by Eric Meyer
“It’s me, Anika.”
“Hold your fire, men.”
Light streamed into the shaft, and he saw her peering down at them.
“It’s okay, they’ve gone. You can come up, but keep the guns out of sight. They’ve started work on the dig.”
They climbed back up the ladder and into the open air. Anika was standing close by, her expression grim.
“I think they may have been tipped off about you, but I can’t be sure. They went through your tents pretty thoroughly, but they didn’t find anything. I told them you were exploring an area closer to the city.”
“Who would have tipped them off?”
She stared at him but didn’t reply. He nodded his understanding. Wenstrom. He’d kept his part of the bargain, and provided the tents for them as cover. But then he could have reported them to the Iranians. Not the entire truth, he wouldn't have told them Special Forces were hiding in his camp, for if that was the case, there’d have been a battalion of troops looking for them. He would have made up some tale about thieves or maybe terrorists. There were plenty of those in Iran. It would have been so easy, a call to the local militia, send in a couple of truckloads of troops to arrest them, a quick trial, and a public hanging; a long drop from a crane in Sabalan Square, in the center of Tehran. He could still have claimed the rest of his money from NATO, maintaining he’d carried out his part of the bargain. Yes, it was masterful, a way to get keep the Echo Six operators out of his hair, win some Brownie points with the Iranians, and secure funding for his dig. Except that Anika had foiled his plot. It was as if she’d known something like this would happen. They slipped back into their tents, careful to keep out of sight of the diggers. Anika Frost joined him in the tent, with Guy and Domenico. The Italian always hated to let a pretty girl out of his sight. Talley turned to Anika.
"What happened, how did you know they were coming? And how come you prepared that bolthole? Who are you?”
She hesitated for a few moments and then nodded. “Okay, I guess it has to come out. I work for the British Secret Intelligence Service, MI6. They like to have someone on these Iranian projects to keep an eye on things, and on this one, well, I’m that someone.”
“Yeah, you’re too damned sneaky for just an archaeologist, having that back up plan. Are you really an archaeologist, by the way?”
“I am, yes. I was recruited at Oxford while I was an undergraduate, and they asked me to specialize in Iran for my doctorate so I would have the credentials to come here.”
“I see, and Wenstrom? Was it him who snitched to the Iranians?”
“Probably. He used his satphone to make a call, and he was very careful to make sure no one overheard him. He would have called the local militia barracks. That’s where those troops came from.”
“I’d like to rip the bastard’s head off,” Guy snarled. “Boss, let me take care of him. I’ll make sure he never does anything like that again.”
“No, we can’t touch him. He’s the project leader here, and he holds the license from the Iranian Antiquities Office. If you knock him off, we’d have to pull out. We have to leave him alone, for now.”
“As you wish,” the SAS man muttered, “but when the time comes, he’s mine.”
“Maybe, Guy. We’ll see. We have to get our operation off the ground, that’s the important factor. To do that, we need to meet with Imam Fard as fast as possible.”
“I can help you arrange that,” Anika said. “I have my own satphone, and I can use it to call him.”
Talley stared at her, appalled. “You mean his number’s in the phone? You realize if you’re caught, it would lead them straight to him?”
She smiled. “We’re not that stupid. All I do is dial a number with a prefix assigned to Fard. They connect me to him. It’s very simple, very safe, and can’t be traced to him.”
He nodded. “I suggest you fix it up, and ask the good Professor to come see us. I think we’d better meet him for a little chat.”
She smiled. “I’ll contact Fard.”
A half hour later, Talley was talking to Guy when Wenstrom entered the tent. The academic smiled and held out his hand.
“Talley, good to see you…”
Guy whipped out a knife with one hand, grabbed Wenstrom’s neck with the other, and pressed the blade to his skin. Talley watched and didn’t intervene. The Professor needed a lesson in manners.
“I want you to listen to me, and listen good. You hear?”
The man gurgled in shock and terror. Guy ignored his choked protest.
“The next time you pull a stunt like that, I’ll come and find you, and kill you. It’ll be very slow, very painful, and you’ll die screaming in agony. You got that?”
“Uurrghh…” He was trying to nod his head, but the razor edge of the blade made if difficult.
“I think he understands,” Talley said gently.
Guy let him go, and the Professor massaged his neck. He looked equally terrified and angry.
“How dare you threaten me! I did nothing, Lieutenant, you have to…”
Talley held up his hand to stop him. “No, you still don’t get it. We know what you did. You do it again, and if Guy doesn’t kill you, I will. Understood?”
His expression changed, and his head drooped down. “I understand,” he muttered.
“Good, now get out. If we need anything, we’ll let you know.”
He stumbled out of the tent. Guy stared after him, then looked at Talley.
“You think he’ll behave?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he will. You had him terrified there. Anika will keep an eye on him.”
They turned as she walked into the tent. “I saw Wenstrom stalking away. He didn’t look so happy,” she chuckled.
“I can’t imagine why. Maybe it was something he ate.”
Her grin broadened. “Probably something you rammed down his throat, more like. The good news is I’ve fixed up a meeting with Fard. We’re meeting him in two hours time, and I asked him to arrange for a truck with a canvas top you can ride in out of sight. He’ll point out the location of the people who recruited him. He doesn’t know the address, but he can direct us there. Once he’s shown you where it is, he wants you to take him back to his home before you go in. I imagine he’s worried if things go wrong and he’s implicated.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. You’ll bring the truck right here?”
“Yes, if you wear the same style of clothes as the others on the dig, and hide your gear in canvas bags, you can just climb aboard the truck as if you’re off to explore another part of the area. It’s quite natural. I’ll put the word around you’re searching for a hidden entrance to the qanat system. There’s one more thing. I want to bring in our local Head of Tehran Station. We’re going to need his local knowledge. I had hoped we could use Professor Wenstrom to advise us, but obviously he can’t be trusted.”
“And this guy can be trusted?”
There are altogether too many people who know we're here. And now she wants to include another one.
“Abe, he’s the MI6 Head of Station! He’s worked for the British Secret Intelligence Service since 1979, and is considered their top man in the Middle East, so yes, he can be trusted. You know we’re short on time, so we have to use all the help we can get.”
“Okay, but no more, the security on this operation has already been shot to pieces.”
“Very well,” she checked her watch, “I have to go. I’ll be back later with the truck.”
“You be careful.”
She smiled and nodded. Then she ducked out of the entrance. Domenico looked thoughtful.
“You know that girl.”
“Of course, I met her in Brussels.”
The Italian smiled. “Please, my friend. I meant ‘know’ in the biblical sense. I was planning on dating her at some time. She’s a nice piece of tail.”
“A what?”
“It’s an Americanism, I heard it somewhere.”
He smiled
.
“So, do you know her, or can I try my luck? You know she’d find me impossible to resist.”
“Stay away, Domenico.”
The Italian nodded glumly. “Merda! I thought so.”
“You and Guy, get the men ready, and make sure they look innocent. Remember, we’re archaeologists, not hired assassins. Keep the weapons out of sight.”
Hired assassins, Kay’s label, he shuddered.
Talley checked his own gear and settled down to wait for Anika to return with the truck. He felt a growing tension in his gut. They’d only just arrived in country, and already things were starting to go wrong, even before they’d started to hunt.
Arash, who is he? If he turns out to be Ahmadinejad, what then? The guy could already have changed his location if he suspects a NATO SpecOps unit is hunting him. If we fail to find him, what's next?
He tried to relax, but two hours later when he heard the truck bumping across the sand, he was still trying to work out possible contingencies. Anika’s face appeared through the canvas.
“You all set?”
“Sure.”
“Come on out and meet the good Imam Fard. The MI6 Head of Station is here, so any questions you have, ask away. He knows this area backwards.”
* * *
The truck drove along the dusty road toward Tehran. Talley was in the passenger seat while Anika drove, and the SIS Head of Station sat uncomfortably in the center. His name was Jeffrey Petersen, and he was dressed in local clothes, including a collarless shirt, so that he looked more Iranian than some of the locals. He wasn’t an imposing figure, short, somewhat wizened, with a short, gray beard. His hair was also gray, and his tanned skin was dry and wrinkled, giving him the look of an ageing college professor who’d lost little of his wisdom and cunning. His eyes, which were questing and curious, clear and bright, dominated his face, and Talley suspected the brain behind them had lost nothing of its sharpness over the years.
“Don’t worry about the clothes. It’s all show, old chap,” he’d beamed when he saw Talley eyeing him with concern. “I try to blend in, and not to stand out too much when I’m trying to chat to the local movers and shakers. They know I’m a Brit, but it means they’re not seen with an obvious Westerner, which in Iran is always a cause for suspicion.”
“So you haven’t always lived here?”
He smiled. “Good God, no. I was born in Dorset, England. Educated at Charterhouse, and read Greats at Oxford.”
“Greats?”
“Classics, old chap. Literature, Greek and Roman history, Philosophy, Archaeology, and Linguistics. You must know the kind of thing.”
“Yeah.”
“I came over here in 1979,” he continued, “to keep an eye on things, if you know what I mean.”
“Khomeini, the Islamic revolution.”
“Just so. Never been back. My cover is as a journalist. I do a column for a couple of newspapers back in the UK, and it pays well, on top of my, er, other activities.”
“So you like it here?” Talley asked incredulously.
“Not that much,” he replied quickly. “But it gives me a chance to keep up with my hobby, the study of antiquities, amongst other things.”
Talley nodded.
He doesn’t like Iran that much, except he likes it enough to stay for the past thirty years.
The fruit and vegetable truck they rode in had a canvas back, which hid the men while they made last minute checks on their weapons and equipment. As far as they knew, there’d be no trouble, but they were in Iran, and so they always expected trouble. He watched the houses and industrial buildings grow more numerous as they reached the outskirts, and the increasing evidence that they were in a totalitarian state. There were at least two cops or militiamen stationed at every intersection, and posters of Ayatollah Khomeini, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Ayatollah Khamenei, the current ‘Jefe’ of the Iranian Muslims. The traffic thickened, much of it military, and Talley realized that if things went wrong, the place could prove difficult, or impossible, to get out of.
Imam Fard leaned through from the back. “The place you seek is close to here. Two blocks further you turn right, and it is halfway down the street.”
“You mean the old cinema?” Petersen asked him.
“That is correct, yes. It was destroyed shortly after the Islamic Revolution, for showing films that displayed Western decadence.” His voice dripped contempt.
Talley turned around to look at him. “You mean decadence like pedophilia, Fard?”
The man flushed and stayed silent for a few moments. Then he indicated they were almost there, and he pointed to the next street.
“Okay, stay sharp. Anika, stop when you turn the corner, and we’ll take a look.”
“Will do.”
“If this goes well, you may get home sooner rather than later, Lieutenant,” Petersen smiled.
“Maybe.”
They turned the corner, and Anika braked sharply, bringing the truck to a stop. They could see the old cinema three hundred meters away from them. Opposite, a half-dozen military vehicles were parked outside a gaunt, new, concrete structure. Several soldiers strolled along the sidewalk.
“What the hell is that place?” Talley asked, turning to look at Fard.
“It’s the rear of the headquarters of the Revolutionary Guard. The main entrance is the other side, in Martyr’s Square.”
“You don’t think you may have mentioned it?”
He shrugged. “It makes no difference. It’s the last place they’d expect foreign soldiers to operate, so it could even help us.”
Talley looked across at Guy. “What do you think?”
“Hard to tell. It’s a hell of a risk, operating so close to a Revolutionary Guard barracks, but maybe he’s right, they wouldn’t expect us to be right under their noses.”
“Okay. Anika, drive up to the old cinema and we’ll go in. Men, keep those weapons out of sight. If those gomers see us carrying heat, they’ll be all over us like Aladdin and his fucking lamp. No, wait, hold it.”
A convoy of trucks had turned the corner and was driving along the street. They stopped outside the Revolutionary Guard building and militiamen started to dismount, all of them armed with modern assault rifles.
“I think we ought to leave,” Petersen murmured. “It looks like there’s something big happening. There are more militiamen than I’d expect to see.”
“I could go in there with a small squad, say four of us in all,” Guy offered. “We’d just wander down the street and take a recce inside that cinema. That way we’d know what was going on inside, without risking the entire unit.”
“Don’t underestimate those people,” Petersen warned. “They may act like clowns, but they’re not entirely stupid.”
“We have to know what’s inside that building. It’s the only way. Boss, you see that, surely?”
Reluctantly, Talley nodded. “You’re right, Guy. We have to keep moving forward, and until we find out about that place, we’re at a standstill. Go ahead, but remember, you’re archaeologists, that’s all. And keep those guns well hidden.”
“Copy that. I need three men to go with me. Roy, you up for it.”
The black former Delta operative grinned. “I’m always up for it, you know me.”
“Count me in.”
He nodded to Jerry Ostrowski, one of their snipers. “Good man. I need one more.”
“I’ll go.”
It was Robert Valois, the former Brigade des Forces Spéciales Terre, BFST, French Army Special Forces Brigade operative. A veteran of Afghanistan, Valois was a recent addition to the unit. A tough Frenchman from close to the German border, he’d already proved his worth in a previous operation. Of medium height and build, he was very Gallic in appearance, with carefully styled blonde hair, blue eyes, and a carefree grin that attracted females like a magnet. A typical Frenchman, except that he was also a likeable guy who got on well with the rest of the unit; most of the unit, all except for Buchmann, who h
ated him. It was mutual.
“Very well. Guy, if you see anything you don’t like, get out fast. If it looks bad, we’ll pull out and wait somewhere close but out of sight. We don’t want to attract untoward attention.”
“Copy that. We’ll be fine, Boss. We’ll stay in contact and let you know what we find inside.”
The four men dropped off the back of the truck. Four operators all dressed innocently in casual clothes, jeans, chinos, and T-shirts. Valois wore short pants, a polo shirt, and carried a backpack, looking for all the world like a graduate student. The other three men were in denim jeans and T-shirts. Guy wore a baseball cap. They were fit and tanned, so they looked the part. The men disappeared into the building. He nodded to Anika, and she started the engine, turned the truck around, and parked on a piece of waste ground in the next street. All they could do was wait. They sat in the hot morning sunshine, and Talley willed the commo to come to life. Petersen smiled across at him.
“Not easy, is it? The waiting.”
“No, it is not. Tell me, Sir, what’s your real interest in this operation?”
“What do you mean? I’m here to advise you, that’s all.”
“No, Mr. Petersen. The MI6 Head of Station doesn’t sit in a truck in downtown Tehran just to offer advice. What gives?”
Anika turned to look at the Brit. “Is there something I should know, Sir? Some operation we’re mounting behind the scenes?”
He shook his head emphatically. “It’s nothing like that, Doctor Frost. We normally have intelligence operations in progress, but nothing that relates to this mission.”
She stared at him for a few moments in disbelief. Then she looked back at Talley. Petersen couldn’t see her raised eyebrows. He understood immediately, there was something going on, but what?
“Echo One, this is Two.”
“Go ahead, Two.”
“We’ve got problems, Boss. The first floor was empty, so we moved up to check out the upper floors. Militia coming in, and it looks as if they’re about to search the place. How do you want us to play this? I think we can take them, but it’ll be close.”
“How much time to you have before they know you’re there?”