Easy Day for the Dead

15

Pancho headed out the door of Dr. Khamenei’s room. Leila followed, helping Dr. Khamenei walk. Alex fretted, debating whether to just scoop the doctor up. She wasn’t much faster than a two-legged tortoise. Although there were no Revolutionary Guards, there were people in the hall, and some of them were staring. Alex and his team couldn’t run faster than their slowest person.

“Faster,” Alex said quietly. “Dr. Khamenei, you’ve got to walk faster so we can get out of this hallway and down the stairs.”

The doctor sped up a little, wobbling like she’d been heavily sedated — probably on purpose to keep her from escaping. Maybe the Guards had been there to prevent that just as much as to protect her. Damn, she’s slow.

Alex’s eyes scanned the hall for a wheelchair, but there was none. He realized that walking down the stairs was going to be so slow, it would put them in more danger than taking the elevator. Also, if going down the stairs popped the doctor’s stitches, they’d have even more problems. When Pancho turned back to see how they were proceeding and check for any communications, Alex said, “Take us to the elevator.”

They entered the elevator and went down to the second floor. “Stairs,” Alex said. When the elevator doors opened on the second floor, Pancho led them out and through the doors to the stairs. The doors closed behind them. On the stairwell, they were protected from eyes in the hallway.

Alex gestured for Pancho to take a look on the first floor. Pancho went downstairs and peeked through the door window at the first floor. He climbed back up the stairs, looked at Alex, and shook his head. The first floor was too dangerous. Alex turned to John and said, “Take us to the elevator.”

John took them out of the stairwell, into the hall, and to the elevator. When the elevator door opened, two armed Revolutionary Guards stood inside — with similar heights and appearance, they looked like twins. The Guards noticed Dr. Khamenei, grabbed their AKM rifles, and proceeded to aim. John didn’t hesitate. He lifted his pistol and fired. Alex had seen more than his share of close-up head shots, but two heads exploding in the space of an elevator was a shock even for him. The two soldiers slid down the back wall of the elevator, where their bodies slumped on the floor.

Alex and his crew stepped onto the elevator. The floor was slick with blood. Alex stood on one of the twins so everyone could fit in the elevator more easily. “Fourth floor,” Alex said.

Pancho pressed the number four.

“We can follow the fourth floor to another wing and find an exit there,” Alex explained.

The elevator stopped at the third floor and opened. A young couple started to enter the elevator when they noticed all the blood. Pancho put up his hands, gesturing for them to stop. Leila told them something in Farsi, and the couple backed off. The elevator door closed. Up it went.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and Alex’s team stepped off. A group of women waiting to ride the elevator stared at Alex and his crew in shock. With blood all over the SEALs’ white coats and their surgical masks, the SEALs looked like they had just finished performing surgery. They passed the group of women. After a moment, one of them screamed — she’d seen the twin Guards.

“Come on, Dr. Khamenei, you’ve got to move it,” Alex pleaded.

Dr. Khamenei tried to hurry, but she stumbled, almost falling — Leila held her arm, steadying her. Alex, using a fireman’s carry, hoisted the scientist on his back and carried her. Although now they could move faster, if they came under attack, Alex wouldn’t be able to return fire quickly.

The fourth floor was almost as crowded with people as the first floor, but fortunately there were no Revolutionary Guards in sight.

Enemy AK fire sounded.

“Contact rear!” John shouted.

Alex wanted to turn, drop to the deck, and open fire, but he couldn’t drop Dr. Khamenei without busting her stitches and spilling her guts all over the floor, so he hid around a nearby corner in an alcove. Pancho and John fired their sound-suppressed pistols while the enemy made a terrible racket with their AKMs. In the alcove next to him were two beds. He noticed the beds had wheels. Hot damn! Alex put Dr. Khamenei on a bed. There was a wet spot on the side of her stomach — blood. There was no gunshot wound; she was bleeding through her stitches. Alex looked around for gauze, but there was none. He folded the bedsheet into a giant bandage, placed it on Dr. Khamenei’s bleeding spot, and told her to hold the sheet there with her hand. “Keep pressure on it,” Alex said. He grabbed the sheet off another bed and covered Dr. Khamenei, including her face, to hide her identity.

The firing stopped. Alex poked his head out into the hall. Bodies lay on the ground in the distance, a number of them civilians. Alex, Pancho, and John played dirty, but they didn’t kill innocent bystanders. The civilians were mowed down by the Guards, who were now dead. Alex wheeled Dr. Khamenei out. “I need you to push this,” he told Leila.

She did.

Alex’s team resumed their escape, but now they were moving at least ten times faster. We just might make it out of here. They passed a tall woman lying facedown on the floor — her blood formed a small puddle around her head. An elderly man walked in a daze with a bloody shoulder.

“Contact rear!” John shouted.

Damn! Alex and Pancho quickly turned about-face.

“Pancho, take Leila and Dr. Khamenei, go to the first floor, and wait,” Alex said.

“Aye,” Pancho said.

“Be careful,” Leila said to Alex. Then she hurried off with Pancho.

A shot popped the air next to Alex’s head. Either it was a lucky shot, or these guys weren’t the average Guards — Alex suspected the latter. About thirty-five yards in front of Alex, three combatants in plainclothes used walls for cover while firing at the SEALs — the bad guys were firing in a rhythm, so that when one reloaded, the others fired. There were no lulls in the heat they delivered. John had already taken shelter behind a wall, and Alex followed his example. Just as Alex took cover, a chip of wall hopped out near his face.

Alex popped out and fired back, trying to shoot the bad guys in the upper torso, shoot them through the wall, and skip rounds off the wall to take them down. Alex thought he recognized one of the three — an adversary he’d fought years ago in Iraq: Gholam Khan. John fired a staccato of bullets at Khan and his men.

Alex took cover in an alcove and removed his jacket. He unslung his AKM and brought it up to his shoulder. The desire to kill Khan pumped adrenaline through Alex’s arteries.

“Reloading!” John called out. Alex knew John would be taking cover while he was reloading.

“Die, you slick bastard!” Alex cried as he swung around the corner. In the absence of John’s shooting, Khan and his men advanced confidently — three against two, and submachine guns versus pistols. Khan and his men moved like they had superior firepower on their side. But Khan and his men had no idea who they were up against, and they had no idea that Alex and John were armed with AKM assault rifles. In contrast to Alex’s quiet sound-suppressed Zoaf pistol, his AKM assault rifle roared — and in contrast to the Zoaf, the AKM delivered a wicked bite. Alex fired three rounds in rapid succession. The first round struck low and to the left of Khan. The second caught Khan in the chest, knocking him back a step. The third went high and right. Khan stumbled backward over his men trying to find cover from Alex’s onslaught.

John appeared with his AKM firing in rapid succession. Khan staggered into a side room, and his two buddies must have realized how exposed they were, because they followed him. John skipped a round off the wall that nailed one in the right ass cheek — he howled in pain.

Alex wanted to stay and fight Khan, but even if Alex killed him, reinforcements were surely on their way. Alex’s ammunition wouldn’t last long, and dying in Tehran was not a mission objective. “John, drop smoke,” Alex said.

“Dropping smoke,” John repeated. He stopped firing and popped a smoke grenade directly in front of their position. Soon the hallway filled with white smoke and Alex could no longer see Khan and his men.

16

Pistachio pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “I can’t believe they shot me in the ass.” He looked at his wallet: the hole went completely through. He grunted. “And the bullet is still in my ass!”

Major Khan looked down at his chest — a metal piece of GPS electronics stuck out of it. When he lifted his arm, electronics shifted in his chest pocket like loose change. The major pulled the bloody piece of metal out. He remembered the face of the man who just shot him. He knew the shooter from Kahar, Iraq, when the major had the green-faced devil in his sniper sight. Green-Face moved just before he took the shot. He was the same green-face who slaughtered his Shiite militia, the same man who had killed his beloved Abubakar. Major Khan’s militia reported that this green-face’s name was Alex Brandenburg.

Major Khan looked at the smoke ahead of him in the hall — he couldn’t see anything beyond it. The major could charge through and hope he didn’t run into an ambush or booby trap, or he could be cautious and wait until the smoke receded before proceeding — not that he was afraid of death. On the contrary, part of him welcomed death. Major Khan simply wanted to die under his own terms.

“That bastard shot you,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “Nobody shoots my friend and lives to tell about it — nobody!” He rushed down the hallway toward the smoke.

Major Khan appreciated Lieutenant Saeedi taking the lead. The major followed, staying just far enough back in case the shit hit the fan. Major Khan glanced back to see Pistachio limping behind him.

“You hear that, you bastards?!” Lieutenant Saeedi called into the smoke. “I’m coming for you!” He ran into the smoke. “Come on,” Lieutenant Saeedi shouted, “they’re getting away!”

Major Khan entered the smoke, and when he exited the other side, he saw Lieutenant Saeedi but no Alex. He caught up with Lieutenant Saeedi, and they picked up speed.

17

Alex and John, with their weapons concealed in their white coats, frantically searched the first floor for Pancho, Leila, and Dr. Khamenei. In the lounge corner of the lobby, Alex and John found them. The first floor in the wing was crowded, but there were no Revolutionary Guards, and, for the most part, Alex and his crew were able to blend in. “We’re going to have a hard time returning to our vehicle,” John said quietly.

“Follow me,” Alex whispered while continuing forward. He had no idea where he was going, but he knew he didn’t want to be in that lobby — especially when Major Khan and his gang came looking for them. At the first corridor, Alex turned left. He looked back to make sure his team was with him — they were. Up ahead, people flowed into the hospital from what looked like an emergency entrance — it gave him an idea. He dodged people like a race car as he hurried forward. Then he exited the emergency entrance. In the parking lot, he saw what he’d hoped for: ambulances. The ambulances had the word for “ambulance” written in reverse on their fronts. They had orange stripes along the side and Farsi writing.

“Contact rear!” John shouted.

Alex turned. Two more Guards came running out of the hospital. Shots whistled past his head and drilled into the nearest ambulance.

John fired off two short bursts and the Guards tumbled to the pavement, where they lay still. The clatter of their AKs hitting the ground made a terrible noise.

Alex ran to the ambulances and frantically looked inside. On the third try he found one with keys in the ignition.

Alex opened the driver’s side and looked at Leila. She nodded and stepped into the driver’s seat. Pancho rode shotgun. “Get us out of here now!” Alex told Leila and Pancho. Alex, John, and Dr. Khamenei loaded into the back. Alex covered Dr. Khamenei’s eyes with a black hood — she didn’t need to see their safe house. Alex found some bandages in the ambulance and used them to dress Dr. Khamenei’s stitches. John kept a lookout to their rear.

Leila stomped on the gas and drove them out of the hospital area. Pancho turned on the lights and siren, and Leila picked up speed. The downside of the lights and siren was that they drew attention. On the upside, Alex’s crew could quickly put more distance between them and the bad guys. Also, if the bad guys ran surveillance on the SEALs, they could spot the surveillance team driving faster than the vehicles around them.

Leila drove out onto the expressway. Minutes later, John said, “We got company.”

A black sedan followed behind, speeding faster than the vehicles around it but staying behind the ambulance. Alex and John prepared their AKMs without showing them through the back window. The two SEALs waited for the man in the black sedan to make his move. Maybe he was just using the ambulance to drive through traffic faster.

Without using her turn signal, Leila made a quick exit off the expressway. The sedan didn’t follow. Pancho cut off the lights and siren. Without the noise of their own siren, Alex heard sirens screeching throughout Tehran.

Pancho told Leila to take three consecutive right turns, to make sure they weren’t being followed. No one came. They were clean.

Leila pulled into the condo parking lot, stopped, and turned off the ignition. Alex pulled the condo key off his key ring and handed it to Pancho. Pancho took the key, pulled down his surgeon’s mask, and left behind his AKM as he hurried with Leila into the condo lobby.

Alex laid his AKM on the ambulance bed, grabbed Pancho’s AKM from the front, and laid it down next to his AKM. Then he motioned for John to hand over his.

“You’re not getting rid of these, are you?” John asked.

“Just need to conceal them so we can move them to the van,” Alex replied.

John looked longingly at his AKM and then handed it over.

Alex wrapped it with the other two AKMs in the bedsheet. “You bring the doctor.”

John nodded. “You’re bleeding.”

“Where?”

“Your ear is bleeding.”

Alex touched his ear, then looked at his finger — it was bloody.

“Looks like a round sliced your earlobe.”

“Is it still attached?”

“Yeah, but it’s going to need a few stitches. Let me put something on it.” John grabbed rubbing alcohol, poured it on some gauze, and cleaned Alex’s earlobe. Then he taped it with some gauze.

Alex had been so focused on fighting and jacked up on adrenaline that he didn’t realize a shot had grazed him. “Thanks.” Alex looked through the window to see if anyone was watching. He didn’t see anyone, so he pushed open the back doors and hopped out with the AKMs wrapped in a bedsheet. Alex opened the rear door of the van and loaded the weapons inside. He held the door open for John and shuttled her into the back of the van. Alex and John entered the van and sat.

Alex looked anxiously out the van window for Pancho and Leila. It seemed like it was taking them too long. Maybe they were in trouble, but Alex didn’t hear any shots. When he saw Pancho and Leila exit the building with their bags, he felt relieved.

After loading their bags in the back, Leila got behind the wheel of the van. Pancho drove the ambulance and Leila followed. Several blocks away from the condo, Pancho parked the ambulance on the side of the road and left the keys in the ignition with the door unlocked. Hopefully no one would connect the ambulance to the condo. If someone stole the ambulance and broke it down in a chop shop to sell the parts, that would be even better.

Pancho sat up front in the van next to Leila. She drove west and entered Expressway Two, then exited on Chalus Road, which took them north through the Alborz mountain range and all the way to the resort town of Chalus on the Caspian Sea. East of Chalus was a Revolutionary Guard base.

Alex took off Dr. Khamenei’s black hood. She looked relieved. John checked the AKM magazines — one had less ammo than the others, so he redistributed the ammo in the magazines so each weapon had twenty rounds.

From Chalus, Leila turned west and followed the Caspian Sea for a little over thirty kilometers, passing the town of Abas Abad. To the left appeared a forest. Pancho directed Leila to drive off-road into the woods far enough so they couldn’t be seen from the highway. There they waited for darkness.

“Dr. Khamenei, where is your husband being held hostage?” Alex asked.

“In Lebanon.”

Alex bit off a curse. Of course he wouldn’t be held somewhere close.

“Who is holding him in Lebanon?”

“Hezbollah. My husband was teaching Farsi in Tripoli. At the beginning of last year, some of his students became swept up in the Arab Spring, and they encouraged him to join them. His students supported Lebanon and opposed Syria’s interference in Lebanon’s government. Of course, Syria was not happy. Syria’s close ally Iran was not happy, either. Both Syria and Iran continue to fund Hezbollah in order to take control of Lebanon. The Iranian Revolutionary Guards trained Hezbollah and continue to train them. Naturally, Syria and Iran have told Hezbollah to squash the Arab Spring. Hezbollah tortured my husband and many of his friends. Other friends of his were executed. I didn’t want to do the work I do, but the Iranian government told me that if I did, they would make sure Hezbollah didn’t torture my husband. They would make sure Hezbollah wouldn’t kill him. My government said that when I completed my work, they’d get my husband released from prison. Hezbollah didn’t kill my husband because Iranian leaders know that if my husband dies, I won’t help them with their biological weapon. But I found out that Hezbollah still tortures him. I need you to free him as soon as possible.”

“Then you’ll tell us the location of Iran’s biological weapons lab?” Alex asked.

“Gladly.”

“Just what is it that they’re researching at this top-secret lab?”

“They’re researching a more deadly strain of the bubonic plague — Black Death. In the fourteenth century it started in China and killed thirty percent of their population — twenty-five million people. Rat fleas carried the plague and lived on rats that sneaked onto merchant ships that sailed to Europe, where it killed about half of Europe’s population. In total, the Black Death killed four hundred fifty million people.

“Recently our scientists went to Madagascar to study a strain that resists streptomycin, tetracycline, and six other antibiotics. The scientists brought back the Madagascar Black Death bacterium and crossbred it with pneumonic plague, creating a hybrid that can be carried by fleas and infect the human respiratory system. Our scientists also treated the hybrid with small doses of other drugs so the bacterium would become resistant to all antibiotics. The scientists completed the twenty-first strain. They called it Madagascar Black Death Twenty-One, or MBD21. Our government plans to infect rat fleas with the virus, so we are raising superior breeds of rat fleas that reproduce more fleas and live longer. Then the scientists will infect the rat fleas with MBD21 and infest the United States. Because the bacterium carries the characteristics of pneumonic plague, it can also be transmitted from human to human by coughing or sneezing. You can imagine, with all the advances in travel since the fourteenth century, how quickly the virus will spread today. The scientists calculate with ninety-nine percent reliability that MBD21 will destroy at least half the U.S. population.”

“We better shut these guys down, pronto,” Pancho said.

At 0145, Pancho and John slipped out of the woods and across the highway into the trees bordering a construction site. Next to the trees were houses, but the lights were out as if everyone had gone to sleep. Then at 0200, Pancho flashed an infrared signal into the Caspian Sea. Pancho was busy signaling and looking for a reply, and he couldn’t pay attention to what was happening around him, so John watched their immediate surroundings, guarding Pancho.

Ten minutes later, Alex escorted Leila and Dr. Khamenei out of the woods, across the street, and into the trees next to the construction site. There they linked up with Pancho and John. Alex could see a few white lights on the sea — none of them would belong to the Tigers.

Minutes later, Alex noticed a dark shape approaching them from the sea — the Tigers quietly paddled to shore. As they came closer, Alex recognized Lieutenant Zadeh, the rock star. He brought two men with him. It was no small feat to paddle the big black rubber boat using only three men. Alex and his crew met the Tigers, who’d dismounted in the shallow water. They helped Leila and Dr. Khamenei into the middle of the boat.

Then the SEALs and Tigers, half on the starboard side and half on the port side, held on to the boat and walked it into deeper water. The front two Tigers, one starboard and one port, jumped into the boat first, grabbed their paddles in the boat, and started paddling. Alex and Pancho continued to push the boat to sea until water came up to their knees. Alex jumped inside the boat on the starboard side and Pancho on the port side. Alex sat with his right knee resting on the outer rib and his left knee inside the boat on the deck. He grabbed his oar and paddled, as did Pancho. Similarly, John and Lieutenant Zadeh continued pushing the boat out to sea until the water rose too high up their legs for them to maneuver effectively. Then they hopped into the boat and started paddling. Lieutenant Zadeh also served as coxswain, steering them.

Silently the SEALs and Tigers paddled out to sea. Lights from one of the vessels headed toward them. The SEALs and Tigers couldn’t paddle faster than the approaching vessel’s engines. Lieutenant Zadeh tried to fire up their motor. It didn’t start. He tried again — nothing. On the third try it started. The engine was a special stealth motor, quieter than most boat engines, but it wasn’t as quiet as the oars. Lieutenant Zadeh twisted the throttle, and their black rubber boat jumped forward. The SEALs and Tigers stopped paddling and put their oars in the boat. When their boat hit waves, it caught air — which was thrilling for less than a second — then the boat came back down on the water hard, smashing Alex’s left knee. Even though Leila and Dr. Khamenei were in the middle of the boat, Alex didn’t know how they kept from getting bounced out. They were probably so scared that they were holding on for dear life. Soon their boat sailed out of the path of the approaching vessel. The vessel didn’t follow.

Two more lights floated ahead of them: one to the west and the other to the east. Lieutenant Zadeh cut between them. Again, neither vessel followed.

“Someone coming at us from the rear,” John said.

Alex looked behind and saw a boat approaching them with what looked like a searchlight — it was too far away to be sure.

Lieutenant Zadeh glanced over his shoulder. “Iranian patrol boat.” That was what Alex didn’t want to hear. The SEALs’ and Tigers’ little rubber boat with small weapons would be no match for a huge Iranian hunk of metal with big guns.

Up ahead to the north, in the middle of the sea, floated another vessel with its lights out. Lieutenant Zadeh steered east of it, passing the boat. The boat didn’t follow, and the Iranian patrol boat steered straight for the vessel with its lights out.

Lieutenant Zadeh continued north. The Iranian patrol boat stopped near the vessel with its lights out. Lieutenant Zadeh made a sharp turn left and headed east. Gradually, the land appeared closer and closer. Their boat slowed down and motored into the covered slip that looked like a warehouse from on land. Five and a half hours after launching their boat off the coast of Iran, they arrived safely in Neftcala, Azerbaijan.

Alex contacted JSOC to let them know they’d arrived with their precious cargo (PC): Dr. Khamenei. Alex relayed the information the doctor had given him about the top-secret lab and requested permission to rescue Dr. Khamenei’s husband. JSOC told Alex to “stand by.” Hoping to receive approval to launch a rescue, Pancho and John flew with their PC on a military flight to Stuttgart, Germany. Alex and Leila resumed their business cover and flew on Lufthansa to Frankfurt, then Stuttgart.

18

Tuesday, snow descended on the grounds of Patch Barracks, Stuttgart, Germany. Pancho and John turned over Dr. Khamenei to JSOC for holding before joining Alex for the debrief. JSOC told Alex that he’d get a new team member for the possible rescue op, but the rescue op hadn’t been approved yet.

On base, the SEALs and Leila each checked into separate rooms at the Schwabian Inn, an above-average hotel by American standards that charged discounted military rates.

In the morning, Alex gave Leila the morning off to relax and shop while he, Pancho, and John went to JSOC’s intel “shed” for maps and information about the prison, such as door locks, window fasteners, skylights, alarms, and security.

Alex requested information about Dr. Khamenei’s husband and the Arab Spring movement in Lebanon. Alex also asked for intel on Gholam Khan and his two comrades at the hospital in Iran.

The SEALs discussed infiltrating Lebanon disguised as a documentary film crew there to film UNESCO World Heritage sites. They put together identities for each member of their team and asked JSOC to help them with weapons, supporting documents, equipment, and a safe house. At lunch, they gave Leila her identity and camerawoman role to study. Then the SEALs went back to the intel shed for the latest dump, which included photos of Dr. Khamenei’s husband. The SEALs continued with their planning.

After dinner, as Alex was finishing a hot shower, a knock came at his hotel room door. Steam rolled out of the bathroom with him. Expecting the new team member, Alex threw on shorts and a T-shirt. He looked through the peephole. There stood Leila, appearing calm as usual. Alex opened the door. She walked in and embraced him. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

After the door clicked shut behind her, Leila pulled off her blouse — she wasn’t wearing a T-shirt or bra. The rush of combat still lingered in Alex’s blood, and he was primed for action. Alex took off his T-shirt and they kissed. Leila dropped her skirt — she wore nothing but smooth skin. Alex dropped his shorts, and they embraced. A knock sounded at the door. Alex ignored it.

“Alex,” a familiar female voice called. It was Cat.

Alex was confused as to why she was there, and the memory of his relationship with her collided with his feelings for Leila. Without thinking, he picked up his shorts and put them on.

“Who is she?” Leila whispered.

The knock sounded again.

Alex put on his T-shirt. “Cat.”

“Who is Cat?” Leila asked quietly.

“Alex?” Cat said.

He picked up Leila’s clothes and handed them to her.

Concern filled Leila’s face as she took her clothes and put them on.

“Alex, are you okay?” Cat asked.

No, I’m not okay. He was free-falling without a parachute. He was about to hurt two women at the same time. Lower and lower he dropped — soon he would crash and burn. “Just a moment,” he answered. Alex opened the door.

Cat burst in with a big smile on her face. She looked like she was about to hug Alex, until she noticed Leila. Cat’s smile disappeared.

“Cat, this is Leila,” he said.

Cat’s eyes examined Leila’s blouse; part of it was untucked. Cat spoke Arabic to Leila.

Leila responded in English, “I am Iranian. I speak Farsi, not Arabic. Are you Arab?”

“My grandmother is Lebanese.” Cat’s blond hair and fair skin didn’t pass for Arab, but when she put on a dark wig and dark makeup, she became Lebanese. Cat’s eyes shifted to Alex and she asked, “What are you dressed for?”

“I just stepped out of the shower,” Alex said.

The three of them stood quietly for an awkward moment.

“What brings you here?” Alex asked.

“Am I not welcome?” Cat asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Alex said.

“You’re not making me feel welcome,” she said.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Alex said, feeling totally out of his depth.

“I can see that.”

Alex struggled to come up with something to say. “We agreed it’d be okay to see other people.” The moment he said it he knew he should have thought longer.

Cat’s eyes went steely. “That seems to have worked well for you.”

“I heard you and Hammerhead were seeing each other,” Alex said, letting his jealousy take over.

Cat looked at the ceiling and huffed. “Hammerhead? Oh, please. Who in their right mind would believe that?”

Alex was about to say he did, but realized that when you’re in a hole you stop digging. “I didn’t.”

“Really?” Cat said. “Because from the looks of things, it appears that you used it to justify something.”

Alex longed to be back in combat. “Leila is a good friend.”

Now Leila huffed. “Is that what I was?”

Alex didn’t know what to say without pounding himself deeper into the ground.

“Maybe a better question would be ‘What am I now?’ ” Leila said.

Alex looked at Leila then Cat. “I need some time to think.”

“Time!” Cat said. “I wasted a lot of it on you. What you need is to take those feelings out of those little boxes you keep sticking them in. What you need is to learn how to love. Without love, you’ll keep living in that lonely little dysfunctional world of yours.”

Alex glared at her.

“Don’t give me that look,” Cat said. “I’m the one who should be pissed. Go ahead and be pissed. It’s one of the few emotions you do well — and I wouldn’t want to take that away from a man suffering in emotional poverty.”

“Are you finished?”

“I’m reporting for duty. JSOC sent me. There’s no one else. So when you’re finished laying Leila, let me know. My room is across from John’s.” She turned to Leila and said calmly, “You can have him.” Cat quietly walked out the door.

Alex wanted to slam the door on Cat. I know how to love. My world isn’t dysfunctional. And I don’t live in emotional poverty. “I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I need some time.”

Leila put her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Just call me if you want to talk.” Leila walked out of his room.

I know how to love. My world isn’t dysfunctional. I don’t live in emotional poverty. The more he thought it, the less he believed it, so he stopped thinking it.

He didn’t know what to do about Cat and Leila, so he left his room and went to John’s room. The two sat down and Alex told him about his relationship with Leila and about Cat’s visit. Alex half expected John to throw a punch at him, but he just listened and nodded.

“What should I do?” Alex asked. “I’ve let enough relationships slip through my fingers, and I don’t want it to happen again. I cared about Cat; hell, I still do. And Leila, man, I’m sorry. I should have said no. And now that Cat is here, I’m confused.”

John laughed. “Oh, to have your problems!”

“Then what should I do?”

John thought for a moment. “Look, if this was a tactical situation I’d have your back one hundred percent, but I can’t tell you what to do. Yeah, I like Leila, but I mean we were just talking. I barely know her. You barely know her. Cat, on the other hand, Alex, she’s one of us. She understands life in the Teams and is probably better equipped to cope.”

Alex was amazed. John understood this better than Alex did himself.

“So what do I do about Leila?” Alex asked.

John smiled. “Leila is her code name. Do you even know her real name?”

Alex shook his head. “Do you think she and Danny had a romantic relationship?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I sure know how to make a mess of things,” Alex said.

“But you usually find a way to make it right,” John said, picking up his Bible and reading.

Alex continued thinking for half an hour. He didn’t need any more time. He’d wasted enough already. “Thanks.”

John grunted.

Alex stood, left John’s room, walked over to Leila’s door, and knocked. She opened it. “Come in.”

Alex walked inside and his head began to spin. He tried to read her face, but his head was too dizzy to read anything. “Can we sit?”

She nodded and they sat down.

He didn’t know what to say, so he tried to start from the beginning and kept going. “The first time I saw you, I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful you are. When you told me what happened to your husband and son, I wanted to help you. We had some tough times on this mission, like the death march through the Lut Desert, but you stayed calm, you helped us, and we made it through. Every time. You’re intelligent, talented, and honest, and I wanted to know more about you.”

“But,” she said.

“I have to fix things with Cat,” Alex said.

“She seems like she does not want to fix things.”

“I have to try. I have to believe I can. It’s time to up my game.”

“Up your game?” Leila asked.

“Do better. I should’ve done better a long time ago.”

“I was afraid of this.”

“JSOC still wants you on this mission. The guys and I want you on this mission.”

“I want to continue.”

“And I want to stay friends with you.”

“When she came through that door, I was afraid of this.”

“I’m sorry.” He paused. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. Tomorrow, if we’re still waiting for the rescue mission, I need to spend some time with Cat.”

“What if she does not want to spend time with you?”

“I have to believe she will. And I don’t want you to have to stay in this hotel room alone all day. I’m thinking maybe Pancho and John can show you around Germany, if you like.”

She scratched her head. “I do not want to see Germany. I want to see you. Just let her go.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Alex said nothing.

“My real name is Shalah Farshid,” she said. “Farshid was my family name before I married.”

Alex remained silent.

Leila became quiet, too. Finally, Leila broke the silence. “I envy her.”

“I’ll tell Pancho and John to take you out tomorrow.”

“I do not want to go out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Alex turned to go, but Leila stopped him. “Just one more thing,” she said. “Kiss me goodbye.”

He hesitated like he was standing in front of the railroad tracks — the red lights flashed and the bells rang.

“Please do not tell me you are sorry,” Leila said. “Show me with a kiss.”

The red lights continued to flash and the bells continued to ring — and now the crossing gates began to lower as he stepped onto the tracks. He leaned in and tilted his head. He let the tension out of his lips before they touched hers. Leila’s lips were smooth. Alex put one hand on her hip and the other slowly sifted through the back of her hair. His closed lips touched the top of hers. She closed her eyes. He softly kissed one eye then the other. He kissed her bottom lip. His lips traced hers in a slow circle. Alex opened his lips slightly. She opened hers. Leila’s breath was minty. He kissed her gently. She kissed him back. His tongue touched inside the edge of her lip. Her tongue touched his tongue, stimulating it. His right hand descended her neck and stopped between her shoulder blades, holding her. Leila’s hands touched his face.

The train illuminated Alex in its lights as it blasted its whistle. Alex was too entranced to step off the tracks. He took a step forward. Leila took a step back. Kissing her deeply, Alex walked forward, easing her backward. When they reached the bed, Leila sat to keep from falling. Alex continued forward, pushing her onto her back. He picked up her legs and put them on the bed. Alex lay near the middle of the bed, next to her. They kissed. Leila rolled on top of him. Then Alex rolled on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him. He lost himself in the sensuousness of her mouth.

Red lights flashed, bells rang, the light shone bigger and brighter, and the whistle blew louder — now it was too late to step off the tracks. Alex rolled off her and lay on his side next to her. He placed his hand on her belly, and when her head turned to face him, he kissed her. His consciousness disappeared into Leila. His hand caressed her body. She pushed his hand away and sat up, breathing heavily.

“Mamnoon,” she said. Thank you.

Alex stared at her for a moment, not understanding.

“Thank you,” she said.

He was in a daze.

“I think you better go now.”

Alex sat up, still looking at her.

“Please, go.”

Alex stood and walked to the door. He stopped and turned to look at her.

“Wait.” She rose and walked over to him. Leila held his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. Then she stopped.

“Mamnoon,” she said with tears in her eyes.

He walked through the door and turned around, but Leila closed the door in his face. Alex returned to his room, but his legs could only move sluggishly. Although he should already be at his door, he was still in the middle of the hallway. Finally, his hand pulled out his key card and unlocked the door. He grasped the door knob, but his hand seemed to move in slow motion. The door opened and he entered. Just walking to the bed exhausted him. He sat down, but he knew he wasn’t finished. He felt terrible about bringing tears to Leila’s eyes, but he had to put her out of his mind.

I have to try to fix things with Cat. But how can I talk to her with the same lips that just kissed Leila? I could wash my face, but that wouldn’t wash away Leila’s memory, and her scent would still be on me. I could shower, but then I’d smell like I was trying to wash away something. No matter what I say to Cat, she’ll still be angry. No matter what I do, I’m damned. Damned or not, I already made up my mind. I already wasted enough of Cat’s time without being able to make any kind of commitment to her.

Alex pulled himself out of slow motion and quickly walked out of his room, hurried to Cat’s room, and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He thought about returning to his room, but he knocked again. The door opened and there stood Cat. Her eyes were red.

“Can we talk?” Alex asked.

“I already told you, I’m through with you,” Cat said.

“But you said to come back when I was finished with Leila.”

“Did you screw her?”

“Can I come in? People might hear us.”

“Why? I want the whole world to hear what you are — a jackass.”

“No, we didn’t have sex.”

“I’m not just talking about tonight.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

Her face became hideous with anger. “That’s what I thought!” Cat slammed the door in his face.

Alex heard laughter. He turned to see who it was.

Pancho and a redhead in a black raincoat stood arm in arm in the hallway. The raincoat was buttoned in the middle, but so many buttons were open at the top and bottom, and she showed so much skin, that it appeared she wasn’t wearing anything under the raincoat. Pancho laughed at Alex. At six feet two, Pancho was tall, but his date was the same height as him. “Sorry, amigo,” Pancho said, “but that shit is just too funny.”

Alex wanted to punch him.

Pancho strained to stop laughing. “Come on, Xenia, let’s see how fast we can drive on the autobahn.” He broke into laughter again as he led Xenia into his room.

Bastard.

19

Alex slept on and off — mostly off. When Wednesday morning came, he was already awake. He checked his secure email. Although his team needed to launch the rescue mission as soon as possible, he secretly hoped for another day to try to fix things with Cat. When he saw there was no email, it gave him hope. He needed to show her that he was serious. All he needed was a chance.

He called John to ask him to give Leila shooting lessons. Who knew, maybe the two of them would be able to rekindle whatever they’d started at the kitchen table.

Alex showered, shaved, picked up a large manila envelope with information about Cat’s role on the mission, and headed out the door. On his way to Cat’s room, he spied a DO NOT DISTURB door hanger lying sideways on the carpet in front of Pancho’s room. Bastard.

Alex knocked on Cat’s door. There was no answer. He knocked again. The door opened. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Cat asked.

“This is important.”

“You just keep dragging my heart on a chain tied to your SUV.”

Alex didn’t like the imagery. Am I really that cruel? “Please.”

“I know if I let you in, you’ll hurt me again,” Cat said. “You always do.”

“Just give me this one chance,” Alex said. “If what I have to say hurts you, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“So you can make a fool out of me?”

“Please.”

She shook her head and opened the door wide. Alex walked in and they sat on stuffed chairs in her room.

“What is so important?” she asked.

“I never should’ve let you go. I never should’ve agreed to seeing other people while we were apart.” He gulped. “I was a fool.”

If his admission had an effect on her, she didn’t show it. “I go where I want, and I see who I want.”

“I should’ve tried harder.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re committed to the Team, and I can’t compete with that.”

“I know.” He handed the envelope to her. “We’re planning a rescue mission. And then we’ll take out an Iranian biological weapons lab.”

Cat threw it on the floor.

Alex didn’t pick it up. “Just listen. Please. After this mission, no more missions for me. I’m coming up on my reenlistment. I’m going to request a transfer to become a BUD/S instructor. I know the XO at BUD/S — he wants me out there. I’ll have most nights off. Weekends and holidays, too.”

Cat looked down at the envelope and then back at him. There were tears in her eyes. “Do you realize what you’re saying?”

Alex nodded.

“You can only be satisfied if you’re killing terrorists.”

“I’ve killed enough,” Alex said. He meant it, too.

“What about Sarah?”

A tear came to Alex’s eye. “I’ve done enough for Sarah. You told me that once. I think, no, I know, Sarah would agree.”

“Have you told the guys?”

“Pancho doesn’t want me to leave, but John says I should do what I want.”

“But you’d be in California, and I’d still be in Virginia. We’d be on opposite coasts.”

Alex had thought about that. Regular relationships were hard enough. Long-distance ones were pretty much impossible. “If you’re willing, I’m sure I can get you transferred to Coronado with me. I want you to. I’m coming up on my reenlistment — the Navy wants to keep me. What we’ve done as the Outcasts has gone a long way in restoring all of our careers. They might say we’re expendable, but I think that’s just so they don’t have to pay us the big bucks.”

Cat started to smile, then stopped.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Deadly. I’ve thought about what I want, and I want you. After this mission, you are my number-one priority.”

She shook her head. “You hurt me, and I let you make a fool of me.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“You don’t have to decide anything now. I just want you to know that I’m really sorry. And I’m serious about us.”

“I don’t know.”

Alex wanted to take her out for the day, but that would be too much for her to agree to all at once, so he simplified it: “Can we eat breakfast together?”

“I’ve been crying and I look terrible.”

“You look beautiful,” Alex said, realizing that on a planet with more than three billion women, she truly was the most beautiful in the world.

“My eyes are all red.”

“You can wear sunglasses.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Please,” he said.

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Lunch?”

“I guess.”

“Any requests?”

“You know Germany better than I do.”

“How about the Black Forest?”

“There’s a restaurant called the Black Forest?”

Alex smiled. “In the Black Forest. Would you like to find a restaurant in the Black Forest?”

“Is it far?”

“It’s a little over an hour from here.”

She nodded.

Thirty minutes later, they rode a taxi off base. They left the snowy, vine-covered hills of Stuttgart and traveled southwest for an hour and a half until they came to the Black Forest. “With all the snow, it looks like the White Forest,” Cat said.

Alex smiled.

“Why do they call it the Black Forest?” she asked.

“Because when the Romans saw it, that’s what they called it. Compared to Rome, I guess the Black Forest was thicker and darker than what they were used to. Over time, man and nature took away many of the trees, but the forest still stands.”

“Yes, there are more open areas than I expected, but it’s beautiful.”

The driver stopped at the Liftverbund Feldberg.

“Looks like a ski resort,” Cat said excitedly.

“It is. I thought we could eat lunch here.”

“You didn’t tell me there was a ski resort.”

Alex paid the driver, and they walked inside the main lobby. “We’re a little early for lunch. Would you like to ski a little before we eat?”

“Yes!”

They rented ski equipment and went outside.

“Beginner, intermediate, or advanced?” Alex asked.

“You choose.”

He didn’t want to start out on something that was too challenging for her, but he didn’t want to insult her, either, so he chose the intermediate slope.

As they rode the ski lift high off the ground, it exposed them to the chilly wind, but Cat was smiling. It felt good to be near her and especially to see her smile again. When the lift reached the ramp at the top of the ski run, Alex and Cat skied off. She skied effortlessly, but Alex had to work in order to keep up with her.

After skiing the intermediate slope for an hour, they took off their skis and stood in line for the gondola leading to the advanced runs. When Alex and Cat reached the front of the line, their gondola came around, and they put their skis in the rack. Then they hopped inside and sat on a bench. Another couple joined them in the gondola. They sat on the opposite bench and held hands. Alex and Cat turned around and looked through the window at the view behind their gondola. As they rose higher and higher up the mountain, they could see the snow-covered resort, scattered houses in the distance, and roads through the Black Forest. It reminded Alex of the snowy streets of downtown Zermatt, Switzerland, where he first kissed Cat.

Cat still seemed happy. Alex put his hand on hers. She pulled her hand away. He glanced at the couple, but they were so absorbed in each other, they didn’t seem to notice. Cat was enjoying skiing in the Black Forest, but she wasn’t enjoying him.

Near the top of the mountain, they departed the gondola, took their skis, and carried them past a pile of chopped wood, where they put their skis in a rack outside the restaurant. Inside, they sat between a warm, crackling fireplace and an enormous window that gave a panoramic view of the Black Forest from the mountain to the valley in the distance. Speakers filled the dining room with the music of Bach.

They ate Black Forest ham for lunch.

“It’s so red,” Cat said.

“They cold-smoke it with a fir tree’s wood and leaves. That’s why it keeps its red coloring.” Salt, pepper, garlic, berries, and other spices seasoned the ham. With the ham they had Kartoffelsalat, a warm potato salad made with vinegar, oil, and bacon bits.

She tasted it.

“How is the kartoffelsalat?”

“It’s really good.”

They drank German hot chocolate, which was thicker and heavier than American hot chocolates. For dessert, Alex and Cat ate Black Forest cake.

“This cake tastes divine,” Cat said. “Chocolate cake, cream, sour cherries — and something else. What is it?”

“A sour cherry brandy called Kirsch, short for kirschwasser, meaning ‘cherry water.’ ”

The environment had everything for romance — warmth of a fireplace, a panoramic view, tasty food, good music, and a beautiful woman — all except for the passion.

“How’d you learn to ski so well?” Alex asked.

“My father.” Alex knew she grew up in Idaho, but she never talked about her family. “We lived in Ketchum, which is right next to the Sun Valley ski resort.”

“When you go back home, do you still ski together?”

Cat drank her hot chocolate. “When I was fourteen, he was killed in a car accident.”

“Oh.”

“I really miss him.”

“I’m sorry. It must’ve been hard on your mom, too.”

“She was a perfectionist, and after Dad was gone, she just got worse. Every night, she rode me about my homework. If I didn’t get straight A’s, she would yell at me and ground me. Dad and I liked the outdoors, but Mom didn’t. After he was gone, she wouldn’t let me go out hardly at all. For four years, I just became numb. I felt like a zombie. I never told anyone. Then I joined the Navy.”

Alex didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so he kept quiet.

They finished their drinks, went outside, and grabbed their skis. From the restaurant, they skied down a gentle slope. Ahead of them in the trees, a bird chirped.

“Is that a cuckoo bird?” Cat asked.

The Black Forest was famous for cuckoo bird clocks, but Alex didn’t know what a cuckoo bird looked like. “I don’t know.”

The gentle slope turned left, and they skied down the advanced slope. Cat sped off, leaving Alex in her mist of snow spray, and she didn’t look back. He tried to catch up to her, but he realized he was trying to ski beyond his ability. If he broke a leg, he’d be off the mission. Maybe I should be off the mission. He thought about hurting his ankle in the Lut Desert. Then he thought about Leila, but he quickly blocked her out of his mind. He wanted Cat, and he wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked.

Alex continued alone making runs down the advanced slope for the rest of the afternoon. As Cat passed him, the sunlight illuminated the tips of her blond hair sticking out of her white wool hat and blowing in her wake. Her speed looked so effortless.

Later, as the ski lifts neared closing, Cat rode the gondola with him to the top. Instead of leaving him in her dust, she skied down the mountain with him. Even though now they were physically together, Cat remained distant.

They returned their ski rental equipment, and Alex called a taxi. Soon Alex and Cat rode it out of the ski resort.

“I enjoyed skiing in the Black Forest,” she said.

“Thank you for coming.”

During the hour-and-a-half ride back to Stuttgart, instead of resting her head on his shoulder, she rested it on the side of the cab. The distance between them was palpable to Alex.

When they arrived in Stuttgart, Alex took her to a nice restaurant. Although the dinner was first class, eating with Cat was awkward. He just wanted to go back to his room and forget about the day. The magic between them was gone.

20

Alex woke Thursday to see the morning sun enter his room around the curtains’ edges. He checked his secure email. There was a message from JSOC. Mission approved. Phase One: rescue the scientist’s husband, Hassan Khamenei. Phase Two: locate Iranian biological weapons lab and destroy. Phase Three: capture or kill General Behrouz Tehrani. Attached are the photos of the general. Note: After Phase Two is completed, don’t worry about any scientists who might escape. We can deal with them later. Focus on the general. Alex opened the attachment and looked at the general’s photos.

Alex hurriedly made one last visit to the intel shed before gathering the Outcasts and Leila. The five of them met in one of JSOC’s secure meeting rooms, where Alex gave the mission brief. John and Leila entered the room talking and smiling. Cat and Leila avoided eye contact with each other, and Alex avoided prolonged eye contact with either of them. Pancho showed up last, hungover.

“Before I begin the mission brief, intel gave us photos of the three enemies we ran into in the Tehran hospital: Major Gholam Khan, Captain Nasser Fat’hi, and Lieutenant Saeed Saeedi,” Alex said. “Any one of them is bad news.”

Alex gave the Outcasts the mission outline JSOC gave him, including copies of the general’s photos. Then he continued with the rest of his brief.

“… SIGINT reports that Hezbollah terrorists and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard are holding Dr. Khamenei’s husband, Hassan Khamenei, hostage in the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks in Baalbek, which is located in the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon, just across the border from Syria. The Activity has reported that cardboard has been used to cover up the windows of a building north of the compound. Hezbollah has used this building to hold hostages before. JSOC believes the hostage is being held there now.”

Alex showed them a digital three-dimensional building plan. “This is what JSOC’s architects and engineers generated. No one has seen the inside of that building, but JSOC used sophisticated software to generate this model.” JSOC had a computerized database of thousands of properties.

“Considering the situation in Lebanon, and considering that JSOC can’t or won’t give us additional team members, we’re going to need some help from the locals for this rescue. Of course, we won’t get help from the Shiites or Hezbollah supporters there, but Tripoli is nearby, and it’s the home of Lebanese Sunnis. JSOC has provided us with information for a Sunni contact there.

“Cat, Leila, and I will fly into Beirut on a civilian flight as the advance team of our film crew. Then we’ll check into an apartment in Tripoli and meet up with our Sunni contact. Pancho and John will travel separately, disguised as hospital corpsmen attached to a Marine unit that will launch from the USS Kearsarge, anchored off the shore of Lebanon. Pancho and John will come ashore with their unit to train with the Lebanese Army. Once on land with all our goodies, Pancho and John will change into civvies, separate from the Marines, and link up with us at the apartment in Tripoli. At Byblos, Lebanese marine commandos will extract us using their boats — the extract team will think this is part of the training exercise, and we need to try to keep them thinking that way. They’ll take us to the USS Kearsarge.” The USS Kearsarge was a Landing Helicopter Dock (LHD) amphibious assault ship that could carry almost nineteen hundred Marines. It was like a small town on water — with an armament that included a variety of missile systems. Also, the Kearsarge had dental and medical services, including emergency operating rooms.

“Nurses,” Pancho said. “I feel another Purple Heart coming on.”

“The last time we were in Lebanon,” Cat said, “we almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“This time will make last time feel like lifeguarding at the kiddie pool,” Alex said.

A few hours later, Cat wore a black wig and brown contact lenses. She rode with Alex and Leila in a chartered van from Stuttgart to Berlin, where they boarded a Lufthansa flight. Cat and Leila engaged in superficial chitchat, but they still seemed uncomfortable with each other. Riding the plane with both at the same time made Alex uneasy, too.

The three landed at Beirut — Rafic Hariri International Airport, named after the Lebanese prime minister assassinated by Hezbollah in 2005. On their last visit, Alex and Cat had passed through immigration without any trouble, but this time Alex noticed an older immigration officer, who looked like the boss, standing behind the other officers. The boss looked no-nonsense as he swooped into an immigration booth and escorted an arriving person into a side room.

When Alex reached the front of the line, he stepped forward and handed his passport to the young immigration officer in front of him.

“Are you three together?” the officer asked.

“Yes.”

The officer pointed to Cat and Leila. “Tell them to come here.”

Alex motioned for them to join him.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m the producer and director of a documentary we’re filming,” Alex said.

“What movie name?” the immigration officer asked.

Alex looked up to the ceiling for effect before answering. “Wonderful World Heritage Sites.”

“Bad title.”

“Well, it’s a working title.”

“Need better working title.” He looked at Cat and Leila. “Passports.”

Cat and Leila handed him their passports.

Alex felt anxious, but he pushed it deep down inside himself. He knew their passports were immaculate. Cat had done this before, so she would be okay. Leila seemed cool under pressure, too. Even though he knew they should be okay, deep down inside he was anxious.

Suddenly, the older officer with the no-nonsense attitude hovered near the officer in front of Alex. Is something wrong?

The young officer examined Cat, then her passport photo. “What your job?”

“I’m his assistant.”

“What does assistant do?” the officer asked.

Cat purposefully avoided speaking Arabic so the officer would be at more of a disadvantage and tire more easily. “Whatever he needs.”

The officer leered at her and let out a creepy snicker.

“Within reason,” Cat added, forcing a smile.

The officer leered at Leila. “Are you assistant, too?”

“No. I am the camerawoman.”

“Do you take pictures of director and assistant?”

“No.”

“You take my picture.”

“I have to pick up my luggage.”

“Can I be in movie?” he suddenly asked.

“That is not my decision.”

The boss moved in closer to the Outcasts. What’s wrong?

“Okay,” the young officer said. He turned to Alex. “You director. Can I be in movie?”

Alex pretended to give it some thought. He just wanted to get past immigration, but maybe having a government minder with them would be a blessing in disguise. Who would suspect them then? “In Hollywood, anything is possible.”

The young officer beamed. “Great.”

Standing behind the young officer, the boss cleared his throat. The young officer noticed and quickly waved the Outcasts through.

Outside the airport, taxi drivers stood by their cabs offering rides to the Outcasts. Rather than let one of them choose him, Alex chose a cabbie. “How about this one?” he asked Cat.

Cat shook her head and pointed to another cab. They walked over to it, and she spoke to the driver in Arabic. “This one,” she said. “He said it’ll cost about fifteen thousand Lebanese pounds from the airport to Tripoli.”

Alex made a shortcut calculation in his head by dropping the zeroes — roughly fifteen dollars. His shortcut wouldn’t be acceptable in a bank for converting money, but adding or dropping zeros made it quick and easy to mentally process currencies around the world. “Okay,” Alex said.

Cat sat next to the driver, so Alex sat in the backseat. Leila joined him. The cabbie drove north through Beirut then north along the western coast of Lebanon. Alex enjoyed watching the sun setting on the Mediterranean Sea. The first sunset he’d seen in Lebanese waters was when he and Cat sat alone on a yacht, kissing as the sun melted into the water. Later on that mission, they rendezvoused with Pancho and John to begin reconnaissance of their target. Days later, they took out their target and were running and gunning for their lives, driving up the same road they were on now. Alex wanted to say something to Cat about the memories they shared, yet he wanted to be sensitive to Leila’s feelings, too. Moreover, this was a military operation, not a vacation. So he kept his mouth shut. Maybe the driver sensed the mood, because he was quiet, too.

After thirty minutes, they passed a Christian town named Amsheet, where Alex, Cat, Pancho, and John had hidden from the enemy.

Alex looked at Cat. She looked at him. Leila noticed them looking at each other and they stopped.

Amsheet was as far north as Alex had ever traveled in Lebanon. Another thirty minutes later, they arrived in Tripoli, Lebanon. Buildings here appeared to be a mix of Arabic and European architecture. Strings of lights descended from towering buildings like loose cords from the tops of tents, out to posts in the ground. The driver turned east into the city, which was bathed in illumination of various shapes and colors: crescent moons, stars, rainbows, reds, magentas, violets, and more. There was so much to take in and the cabbie was driving so fast that Alex couldn’t process it all.

The driver stopped in the parking lot of their apartment building. The three exited with their luggage and Alex paid the driver. JSOC had already rented their apartment, furnished it, and left the key with the building manager. The Outcasts located the manager’s apartment on the bottom floor behind the front office, and Cat retrieved the key and a large envelope, probably containing their contract, insurance, and other paperwork.

Inside their apartment were three bedrooms. The apartment was clean and furnished. “This looks like the best room in the house,” Cat said. “Leila, would you like to share it with me?”

Leila paused, staring at Cat. Leila nodded.

Alex took one of the other rooms. While lying in bed, he heard the sound of talking coming from Cat and Leila’s room, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to make out the words, so he wondered. Then he put Cat and Leila out of his mind. Tomorrow he’d be meeting with their Sunni contact.

21

Major Khan, Captain Fat’hi, and Lieutenant Saeedi flew on Iran Air from Tehran to Damascus International Airport in Syria. It was a far more dangerous flight than it had been before the civil war now tearing Syria apart. Khan had little sympathy for the plight of the Syrian people. They were not of his faith and so their deaths meant little to him. Not because of his faith in religious principles — Khan knew he was damned. He knew that the other religious groups constantly jockeyed for power, and he didn’t like being jockeyed with. Islam had two major denominations, Shia and Sunni. Major Khan was a Shiite, a member of the Shia, the most popular denomination in Iran. Within Shia there were various sects, the Twelvers, which he belonged to, being the majority. Twelvers believed in the twelve imams, those directly succeeding the Prophet Muhammad. Only eleven were known to date, but Khan knew, as all Twelvers knew, that the twelfth and final imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, would soon appear. On that glorious day, peace and justice would reign. Until then, Khan would gladly kill anyone who wasn’t a Twelver. He wished his government had the courage to destroy the other sects because he believed that deep down inside, they wanted to destroy the Twelvers — it was only a matter of time.

Outside Iran, the Sunnis outnumbered the Shiites, and Major Khan hated it. When he was a child, it was a Sunni who framed him, sending him to jail, where he was tortured and raped by a prison guard — the beginning of his transformation.

A Syrian soldier drove them to a checkpoint on the Lebanon border. With the civil war still raging, the border looked like a desperate outpost made for last stands. Khan doubted they would have gotten through if arrangements hadn’t been made ahead of time. The Lebanese guards passed them through after checking their papers. All the guards at that checkpoint were Lebanese, but they were loyal to Syria. Their Syrian driver continued to Beirut, where he dropped them off at a hotel. It would have been faster to ride straight from Damascus to their final destination in Baalbek, but they didn’t want the Syrian soldier or anyone else to know their final destination.

After checking in and renting a car, the three sat in their hotel. “B018,” Lieutenant Saeedi said.

Pistachio smiled.

Major Khan stared at them. “What’s B018?”

“Nothing,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “I was just thinking out loud.”

Major Khan ignored him and continued with his meal.

“We should go to B018 tonight,” Lieutenant Saeedi said.

“It’s a great club,” Pistachio added.

“Great?” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “It’s better than great.”

Khan shook his head. This was no time for debauchery. “No. We go out to dinner, and then back here. We leave here tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred to lay an ambush for Alex and his friends at the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks,” Major Khan said.

Lieutenant Saeedi frowned.

Pistachio sighed, then nodded.

They walked to a local restaurant and took a table at the back. It was a simple place, the walls dull from smoke and dirt. Khan knew Pistachio and Saeedi were unhappy with him, but he didn’t care. They could play all they wanted after the mission was over.

“Just an hour?” Saaedi asked.

Khan ignored him.

“It’s not that far from here. It’s in the Karantina district.”

The Quarantine district. During the French occupation, ships’ crews and their cargo were quarantined before being cleared to enter the country. Later, Armenian refugees camped there before settling inland. After that, Palestinian refugees arrived and stayed. During Lebanon’s civil war, more refugees settled in Karantina, until fighting broke out between the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) and Christian militias, who massacred the PLO and their neighborhoods.

Khan had been there before. The place always smelled like death.

“No.”

While the other two sulked, Khan studied the restaurant. Seven tables, a single narrow door at the front, no windows, and the kitchen in the back. It was simple, but the smell of the food told him it was good.

What did concern him was that there seemed to be only one exit, the stairs they entered from. This would be a bad place to be caught in an ambush.

Pistachio and Saeedi ordered the local Almaza beer, but Major Khan didn’t drink what he called the foreign poison. Instead, he drank bottled water.

“How are we supposed to meet ladies here?” Pistachio said out loud.

“Maybe this will help,” Saeedi said, pulling out his pistol so Pistachio and Khan could see.

“What’re you doing that for?” Pistachio asked.

Saeedi put his pistol away. “I’m just joking.”

“It isn’t funny,” Pistachio said.

“You guys brought yours, too, right?”

“Yeah, but we’re not flashing them around.”

“I’m not flashing it around. I only showed you two.”

Pistachio shook his head.

Saeedi laughed. “You worry too much. You’re going to get a heart attack. Just relax.”

Pistachio popped a few pistachios in his mouth and cracked the shells with his teeth. “I’m trying to relax.”

A group of three women walked into the restaurant and were seated at the table next to them. Saeedi immediately began talking up the women. Khan ignored it. It was hard enough pretending to be attracted to his wife without having to pretend to be attracted to strangers, too. He didn’t have to come with his friends, but he tried to act sociable and let them have their fun.

Two of the girls invited them to sit at their table. One had straight brown hair and the other had curly brown hair. Khan motioned for them to go. It would leave him in peace. The curly-haired girl sat on the opposite side of Pistachio. Saeedi clapped his hands, a smile stretched across his face so wide, it looked like his skin might split.

Pistachio and Saeedi laughed and talked with the girls in Arabic. They joked and teased and seemed to be having a great time. The women appeared to enjoy the attention as well, judging by their squeals of delight. More drinks were ordered. Khan heard his name whispered a few times. He swiveled his chair around so that his back was to his friends and the women.

The waiter came up to his table with another bottle of water. When he put it down his hand brushed Khan’s. Khan looked up at him. He was young, maybe twenty-two. His skin was smooth and his dark eyes were so inviting. He had the build of a swimmer.

Khan looked away, terrified his own eyes would reveal the desire he couldn’t defeat.

“Your friends are having a good time,” the waiter said.

Khan watched Pistachio and Saeedi. They were fools, but they were open with their desires. Why should they enjoy this life and he be denied its pleasures?

“Where is your restroom?” Khan asked, keeping his voice low.

The waiter motioned with his head toward the back of the restaurant. Khan nodded and then looked away. The waiter disappeared while Khan casually watched his friends. They were completely enthralled by the women.

“I think that airline food did a number on my stomach. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Khan said, getting up from his table.

“What? Sure, we’ll be here,” Pistachio said, barely looking at him.

Khan paused, then walked to the back of the restaurant. He found the door leading to the restroom and strode in. The young waiter was there, pretending to be tidying up.

“I—” the waiter started to say, but Khan grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. The waiter’s eyes went wide.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you,” Khan said, bringing his face in so that their noses touched. “Get on your knees, now.”

Khan let go of his throat and pushed the waiter down. He remembered the door and was turning to lock it when it swung open and Pistachio walked in.

“Thought I’d better check … see how you are,” Pistachio said, looking from Khan to the waiter and back.

Khan stepped back from the waiter and furiously brushed at his suit. “The spilled water,” Khan said.

Pistachio looked at Khan’s suit then up at him. “Look, it’s none of my business.”

He knows! Rage and guilt roiled Khan’s stomach. “It’s no one’s business,” Khan said, pushing his way past Pistachio and going back to his table. A few moments later Pistachio returned.

“I see you managed to save our sick friend from getting lost,” Saeedi said, laughing as he casually put an arm around one of the women. “You’ve got a career as a shepherd, Pistachio,” Saeedi said. The women giggled.

Khan realized he was reaching for his gun when the door to the restaurant banged open. A large man walked in. He wore an expensive blue sport coat over a white T-shirt and designer jeans. He didn’t wait to be seated, but walked right over to Pistachio and Saeedi.

“You dishonor our family by associating with these pigs,” the man said. He was at least six foot two and well over two hundred pounds. Khan figured most likely a brother of one of the women.

The curly-haired woman stood up. “You do not own me, Talal! I can do what I want.”

“Filthy whore!” Talal shouted, slapping her face and knocking her down. Saeedi jumped up with his pistol drawn and swung it at Talal, but for a big man he moved quickly and easily dodged the blow. Someone screamed.

Talal cocked his right arm, ready to land a haymaker against Saeedi, but Pistachio stepped in and dropped him with a punch to his temple.

The door opened and a man charged in. He looked the spitting image of Talal. Khan got up from his chair and went to intercept him, but before he got to him the waiter darted between them.

“Please, no fi—” Khan brought up an elbow and slammed it into the waiter’s temple. The man went down like a sack of rice. The twin threw a punch at Khan, but Saeedi got there first, hooking the man’s arm and pulling him down to the floor. A crack like a shot from a small-caliber pistol meant Saeedi had just broken the twin’s arm.

Pistachio grabbed Saeedi and pulled him up. “We’re out of here.”

Saeedi started to resist and whipped his pistol out. “We’ll finish them.”

The rage in Khan dissipated and he realized the danger they’d just fallen into. “He’s right. We have to go now!” Khan barked.

Saeedi holstered his pistol.

They hurried out of the restaurant and into the night.

When they were far enough away Khan led them into an alley. When he was sure no one had followed them he rounded on Saeedi.

“You will not derail this mission.”

Saeedi opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Me? I was just defending myself. What about you? You hit that waiter like you were trying to kill him. What the hell was that about? The only one that’ll screw this up will be you.”

Khan saw Pistachio start to open his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, Khan pulled his own pistol out of its holster and pushed the barrel into Saeedi’s chest. “Say that again,” he said quietly. Saeedi looked at Pistachio. Pistachio shook his head. Saeedi lowered his head like a wounded puppy dog.

Khan lowered his pistol. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Tomorrow will be a big day.”

22

Alex awoke just after 0630 to the sound of Cat’s and Leila’s voices. After dressing, he stepped out of his room and saw them sitting on the couch talking. Alex rubbed his eyes and asked, “Were you two talking the whole night?”

They glanced at him then giggled. At least they seemed happy.

An hour later, Pancho and John arrived with the team’s weapons, ammo, and other goodies. All five armed themselves with concealed Zoaf 9mm pistols.

For breakfast, they sucked on cold energy gel tubes.

Cat called for a taxi, then she went downstairs with Alex to wait for it in the parking lot. “You and Leila seemed to have a lot to talk about,” Alex said.

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Just curious.”

“Girl stuff,” she said, dismissing his curiosity.

Alex was still curious, but he let it go.

The taxi arrived and they both sat in the back while the cabbie took them down snowy streets past unfinished buildings, charred and bullet-riddled walls, and a partially destroyed house. They continued to a spot a block away from their rendezvous place at the Café Paris. Alex and Cat put on their sunglasses and zipped up their jackets while they walked around the perimeter checking for surveillance, or worse, a sniper. When they were sure the area was clean, they moved in closer and checked again: buildings, vehicles, and pedestrians.

Inside the café they briefly studied the people, mostly women, except for a man with a briefcase. Alex and Cat removed their sunglasses. Alex chose a table away from the windows, so any outside explosion wouldn’t hit them with fragments through the glass. They sat down with their backs to the wall and a view of the front entrance and kitchen exit — Alex noted the entrance and exit as escape routes. If he needed an additional route, he could throw a chair through the window and jump through it.

They were nearly an hour early for the 1030 rendezvous with their agent. This made it more challenging for their contact if he was planning to set up an ambush. While waiting, they ordered Lebanese coffee. Their waitress brought two empty demitasses and poured the coffee at their table from a long-handled coffeepot. Alex took a sip. The coffee was thick and had a strong, bitter taste.

At 1030, there was no sign of their contact — he was late. Maybe he wouldn’t show. A few minutes later, Omar Bisharia arrived, a handsome young Lebanese man wearing a tight black T-shirt and blue jeans. His eyes were piercing — something the intel pictures hadn’t conveyed. He was a leader in the Arab Spring against Syrian domination of Lebanon. He recruited for his militia from a poor area of Tripoli called Bab-al-Tabbaneh. With Omar came a heavyweight who had massive biceps and forearms, a thick neck, and a small head with a little cap on top of it. His scraggly beard made him look like Brutus in the Popeye comic.

Alex and Omar exchanged bona fides and chitchatted in English before Omar switched to Arabic. Cat translated.

“I mean no offense, but our strongest supporters, the ones who will bear arms in this battle, don’t like Americans,” Omar said.

“I understand,” Alex said. “Two Palestinians are being held hostage in the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks in Baalbek. There is another man being held there, an Iranian named Hassan Khamenei.”

“The Farsi instructor. Who are the Palestinians?”

Alex showed them pictures of two men. “The Palestinians are Youssef Rahbanni and Dalal Haddad.”

Omar’s and Brutus’s eyes widened. Brutus became tense like he was about to eat the table. “Youssef,” he mumbled.

Omar leaned forward. “Where did you get this information?”

The waitress came to their table, and they became quiet. Alex ordered drinks for Omar and Brutus. The waitress left with their order.

“I can’t say,” Alex said.

Cat resumed translating.

“You can’t say, or you won’t say?” Omar asked.

“Both,” Alex replied.

“And what do you get out of rescuing this man?”

“Khamenei’s wife wants him rescued. If we help her, she’ll help us in a separate matter with Iran,” Alex whispered.

When Alex said “Iran,” the edges of Omar’s lips rose. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. “What do you need from us?” Omar asked.

“I need your help assaulting Hezbollah so we can rescue the hostages.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I don’t have enough men.”

“Why not?”

The waitress brought their drinks. They became quiet again. After the waitress left, Alex and Omar continued talking while Cat translated.

“My guess is that if anyone finds out the United States is supporting you, it might lead us to war,” Alex said.

Omar took a leisurely sip of his drink. “War is nothing new to us.”

“Americans don’t know war at home like you. They don’t want to.”

“Maybe they should. Then they wouldn’t be so quick to send their soldiers to kill and be killed.”

“I haven’t experienced war in my own country, but I have experienced war.”

“Then why risk it for your people?”

“If we don’t stop Iran, we face a destruction as great as, or greater than, war. We need to rescue Khamenei as soon as possible.”

“Some people say I have a gift for seeing the true nature of people.” Omar examined Alex’s face.

“I wish I had that gift.”

“Is there anything you’re not telling me that I should know? I’m not fond of surprises.”

“Hezbollah might be expecting us.”

Omar smiled. “They’re always expecting us. They just don’t know when. How many men do you need?”

“How many men do you have?”

“Forty-two. That’s including us.” He looked at Brutus.

“That’ll have to do. If you have a bank account, I’ll wire twenty-five thousand U.S. dollars to help pay for weapons and ammunition.”

“We don’t do this for money.”

“I would’ve brought weapons and ammo, but the best I can do now is cash.”

Omar shook his head.

“It’s not for you. It’s for your men. I imagine many of them will be using personal weapons.”

“Yes.”

“If the mission is a success, I’ll wire twenty-five thousand more. For your men.”

“Okay.”

Alex and Omar made plans for attacking Hezbollah and rescuing Hassan Khamenei and the two Palestinians. When the two finished, they shook hands. Omar and Brutus left.

Before Alex paid the bill, Cat pointed to the counter display next to the cash register. “These Lebanese pickles look so good.”

“What?”

“Pickles.”

“Can we do takeout?” Alex asked.

“I’ll ask.” She spoke with the woman behind the counter.

Alex was nervous. They’d already spent enough time in this café, but it would be good not to be seen leaving with Omar. The cashier put Cat’s pickles in a plastic box and wrapped a rubber band around it. Cat paid the bill and asked the cashier to call a taxi. A scattering of light snowflakes drifted to the ground as the cab pulled up to the curb. Alex and Cat walked out of the Café Paris and hopped into the cab.

Cat sat in the backseat and spoke Arabic to the cabbie. Alex forgot about the mission as he flashed back to an evening with Cat in the backseat of a limousine in Paris. The chauffeur drove through Paris while he and Cat made love. Now Alex sat close to her in the taxi. Cat scooted away from him. Alex scooted closer. She moved away until there was no more space left. Her back pressed against the taxi. Alex closed the gap between them. She had nowhere to go except out, and the taxi had already picked up speed. The snowflakes became bigger and came down en masse.

“Do you remember Paris?” he asked.

“I’m trying to forget,” Cat answered.

“I can’t forget.”

His face moved closer to hers.

“You can’t do that here,” Cat said.

Alex noticed that she didn’t pull away.

“I can kiss you here.”

“It’s illegal.”

“Not in Lebanon.”

“It’s illegal.”

“You already said that. It’s not true.”

“They’ll arrest you.”

“I can kiss you in Tripoli.” His eyes feasted slowly from her eyes to her lips and down to her hips. “I can kiss you in Beirut.”

“Oh, no, you can’t kiss me in Beirut!” she said, breathing heavily. “Not in a taxicab in broad daylight.” She ran out of breath and had to inhale.

His gaze returned to her lips. “Then I’ll kiss you in Tripoli.”

Cat hurriedly opened her plastic box, put a Lebanese pickle in her mouth, and closed the box. The Lebanese pickle was smaller and smoother than American pickles. Alex took the pickle out of her mouth. She grabbed the pickle and put it back in her mouth. Alex pulled it out again.

“If you kiss me, I’ll scream.” She put the pickle in her mouth.

“You can scream easier without this in your mouth.” He took the pickle and kissed her. Soon she closed her eyes and he closed his. Cat wrapped her arms around him. Alex felt the world disappear as he immersed himself in rediscovering her lips. The breath through her nose raced in and out, blowing warm against his face. Alex pulled away from Cat for a moment and opened his eyes. The rear windows were fogging.

She opened her eyes. “I can’t breathe.”

“Stop breathing.” The rate of her breathing picked up speed, faster than the beating of the windshield wipers. She sounded like she was about to hyperventilate. He kissed her and closed his eyes. He couldn’t hear her breathing, so he started to pull away, but she pulled him back in.

Alex stopped kissing her and took a bite of the Lebanese pickle in his hand. It had a mellow taste. Cat breathed calmly, and he gave her a bite. He finished chewing and swallowed. After she swallowed, she kissed him. He tasted vinegar, salt, and sugar on her lips and tongue.

“It’s so hot in here, I’m burning up,” Cat whispered.

Alex put the last piece of pickle in his mouth and transferred it to hers. He unzipped Cat’s jacket and helped her out of it. Starting to feel hot himself, Alex took off his own jacket.

The driver stopped the cab. Alex looked around. They had reached the destination near the apartment. Bad timing. “Can you drive in a circle around town?” Alex asked the driver.

“Circle town?” the driver asked.

Alex finished chewing the pickle, swallowed, leaned forward, and gestured in a circle with his hand. “Can you drive in a circle around town?”

“Go Beirut?” the driver asked.

“If you say so,” Alex answered.

“What?”

“Yes. Go to Beirut. Please.”

“Beirut,” the driver confirmed.

“Yes, Beirut.” Alex placed an advance of forty thousand Lebanese pounds on the console next to the driver’s seat. Then Alex moved the rearview mirror so the driver couldn’t see the backseat.

The driver appeared puzzled for a moment. He took the money, shifted into gear, and drove south. The snow came down harder and heavier.

23

Alex and Cat returned to the apartment, where they found Pancho alone. Minutes later, John and Leila returned with some groceries. Although John wasn’t a conversationalist, he was talking — and laughing that freakish laugh of his. Leila was laughing, too. Alex smiled. Maybe his matchmaking was working.

“What kind of wheels you get?” Pancho asked.

“A black Hummer H2 with seven seats and a white van,” John replied. “I took out the dome lights so we can slip in and out of the vehicles without getting lit up.”

“Sweet.”

John approached Alex and quietly asked, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Alex answered.

John led Alex into his bedroom and closed the door. John rarely beat around the bush and this time was no different. “So you and Leila …”

“The road is clear, my friend,” Alex said.

“That’s what she said, but I wanted to hear it from you.” John smiled and walked out the door.

“You’re welcome,” Alex said aloud in the empty room.

Later, the Outcasts ate a late lunch and cleaned up. Next, Alex spread a map out on the floor, briefed them, and discussed the mission. After their discussion, they took the white van an hour and a half east to the Al Assi River, near the city of Hermel. There they checked out the river and its location. The Outcasts drove south of Hermel and examined the cold blue river near its source. The river was wide, deep, and fast enough to use rubber rafts.

Cat drove farther south and passed posters of Hezbollah’s leader, Hassan Nasrallah, displayed on walls and in windows. Mounted to houses and shops, green and yellow Hezbollah flags flapped in the wind. There were posters of people Alex didn’t recognize. “Who are the pictures on the posters?” Alex asked.

“Hezbollah martyrs,” Cat answered.

The Outcasts continued to Baalbek to do some filming so if later someone became curious, they would have something to show for their visit. During the Roman period, part of the Roman Empire included the city of Baalbek, which was called Heliopolis. In 1984, the city’s ruins became a World Heritage Site. Now it was home to thousands of Hezbollah supporters.

Cat parked near the temple complex ruins. The Outcasts passed two Hezbollah militia in their green uniforms. The militiamen gabbed with each other while smoking cigarettes.

A street vendor carrying his goods in bags on his shoulders approached the Outcasts waving his green and yellow flags. “You like Hezbollah flag, sir? Many people buy Hezbollah flag.”

“I don’t think so,” Alex said in German and waved him off.

“I don’t understand.” The vendor turned to Cat and Leila and pushed forward a green and yellow magnet. “You like Hezbollah refrigerator magnet?”

Leila pushed it away and Cat said something in Arabic.

The man frowned. Next he showed John a yellow T-shirt designed with green Arabic writing and a green AK-47 over a green globe. “One-size-fits-all Hezbollah T-shirt.”

John ignored him.

The vendor turned to Pancho and pulled out a baseball cap with a picture of two smiling men: Hezbollah’s leader, Hassan Nasrallah, and the previous Iranian president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. “Would you like Lebanese baseball hat?”

Pancho smiled. “Would you like to besa mi juevos?”

The vendor responded with a puzzled grin. Alex smiled. He’d heard the Spanish version of “kiss my nuts” more than once.

John punched Pancho in the shoulder.

The Outcasts passed the vendor and proceeded to the site of the temples and their ruins. At the entrance, a man collected admission. “How much?” Alex asked.

“Twelve thousand Lebanese pounds each,” the man said in broken English.

Alex started to pay the man, but Cat stopped Alex. “Don’t pay that,” she said. “Twelve thousand is too much.” She haggled with the man in Arabic until he agreed to two thousand Lebanese pounds each.

Alex paid.

Inside the site, John and Leila filmed the remains of the Temple of Jupiter, with its six seventy-five-foot-high Corinthian pillars standing atop twenty-seven enormous limestone blocks.

Next they examined the Temple of Bacchus. Although the Temple of Jupiter was taller, much of the Temple of Bacchus remained intact, and Alex still felt like he was the size of an ant as they hiked up thirty stairs to the entrance of a hundred-foot-high building. Nineteen unfluted Corinthian columns supported an entablature carved with bulls and lions. Inside, nature reclaimed the floor — weeds poked up through uneven ground covered with broken columns and scattered rubble. On the ceiling were scenes of a god with a cornucopia, a god with a hammer, and one with arrows. The Outcasts passed smaller columns and hiked up another flight of stairs to the dark worship room.

After filming the temple complex, they packed up, then drove along a road southeast until they reached a private hospital. “This is the hospital here,” Alex said. “Leila, you’ll park here tomorrow night.”

“Yes.”

Cat pulled into the hospital parking lot and circled it before returning to the road southeast. Finally, she slowed down in front of a rock quarry located on the same hill as the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. John pretended to film the rock quarry, but he was actually filming the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks. His fellow Outcasts stood around him like they were viewing the quarry, but they were obstructing onlookers from seeing John while he filmed.

They finished their recon and had just loaded into the van when a vehicle came speeding into the parking lot and stopped in front of them. Two Hezbollah men in green uniforms approached the driver side and motioned for Cat to roll the window down.

She rolled down the window with her left hand and started the ignition with her right.

One of the men tilted his head in a way that made it look as if it were on crooked. He spoke Arabic to Cat.

“He’s asking what we’re doing here,” Cat said. With her foot on the brake, she shifted into low gear, ready to plow through the Hezbollah vehicle before shifting into drive and speeding away.

“We’re a movie production crew,” Alex said.

Cat translated.

“Who are your stars?” Crooked Head asked.

“This is our main star.” Alex pointed to Pancho.

“Hi,” Pancho said, waving with a smile.

“Who is he?” Crooked Head asked.

“Pancho Bardem,” Alex said. “He was nominated for an Oscar two years ago.”

Crooked Head poked his head inside Cat’s window and surveyed the interior before resting his eyes on Pancho. “Never heard of him.”

Pancho frowned and turned up his nose.

“He’s well-known in Spain and Mexico,” Alex explained.

Pancho smiled, flashing what he thought was a killer grin.

“I’ve watched behind the scenes and this isn’t enough people to make a movie,” Crooked Head said.

Alex allowed irritation to creep into his voice: “This is a documentary.”

“Where is your film equipment?”

Alex turned to John and Leila. “Show him.”

They reached down and unzipped their duffel bags.

Crooked Head watched intently.

John pulled out a camera and tripod, and Leila also took out a camera and tripod.

“What are your jobs?” Crooked Head asked.

Alex pointed to himself. “I’m the producer-director.” Then he pointed to Cat. “This is my assistant. Pancho is our host-narrator, and in the back are our two camera people.”

“You don’t need two cameras for a documentary.”

“We don’t do multiple takes,” Alex said impatiently. “That’s why we shoot with two cameras. Our movie is honest — what you see is what it is. And I don’t appreciate you insulting Pancho. You don’t even know who Pancho Bardem is, and you try to act like you know how to make a documentary. Have you been living under a rock?!”

Cat’s translation was only about half as long as what Alex said.

Alex’s eyes burned into Cat. “Don’t edit me. Tell him everything I said.”

The other Hezbollah guy pulled Crooked Head aside and spoke broken English: “You make movie here?”

“We filmed the temple ruins,” Alex said. “We heard the rock quarry is a good place to film so we came here, but there’s nothing to film here.”

“Can I see?” the Hezbollah man asked politely. He was older and seemed to be the senior of the two.

“The film? Sure.” Alex turned to John. “Show him what we took of the temple ruins.”

John stepped out of the van and played back the recording on the camera’s swing-out monitor. Crooked Head looked over Senior’s shoulder.

Senior finished viewing the monitor and focused on Alex. “What you know about Hezbollah?”

“Just what I hear on the news,” Alex replied.

“The news is wrong. I tell you truth. Take my picture.”

Alex took a few moments, as if he were seriously thinking about it. He looked the soldier up and down before answering. “You have the hips of a younger George Clooney. Okay. Everybody, let’s film what he has to say.”

The Outcasts unloaded from the van. John and Leila set up their cameras on the tripods with the sun to their backs and Senior, Crooked Head, and Pancho in front. Senior patted his hair.

“Are we filming?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, boss,” John said.

Leila nodded.

“Pancho,” Alex said.

Pancho, Senior, and Crooked Head exchanged greetings before Pancho asked Senior about Hezbollah.

Senior said something to Crooked Head in Arabic and he took a step back. Senior didn’t want Crooked Head crowding him in the picture frame. “Hezbollah is political party in Lebanese government. We built hospital, radio station, television station, university, schools for children, and housing for poor people. Hezbollah is doctors, lawyers, teachers, students, farmers, and common people….” He conveniently left out any mention of terrorists and went on to complain about Israel, the United States, and Europe. Eventually, he became tired of talking.

“Great,” Alex said. “Let’s call it a day.”

Pancho shook Senior’s hand, thanking him. John and Leila packed up their cameras. Alex thanked Senior and gave him a business card for a dummy movie production company, phone number, and email address where a real secretary stood by to answer inquiries in order to maintain the cover. The Outcasts loaded into the van and waved to the Hezbollah pair before driving away. Senior and Crooked Head smiled and waved back.

24

In the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks, Major Khan and his Hezbollah interpreter entered the building where the hostages were kept. Major Khan had heard that one of the three prisoners was a young man named Youssef Rahbanni. Having already received clearance to interrogate the young man, Major Khan and his interpreter checked in with the guard at the desk, then proceeded through the doorway and to the right. At the end of the hall, Major Khan found a guard seated in a chair. Major Khan kicked the chair. Startled, the guard stood and unlocked the door. Major Khan told the interpreter to wait in the hall. He didn’t need an eyewitness. He entered the interrogation room, where Youssef was already sitting with his hands tied and a black hood over his head. It had been too long since Major Khan’s last interrogation, and he ached inside with anticipation. The boy couldn’t speak Farsi, so Major Khan skipped the talking and cut straight to the monster.

After his session with the young man, Major Khan left the interrogation room and he and his interpreter left the building. The interrogation session relieved Major Khan’s monster for the time being, but disgusted the piece of humanity that he still clung to. Rather than dwell on it, he looked around the building and noticed the nearby stone wall. “If I were the enemy on land, I’d come over this wall,” Major Khan said. He and his interpreter scaled the wall and lowered themselves outside the barracks. He scanned the area. There were numerous possible approaches, but each would probably converge at the wall near the prison building. Major Khan needed to set up a sniper hide with eyes on that spot of the wall. He didn’t believe the Americans had the guts to do a helicopter insertion, but if they did, he’d have a good shot at the helo, too. To the north, a cluster of upper-class houses faced the barracks. He pointed to one that looked like the perfect location. “That one.”

Major Khan and the interpreter returned to the barracks and found Pistachio, Lieutenant Saeedi, and their gear. They loaded into a gray Range Rover. Pistachio drove them to the house north of the barracks, where they met the owner, an average-looking middle-aged woman.

Pistachio had a way with women, so he gave the pitch and the interpreter translated for Major Khan. “We’d like to rent a room in your house to conduct some surveillance on the barracks.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “My late husband left me with a sufficient inheritance, and I really don’t need the money.”

“I understand. We have to give you the money, it’s only the fair thing to do, but this isn’t about the money. This is about the security of your neighborhood and supporting Hezbollah.”

Lieutenant Saeedi stared at the woman. Major Khan tried to give him the evil eye, but Saeedi didn’t notice.

“How long will you need to be here?” she asked.

“A day or two,” Pistachio said. Even though the mission could last weeks or months, it was easier to ask her for a couple of days. “You’ll be safer with us here. Your neighborhood will be safer, too.”

Lieutenant Saeedi seemed to be raping her with his eyes.

“This house is more than I need anyway,” she said. “I guess it would be okay.” She showed them the house without asking how much money they were offering.

Major Khan paid little attention to the first floor, and Lieutenant Saeedi paid more attention to the owner than anything else. When they reached the bedroom on the second floor with a view of the barracks, Major Khan became fully alert. “This room is perfect,” he said.

“Okay,” the owner said.

“Can we be alone for a few minutes to discuss our surveillance?” Major Khan asked.

The owner nodded and left the room.

Major Khan sent the interpreter to fetch his bag.

When the three of them were alone, Lieutenant Saeedi said, “I really want to have sex with her.”

“Why don’t you try to get to know her first?” Pistachio said.

“Because that never works,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “Once a woman gets to know me, it’s over.”

“You just have to find the right woman,” Pistachio said.

“That’s easy for you to say. Women are always hanging all over you. Every woman is the right woman for you, but no woman is the right one for me.”

Pistachio looked to Major Khan for support.

“I don’t care about the woman,” Major Khan said. “And I don’t care about your need for sex. What I care about is the mission. After we kill Alex Brandenburg and his men, you can rape every woman in Lebanon.”

Lieutenant Saeedi’s face sagged. He found a chair in the corner and sat. Major Khan understood what it was like when the monster needed to be fed, and he couldn’t feed it. Even so, Khan would kill Saeedi without hesitation. There was no room for negotiation.

The major pulled a table in front of the window. Then the interpreter returned with Major Khan’s bag and handed it to him. He dismissed the interpreter then opened the bag. Inside was a Nakhjir, a Russian Dragunov sniper rifle licensed for manufacture in Iran. The Nakhjir’s magazine held ten rounds of 7.62x54mmR ammunition, similar to the American .308. At the end of the rifle was a flash suppressor so the enemy would have more difficulty spotting him. Major Khan attached a PSO-1 optical sight and looked through it. The sight magnified everything four times its normal size.

Next, Major Khan pulled out a pair of binoculars. “We’ll take turns in six-hour shifts watching the barracks with these binoculars. If anyone spots something suspicious, he’ll tell me, and I’ll do the rest.”

25

The next day Alex and Cat met again with Omar and Brutus. Now the Sunnis were on America’s side, but Alex knew that someday Islamic fanaticism might rear its ugly head, and they’d be enemies. It saddened Alex, but he didn’t dwell on it.

At 2300 hours, Alex, Pancho, John, and Leila left the apartment wearing civvies and hiking boots and carrying large black duffel bags. Under the light of a partial moon, the SEALs loaded into the back of the black Hummer and Leila drove. Minutes later, Cat would head out in the van to link up at the final rendezvous point with Brutus. Alex worried about leaving her alone with Brutus, but Alex needed Pancho and John with him on the assault — and Cat wanted no special favors.

The SEALs put cammies and dark inflatable life vests on over their civvies. In Alex’s pockets he carried a map, an energy gel tube, Swiss Army knife, first-aid kit (blowout kit), survival kit, PRC-112 survival radio, and gloves. From his duffel bag he pulled out his holstered Zoaf pistol and put it on. Then he took out his AKMS assault rifle and loaded it. Next, Alex donned his combat vest loaded with rifle and pistol ammo, grenades, GPS, and radio. From his radio he could transmit to and receive from each of the Outcasts and Omar. Last was his small backpack with the rest of his gear.

Alex applied olive drab green and loam paint to his skin, making sure to keep the high areas like his nose and cheekbones dark and the low areas, like around his eyes, light. Where light shone, his skin became dark, and where shadows fell, his skin became light, so he looked other than human. The SEALs checked each other’s war faces to make sure no natural skin color was exposed.

A little more than an hour later, they arrived in Baalbek, where they’d seen the Hezbollah posters around town and met the Hezbollah vendor before entering the temple ruins.

Two men in green uniforms armed with AK-47s stood in the road and waved for the Outcasts to stop — Hezbollah. Damn, we haven’t even reached the objective! “Leila, stop and see what they want.”

Leila stopped in front of them. The guards approached her and gestured for her to roll down the window — they couldn’t see through the Hummer’s tinted windows in the dark as well as the Outcasts could see out. John quietly opened the rear door on the passenger’s side and slipped out. Alex followed, drawing his sound-suppressed pistol. They crept around the back of the Hummer. Leila was speaking in Farsi, confusing the two Hezbollah men.

John turned the corner followed by Alex, both looking down the sights of their pistols. Now Alex could see the two Hezbollah men talking to Leila. John walked close to the vehicle, giving Alex space to walk on his left and an open field of fire. The Hezbollah man on the left appeared in Alex’s sights, and Alex squeezed the trigger three times. The first two rounds struck the Hezbollah man in the upper torso, and the last struck him in the head just as John shot him in the head, too. Alex aimed at John’s man on the right, but he was already down. Alex was smooth, but John was smoother. Smooth is fast. They moved forward and gave each of the Hezbollah another shot in the skull to make sure.

Alex and John dragged the bodies off the road and into the bushes. They returned to the Hummer and sat inside. Pancho was eating a bag of Keebler peanut butter cookies.

“Thanks for the help,” Alex said.

“No problemo,” Pancho said with his mouth full.

Alex wasn’t happy. “Leila, take us to the insertion point.”

Leila took her foot off the brake and stepped on the gas. Pancho gave her a cookie.

John held his hand out to Pancho. “How about it?”

Pancho handed John some cookies.

“Sam,” John said.

“Huh?” Pancho asked.

“The nineteenth elf.”

“Oh, yeah. The peanut butter baker.” Pancho gestured with a cookie to Alex. “Uncommonly good cookies for uncommonly good shooters.”

Alex shook his head and took it. After eating the cookie, he wanted another. Pancho must have read his mind, because Pancho gave him two more.

Leila drove a few minutes before parking behind a deserted building on a hill. The guys put on their NVGs.

Alex keyed his radio once, breaking squelch to signal everyone that he was in place. Leila broke squelch twice, Cat three times, and Omar four — they were in place, too. So far, so good. Pancho slipped out on Leila’s side, followed by Alex and then John. Alex didn’t like leaving Leila by herself, but he was short on assaulters as it was. She would have to fend for herself.

Alex could see his breath in the moonlight, but his adrenaline was pumping so hard that he didn’t feel cold. Pancho led them behind the hospital southwest through a grove of cedar trees powdered with snow. The SEALs crossed a street and entered another grove of cedar trees behind another hospital. Pancho skirted around the hospital to the right and passed between two buildings before taking them across another street. Heading west, they crept behind a group of buildings laid out in an L-shape. A dog barked. I wish that dog would shut up.

Rather than walk across an open field, at the second house from the end of the L-shape, Pancho cut between houses. They crossed another road and walked through snow above their ankles until they reached the next road. As the SEALs rounded a large three-story building, Alex could see the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks less than two hundred yards away. They crawled between the three-story building and a farmer’s field. In spite of all the snow, there were rows of bushy green plants growing in the field. Pancho low-crawled through the field, followed by Alex and John. The ground was frozen hard, and Alex was thankful for his knee pads and arm pads. Pancho stopped and slowly looked around in front of them. Alex examined the area left and right. He glanced back to see John checking behind them. When John turned back around and made eye contact with Alex, John made no indication that there was a problem. Alex returned his eyes to the front.

To the SEALs’ right was a larger field. In it lay Omar and his men. They kept still. Good. Although Alex could see some of them with his NVGs, he wondered how well the enemy might be able to spot them. Pancho resumed crawling through the rows of bushy plants.

The SEALs exited the farmer’s field and quickly crawled over a stone wall. Inside the wall of Hezbollah’s barracks, they lay still for several minutes before entering a clump of cedar trees next to their target building. Pancho moved forward as far as he could without exiting the clump of trees and stopped. This is it. Alex’s senses were so heightened that a breeze through the trees sounded like someone stomping toward him. His breathing seemed loud enough to wake up the whole Hezbollah barracks. He could even hear the quickening beat of his heart. Breathe. He took slow, deep breaths. His heart and breathing rates slowed.

John crept past Alex and Pancho and turned the target building corner to pick the lock on the door with a customized silent steel pick made with a polymer core inside and polymer lamination on the outside. Pancho stood with his pistol drawn and headed for the door. Alex, also with pistol drawn, crouched behind Pancho. Who or what will be waiting for us when we step through the door? A booby trap? Ambush? Will the hostages be there? Breathe.

John opened the door and Pancho rushed inside and to the left. Alex was second through the door and peeled right. Both were careful to get inside the door and to his position so the train wouldn’t get stuck in the doorway. If the train stopped in the doorway, everyone behind the first man would become useless because they couldn’t engage bad guys. They were also careful not to advance too quickly through the room — thus missing something and getting shot by a terrorist or their own Teammate. Alex scanned his area — nobody. They were in an office room. John entered the center of the room to fill in if someone was shot or had a weapon jam, but no shots were fired and there were no bad guys. Because there were only three of them assaulting, John also took the job of making sure no one sneaked up on them from behind.

Pancho led them through the doorway and turned right. Alex kept close behind. There was a wall to the left. He turned right, entering a hall after Pancho, who kept to one side so Alex had space on the other — better to have both weapons aimed down the hall than just one. At the end of the hall, outside the door leading to the hostage cell, a man in a uniform sat sleeping in a chair. He woke up and when he saw Pancho and Alex coming at him, he jerked toward an AK-47 propped against the wall. Alex and Pancho popped him. The SEALs proceeded down the hall, passing a closed door with a poster of the Hezbollah leader on it, then past another closed door.

At the end of the hall was the room where the hostages were supposedly being held. John removed the bar barricading the door and checked the lock. As expected, it was locked. Rather than search through the guard’s pockets for the keys and try to figure out which was the key to the cell or find out the guard didn’t have the key, John picked the lock. Pancho aimed at the hostage’s door — there could be a guard inside, or worse, a trap. Alex covered the area behind them. Alex heard a sound come from behind the closed door with the Hezbollah poster. He was sure his senses weren’t overreacting. Someone else was in the building.

John finished picking the lock. He looked at Pancho, who nodded. John opened the door and Pancho smoothly moved inside. Next came Alex, looking for threats — the room was empty except for a bucket, three men, and their blankets. Two hostages were lying asleep on the floor. They appeared much thinner than they did in their pictures. The smallest hostage sat in the corner, his whole body shaking and his eyes moving in slow motion. Saliva dripped from his mouth like a dog. He’d obviously been tortured severely. Each man’s hands and feet were tied. The room smelled like a locker room, outhouse, and slaughterhouse combined. The stench was so thick it made Alex gag.

Pancho stayed with the hostages while Alex and John searched the room next door. It was empty except for a table and two chairs. It stank, but not as bad as the prisoners’ cell. Maybe it was an interrogation room. The ceiling, walls, and floor were stained worse than the prison cell. Alex didn’t take the time to imagine what horrors took place in the interrogation room, but he knew he would never be taken alive. No SEAL had ever been held prisoner of war, and Alex would rather die fighting.

Alex and John returned to the hall and Alex pointed to his ear, then the door, signaling that he heard someone inside. John tried the door — it was locked. He picked the lock. After opening the door, the SEALs entered the room to find a couple in bed. On a chair beside the man hung a pistol in a holster on a belt. The man awoke to find Alex restraining him with zip-ties on his wrists and ankles. Meanwhile, John tied up the man’s significant other. Then the SEALs put hoods over the couple. Alex and John didn’t need to search them because they were naked except for their hoods. Alex put the pistol belt over his shoulder.

Alex and John left the Hezbollah couple and went back to the hostages. Pancho had already searched their bodies for weapons — unlikely, but the SEALs didn’t take any chances. The hostages were awake now. Pancho gestured for them to keep quiet. “Be quiet,” he said. “We’re friends of Dr. Khamenei and Omar Bisharia. They sent us to rescue you.”

The two Palestinians didn’t seem to understand.

“Omar Bisharia,” Pancho said slowly. “He sent us to rescue you.”

Youssef was lost in a different world, but a spark seemed to flash in Dalal’s dim eyes.

Using his pocketknife, Pancho cut off the cord tied around their ankles so they could move faster, then the cord on their wrists so they could climb over the wall.

The SEALs escorted the precious cargos (PCs) into the hallway. Alex signaled for Pancho to stop, and he came to a halt. Alex broke off from them, went into the Hezbollah couple’s room, grabbed them, put them in the hostages’ cell, and lowered the barricade on the door. He heard them gagging on the stench inside as he returned to his men and the hostages. Alex took the ammo out of the pistol in the belt slung over his shoulder and put the bullets in his pocket. Then he threw the belt into the bedroom. Alex signaled Pancho to move out.

The SEALs sneaked out of the building and around to the back with their PCs. The Hezbollah barracks was still quiet. So far, the mission was proceeding better than expected.

Pancho scaled the barracks’ stone wall and dropped over the other side. Alex helped the hostages up. They were moving too slowly, leaving the whole team vulnerable. Alex quickly followed the hostages over. When Alex landed on the other side, a shot came from the north, but he didn’t see the muzzle flash. Pancho took a step back before his legs buckled and he fell on his knees. He stood up and took two steps before falling on his face.

“Sniper, front!” Alex yelled. He didn’t bother to see where Pancho was hit; they needed to get out of the sniper zone — fast! Alex tossed a stun grenade north, hoping to throw off the sniper with the bright flash and loud bang. Hezbollah would be arriving any moment.

Alex hoisted Pancho in a fireman’s carry and waddled east. Pancho was so heavy, and the ground so frozen and uneven, that a waddle was as quick as he could move.

“Go, go, go!” John yelled from behind. Alex didn’t know if John was yelling at the PCs or him.

Alex ran faster than his feet could keep up, and he stumbled and fell. Before he hit the ground, a bullet snapped the air above, just missing him. He landed on the ground hard. Alex could barely breathe underneath Pancho’s weight.

John fired in the sniper’s direction, but they were so far away and the sniper was so well hidden that the best he could hope for was to keep the sniper’s head down long enough for the SEALs and their hostages to get out of his sights.

Omar’s men took John’s cue and fired in the sniper’s direction, too. Alex was happy they put the pressure on the sniper.

Alex picked himself and Pancho up and continued east, putting a building between them and the sniper, blocking his view — and bullets. Pancho was so heavy—why did he have to eat all those cookies?

John hustled to the front and ran point. Three armed Hezbollah men appeared from the barracks to their right. John stopped, planted his feet, and fired from the standing position: pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. One of the three Hezbollah fired off some rounds on full auto before John’s shots took him and his buddies down to the frozen dirt.

“Pancho, you okay, buddy?” Alex asked.

Pancho gasped for air.

At least he was conscious, but gasping for air wasn’t a good sign. “We’re going to get you out of here, just hang on.”

Pancho continued to gasp.

They still had nearly a klick to go before reaching Leila. Alex passed John and headed northeast. Meanwhile, John stayed between them and Hezbollah. Alex heard a vehicle roar out of the barracks and head for them. He suddenly realized he was running on the right shoulder of the road. The even surface helped him put more distance between them and the Hezbollah, but being in the open made it easier for the bad guys to find them. Alex turned right on a road.

Taking out the driver was the most effective way of stopping any vehicle. John fired again: pop-pop-pop—until the sound of the vehicle behind Alex and the PCs stopped.

Alex reached a dead end. Now he was lost. He backed up against a cypress tree and balanced Pancho and checked his compass. Somehow, he had gotten turned around and headed southwest. He needed to go northeast. Alex corrected his direction and cut through residences and crossed another road. He entered a grove of trees and still didn’t know where he was.

“You okay, Pancho?” Alex asked.

There was no reply.

“Just hang on, buddy.”

Alex looked behind him. The PCs were still there, Hassan and Dalal helping Youssef, but he’d lost John. From the direction of the Hezbollah barracks, the air popped off like the Fourth of July. Instead of one John shooting against many, it sounded like many firing against many. Omar’s men were shooting it out with Hezbollah.

Alex passed trees, bushes, and buildings before he crossed a road. Ahead was one of the hospitals. He turned around to make sure the others had stayed with him. They had. Now I know where we are, but where’s John? Pain shot through his neck, shoulder, and back from carrying Pancho, but he knew if he could gut it out a little more, the pain would become numbness, and he wouldn’t feel it anymore.

Alex hobbled clockwise around the hospital until he reached a cluster of cypress trees. Using them for cover, he picked up speed, stumbling over tree roots. Up ahead he spotted the Humvee in the parking lot. On the driver’s side sat Leila. He crossed the parking lot and Leila turned the engine on. Alex struggled to open the door, then one of the PCs came up from behind and opened it. The three PCs packed into the back row of the Hummer. Because there were only two seats in the back, Youssef sat on Hassan’s lap. Alex laid Pancho across the second row of seats, knelt beside him, and closed the door.

“Where is John?” Leila asked.

Alex didn’t know, but he assumed John would arrive any minute. “He’s coming. Just wait.”

Alex called on his radio, “John, where are you, buddy?”

No answer. Maybe he was busy. Or dead.

Someone keyed the mike once. John.

“Is Pancho okay?” Leila asked.

“He will be.” Alex didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. The veins on Pancho’s neck bulged out, and he was still gasping for breath. One side of his chest looked bigger than the other and the small side was wet and making a sucking sound. Alex used his pocketknife to cut away Pancho’s clothes so he could find the wound. Thick, dark liquid frothed from Pancho’s chest.

Suddenly the side door flew open, and someone rushed in and closed the door. It was John. He knelt on the floor next to Alex. “How’s Pancho?”

“Leila, take us out,” Alex said. He pulled the blowout kit from Pancho’s pocket. “He’s got a collapsed lung,” Alex said. The outside air was competing to get into the wound while his lung was fighting to push air out of it.

Leila drove them from the parking lot.

“We need to get Pancho to the ship ASAP,” John said. “He needs a surgeon.”

“I know,” Alex said. He pulled an Asherman chest seal out of Pancho’s first-aid pack and opened it. Alex used the enclosed four-by-four-inch gauze to wipe Pancho’s blood and sweat from the wound, and he taped the Asherman chest seal on the wound. The one-way valve in the seal allowed air out without letting it back in.

Suddenly, one of the hostages screamed so loudly it startled Alex. “What the hell?” he asked.

“It’s Youssef,” John said. “The kid is having flashbacks or something.”

The PCs tried to calm Youssef down.

“A car is coming behind us,” Leila said.

Alex looked to the rear, but the approaching vehicle’s high beams were ruining his vision through his night goggles, so he took them off. John did the same. Alex’s vision struggled to make the transition from NVGs to unaided night vision.

“Get down,” John said to the PCs. Dalal lay down on the floor, Hassan lay down on the seat, and Youssef lay down on top of Hassan.

Alex readied his weapon and flipped off his safety switch. As the vehicle came closer, Alex recognized the outline of a Land Rover. Leila was close to maxing out the Humvee’s acceleration, but the Land Rover pulled up beside them. Whatever they want, this isn’t going to be good. Leila managed to momentarily pull ahead of them, but within seconds they pulled up beside her. There were three men in the Land Rover: Lieutenant Saeedi was behind the wheel, with Major Khan beside him, and Pistachio was in the back.

“Smoke ’em!” Alex shouted. Because the Land Rover’s and Humvee’s accelerations were out of sync and Alex’s vision wasn’t a hundred percent, he flicked the selector switch on his AKMS to full auto, pressed the muzzle against the side window, and sprayed. John squeezed in beside Alex and joined him in firing through the window, too: pop-pop-pop-pop.

The evil trio ducked as their windows imploded, and the Land Rover’s brakes squealed, decelerating the SUV. Its ass end fishtailed.

“I think I got a piece of Captain Fat’hi,” John reported.

The Land Rover’s headlights behind them became smaller and smaller. Then they stopped shrinking. The lights grew bigger and bigger.

“They’re coming back for more,” John said. The PCs seemed to have already gotten the message because now they were huddled down low. Alex was too cramped for space and moved up to the passenger seat in front. John stayed kneeling on the floor next to Pancho. Alex fired through the left side of the rear window. John shot through the middle of the rear window.

Alex hoped the hostages had enough sense to keep their heads down, because he and John were shooting right over them. In spite of the heat that Alex and John delivered, the evil trio kept their heads down and the Range Rover came at them like a rocket. It struck the back of the Hummer with a bang, and Leila lost control. The Hummer swerved into the left lane and back across to the right as Leila struggled to regain control.

John ran out of bullets in his magazine. “Changing ammo!” He ejected the spent magazine and loaded a fresh one filled with thirty rounds. Meanwhile, Alex continued shooting at Major Khan and his men. When Alex had to change ammo, John fired.

The Range Rover came in to ram the Outcasts again. Without warning, Youssef popped up screaming and waving his arms. Alex and John stopped shooting so they wouldn’t hit him. “Get down!” they yelled at Youssef. “Keep him down!”

Leila translated for Hassan while speeding northwest. Pancho groaned.

Major Khan and his men didn’t waste the opportunity of a lull in the shooting. They unloaded their rage on the Outcasts. Rounds punched through the rear windshield and popped the air. Instinctively, Alex ducked. Bullets ripped into seats. The Range Rover rammed into the Hummer: bang! Leila lost control again and swerved. Rounds stopped cracking overhead, so Alex rose from cover and took aim. John did, too. Either Hassan and Dalal pulled Youssef down or Major Khan and his men had shot him, because Youssef wasn’t sitting up waving and screaming like a maniac anymore. Alex adjusted his aim to compensate for the weaving of the Hummer and scored direct hits on the Range Rover — so did John — causing Major Khan and his men to back off.

The Hummer slowed down and ran off the road.

“Leila?” Alex called.

No answer.

Alex turned to see Leila slumped over the steering wheel. “Leila?!” Alex shouted. He reached out and grabbed her arm, but there was still no response.

The Hummer ran through the front of someone’s yard and into a field. They headed on a collision course with trees bordering the edge of the field.

“What’s going on?” John asked, continuing to shoot at Major Khan and his men.

“Just keep ’em off our ass!” Alex yelled. The back of Leila’s head was gooey wet. He pulled her off the steering wheel and took it, turning the Hummer away from the trees. Then he took her foot off the gas pedal and parked the vehicle so they’d stop rolling. Alex grabbed gauze from his blowout kit and secured it to the back of her bloody head before moving her into the passenger seat. “Leila, stay awake.”

Leila opened her eyes and said something, but her voice was so faint, he couldn’t hear it. He put his ear to her lips, and her voice came out in a breathy whisper. “Alex.” When he looked at her eyes again, they were closed.

“Wake up, Leila. We’re going home.”

Alex climbed into the driver’s seat. He knew that if he didn’t get them out of this mess quickly, they’d all die. He stepped on the gas and wheeled them around in the direction of the road. Major Khan’s Range Rover drove off the road and headed straight for the Outcasts. They appeared to be aimed at each other for a head-on collision. Alex took both hands off the wheel, picked up his AKMS, leaned forward, pressed the muzzle against the windshield, and rapidly fired at Lieutenant Saeedi in the driver’s seat. Saeedi ducked, so Alex pivoted to Major Khan and unloaded, but he ducked, too. He couldn’t see Pistachio in the back, but he fired into the seats anyway. The Hummer and Range Rover passed so closely that their side mirrors broke off. In the rear of the Hummer, John’s AKMS sounded possessed as it blasted hell at Major Khan and his men.

Steering the Hummer with one hand and holding his AKMS in the other, Alex tore onto the main road and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped northwest, wind howled through the holes in the windshield and windows. The wind must have been cold, but Alex didn’t feel it. He checked the rearview mirror — Major Khan was still more than a hundred yards behind them. “Leila, you’re going to be okay. Just hang in there.”

“Pancho, wake up, buddy,” John said. “Come on, Pancho, wake up!”

Omar’s men better be at the rendezvous site, or there’ll be hell to pay. Alex raced into the city of Laboue and slammed on the brakes before turning left toward the Assi River. Soon he was off-road, blazing a trail through the woods. Major Khan couldn’t catch Alex, but Alex couldn’t lose him, either. Alex wanted to drive faster, but if he wrecked, they’d be in worse shape. Smooth is fast. His frustration level threatened to max out, but he couldn’t let it. He pushed the Hummer as hard as he dared, dodging in and out of trees until he slid to a halt next to the water’s edge. Fortunately, Omar’s men stood by ready with rubber boats.

“We need to hurry,” Alex said. “Bad guys coming.” Alex wasn’t sure if they understood him, but Omar’s men helped unload Leila, Pancho, Hassan, Dalal, and Youssef from the car and into their rubber boats.

“John, drop smoke,” Alex said.

“Dropped smoke and a Bouncing Betty,” John said. John often carried U.S. military smoke and explosives, but on this mission, he went sterile, carrying Iranian goodies to hide the Outcasts’ country of origin.

Good.

Omar’s men and the SEALs pushed off the rubber boats and paddled into the river until a swift current carried them away. Behind them, white smoke expanded up and outward from the ground.

26

With a blown-out front tire, the Range Rover skidded to a stop in front of a wall of white smoke. One side-view mirror dangled and the other was missing. Most of the front windshield was blown out, and the vehicle looked as if a flock of giant steel-beaked woodpeckers had attacked it. Lieutenant Saeedi’s shirt was torn where a bullet had ripped it. Flying glass had cut into the side of Major Khan’s face, bloodying it. Pistachio had taken a round in the left shoulder, which he had already bandaged.

The three jumped out of their vehicle and Lieutenant Saeedi sprinted ahead into the smoke. Major Khan and Pistachio followed close behind. They lost sight of Lieutenant Saeedi, but they could hear him. Major Khan heard a dreaded sound: click. Lieutenant Saeedi had triggered a booby trap. As Major Khan’s adrenaline sped up, time seemed to slow down. This is the end. Instead of the boom of an explosion, there was a distinctive delay of a Bouncing Betty. I still have time. “Hit the dirt!” He dropped and heard a whoosh of air as the body of the mine hopped about three feet high into the air. The resulting explosion was deafening. With his face in the dirt, Major Khan couldn’t see the explosion, but he knew its shrapnel would shred everything in a thirty-meter radius from about the waist up. Consistent with its design, everything on the ground was safe.

Major Khan stood and carefully walked out of the smoke. Lieutenant Saeedi was in the water. “What happened to you?” Major Khan asked.

“I slipped and fell in the freezing water! What the hell does it look like?!”

Major Khan had been so focused on getting under the Bouncing Betty’s explosion, he hadn’t heard the splash. Major Khan gave Lieutenant Saeedi a hand out of the water. “Did you see Alex and his men?”

“No, they got away. That explosion wasn’t what I thought it was, was it?” Lieutenant Saeedi asked.

“You’re lucky you fell in the water.”

“Where’s Pistachio?”

They walked through the smoke toward their vehicle. When they exited the smoke, they spotted Pistachio on the ground. The explosion had left his legs intact, but his upper body from his groin to his face was a bloody, mangled mess. “I can’t move my body,” Pistachio said almost unintelligibly.

“Aww, shit,” Lieutenant Saeedi swore.

Part of Pistachio’s jaw seemed broken. “Hospital,” he pleaded.

“Hang on, Pistachio,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “We’re going to fix you up and get the bastards who did this to you!”

“Hospital,” Pistachio said weakly.

Major Khan brought his rifle up to his shoulder.

“Aww, no,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

Pistachio groaned.

Major Khan pulled the trigger.

“No!” Lieutenant Saeedi cried. Tears ran down his face. “You killed Pistachio!”

“That’s what friends are for.” Major Khan walked to the Range Rover.

“You coldhearted bastard! You’re just going to walk away from Pistachio?!”

Major Khan stopped and turned around. “You think I’m happy about losing him?”

“Say his name: Pistachio.”

“Get in the car.”

“Say Pistachio!”

“Let it go.”

“You can’t say Pistachio’s name because you just killed him!”

“There’s nothing we can do about it here.”

“There’s something we can do about it!”

Major Khan stared hard through Lieutenant Saeedi, waiting for a suggestion.

“We can say something in honor of him,” Lieutenant Saeedi reasoned.

“You do that.” Major Khan returned to the truck, sat inside, and slammed the door.

Lieutenant Saeedi stood alone shivering, wet and bawling like a baby over Pistachio’s corpse.