Pandora's Grave (Shadow Warriors)

by Stephen England

  3:34 A.M.

  The base camp

  Something had gone seriously wrong. The back of the young sentry’s head was blown completely away. Harry rolled the corpse onto its back, noting the single bullet hole squarely between the eyes. The mark of a professional.

  Even trained soldiers were prone to firing more shots than absolutely necessary, making up what they lacked in precision with sheer power.

  This man had felt no such need. A single shot had been required, and a single shot had been delivered.

  A chill ran up and down Harry’s back, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with danger. There was the chance, slim though it might be, that the killer was still in the camp ahead of them. He toggled the mike, breaking radio silence. His team needed to know what they were up against.

  “EAGLE SIX to Alpha Team. I’ve got a corpse on this side, single wound to the head. Do you copy?”

  Tex’s typically gruff voice came on the air. “I read you, EAGLE SIX. Same situation over here.”

  “Why didn’t you report it?” Harry exclaimed in frustration.

  “Hey, boss. You order radio silence, and I no longer own a set.”

  Harry nodded silently. “Fine. FULLBACK? Report in.”

  “Somebody got in here before us, Harry,” Hamid stated bluntly. “I’m looking at a body. My gut tells me it won’t be the last.”

  “We will be proceeding as planned. But be prepared for tougher resistance than we could expect from IRGC—” Harry stopped sharply, his ears straining to pick up the slightest sound. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know, EAGLE SIX.”

  He heard it again. A sound, born to him on the breeze. Coming from the interior of the camp. The sound of a woman weeping…

  6:35 P.M. Eastern Time

  NCS Operations Center

  Langley, Virginia

  “How’s it coming, Ron?” Kranemeyer asked, appearing suddenly in the door of his cubicle. Now in his mid-forties, the DCS still moved like an operator, as silently as a big cat on the stalk.

  The analyst glanced up from his computer. “It’s coming,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “I’m going to need to hack the data encryption on the TACSAT. Or do you have the password to override?”

  Kranemeyer’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Try eight-four-three-six-Redmond. I think that’s what the computer picked out for this month.”

  Carter snorted, tapping the code into his system. “The computer’s got a sense of humor. This would have been a lot quicker going through Hadley’s tech-heads.”

  “We’ve been through that before, Ron. How much longer?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “From those sat shots, I don’t think we have that long. I need a link to Nichols right away. If he still thinks he’s going to accomplish this mission flawlessly, he’s wrong. Now get me an uplink!”

  Carter looked over the rims of his glasses at the DCS. “When it comes right down to it, you either trust your people, or you don’t. And if you don’t, you have to accept the problems that tag along. Five minutes.”

  3:36 A.M. Tehran Time

  The base camp

  Harry moved forward, his assault rifle leading the way as he stalked through the ghostly remains of the base camp. Bulletholes pocked the side of one of the trailers, as though a firefight had gone on for a few short moments. The body of a dead Iranian soldier lay in a puddle of blood near the entrance to one of the trailers.

  Through his night-vision goggles, he could see the rest of his team moving into position.

  “Alpha Team, this is EAGLE SIX. The sound seems to be coming from one of the objective trailers in the northeast quadrant. Hold near the trailer until I join you.”

  “Roger, Lead,” Tex’s voice came back. Davood was with him.

  “FULLBACK?” Harry demanded.

  “Right here, boss,” Hamid’s voice replied. “I’m moving in.”

  Harry hurried toward the trailers, an overwhelming sense of urgency coming over him. Some one had gotten here before them, maybe even in the trailers ahead of him. They needed to retake command of the situation, regain their initiative.

  He reached the trailer, moving noiselessly on the hard-packed mountain earth. It was clearly a woman, somewhere in the darkness inside. His mind flickered back to the photographs he had been shown back at Langley. An Australian paleontologist attached to Moshe Tal’s team. Maybe…

  There was only one way to find out. And they were running short on time. He reached forward and tapped Tex on the shoulder, holding up two fingers. Bang the room .

  The Texan nodded, pulling a stun grenade from the webbing of his combat vest. Taking up their positions beside him stood Hamid and Davood.

  The door to the trailer swung loosely in the mountain breeze. The area around the lock was splintered, as though someone had blown it in earlier.

  One, Tex mouthed silently. Harry rose from his crouch behind Davood. He would lead the way in. Two …

  All four agents looked down and away, to protect their eyes from the flash that would come. Three …

  Harry heard the clunk of the cylinder hitting the floor inside, then his ears were pummeled with a terrific reverberation, as though someone had set off dynamite beside him. Light filled the night sky, a glare as bright as sunlight penetrating through his closed eyelids. His gun came up and he dashed up the steps into the bowels of the trailer. “Everyone! On the floor! NOW!”

  His eyes traversed the room quickly, taking in the sight. The trailer had been transformed into a jail. Three of the cells were occupied. The fourth was empty, its steel door buckled and twisted. Someone had blown the lock.

  He moved over to the cells. Inside the last one, a woman lay screaming, her hands in her eyes. Rachel Eliot, his mind told him, the briefing indelibly printed on his mind. The other two were men. One of them, young enough that he could scarcely have been out of college, glared back up at Harry. Mullins. The dim light wasn’t enough for him to recognize the other man, not yet.

  “Why did you come back?” Mullins hissed.

  “What do you mean? Where are the others?” Harry’s eyes turned to focus on the other man. No, it wasn’t him. “Where is Dr. Moshe Tal?”

  3:38 A.M.

  Project RAHAB

  They could hear the helicopter before they could actually see it. Gideon Laner turned to his second-in-command. “You have the charges placed, Yossi?”

  Eiland nodded. “The FAVs are rigged for command-detonation. Hanged if I’m blowing them till I know that chopper’s ours.”

  Gideon smiled. “Good work.”

  A moment later, the small helicopter appeared over the ridge, settling down into the valley floor. “Time to go,” he announced, glancing over at the man they had come so far to rescue.

  “You have to go back for them,” the archaeologist whispered, desperation visible on his face.

  Gideon stared at him. “I’ve told you before. There is no room for them in the helo. We were sent to rescue you, and find out what’s been going on.”

  The archaeologist’s face hardened suddenly, a look of steel coming into his eyes. “Curse you.”

  “All right, team,” Gideon ordered, ignoring Tal’s sudden stubbornness. “Let’s get loaded up.”

  A man ran out from the hovering chopper, the rotor wash whipping at his flight uniform. “RAHAB?”

  “Yes,”Gideon replied. “Thanks for meeting us.”

  “Get your men onboard and let’s get out of here!” the man yelled, striving to make himself heard over the rotors. “The Iranians are out in force tonight.”

  “Roger that, RAVEN.”

  “Tex, Davood, stay here and get these people prepped for evac,” Harry ordered, standing in the door of the trailer. “Hamid, you’re coming with me.”

  “Where to, boss?” the Iraqi asked, moving swiftly to Harry’s side.

  “Search the rest of the camp,” was the curt reply. “The Iranians didn’t bring these bio-war trailers all the wa
y out here to improve the aesthetics of the place. There was a reason. Be prepared.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  6:40 P.M. Eastern Time

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “The uplink is ready,” Ron Carter stated, his voice coming over Kranemeyer’s open line. It was on speaker. The DCS set down a cup of now-cold coffee and turned to his computer.

  “It should connect you directly with Nichols and override the vibrator on his TACSAT, creating a loud buzz.”

  “Doesn’t that pose the risk of compromising him?”

  “Actually,” the analyst replied, his voice tired, “that’s what we’re counting on. That he will pick up quickly to minimize the damages. He’s ignored the vibrator. This he can’t afford to ignore. He’ll pick up.”

  “I don’t like this, Ron.”

  “Neither do I, boss. But you gave me a deadline. This was the only solution I could get done in time. You should have pulled one of Lasker’s boys off the comm center to run this thing. They’re more familiar with the TACSAT and might have found something more sophisticated.”

  “We’ve been through that, Ron,” Kranemeyer replied wearily. “Patch me through to the uplink.”

  “Streaming it to your terminal. You’ll have it in thirty seconds.”

  “Thanks.”

  3:40 A.M. Tehran Time

  The base camp

  Harry and Hamid paused by one of the bodies outside the trailer. “You suppose there’s any survivors?” Harry asked, looking around him. Whoever had preceded them, they had done a good job.

  Hamid shook his head. “I very much doubt it.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at one of the corpses. There was something, maybe it was way he lay there–he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “And maybe not,” he whispered, stepping over and shining his taclight full on the body. The man lay on his belly in the sand, a nasty wound in his back. To all appearances, he was dead…

  He bit his lip, fighting against the urge to scream as the American abruptly kicked him in the stomach, the impact rolling him over on his back. His only hope was to play dead. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the American’s gaze on him, sharp and penetrating.

  A pair of hands came down, gliding smoothly over his cheek. Gentle as the caress of a lover.

  The fingers slid down until they were touching the very end of his jawbone, pressing suddenly up and inward.

  He screamed, pain greater than anything he had ever known shooting through his entire body. When he opened his eyes, he was looking down the barrel of a pistol, into the cold blue eyes of the man behind it.

  “Tell me,” the man instructed, speaking his native Farsi, “who took the doctor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying,” Harry informed him coldly, pushing in on the pressure point again. The soldier screamed, his head rolling back in the sand. “What happened to the doctor? Just tell me and the pain will stop.”

  The man was gasping for breath and his first words were incoherent. Then, “…they took him—away. About twenty minutes ago.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Harry reached up and slapped him across the cheek with the back of his hand. “That’s the second time you’ve lied to me, soldier. Do it again and you’re dead.”

  “You–you did.”

  “I’ve never been here before.”

  The soldier’s eyes flickered with disbelief. “Of course. You hit the camp, killed the perimeter sentries—shot me…”

  “We’re losing him, boss,” Hamid whispered quietly. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  At that moment, Harry’s TACSAT went off, a loud buzz resounding through the night air. He reached to his waist and plucked it from its holster.

  “Nichols here,” he answered, watching as the screen lit up with Kranemeyer’s code.

  “Where the devil are you?” came the director’s first question.

  “In the base camp. Dr. Tal is not here. Repeat, is not in the area. We have one prisoner and he’s saying a Western-style assault team stormed the camp under half an hour ago and took Dr. Tal but left three of the archaeologists. Do we have sat coverage?”

  “Yes, Harry. We do.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  The DCS didn’t respond directly. His next words came in the form of an order. “Get the archaeologists packed up and moving. Make for the alternate extraction zone, LZ Oscar. Orders from the seventh floor.”

  “Copy that. LZ Oscar. Be advised, boss, we have lost contact with Parker.”

  “What?”

  “He was cut off trying to provide covering fire on our egress from the Iranian ambush. It’s a long story, but he’s out there somewhere.”

  “If he’s still alive.”

  “Yes, sir, if he’s still alive. I’m going to try to contact him before we leave the base camp.”

  “Forget it, Harry. We need those archaeologists back here, on the double. Parker will have to conduct E&E on his own.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t leave my people behind. I can’t do that.”

  “That wasn’t a suggestion, Nichols,” Kranemeyer replied, his voice flat, unequivocal. “You can. And you will. Pack them up and move ‘em out.”

  Harry took a deep breath, recognizing against the flood tide of his emotions the rationale behind the director’s words. The mission came first. Now, as always. Before family, before friendship, before anything else. It was the harsh truth of his life. And he knew an order when he heard one. When he spoke again, it was in tones as emotionless as the desert wind. “Alpha Team is moving out.”

  Chapter Six

  6:48 P.M. Eastern Time

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  Ron Carter exchanged a glance with the DCS as he disengaged the uplink. “Think he’ll do it?”

  Bernard Kranemeyer nodded. “He’s a good man.”

  A snort. “They’re all good men. Pull the files on Thomas Parker’s next of kin. They’ll need to be notified.”

  Carter turned to his computer, tapping quickly through the database of CIA personnel. He shook his head. “His father’s dead, his mother lives out in California with her husband. Last reported contact between them was four years ago at his step-sister’s wedding.”

  Kranemeyer let out a weary sigh. “Their relationship doesn’t matter. Make sure she’s notified.”

  3:50 A.M. Tehran Time

  The Alborz Mountains

  “EAGLE SIX to GUNHAND. Take SWITCHBLADE and destroy the fuel tankers parked behind the trailers. Use up our det cord if you have to. But make sure they go up in flames.”

  “Roger that, EAGLE SIX.”

  Hossein snarled an angry curse into the empty night, listening to it echo among the rocks, mocking his impotence. How the radio had survived the crash, he had no idea, but it remained in his shirt pocket, informing him of events moment by moment, things he could do nothing about, had no power to stop. The gunfire had moved away, as his men chased their attacker across the rugged mountainside. But none of that mattered, not now. In a few moments, the Americans would have destroyed his transportation, his means of pursuing them.

  A footstep crunched into the rocky ground beside his ear and he glanced up, into the eyes of an Iranian soldier. “Help me!” he hissed angrily.

  The soldier started up, looking again as if to see if his major was still alive, then he lifted up his voice. “Come! Come and help me with this cursed truck!”

  3:55 A.M.

  The base camp

  Tex moved quickly toward the back of the base camp, stepping over the corpses strewn across the desert sand. Davood’s form appeared at his side and the Texan dug into his backpack, dividing his supply of detonation cord.

  “Take the two tankers to the right,” he ordered, his words terse and quick. “I’ll take the two this side of the main road.”

  The Iranian agent nodded.
“Timed detonation or command?”

  “Command. Separate charges. That’ll get us well clear.”

  “Understood.”

  They separated there, and Tex hurried to his tankers. The fuel trucks had been moved in within the last few days, according to the satellite imagery they had been shown before loading onto the Huey. Apparently the Iranians had planned on settling in.

  The Texan bent down on one knee by the rear of the first tanker, unwinding the det cord from his backpack. The thin rope was impregnated with plastic explosives, and was usually intended to connect a charge to its detonator. But it made a fine explosive in and of itself.

  He still remembered an ambush in the mountains of Afghanistan. He and his Force Recon squad had been assigned to take out a Taliban strongman. They had laid in wait for him along a mountain trail. When their trap was sprung, the terrorist and his surviving bodyguards dove for the rocks to one side of the trail, intending to take cover there. In their hurry, they never noticed the rope laced into the rocks. And at that moment, Tex had pressed the detonator…

  He tossed one end of the rope up over the tanker and pulled it down the other side, twisting the cord into a knot. Placed at that point, the explosion would split the fuel tank apart, igniting the gasoline inside. Testing the knot to make sure it was secure, he attached the detonator. As a hurried beep-beep-beep assured him the trigger was engaged, he moved to the other tanker.