Dark Rising

SEVENTEEN

Marv Dasht Basin, Southern Iran

The lighting inside the B2 Spirit turned a deep red and the double doors of the undercarriage slowly opened with a barely perceptible whine. The stealth craft slowed in its dash across the foreign airspace and a bone-chilling cold washed in as the speed corona caught up with the sleek dark shape.

At 35,000 feet, nothing below was visible to the team clinging to the thin platform at the edge of the bomb doors. All they were aware of was an empty blackness and the scream of high-altitude wind being shredded by thousands of pounds of supersonic aircraft.

All eyes were on Alex.

Go. Alex heard the command in his earpiece and nodded at the team. Without a second thought, he dived into the square of rushing blackness. The others followed.

Six human missiles streaked towards the earth, arms held tight by their sides and feet only slightly splayed to create an aerodynamic lightning-bolt shape. They cut through the thin air at nearly 400 miles an hour. The scream of the wind at this velocity would have shattered their eardrums if not for the helmets and lowered visors. Alex couldn’t contain the elation he felt and almost whooped with delight. Even so, he knew this wasn’t the highest jump that had ever been achieved. In 1960, an American Air Force captain by the name of Kittinger had descended from over 100,000 feet wearing a special pressurised suit. He’d reached a speed of 700 miles per hour, and nearly lost a hand due to the failure of his pressurised suit glove. The hand had swelled to the size of a football by the time he finally made landfall.

The sun was coming up over the horizon, and at this altitude Alex could see the curve of the globe falling away around his team. There was little cloud below them and the green and brown of the Marv Dasht Basin at the foot of the Kouh-e Rahmat, the Mountain of Mercy, was visible. Soon he made out a small patchwork of sand-coloured structures at the foot of the mountain – the ancient ruins of Persepolis. They appeared to grow directly out of a massive spur of stone, hewn by giants from the surrounding natural rock. The lights of Shiraz, some thirty miles to the south-west, twinkled among the predawn shadows.

Technically, the HAWC team could communicate with each other via the microphones built into their helmets, but the roar of air rushing past at high speed meant that conversations were limited to single-word commands or acknowledgements. It didn’t really matter; the HAWCs only needed to be briefed once – they knew what they had to do.

At 20,000 feet, and a word from Alex, the team split into two groups. Alex had given Hex the lead over the Red team – Irish, Rocky and Adira; while he would lead the Blue team in, comprising Sam and Zach. Normally Sam would have been the Red team leader, but Alex wanted him to cover the young Israeli scientist as well as provide him with logistical support. They would only separate for a few miles, but if one of the teams was spotted – or, worse, engaged – the other team would provide covering support or complete the mission solo.

Sam had drawn the short straw and had jumped with Zach strapped to his chest. Not such a bad deal for Sam really, as the young scientist absorbed most of the blasting wind. At those descent speeds and without hardened stomach muscles, Zach would be cramping for days.

Alex watched out of the corner of his eye as the Red team became dots in the distance. He didn’t dare turn his head too much; even the slightest shift while in freefall at maximum speed could cause a broad looping turn or change of direction. He thought of Adira’s courage and the blind commitment she and her countrymen displayed. As expected, the Israelis’ network had come through before the Americans’ and Adira had organised for a few members of the local Mossad cell to meet them. Alex was in awe of these agents who often lived for years among another country’s people, knowing that being found out would mean extreme torture and violent death. Even on mission completion, their successes could never be acknowledged publicly as retribution had been known to follow many years later. These networks were tough, dedicated and highly professional.

Thinking of the spy networks brought to mind his last conversation with the Hammer and the news of the break-in at the Fort Bragg medical facility. ‘It could have been Mossad,’his superior had said. Alex knew his file was kept in the underground vault called ‘deep secure’, but exactly what the file contained even he didn’t know. Hammerson had informed him that the intruder had obtained an administration shell – Alex wasn’t identified by name, and there were no photographs. But the supposedly secure facility had been compromised, and now someone knew enough about him to target him. And if it was Mossad then that information might find its way to Adira Senesh.

Alex didn’t have time to worry about that now. Ground was coming up fast – it was nearly showtime. A chute was usually deployed anywhere between 5000 and 2000 feet. In a HALO jump, the covert low opening meant that no canopy plume would be deployed until below 1000 feet – you hit hard, but you were visible and therefore vulnerable for less time. With the extra weight, Sam would feel it the most – unless, of course, he used Zach as a cushion. Alex smiled; he knew exactly what Sam would do.

Impact. Alex heard the grunts over his comm unit. At the velocity they were travelling, the chute gave an average-sized body a lot of jolt when it was slowed by eight-tenths of its drop speed in a few dozen feet. However, that was nothing compared to the impact on landing. At twenty-five feet per second, even with the best bent-knee drop and roll, there were a lot of sore bones the next day. Alex counted off the grunts. Good, he thought, all down.

Sam unhooked a groggy Zach from his harness and half-dragged him to cover, while Alex quickly buried all the parachutes in the soft sand. An outcrop of rocks gave them some protection so they could communicate with the Red team who was now several miles to their direct north. All down, no broken bones. Good start, thought Alex.

He looked over at Zach who had his visor up and was throwing up onto the sand.

The Red team were burying their chutes when two blips of light flickered at them from out of the semi-darkness. The HAWCs flattened to the ground and drew their weapons, but Adira held up her hand and responded with a triple flicker from her own torch. Two men dressed in the robes and head shawls of desert tribesmen walked towards the group. One kept his eyes on the large Americans while the other spoke in hurried Hebrew to Adira. It was obvious to the watching HAWCs that she carried some rank by the way they treated her with military deference.

‘They called her “Seren”. I think that means captain. Hey, she outranks us,’ Lagudi said, straining to overhear.

‘Not in our fucking army,’ Irish said.

Adira seemed to be asking numerous questions, and the men gestured in turn towards the north and the surrounding countryside. With a final few words, the men saluted Adira, nodded to the HAWCs and tracked back out into the dry and abrasive landscape.

Adira pulled her sidearms from her backpack – two Israeli-designed Baraks. Hex raised his eyebrows, recognising the pistols and approving. Alex had offered her a handgun, but Hex could see why she had declined. The Baraks were blunt and businesslike, with double-action trigger, polymer square frame and rounded barrel; fast, durable and accurate weapons that gave the power punch of a magnum without the weight.

Adira strapped both holsters on so the gun barrels pointed down towards her groin, creating a ‘V’ shape at her front that gave her rapid access and no side flaring. She slapped both pistols and practised her draw – fast. She looked very comfortable with the weapons.

‘Marry me,’ said Lagudi with open admiration.

Adira ignored him, walked quickly back to the HAWCs and gestured out into the surrounding country. ‘There is a lot of activity in the area – we were right to think we were expected. There are numerous small teams of Takavaran-Iranian Special Forces – very tough and highly trained. We need to avoid them at all costs.’

O’Riordan rolled his eyes and shook his head as if to dismiss the threat. Adira spoke directly to him. ‘We must not engage with these Iranian forces or we -’

‘Ah, for Chrissake, lady, I’m sure they give you Jewish guys a run for your money, but if you haven’t noticed yet, we ain’t you. They said the same fuckin’ thing about them elite Iraqi forces, and our standard ground troops bent’ em back in a day.’

Adira stepped forward, her flat hand coming up towards Irish’s sneering face. ‘You are a stupid man,’ she said.

Irish, probably wary of the last time her hand had come up, blocked her as if it was a strike, then punched his other hand hard into her chest.

Adira went down, but not onto her back as Irish was probably expecting. She corkscrewed her body on the way to the ground, giving momentum to her legs, which swung around and knocked Irish off his feet. The second he hit the ground, she was kneeling on his chest, a finger and thumb pressed to each side of his windpipe. ‘Stupid men die here,’ she hissed into his ear.

Hex tapped her on top of her helmet. ‘Let him up.’

O’Riordan bounced to his feet, his face as red as his hair. He went to step back into Adira but Hex grabbed him by the collar. ‘Don’t make me report this to the captain.’

Irish wrenched himself free from Hex and swung around to face the darkened desert. He pulled his gun free and shot three quick, silent rounds into the night, then reholstered his gun before turning back to the group.

‘You okay?’ Hex said.

Irish nodded and looked away as if slightly bored. Adira shrugged and went on with her information.

‘There are small squads around the ruins, and also some four-man teams spotted in other regions. My men will gather more information and report back to us.’

Hex looked again at Irish. ‘We can deal with the Iranians if need be, but we can’t afford to get pinned down in a firefight. They’ve got the home-team advantage and a lot of backup.’

‘I agree; they can afford to stand and fight. We can’t,’ Adira said with a flat stare at O’Riordan.

Hex could swear she gave him the hint of a smile.

He called in the information about their position and the Mossad intelligence about the Takavaran, then ordered his team to join up with the Blue team, now less than a mile to the south of the ruins. Adira volunteered to bring up the rear. She obviously isn’t ready to let the big redheaded HAWC get behind her just yet, Hex thought with a grin.