Biowar

83

“Charlie, we’re moving the rendezvous point and going with a backup plan,” Telach told Charlie after he got in the car. The driver, a Brit named Jack Pendleton, started away smoothly. Pendleton was a member of the British Special Air Service, or SAS, the Special Forces military branch trained in covert operations. Assigned to Middle East duty, he had been “borrowed” by Desk Three. Even though he was an ally, Dean had to take out his sat phone and pretend to be using it as cover when talking to the Art Room; Pendleton wasn’t cleared to know about the com system, let alone the rest of Desk Three’s technology.

“You with me, Charlie?” asked Telach.

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”

“I’m going to explain everything to you, Charlie, but first we have to get that sample safe. That’s our priority.”

“What’s wrong with Lia?” he demanded.

“She’s okay. Follow my directions. Have the driver turn at the second intersection.”

Dean leaned forward in the seat. There was no question that the sample he had stolen was extremely important. But so was Lia.

He knew where she’d gone. They could just drive straight there, then make the rendezvous.

Unless he didn’t make it.

“The turn’s coming up, Charlie. You have to trust me.”

“Turn here,” he told Pendleton.

“That’s going to take us out of the city,” said the driver.

“Yeah,” said Dean.

The houses thinned quickly. They began climbing up the hillside. Dean could see the Syrian’s walled compound in the distance.

Lia was there. In trouble.

Duty or love — which was more important?

“Next left, Charlie,” said Telach.

If they went straight, they could get down to the compound.

I’m not a Marine anymore, Dean told himself. I don’t follow orders blindly.

Hell, he hadn’t done that as a Marine.

But he had the driver take the turn.

“Next right,” said Telach.

“Where’s Lia?” demanded Dean.

“She’s okay. We’ll have you back her up in case the Israelis don’t get there quickly or something goes wrong. But first, you hand off the sample.”

“If she’s in trouble, every second counts.”

“I’m well aware of the constraints,” said Telach.

Constraints?

Jesus!

“All right. Stop on the side of the road,” said the Art Room supervisor.

They pulled over. Dean opened the door. “I’m going to leave the pack here.”

“No,” said Telach. “Thirty seconds. A woman on a bicycle.”

Dean got out of the car and waited. Sure enough, what looked like an old woman dressed in a black chador soon rounded the curve.

“She’s going to say something to you in Arabic,” Telach told him.

“What do I do?”

“Nothing. She has orders to shoot you if you do anything.”

The woman approached the car, stopped, then repeated a long phrase twice.

“Give her the sample; go ahead,” said Telach.

Dean reached back into the car and took out the small insulated bag. The woman took it without comment and began pedaling away. Dean saw an airplane banking above.

“It’s ours, Charlie,” said Telach. “Now go ahead; go over to the compound. We’re still assessing the situation.”

Inside the car, the driver was suppressing a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” asked Dean.

“The hag said you have tiny balls and couldn’t fuck a cat. Anyone who understood her couldn’t have helped but react. That’s how she knew you were the right contact.”

“Everybody’s a comedian,” said Dean.

There were a half-dozen men at the entrance to the compound and two guards on the western fence, nearest the town. But the southeastern side was uncovered.

“When are the Israelis getting here?” Dean asked.

“They’re on their own schedule,” said Telach. “But I’d say within a half hour.”

“Too long. I’m going in.”

Telach didn’t answer right away. “All right,” she said finally. “Get as close to the wall as you can. What weapons do you have?”

“I have the AK-47 I took from the school, and an M4 in the trunk.”

“All right. Wait until the aircraft attacks the main gate. When it does, go over the wall.”

“Then what?”

“It depends on what they do. You’ll have to trust us.”

“I really wish you’d stop saying that.”

“I will when you start doing it.”

“I’m here, right?”

Lia followed the guards to the back of the house, expecting to be led to the bunker they had ID’ed below the back of the building. But instead they led her outside to a side garden and left her. She looked around. There were guards at the far end of the compound and back in the house, but otherwise she seemed to be alone. Lia took out her handheld computer and thumbed up the bug scanner; she wasn’t even under surveillance.

“What’s going on?” she asked Rockman.

“Umar the son of Umar seems to have bought your act,” said the runner. “In any event, it’s clear you’re not Jewish, so he’s confused.”

“Does he know about the Israeli raid?”

“Not yet. We think there’s a messenger on the way. Definitely time to leave. We have Dean outside. We’re going to launch a diversion and you can get over the side wall. I’ll guide you.”

“I have to get the dongle into the computer in the bunker,” she told the runner. “Go ahead with the diversion and tell Charlie I’ll be along in a minute.”

“They’ll kill you if they find you.”

“The second entrance is back beyond the pool, right?”

“Lia—”

“Are you going to help me, or do I have to figure it out for myself?”

The missile that exploded at the gate shook the ground so hard that Dean fell against the wall. By the time he got up and over the top, Pendleton had jumped onto the other side, thoughtfully leaving his jacket over the sharp shards of glass that lined the top. Dean heard a crack of rifle fire as he jumped; he rolled onto his shoulder and up, looking for a target. But the gunfire had come from the front of the building, one of the guards there firing in panic.

As Dean got up, the ground shook again. There were shouts from inside the house. Dean saw the Brit kneeling a few yards away; he whistled to him and then started running toward the building.

“Where is she?” he asked Rockman.

“She’s inside the bunker beneath the house. Go to your right. You’ll see a large garden. Down the steps, keep moving to your right. Around to the pool house. She left the door open for you.”

“She left the door open for me?”

“She’s a lot more sentimental than she seems.”