Take Over at Midnight (The Night Stalkers)

by Buchman, M. L.

  They ran the footage of some Iranian fast movers sweeping in low across the desert. She hadn’t known the jets were there. By the time stamp on the video, the choppers had cleared the horizon about twenty minutes before the Iranian Air Force showed up and blew the hell out of the site the D-boys had just robbed. The fire plumes were massive, they’d really set out to incinerate the place.

  Satellite imagery had traced the Iranian jets back almost two hours to a little known military airbase outside Tabriz, on the opposite side of the country. They hadn’t used local forces available at the much nearer Shiraz or Zahedan bases.

  That meant the D-boys, including Michael here beside her, had completed their theft between the time of the Iranian flight’s takeoff and its destruction of the site. A narrow window after three full days in-country. If either the Iranian jets or the SOAR helicopters had been on just a slightly different schedule, Michael wouldn’t be here now. And if either flight had traveled higher than a few hundred feet, they’d probably have seen each other going by with all of the nasty consequences that implied.

  Lola could feel a cold sweat at just how close they’d come to dying in the desert.

  The other picture, which was even stranger, was a drone image of a cleanup crew.

  General Rogers spoke over this piece of film. “This has been identified as an element of the newly formed Quds Unit 400. They were first reported in March 2012 as the top-secret Iranian Special Forces. They were formed to operate strictly overseas to carry out terror on extraterritorial targets. But here we see them operating within Iran against one of their own military plants.”

  The President glanced at the wall clock.

  Six minutes until the phone call.

  “So, let’s review what was found in the desert.”

  General Rogers cleared his throat uncertainly, but Michael stepped forward.

  “Perhaps I can speak to that, sir.”

  “Yes. Hello, Colonel, I didn’t see you come in. Yes, please do.” The general leaned back and rubbed at his temples as the Delta Commander leaned in.

  Lola cringed and wished desperately that she was with Tim. Or in Afghanistan. Anywhere but here.

  “CIA analysts originally identified this structure just beyond the northwest corner of the city of Ravar. This is part of an ongoing satellite survey of Iranian electrical power infrastructure. Note the large scale of this power station and yet only a single set of electrical lines headed toward the city. Research through prior image mapping revealed the installation of a major power feed to this remote building another mile into the desert. It has since been disguised as an irrigation trench, but analysis shows that while the trench is frequently kept filled with water, it does not in fact flow to the fields beyond.”

  He called for close-up images of the desert building. Some hidden technician placed them on the screens. A big, squared-off concrete block with no windows and heavily fortified steel doors.

  “These photos were taken by cameras on the ground. Hidden machine-gun nests and razor wire fences are clearly visible.”

  Lola had always felt that CSAR and SOAR were among the more dangerous occupations in the military. But now that she saw up-close images of where Michael had led his small troop, she felt as safe as if she were flying in the Pauley’s Island kitchen. And Michael’s team hadn’t merely gotten near the building, they’d entered and robbed it.

  She looked at him again to see if he’d somehow changed, grown bigger than life, but he was still just Michael-sized.

  “Far too large for a pump house,” Michael continued, “so we investigated further. The security was immense. No opportunity to infiltrate an agent. The single road is heavily guarded at three points as well as a desert perimeter. I went in with a team of five other operators to investigate. The building goes down for several more stories.” He counted on his fingers as he continued.

  “Upper floor, guard barracks. The first level underground is, was living quarters, kitchens, etc. The next, offices, small research labs, etc. The bottom floor was a large production laboratory.” Then he stated, even more dryly if that was possible, “We managed to borrow a vehicle.”

  The master of understatement.

  Daniel pulled up a photograph of the captured truck. The door had an emblem of two leafed branches and crossed swords behind a central shield showing through the dust. An official vehicle of the Iranian Army.

  “What this truck contains is all of the documents and computers we exfiltrated from the site. As our final action, we grabbed what we considered to be their primary computer server and reference files. As expected, the loss was noticed almost immediately, but we had a head start of over three minutes. Thankfully the Black Adder flight was prepared for immediate departure on our arrival. Our thanks.” He nodded to Lola and the Majors.

  Lola remembered the five guys on weird, hopped-up bicycles, the racing truck, and the line of vehicles chasing them. They’d arrived within thirty seconds of plan, and she now understood that if they’d been even a full minute late, at least the man next to her would no longer be alive and probably none of his squadmates either.

  “So far we have unraveled evidence of a fearful biocide—”

  Lola hadn’t meant to cry out but couldn’t help herself. Everyone’s worst nightmare, a true weapon of mass destruction. The Majors paled and even the President looked quite ill, though he must have already been told that much.

  The Delta operator continued with an impossible calm. “This biocide has a very high dispersion rate, very low dissipation rate, and unstoppable lethality. The vector can be either air or waterborne. It’s designed to go everywhere quickly, not run down in potency, and kill everything it touches. Introduced into a small town, it will kill every mammal within three days before it runs its course. Introduced into a sizable city…” He shrugged.

  “We saw no evidence of the chemical itself at the plant. This means the research could still be purely theoretical. Or perhaps it’s manufactured off-site. But the nearby power station is primarily serving the bottom-story, large underground production lab at the Ravar site. We had very little time to investigate, less than six minutes, but there was simply no chemical there. Though the scientists were, presumably, still in residence when the site was destroyed by the Iranians. They certainly were twenty minutes earlier when we departed.”

  The silence hammered down on them.

  The image of the truck remained on the screen.

  No one was meeting anyone’s eyes.

  Lola finally managed to look up at Major Beale across the Situation Room table.

  This is what they’d signed up for. To defend the nation against attacks like this. Just like this. They shared a nod. Come what may, they’d see it through.

  They, and Colonel Gibson of Delta Force, were the only ones who didn’t jump when the phone rang.

  Chapter 42

  “Good evening, President Matthews.”

  Lola listened to the voice on the speakerphone.

  Cultured, smooth, careful. She looked at the biography now showing on the main screen of the Situation Room. A slender man with a short, graying beard. A pleasant smile graced his face in several of the photos. Educated at Oxford, and still the Iranians had elected him president. A surprise there. A Western-educated leader.

  Or was he chosen by the latest Ayatollah? Lola couldn’t remember quite how their government worked.

  “Good evening, President Madani. How can we help you this evening?”

  “I am hoping that just you and I could discuss a small problem we are having.”

  President Matthews glanced around, signaling that they should all remain silent before he spoke.

  “A small problem, Mr. President, perhaps in the desert outside Ravar requiring the attention of three of your Phantom F-4E jets and a third of your Unit 400 forc—”

  “They were the ones I ki
lled there.” Madani cut him off harshly.

  President Matthews didn’t change the tone of his voice in the slightest, calm and steady. Having forced Madani, by his very reaction, to confirm the existence and involvement of the secret-ops unit, Lola hoped he wasn’t going to push harder.

  “Yes, I am aware that you’ve had some difficulties. How may we be of help?”

  There was a long pause and Lola wondered if the man was going to continue, but the President didn’t look worried.

  The sound of a sigh over the phone proved him right. It finally sank in where she was sitting and a cold shiver ran up her spine. She’d much rather be sitting in the windblown seat of her Black Hawk than the comfortable armchairs of this room. To lead here, to be the Commander-in-Chief, President Matthews would have to be a truly exceptional judge of character. Far more specialized than herself or the Majors. In this room, there was only one person on the planet of sufficient caliber every four to eight years. Or at least one hoped so, and this president did have a reputation for being the right person in the right place at the right time.

  And at least from the seat of her helicopter, a poor decision couldn’t affect the fate of millions.

  She took a calming breath, and then another. It didn’t help in the slightest.

  “You are a very wise man, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you, President Madani. And might I point out that you have also managed to rise to the presidency of one of the few space-faring nations on the planet. But your difficulties are earthbound.”

  Again the long pause.

  “You are very… American.”

  Lola had to bite her lower lip hard to suppress her laughter. It was true. Peter Matthews had all of the direct, forthright, self-assured American attitude that flustered so many foreigners. Something she and the President had in common. His easy attitude made the room feel a little less weird, but not much.

  President Matthews waited out another silence.

  “There is little liking between our countries…” The Iranian leader hesitated. “Do you not think so, Mr. President?”

  “Far too little.” He looked around the table to see mostly shrugs about what was going on.

  Lola wondered if… Something was familiar in the way the Iranian president was dodging around the meat of the matter, but he wasn’t going away either. As if he was… afraid?

  “Perhaps, President Madani, there is a problem that we may solve together?” Clearly the President was a step ahead of her again.

  “Yes. Yes, that would be good.” Mandani almost stumbled over himself being pleased. “You and I, we can perhaps solve this thing together.”

  President Matthews glanced at General Rogers, then at Emily. At a thoughtful look from the former and a nod of encouragement from the latter he continued.

  “Mr. Pres… May I call you Javad? You may call me Peter if that would be easier.”

  “Yes, that would be better.”

  “So, this problem in the desert, this laboratory, it is—”

  “A terrible thing, Peter. A terrible thing. I had it destroyed as soon as I heard about it.”

  General Rogers turned to glare at the phone in surprise, opened his mouth to speak, then remembered and shut it again. He scribbled furiously on a pad and shoved it to the President even as he was finishing it.

  Lola leaned forward.

  He’s in trouble. The religious right made it, he destroyed it. They’ll come for him.

  The President nodded with surety. He’d clearly come to the same conclusion.

  Lola wanted to tell him that this was no time to be playing poker. Lay down your hand and maybe he’ll lay down his. She could barely suppress her exclamation of surprise when he did exactly that.

  “Javad, there weren’t any chemical or biologic weapons at the site when you bombed it.”

  There was a gasp, then silence. Such a long silence that the President leaned forward to inspect the phone to check the connection.

  “So it is true.” The voice was small, as if coming from much farther away than half a world. “The weapon is in transport. I was too late.”

  “Do you know where?”

  Everyone in the room strained forward in their seats to listen though the sound was clear in the room.

  “Only a few clues, nothing concrete yet.”

  “But we may assume that it is coming to America.” President Matthews didn’t make it a question.

  “With our countries’ relations, that is a reasonable assumption, but I can only confirm it is upon a ship. I do not know its type, name, or destination.”

  “Is there a cure?”

  Lola could barely swallow after the worried intensity of President Matthews’s question.

  “If there is, Peter, I destroyed it along with everything else at the site.”

  Not everything. Would the President play that card? Major Henderson had said that the President played poker with more enthusiasm than success. He clearly made up for that playing in the international arena. Lola couldn’t even guess which way would play better.

  “Javad.” Matthews’s voice had the perfect balance of calm and surety. “I have your computers and the research references here.”

  This was clearly the table where President Matthews played a masterful game. One way over Lola’s head.

  “How? No, I don’t care. Praise be to Allah. Then you know what it can do. Can you stop it?”

  “I don’t know, Javad. We are working on the how, but we need to know where and when.”

  “I will try, Peter. I swear that I will try.”

  Help him, Emily mouthed at him. And Lola could see why she didn’t play poker. Childhood friend or not, Major Beale couldn’t see that the President was five or six moves ahead of her. It was the same way she flew, straight ahead without any games.

  The Iranian president had just reached out in secrecy to help the most hated foreign power. The personal and professional risk of doing so was immense. If he were caught, it wouldn’t be execution. It would be torture of him, his families, his friends, and every member of his political party. It might unleash an extremist jihad of unprecedented proportions.

  “What can I do to help you, Javad?”

  President Matthews was clearly searching for an idea, any idea. And just as clearly he didn’t have one.

  She scribbled a note, thought better of it, crossed it out, wrote another, and shoved it across the table so that it slid into his range of vision.

  The President read it, and read it again, clearly thinking very hard and fast. Then he nodded sharply without looking up. Decision made.

  “Javad.”

  “Yes, Peter.”

  “I regret that I don’t know who is murdering your top nuclear scientists one after another.”

  Iran had lost five and nearly lost a half-dozen more as someone used weapons, poisons, and car bombs to kill the country’s top physicists. Lola had crossed it out because clearly Israel was doing the assassinations and they had to have at least tacit U.S. approval to proceed. So, stopping that just wasn’t going to happen. The United States needed at least one friendly nation in the Middle East too badly to mess with that.

  “However, perhaps I can ease the international banking sanctions associated with your space program. Space only. I still cannot condone any nuclear research or related efforts.”

  Again the silence was long enough for the President to check that the connection remained active.

  “Yes, Peter. That would be enough. If I could show them that I had negotiated the release of foreign-held funds that rightly belong to Iran, that might be more important than the destruction of Ravar.”

  “We’ll be in touch, Javad.”

  President Matthews finished the pleasantries and cut the connection. He looked slowly about the room, offered the general a nod of thanks,
then glanced at the two notes in front of him. Comparing them.

  “Whose writing is this? Sure isn’t yours, Brett. Way too nice. Thanks, Em. It was the perfect carrot. Even the crossed-out teaser of what he’d ask first but I’m certainly not going to do.”

  Emily pointed across the table at Lola.

  President Matthews slowly turned to face her.

  “Perfect timing, Chief Warrant. Exactly what I was looking for.”

  Again she could only nod.

  Then he quirked that nationally televised smile that he wore so easily.

  “You tell Mr. Maloney to keep you close, Chief Warrant LaRue. If he doesn’t, I might be trying to steal you away.”

  For the second time tonight and perhaps in her life, Lola felt the heat rise to her face as she looked down at the table.

  She and Tim had been much less circumspect than they’d thought. And the heat she felt thinking of Tim was echoed by a warmth much closer to her heart.

  Chapter 43

  Lola told Tim all she could remember of the phone call and the meetings that followed, going over it again and again until she had every detail clear. She’d done it while curled up in his arms, just letting him hold her close and safe in the apartment’s bed. Her head on his shoulder as she spoke, a leg hooked over his hips, and her fingers tracing out her memories on that perfect chest of his.

  A Secret Service agent had returned her to the restaurant’s back door and there he’d been. Sitting outside the kitchen door, still wide awake though it was two in the morning. Tim sitting in a pool of brightness cast by a single light over the door was the best welcome she’d ever had. He must have been worried because he hadn’t even taken the opportunity to razz the agent.

  Now the telling was done. Lola hadn’t left out a single thing. Not how out of place she’d felt. Not how her flight had looked in the drone’s camera. Not about the fears of living in a world where such hatred didn’t just exist but created horridly lethal weapons of mass destruction and where people could be so twisted that they’d want to wield them.