out in the desert and away from the cities, Talley began to experience the smells, the atmosphere of Iran. He found it difficult to describe, a dry, spicy tang, and yet over it all, something dark and sinister, a tinge of corruption and decay that tainted the air. As if reading his thoughts, Guy leaned toward him.
“It’s a funny old place, Boss. Something not quite kosher about it, even though we haven’t got our boots on the ground yet.”
“It definitely isn’t kosher, Guy.”
The men close to him roared with laughter.
“Iraq doesn’t seem so bad,” Talley went on, “but here, I dunno. What did George W Bush call it, part of the Axis of Evil?”
“When he said that, he included Iraq, as well as North Korea. At least Iraq has been knocked off the list.”
“Mission accomplished?” Talley grinned.
“I wish,” the Brit shook his head ruefully, “but you know we’re working on it. A lot of people would like Ahmadinejad to get a kick in the balls. I’d guess our masters in NATO are watching this operation carefully, with an eye to the future.”
“I hope not too carefully,” Talley replied. “It’s supposed to be top secret, eyes only. If it isn’t, well…”
“We’re all fucked?”
“Yes.”
They landed ten klicks from Niavaran, a longer walk to the archaeological dig than they’d planned. The pilot had received intel from an NSA satellite overpass, which suggested there were Iranian military maneuvers taking place in the area. The nightmare scenario for the pilot would be to land forty million dollars of secret American helicopter technology in the laps of the Iranians. The rotors still turned as they unloaded their gear, and the MH60s immediately took off for the perilous low-level flight back to Iraq. Talley formed up the men, put Guy at the rear, and Domenico and Vince at point. After a last look around, they moved off into the almost silent desert. They could feel the heat coming out of the sand, in marked contrast to the chill night air. The sky was cloudless, with only the waning moon to light the way, and they relied on their NV gear to navigate. They trekked across the dunes, and Talley felt himself beginning to sweat under the weight of the heavy load and the soft, cloying pull of the sand; then the desert was no longer silent.