Easy Day for the Dead

27

If Alex and his crew didn’t get Pancho and Leila to the operating room on the USS Kearsarge soon, they’d both be dead. Alex, John, Hassan, Dalal, and three of Omar’s men paddled in a large, civilian, blue and white inflatable raft carrying Pancho, Leila, and Youssef. Omar’s men in the boat weren’t militia types, but they were experienced white-water rafters. Everyone wore red life jackets except for the SEALs, who already wore gray life vests that they could inflate if needed. John inflated Pancho’s life vest — just in case.

The river flowed so swiftly that they didn’t need to paddle for forward movement. They paddled only to keep the boat from turning sideways or backward. Rocks poked up out of the water and the paddlers maneuvered the boat around them like they were moving through an obstacle course. Farther downstream, more and more rocks appeared, creating white water and small waves. The raft rode over a ledge that dropped two feet—no problem. As they proceeded, the river became deadlier with more white water and larger waves. Alex and the others worked harder to avoid the larger rocks. At the next ledge they dropped five feet at a 45-degree angle and hit the water below hard enough to make Alex worry that they might lose someone over the side.

As the number of rocks increased, it became more difficult to avoid them, so they ran over them, picking up speed on the downstream side. The water rolled back on itself, creating a white, foaming hole. Alex, John, and Omar’s men paddled hard through the white water so they wouldn’t get stuck in the hole. Hassan and Dalal worked hard, paddling as fast as they could, but their strokes were short and shallow, having less effect. Alex and the others muscled their way through the water. The Assi River was tougher than he’d anticipated. Now Alex wished they had Pancho’s brawn to help them.

The Assi calmed down, and although Alex wanted to catch his breath, they still had to get Pancho and Leila to a surgeon as quickly as possible. Alex and John continued to dig their paddles into the water and pull long strokes. The others followed their example.

After their boat rounded a bend, the river was all white water for as far as Alex could see. Then he saw a drop ahead — it looked like a big one. John stowed his paddle and grabbed hold of Pancho and Leila. Hassan and Dalal held on to John. Omar’s two men on the starboard and port sides paddled diligently to keep them straight while the man in the back steered.

Youssef stood up screaming and waving his hands. Alex tried to pull him down so he wouldn’t fall out of the boat. Alex didn’t want to lose a hostage, and he didn’t want to perform a rescue swim in icy water. Hypothermia worried him more than drowning. Youssef broke out of Alex’s grip. The ledge appeared up ahead. The other side angled down at 45 degrees — a ten-foot waterfall. Alex grabbed a handful of Youssef’s shirt and jerked him down to the deck just as they edged over the top of the waterfall and began to drop. When they hit bottom, the front of the boat folded upward. Still holding Youssef by the shirt with one hand, Alex landed with such force that his other hand lost its grip on the boat, but he clung to the boat with his legs. When the water calmed, Alex was happy that he and Youssef hadn’t taken a swim.

They reached their rendezvous point and paddled out of the river’s main current and landed onshore. After exiting the boat, Alex and the others pulled it farther inland, where Cat and Brutus were there to greet them. Brutus’s two drivers each sat behind the wheel of an idling vehicle.

“Youssef!” Brutus hugged Youssef and kissed him on the left cheek, right cheek, then left — a common Lebanese greeting between friends and family.

Youssef cried tears of joy.

Brutus kissed Alex: left cheek, right, left.

Alex didn’t think he’d be happy to be kissed by a man, but he was. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but we’ve got a medical emergency.”

Alex needed Cat to translate for him, but she stood staring at Pancho and Leila.

“Cat, I need you to translate for me.”

She remained in a daze.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Tell Brutus that we have a medical emergency and need to go.”

Cat translated, her voice trembling.

Brutus helped the Outcasts load Pancho and Leila into their van. Alex gave a hurried wave before sitting in the passenger seat. Cat peeled out, then sped along small roads before she reached the main road.

As she barreled along the highway, Alex radioed JSOC and told them about Pancho’s and Leila’s critical conditions. Alex requested a helo medevac but was told to follow the original extraction plan and that two surgeons on the Kearsarge would be standing by with their staff and operating rooms prepped.

Cat raced through Tripoli. Alex noticed a tear in her eye. Even though Pancho and Leila meant more to Alex than most people, his eyes were dry. Maybe I do need to learn how to love. Maybe I do live in a lonely little dysfunctional world. But in situations where most people would’ve shit themselves, I kept my cool. I made the impossible become possible. And because of that, Pancho and Leila are going to survive.

The average time to drive from Tripoli south forty-four klicks to Byblos was about fifty minutes, but Cat reached Byblos in twenty-five. Near the end of the trip, they passed through the town of Amsheet, where Alex, Pancho, John, and Cat had cheated death before. We’ll cheat death again.

On the Lebanese amphibious base, Alex linked up with the Lebanese marine commandos. Even though the commandos knew it was a training exercise, they treated the situation as if it were real. They loaded up their boats with the Outcasts and Hassan and took them to the USS Kearsarge.

Both Pancho’s and Leila’s eyes were closed. Alex tried to wake them up, but neither responded.

“We need to go faster!” Alex told the coxswain. Cat translated.

“Yes, sir,” the coxswain replied.

But the boat didn’t go any faster — it was going as fast as it could. The five-minute ride to the ship felt like five hours. On board the Kearsarge, only a select number of people knew that the medical emergency was real and were told to keep it a secret.

Pancho and Leila were immediately whisked off to the operating room, and Hassan was ushered off for a medical check. Alex, John, and Cat waited outside the operating room. “This will probably take a while,” a Navy commander said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Some water would be nice,” Alex replied.

“Will do.”

An hour later, the first surgeon came out. “Pancho is a tough one. He’s still in rough condition, but he’s better off than he was, and now his situation is stable.”

Alex, John, and Cat smiled.

“He needs some rest now. I recommend you three get cleaned up, grab some chow, and then get some rest, too,” the surgeon said.

“We’re waiting for Leila,” Alex said.

“Sure,” the surgeon said with a poker face that left Alex with less hope than the little he’d had before.

Minutes later, the second surgeon came out. “We did everything we could. I’m sorry. Leila is brain-dead. I don’t know how she survived as long as she did.”

Pain strained John’s face, and tears filled Cat’s eyes.

Alex remembered being in the hospital with his sister Sarah. Now the world’s colors faded and everything was turning white again. Even though his strength faded, he knew what he needed to do. “I need to see her,” Alex said.

The surgeon nodded. He escorted Alex to her room, then left him alone with her.

“I’ll always remember you, Leila. Mamnoon.” He put his hand on hers and kissed her on the lips. He knew what he needed to say, and he didn’t hesitate. “Goodbye, Leila. It’s okay to say goodbye.”

Minutes later, her EKG went flat. Alex walked out of her room and returned to John and Cat. “She’s gone,” Alex said.

Cat cried.

John pulled Alex aside.

Alex didn’t want to talk to him. Alex didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be alone.

“In the Hummer, Leila told you something,” John said. “What did she say?”

Alex looked into John’s eyes and saw so much hurt. Maybe it was just a reflection of Alex’s hurt. He wanted John to feel better, so Alex said what he thought John wanted to hear. “John.”

“The last thing she said was my name?”

Alex nodded, then walked away. He walked down the narrow passages, not knowing where he was headed until he found himself at the forward hold. The steel door was unlocked, so Alex opened it and walked in. Rope, shrouds, turnbuckles, and other gear for deck operations and cargo transfers were stored inside. He closed the door and sat on a pile of rope in the dark. Alex felt lightheaded, as if he were going to pass out. He tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but his lips quivered. Tears ran down his face and they wouldn’t stop. He tried to stop them, but he couldn’t. His body shook and his throat ached like it was going to sob, but no sound came out. The tears continued to pour.

The USS Kearsarge sailed a little over two days, until it arrived at the Naval Air Station Sigonella in Sicily. Alex, Pancho, John, Cat, and Hassan rode a helo to the air station. “I wish I was going with you all,” Pancho said.

“I do, too,” Alex said.

They exited the helo to find two pretty female hospital corpsmen with a stretcher. Pancho lay down on the stretcher. “Aah, Sicily,” he said with a peaceful smile.

Alex and Cat smiled, too. John just shook his head.

A gray van was parked nearby with the words U.S. NAVY written on the side. The doors opened and a commander stepped out with Dr. Sheema Khamenei. Hassan rushed toward his wife, tripped on his own feet, and fell. Dr. Khamenei ran to assist him. Hassan picked himself up before his wife reached him. Between hugs and kisses, they babbled in Farsi, but Alex didn’t need to understand Farsi to know they were happy. Alex was glad that Leila’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. He walked over to greet Dr. Khamenei, but she was still busy with her husband, so he waited patiently. As Alex watched, he felt a calmness come over him, and he wanted what they had. He looked at Cat, but she was too focused on them to notice Alex looking at her. Maybe Cat is thinking the same thing.

Dr. Khamenei turned and spoke to Alex in English. “Thank you so much. The MBD21 lab is in the jungle ten kilometers west of La Paragua, Venezuela….”

28

“What is General Tehrani waiting for?” Lieutenant Saeedi asked while driving their bullet-riddled Range Rover south through Monday morning traffic toward Beirut. He wore a suit and tie, assuming the cover of an Iranian diplomat. Next to him in a diplomatic bag on the seat rested his pistol and ammunition.

General Khan was also dressed as a diplomat and hid his weapon and ammo in a dip bag on his lap. “He says he needs five more days before he has enough rat fleas and MBD21 for the attack.” Three groups were scheduled to infiltrate the United States via ship. They would proceed to the domestic airport terminals in Dallas, Los Angeles, and New York, where they would unleash the fleas on passengers and the terminals. By the time airport officials figured out what had happened, the fleas would already have traveled throughout the country, spreading Black Death and reproducing while Americans helped spread the disease with their coughing and sneezing. Because MBD21 was resistant to antibiotics, no one infected could be saved. The general’s goal was to wipe out half the U.S. population before a cure could be found.

“Dr. Khamenei must’ve already told this Alex bastard about the lab in Venezuela. General Tehrani should stop being so greedy and just launch what he has before we lose another lab.”

“It’s our job to see that he doesn’t succeed in destroying the lab.”

“Let’s just get one thing straight. I don’t give a damn about the lab. I don’t give a damn about General Tehrani. The only thing I give a damn about is slaughtering the pigs who killed Pistachio.”

“This green-face killed my mentor, and my protégé.”

“You never told me that,” Saeedi said.

“I just did.”

“Damn.”

“You lost a friend. I lost more. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate Alex Brandenburg.”

Lieutenant Saeedi parked in the lot at Beirut International Airport, and the two strolled inside and boarded an Alitalia flight to Rome. In Rome, they transferred planes and flew Alitalia to Simon Bolivar International Airport, near Caracas, Venezuela. Next, they flew thirty-nine minutes to Ciudad Bolivar. From there it was a three-hour charter flight to La Paragua. In La Paragua, Lieutenant Saeedi hired a driver who drove them in his jeep ten kilometers west through a maze of dirt roads until they reached the outer gate of the MBD21 lab. No outsiders were allowed past the gate, so Major Khan paid the driver and stepped out of the jeep. Major Khan and Lieutenant Saeedi walked sluggishly from the gate to the main building. Although they’d slept and eaten as often as they could during their trip from Beirut to La Paragua, both of them were exhausted.

29

Wednesday, at Naval Air Station Sigonella in Sicily, after contacting JSOC with the location of the biological weapons lab, Alex, John, Cat, Dr. Khamenei, and Hassan Khamenei boarded a C-130 and took flight.

Cat fell asleep in her seat, but the Khameneis seemed nervous about the flight.

“You think they’ll be waiting for us in Venezuela?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Alex replied. “Whoever survived that Bouncing Betty you left for them will be waiting for us, and they won’t be happy.”

“I know our mission is to destroy the lab and capture or kill the general, but I want to take out those three creeps.”

“They certainly earned it — in more ways than one.”

“I agree with the priority for taking out the lab, but is the general more important than those other three men?”

“That’s what JSOC thinks. General Tehrani is the ringleader, and I think JSOC called this one right.”

John lowered his head.

“You ever hear of a Team Two guy called Jabberwocky?” Alex asked.

“Of course.”

“He was my mentor in Iraq. Later, I found out who killed him. It was Major Khan.”

“No way. Are you serious?”

“After we take care of the lab and take out the general, I want Major Khan. I don’t care about Lieutenant Saeedi or his buddy, Captain Fat’hi — I want Major Gholam Khan.”

When the C-130 reached a safe altitude, Alex took off his seat belt and lay on the cold deck.

Ten hours later, it was early morning when they touched down at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach, Virginia. A lieutenant and a petty officer greeted Alex’s crew on the tarmac. The petty officer took Hassan to help him find temporary married quarters. Meanwhile, the lieutenant drove Alex and the others to a secure intel building in the Dam Neck annex.

Alex thought about asking Cat to sit out the rest of this mission. She was physically fit but not as fit as Alex and John. Cat shot better than most people but not as smoothly as Alex and John. Overall, she was a great operator but not at the level of SEAL Team Six standards. Most of all, Alex didn’t want to bring her home in a body bag — he didn’t know how he could live with himself if he did.

On the other hand, Cat had more fire in the gut than some SEALs he knew. She wouldn’t take kindly to being sidelined. The last time he left her behind, he felt he’d been unfair. That decision had pissed off not only Cat; it had pissed off the skipper, too. Also, even though she wasn’t up to the insane standards of Team Six, she always managed to be part of the solution rather than part of the problem. With Pancho out of the picture, Alex could use another shooter. Keeping her on the mission seemed the only right thing to do.

Another thing that occurred to Alex was that he might not survive the mission. It wasn’t something he dwelled on, but it was a reality he constantly lived with. He loved Cat, but he hadn’t told her that yet. Alex didn’t fear death, but he feared dying before telling her. But this wasn’t the time or the place to tell her that he loved her.

Inside a secure conference room, Alex, John, and Cat discussed details about the lab with Dr. Khamenei. “You could destroy the fleas with a natural chemical like pyrethrin, attacking their nervous systems,” she said. “Or you could attack their neural membranes with the synthetic chemical permethrin. Pyrethrin and permethrin will not stop the eggs from hatching, but methoprene will—”

Cat interrupted. “Can’t we just toss in a Raid fogger? They probably have something that kills the adults and the eggs.”

“Our priority is to destroy the MBD21,” John said. “How do we do that?”

“Raid will kill the fleas and their eggs, but it won’t kill the MBD21 bacteria. MBD21 resists streptomycin, tetracycline, and all antibiotics, too,” Dr. Khamenei reminded them.

The Lut Desert was so hot that not even bacteria could survive. “Can we burn the MBD21?” Alex asked.

“I guess so,” Dr. Khamenei answered.

“You’re not planning to nuke it, are you?” John asked.

“No, too many civilians nearby, and our friends south of the border wouldn’t be too happy with us for nuking South America,” Alex said. “I was thinking of thermate.” Thermate was an upgraded version of thermite.

“And burn down the Amazon rain forest?” Cat asked.

“Thermate could work,” Dr. Khamenei added. “But formaldehyde would be more effective.”

“Formaldehyde?” John asked.

“We use it for sterilization,” Dr. Khamenei explained. “Formaldehyde kills MBD21.”

Alex and Dr. Khamenei continued to discuss the lab compound, including its layout. Cat and John bugged out early, and returned to the Team Six compound. Cat would visit the head shed to gather the latest intel: satellite photos, maps, local population, terrain, weather, enemy, the target area, and infiltration and exfiltration routes. Before coming to Team Six, she had experience as an intelligence specialist, so Alex could depend on her without having to tell her what to do. John dropped in on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal guys to request Raid foggers, formaldehyde bombs, claymore mines, and thermate that couldn’t be traced to the United States.

After Alex finished with Dr. Khamenei, a petty officer came and escorted her to the temporary married quarters. Then Alex joined John and Cat in the Team Six compound to discuss mission planning. Will we insert by sea, air, or land? They planned in reverse, starting with destroying the biological weapons lab. Next, because they would have no fire support, they discussed the insertion and how they’d be picked up. Finally, they figured out what mission gear was needed — Raid foggers, formaldehyde bombs, thermate, detonating (det) cord, antitank rocket, et cetera. They also discussed other considerations such as escape and evasion. They needed an Activity guy to meet them in Venezuela and take them to the target area. Because the Outcasts were shorthanded, if the Activity guy could assist with the assault that would be even better. Even though the Outcasts worked quickly, it took them two days, day and night, to put everything together.

At 0530 on Monday, Alex, John, and Cat arrived at the naval base in Norfolk dressed in civilian clothes and walked across the gangway of the USS Jason Dunham (DDG-109), an Arleigh Burke—class destroyer named after a Marine corporal posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his heroism in Iraq. The Jason Dunham had a crew of 380 and an armament of missiles, guns, and torpedoes. She also carried two SH-60 Seahawk helicopters.

The Outcasts stood at attention and requested permission to come aboard. They showed their ID cards to the petty officer of the watch. He checked the IDs then let them come aboard.

The Outcasts went below deck and waited until their gear arrived in boxes disguised as food supplies. After Alex was sure all their gear was aboard, he checked in with the CO to let him know they were good to go.

Later that morning, Alex lay down on the couch in the enlisted quarters. He closed his eyes to rest them for a few minutes. Alex remembered attending the funeral for his sister and grandfather, and how he’d never wanted to attend another funeral again. But he’d attended Jabberwocky’s funeral. A black hearse arrived at the grave site. Alex and his platoon Teammates saluted it. Their platoon chief pulled Jabberwocky’s casket from the back. Alex and six other Team guys wearing their Navy dress blues and white gloves carried it, three men on each side. The United States flag was draped over the casket, with the blue field resting over Jabberwocky’s left shoulder. Alex and his Teammates carried Jabberwocky feetfirst past the people standing in front of their chairs in the cemetery. Military men and women in attendance saluted. Those wearing civilian clothes placed their hands over their hearts. Alex and his Teammates placed Jabberwocky next to the rectangular hole in the lush green grass. They made sure the flag was straight and even. The Navy chaplain performed the service.

After the chaplain’s words, the SEALs removed the flag and folded it twelve times, resulting in a triangle showing only the blue field and white stars. They handed the flag to the SEAL Team Two skipper.

The skipper knelt in front of Jabberwocky’s wife and presented her with the flag, a flag sailors had fought for since the days of Captain John Paul Jones. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, I present this flag to you in recognition of Chief Lee’s heroism,” he said with tears creeping into the corners of his eyes.

In contrast, Jabberwocky’s wife remained stoic, with her back straight and head looking forward.

“I’m so sorry,” the skipper said with a quivering voice and tears streaming down his face.

Then seven honor guard sailors fired M1 rifles in a three-volley salute. The odd number of honor guards and volleys was a representation of Jabberwocky’s absence in the ranks.

Alex’s platoon leader called, “Chief Lee!”

“Hooyah, Chief Lee!” Alex and his platoon shouted in unison. Alex took his Trident off his uniform — the big gaudy gold pin of an eagle perched on a trident and anchor with a musket in the eagle’s claw. The trident had cost Alex more pain and sweat than many could ever understand, and it cost him blood and tears to keep, but Alex proudly took his turn in line with his Teammates and, with a pounding of his fist, he stuck his trident next to the others on Jabberwocky’s casket. Then he saluted his fallen comrade.

After the SEALs pounded their tridents into the casket, a bugler stood off to the side and played taps while everyone stood. Men and women in military uniforms gave their final salute, and civilians put their hands over their hearts. Jabberwocky’s preschool-age daughter saluted.

As they left the grave, one sailor remained to guard the body until it was buried.

Alex woke up. He’d slept through the ship getting under way and lunch. He ate an early dinner with John and Cat on the mess decks. Alex could stay in the goat locker, where the chiefs had small rooms and ate off plates instead of plastic trays, but he preferred to be with John and Cat. Although Cat had a separate place to sleep, she ate with the enlisted men on the mess decks. After dinner, John went to the enlisted men’s berthing to read his Bible, and Alex and Cat headed for the ship’s fantail to breathe in some fresh air. In the ship’s passageways, sailors were checking out Cat.

“How does it make you feel when they look at you like that?” Alex asked.

“They’re not looking at me; they’re looking at you,” she replied.

“They’re looking at you.”

“Nobody looks at me.”

“I do.”

“Because you’re crazy.”

They ascended one of the ship’s 68-degree-angled metal ladders and walked onto the fantail. A few sailors were hanging out, one of them having a smoke. No land was in sight. The ship’s massive turbines kicked up a fountain of salt water behind the ship as it sailed at about thirty knots. Alex didn’t mind the cold and he liked the salty taste of the air. He and Cat walked over to the starboard side and watched the sun sink into the ocean.

“What are you thinking?” Cat asked.

“That I want to hold your hand, but I better not because we’re guests on this ship, and sailors don’t hold hands on destroyers.”

Cat smiled. “No risk, no reward.”

“I love you,” Alex said.

She froze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I’m trying to figure out if you really said what I thought you said.”

“I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

“I’m thinking I should pinch myself, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

“I love you.” Alex wrapped his arms around her.

The three sailors on the fantail seemed to take notice.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” she said.

“Are you worried about getting in trouble?”

“Are you?”

Alex kissed her and daytime faded to night.

30

Twenty-four hours later, the USS Jason Dunham anchored in international waters fifty nautical miles north of Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela. Located on the northern coast of South America, Venezuela is surrounded by Colombia to the west, Brazil to the south, and Guyana to the east. Because Venezuela’s elevation varies greatly, its weather varies from the hot, humid rain forest of the Amazon Basin to the snowcapped peaks of the Andes Mountains.

In 2002, the United States supported a failed coup to overthrow Venezuela’s then president, the late Hugo Chavez. Understandably, President Chavez was pissed. He declared the United States Venezuela’s public enemy and made alliances with anti-American countries such as Iran. Although Chavez supported Iran’s nuclear program, he publicly disagreed with President Ahmadinejad’s statements about destroying Israel. Meanwhile, Chavez supported Iran’s Quds Force’s presence in Venezuela. Even though Venezuela and Iran were strengthening their relationship before 2002, Alex felt the 2002 coup was wrong, and the United States shouldn’t have supported any part of it. It could succeed only in pushing Chavez further into the dark side, taking his country with him.

At 0300, Alex walked to the front of the ship and entered the Combat Information Center (CIC) to obtain the latest intel dump. The CIC remained perpetually dark except for the glow emanating from monitors and other electronics — it was like walking into an amusement arcade full of video games — except these games were for keeps. Enlisted personnel manned the monitors while listening to communication via their earphones and responding on their microphones. The CIC was the brain of the ship. On the destroyer, its main function was to coordinate guns, missiles, torpedoes, and antisubmarine warfare, but now CIC was also supporting Alex’s mission. Alex approached the Evaluator. He had to be a tactically experienced officer to be an Evaluator. He sat in the rear left corner of the room.

The Evaluator spoke with a slight lisp. “Chief, there are no changes except that we just received an urgent update from NSA. They’ve pinpointed General Tehrani’s cell phone and locked onto it. They’re tracking it now. He’s in the biological weapons lab west of La Paragua.”

“Sir, I need you to tell JSOC that I want an electronic divining rod linked to General Tehrani’s cell phone,” Alex said.

“An electronic divining rod?” the Evaluator asked.

“Yes, sir. It works like a sensor that’ll beep louder when I get closer to the general.”

“How do you want us to send it to you?”

“I trust you’ll figure out a way.”

“You got it, chief. I’ll tell JSOC you need an electronic divining rod linked to General Tehrani’s cell phone, and I’ll figure a way to get it to you.”

“As soon as possible, sir. If we fail, General Tehrani may wipe out half of the U.S. population.”

“Right away.”

The Outcasts caught some sleep. Just before 0400 the next day, they dressed in civilian clothes and mustered on the starboard side of the ship with their gear. A boatswain’s mate extended the slewing-arm of a davit holding a Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat (RHIB), a high-performance boat used frequently by SEALs. Inside the boat were a pilot and assistant wearing blue overalls without Navy insignia. They also wore orange life vests. A boatswain’s mate lowered the boat into the ocean. Carrying their bags of gear, Alex, John, and Cat descended a rope ladder down the side of the ship and into the RHIB.

Once they were all aboard, the pilot’s assistant disconnected the slewing-arm and cast off. The pilot fired up the dual Caterpillar diesel turbocharged engines and pulled away from the ship. Soon the RHIB picked up speed to more than forty knots, faster than the destroyer could travel. Unlike the destroyer, each time the RHIB caught a wave, it flew, and when it landed, Alex felt the impact in his bones.

With the air temperature in the seventies, the weather felt more like summer than winter, and the wind blowing in Alex’s face invigorated him. The lights from high-rises on the coast illuminated the night with a beautiful orange glow. Alex remembered from the map he’d studied that the police station was on the far right. The pilot took them to the left.

Slowing down to five knots, the RHIB approached a pier where someone stood waiting. As the Outcasts neared the pier, Alex recognized the short Hispanic man, their contact from the Activity — Miguel. While the pilot’s assistant put out the fenders to protect the boat from getting scratched by the dock, Alex threw the bowline to Miguel, who tied it to a cleat. Then Cat threw the stern line and Miguel fastened it to another cleat. The Outcasts disembarked with their gear.

Miguel extended his hand. “I’m Miguel.”

Alex shook it. “Alex.”

“Welcome to Venezuela.”

“Good to be here,” Alex said. The short greetings were actually bona fides to prove who they were.

John and Cat cast off the lines, and the RHIB’s pilot motored away, heading back to the ship. Miguel led the Outcasts to his green Ford Explorer SUV, where they loaded up and took off. Gradually, the sun began to brighten the sky.

“It’s about seven hours from here to La Paragua, the city adjacent to your target,” Miguel said. “Feel free to get some rest if you like.”

They headed southwest on Route 9 through the cities of Puerto La Cruz and Barcelona. Shortly after exiting Barcelona, Miguel turned left onto Route 16 and the road veered southeast. To their left, the sun rose above the horizon. High-rise buildings and asphalt roads gave way to smaller buildings and dirt roads. Gradually, the buildings and roads became scarce, replaced by farms, until the human grasp let go of the earth and Mother Nature swallowed them up in her jungle. Alex nodded off to sleep.

Two hours later, Alex awoke as they passed through the town of El Tigre and its large pumps extracting oil from the ground. In Venezuela, gas was literally cheaper than water. The vegetation had thinned out and much of the surrounding area looked barren in comparison to the stretches of jungle to the north. The Outcasts had traveled more than a quarter of the distance to their target area. Alex pulled out a tube of energy gel and emptied it into his mouth — breakfast.

John slept soundly. Cat put her head on Alex’s shoulder, and he slept in a light combat sleep, resting his body and mind but able to flip to full auto at the click of a selector switch. After two more hours, Alex woke up. They crossed the Angostura Bridge, which extended a kilometer over the Orinoco River. “What’s that?” Cat asked, pointing to the river below. “Something big and white swimming in the water.”

“Maybe they’re boto—Amazon river dolphins,” Miguel said.

“I’ve never seen white dolphins,” Cat said.

“Or river dolphins,” Alex added.

“Scientists say they’ve lived here for more than fifteen million years,” Miguel explained. “Legend says the boto live in utopia, but they want the pleasures and pain that humans experience. They love music and parties, and sometimes at night they change into handsome and beautiful men and women. The boto wear a hat to hide their blowhole. They also like to seduce humans and have sex with them, sometimes producing illegitimate children.”

Alex and Cat exchanged quizzical looks.

As the bridge reached land, it crossed over jungle treetops before returning to ground level. Farms and ranches appeared on both sides of them until they reached the city of Ciudad Bolivar on their left. Ciudad Bolivar was past the halfway point in the distance to their target area.

“We’ll check into a hotel here, grab something to eat, and rest until it’s time to launch tonight,” Miguel said.

“Aren’t there other cities between here and the target?”

“There are, but they’re so small, you won’t find any real hotels or food there. A lot of tourists come here, so you’ll blend in easier and soon be forgotten.”

Miguel drove into Ciudad Bolivar and stopped at a hotel called the Posada La Casita. He left the Outcasts in the Explorer while he checked in. Miguel paid in advance so they could leave immediately. He helped the Outcasts move their gear into a small bungalow, a simple building with a high thatched roof and plain interior. After the Outcasts settled in, Miguel went out, gassed up the Explorer, and brought back lunch: cold water; mango juice; chicken salad (ensalada de pollo); warm pastries stuffed with beef, chicken, and cheese (empanada); Venezuelan lasagna (pasticho); and Sicilian pastries (cannoli). Without Pancho around, the food went further, but Alex missed Pancho’s company.

After lunch, Miguel took a long siesta before reviewing his individual mission responsibilities with the Outcasts. Later, the four ate dinner and did some final preparations. At 2100, the Outcasts wore their jungle cammies, inflatable life vests, face paint, and gear. Alex handed Miguel a life vest. At first, Miguel said he didn’t need it, but Alex insisted.

After everyone kitted up, Miguel drove them out of Ciudad Bolivar. As they headed south in the darkness, towns became smaller and more scarce, and the Amazon jungle became bigger and fuller. Three hours later, Highway Sixteen ended at the small village of La Paragua, pressed against the Paragua River to the southwest. Miguel cut the lights and took them through a labyrinth of dirt roads, passing a few strongly built houses but mostly small leaning and sagging shacks made of old wood and corrugated tin. Although some of the vehicles parked in front of the houses were newer, most were old trucks. Miguel continued to the western edge of the village. Ideally, Miguel would slow down to five miles per hour and drop them off, but Alex needed Miguel’s gun in the fight, so Miguel parked the SUV off the side of the road.

Miguel showed the Outcasts where he put a spare key in a magnetic key holder behind the bottom of the bumper.

“You’ll be driving us out of here, so we won’t be needing that,” Alex whispered.

John walked the point, followed by Cat, then Alex. Miguel brought up the rear. They were far enough away from the lab compound that the enemy couldn’t hear them. The noisy wildlife helped hide the sound of their movement through the jungle. The Outcasts avoided unnecessary chatter — they knew from experience to expect unexpected visitors.

The crickets chattered louder and more often than any other creature in the jungle. A variety of birds called. One sounded like the same low note on a flute in a pattern of one note, two notes, one note — repeated again and again. Another bird cawed like a crow. Still another bird called once and waited for its listener to call back twice. Then the calling bird called once and the listener called twice — they continued communicating back and forth. Suddenly a bird shrieked maniacally. The crickets continued to chirp for a moment, but all the birds became quiet, and a doglike cackle sounded — it sent chills up Alex’s spine. Next, different birdcalls filled the night. A loud groan emitted, then stopped. The groan came again — like the voice of a human. The foliage was so dense that it was difficult to see where all the different noises were coming from. Alex imagined vampire bats, poisonous dart frogs, snakes, black crocodiles, and jaguars, but he began to scare himself, so he stopped imagining and focused on the mission.

The biological weapons compound was located ten kilometers west, and the building housing the MBD21 and rat fleas stood on the western edge of the compound. John took them in a clockwise circle from the east and around the perimeter of the compound. After forty-five minutes of humping through the jungle, light from the direction of the compound broke between the trunks of 150-foot-tall trees. When the Outcasts and Miguel reached south of the compound, John dropped. Cat and Alex followed his example and embraced the damp ground. Alex looked back through the weeds and saw that Miguel did the same. There was too much vegetation and darkness to see much more. Alex hoped that if there were enemies in the area, they’d have just as much trouble seeing the Outcasts. He was forced to rely on his hearing. Although his heart beat loudly, someone’s footsteps coming from the south were louder. The noise became louder and louder, so that Alex expected to be stepped on or shot any moment.

Alex’s palms grew sweaty, and the grip of his hand on his AKMS felt loose, so he tightened his grip. To his right, a set of eyes appeared so close he could reach out and touch them. It took discipline not to shoot until he determined the extent of the threat. The eyes were too narrow for a human. The skin was green with black spots and scaly — it was a snake. Its body was thirteen feet long. What kind of snake? It stared at Alex, who dared not blink.

The footsteps became quieter, fading northward. After about ten minutes, John and Cat crawled forward, but Alex didn’t dare crawl or signal he was having trouble for fear of being bitten. Then Miguel used the barrel of his rifle to push the snake away. “Anaconda,” Miguel whispered in Alex’s ear. “No venom — it’s a constrictor.” The snake slowly slithered away.

John started crawling toward the perimeter wall of the compound, but he stopped again. A Guard sat on top of the biological weapons lab. John pulled out his sound-suppressed pistol and took him out with one shot to the head.

Alex keyed his radio two times, signaling the USS Jason Dunham that they were about to enter the compound. The Dunham responded by breaking squelch twice.

John continued until he reached the wall. It was made of crumbling brick. He scaled it, but as he reached the top, the section of brick beneath him caved in. John came crashing down, wall and all. If this had been a training mission, it would have been hilarious. Alex hoped the enemy hadn’t heard it. John stayed on the ground and crawled around to the side where the door to the MBD21 lab was. Cat crawled through the space where the wall had been and covered John as he worked on opening the door. Alex helped Cat cover the area. The door was locked, so John began picking it, but the lock wasn’t opening. A Guard appeared to investigate and when he saw John, he started shouting in Farsi. So much for stealth. Cat plugged the guard with three rounds from her sound-suppressed AKMS. John put his lock-pick set away and kicked the door near the doorknob. The door flew open.

John quickly entered the building and peeled left — his rifle fired: pop-pop-pop-pop. Cat followed inside, peeling right: pop, pop, pop. Alex entered next to discover the mudroom — just as Dr. Khamenei had described. Three guards lay bleeding on the floor. One was still twitching — he appeared dead, but his nerves were still sending signals to his body. Alex conserved his bullets. He didn’t have time to look back at Miguel — Alex just trusted that Miguel was right behind him covering their rear and setting a customized Chilean claymore mine with an infrared trigger for rear security. The interior of the lab was air-conditioned, keeping it cool.

Alex knew that the room to their right was the mechanical and electric room. The Outcasts didn’t have time to clear every room, so they passed the mechanical-electrical room and the janitor room on their right and headed straight for the objective. An Asian man stepped out of the restroom to the right. He was unarmed — probably the North Korean scientist. Alex blasted twice into the scientist’s chest, blowing him back through the doorway and onto the toilet. His biological weapons days were over. The Outcasts proceeded through a door and on the right was an eye wash and emergency shower station. The Outcasts continued straight into a large, rectangular lab area with three sinks, shelves full of chemicals, test tubes, Bunsen burners, centrifuges, various lab devices, and thousands of rat fleas in two large glass boxes.

John gunned down an unarmed Iranian scientist before turning left. The Outcasts skipped the first and second doors to their left. To their right was a storage cabinet with a flammables symbol on it. Alex gently tipped the cabinet over on its side and dragged it with him. Finally, John reached a large metal door on the left. He opened it and walked in. The others followed.

Inside was a long walk-in freezer. Shelves surrounded the Outcasts and Miguel except for one bare wall. On the shelves were stacked columns and columns of petri dishes containing MBD21. Alex dropped the flammable cabinet in the middle of the floor and opened the door.

“If this job doesn’t work out, you’ve got a future as a pest exterminator,” Cat said.

“Yep,” Alex replied.

John, Cat, and Miguel cleared out of the room.

From the direction of the front of the building came a claymore explosion followed by a scream. Fourteen hundred steel balls blasted whoever opened the door — most likely Iranian Revolutionary Guards.

Alex dumped the contents of the flammables cabinet in the middle of the floor and pushed the cabinet against the empty wall. He took off his backpack, reached inside, and pulled out two thermate bombs. Each bomb consisted of three nondescript thermate canisters bound together with their fuses connected to a timer and detonator — courtesy of Team Six’s Explosives Ordnance Disposal (EOD) operators. The thermate bomb contained 68.7 percent thermite (aluminum powder and metal oxide), 29 percent barium nitrate, 2 percent sulfur, and .3 percent polybutadiene acrylonitrile (PBAN). The PBAN glued the chemicals together to keep a uniform consistency throughout the bomb. The aluminum and metal oxide would create a chemical reaction, causing a fire that burned at approximately 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit (2,200 degrees Celsius). The sulfur and barium nitrate would increase the thermal effect, making the bomb hotter than thermite alone. Alex set the timers for ten minutes and marked the time on his watch. “Ten minutes,” Alex announced over the radio. He placed the two thermate bombs on the flammables in the center of the freezer. That should thaw things out quickly. He exited the freezer and propped the door open to let all the cold air out. Alex heard a firefight near the lab’s entrance: John, Cat, and Miguel were engaging the enemy.

John and the others were supposed to have cleared the adjacent room, but Alex slid open the slide door and entered, ready to stitch up any bogeymen who might have slipped through the cracks. Two Iranian scientists lay still on the floor in puddles of blood. The majority of the scientists worked during the day, and these were the unlucky bastards who worked the night shift.

Three Class III biosafety cabinets (BSC) were connected to each other. The gas-tight BSCs protected the scientists and their environment while the scientists experimented with the MBD21 bacteria. The BSCs also protected MBD21 from outside influences that might weaken it. Scientists could put their hands through a pair of stainless-steel circular openings and into the attached gloves and manipulate the bacteria without coming into direct contact with it. Alex pulled out three formaldehyde bombs. With his left hand, he opened an outer door on one of the BSCs, reached in, and opened the inner door. With his right hand, he triggered the bomb and it started spraying a fog of formaldehyde. Alex placed it on the dunk tank and closed the inner door. Then he closed the outer door. Finally, he triggered the dunk tank, dropping the formaldehyde bomb into the container of MBD21. Alex repeated the process for the other two BSCs. By the time the fire from the freezer crossed into this room, the bacteria would already be covered in formaldehyde. Alex finished, left the room, and glanced at his watch. “Five minutes,” he called over the radio to his crew. The Dunham would hear his transmission, too.

31

“We can’t break out the front door,” Miguel said over the radio with irritation in his voice. “Too many of them.”

Alex pulled two Raid Flea Killer Plus Fogger canisters out of his backpack. He pressed the button on one. Then he lifted the lid on one of the glass containers full of fleas and dropped the canister inside before closing the lid. He did the same for the other glass container of fleas. “Fall back on me,” Alex said. “I’m blowing an exit through the south wall.”

A swoosh followed by an explosion rocked the air: John giving the Guards a parting taste of a disposable antitank rocket for close spaces (AT-4 CS). Salt water absorbed much of the back blast, so John could fire the AT-4 CS in close quarters without melting Cat and Miguel. The Guards quieted down.

Alex reached into his bag of magic tricks and pulled out a thin plastic rope containing compressed powdered explosive (pentaerythritol tetranitrate) — det cord. He taped it in a small door shape on an empty spot on the south wall. Then he attached the blasting cap, fuse, and detonator. Alex stepped out of the blast area and detonated the cord, blasting a small, crudely shaped doorway through the wall.

John arrived with Cat and Miguel.

Alex glanced at his stopwatch. “Three minutes. Follow me out.”

John hung back and secured the door to the rectangular room with glass cases full of rat fleas. Probably leaving an explosive surprise for the Guards, too.

Alex led Cat and Miguel through the crude doorway and out into the compound, where he felt the jungle humidity again. Alex arrived next to the compound’s generator. Alex couldn’t see power lines to cut, and he didn’t have time to search for an off switch, which would only be temporary until somebody turned the generator back on. He placed a single-canister thermate grenade on it, pulled the pin, and backed away. The thermate grenade had no timer. “Thermate out!” Alex called. No more than two seconds after he pulled the pin, the thermate grenade burned white hot, spewing thick smoke up in the air.

John appeared from the crude doorway in the wall. The lights in the lab behind him went out. The generator had died, and more important, the walk-in freezer full of MBD21 in petri dishes was dead. Alex heard Guards rushing into the lab and breaking down the door, triggering another claymore explosion followed by a screech.

From inside the lab building, an angry platoon of Guards’ voices shouted. One of the Guards poked his head through the crude doorway. Alex brought his AKMS up to shoot him in the head but fired too soon and shot him in the base of his neck. The Guard stood in shock in the crude doorway, blocking the others from exiting.

Alex glanced at his watch. The thermate bombs in the freezer were already burning. With flammables in the freezer, flammable formaldehyde in the room next door, and flammable fog in the flea cases, Alex didn’t want to stick around and become more fuel for the fire. Neither did John.

They sprinted for the south wall. “Alex and John coming up on your rear,” Alex called so someone wouldn’t mistake them for the enemy, but Cat and Miguel were nowhere in sight.

As they sprinted, out of the corner of Alex’s eyes, ten yards to the left, a pair of dead Guards lay on the ground. If Alex heard the shots, his mind hadn’t registered it. More Guards appeared to the left, but these were alive. They shot at the SEALs. Alex and John ran faster. They hit the wall at full speed, jumped, grabbed the top, and pulled themselves over.

On the other side, Cat and Miguel were waiting.

“John, take us out,” Alex said.

John assumed the point and led them south at a fast walk. Behind him patrolled Cat, followed by Alex, with Miguel acting as rear security. Soon they’d need to go east, in order to return to their vehicle, but loud thrashing noises came from that direction — the Guards were cutting off their escape route. The Outcasts couldn’t return to the hornet’s nest they stirred up in the lab compound to the north, and heading west would take them only deeper into the Amazon rain forest. If the Outcasts stopped where they were, the Guards could outflank them and cut off the south, too, leaving them with nowhere to go.

John seemed to understand the situation because he continued leading them south. It was a difficult balance to patrol quietly enough not to be discovered, but quickly enough to escape the Guards.

Alex spotted a fallen tree to John’s left, perfect for the four of them to take cover behind. The thrashing became louder and louder. Birds and other wildlife became silent. Contact was inevitable. Surprise, speed, and violence were the keys to winning a firefight. If the Outcasts didn’t set up a hasty ambush now, they’d end up in a firefight anyway — minus the element of surprise and the tree for cover. It sounded like the Guards outnumbered the Outcasts four-to-one. Those are good frogman odds. When Cat turned around to look at Alex, he held his right arm out at a 90-degree angle with a closed-fist signal: halt. She stopped walking and passed the signal up to John, who also stopped. Alex signaled for everyone to get down behind the fallen tree. Then he pumped his fist in the direction of the enemy, like he was punching them—hasty ambush. When Alex passed the signals back to Miguel, Alex saw flames rise from the direction of the biological weapons lab — knowing they’d destroyed the lab left a good taste in Alex’s mouth, but he didn’t have time to savor the victory.

Alex laid out two ammo magazines on the ground so he could grab them more quickly than having to pull them out of the pouch on his combat vest. Similarly, he laid a fragmentation grenade on the damp ground. John, Cat, and Miguel did the same. John had one more AT-4 CS.

Alex waited for the majority of the enemy to enter the kill zone. His crew waited for him or an immediate threat to initiate the ambush. Alex looked for Major Khan or his comrades, but he didn’t see them. He searched for a leader to shoot, but Alex couldn’t tell who was in charge — probably someone out of sight in the rear. Not all the Guards had entered the kill zone, but most of them had, and a few of the Guards were moving in too close to the Outcasts for comfort. Alex chose the closest man in his field of fire and slowly squeezed the trigger. Alex didn’t anticipate and rush the shot. He knew his AKMS would fire somewhere between his finger touching the trigger and squeezing it all the way to the rear. The best shots were the ones where the timing surprised him, as this one did, dotting the Guard neatly between the eyes. John, Cat, and Miguel opened fire, too. Four more Guards went down without a fight — John was dropping them two at a time. More Guards began to return fire, but five more fell. Some Guards smartened up and hugged the ground or found cover behind trees. Enemy shots whizzed over Alex’s head, but they weren’t close enough to make mini sonic booms. One by one, the Outcasts picked them off until the jungle became still. All that remained were the scared, the critically wounded, and the dead. Alex ejected his empty magazine, loaded a fresh one, and smiled. But his smile didn’t last long.

For an instant, he saw Major Khan. A whistle, like a coach’s whistle, pierced the air. Suddenly the whole jungle in front of the Outcasts moved. It seemed like there were a hundred new Guards behind those who’d fallen. Alex and his team shot five of the new Guards, but there were ninety-five more to take their place. Lieutenant Saeedi appeared, screaming in Farsi and cursing the Outcasts, the land they stood on, and the air they breathed. His MGA3 machine gun spewed 7.62x51mm rounds like a flamethrower.

The air around the Outcasts lit up. Pieces of bark sprang up from the fallen tree in front of Alex and the air above him popped like popcorn. John fought like a fireteam of four SEALs.

Major Khan was yelling commands in Farsi. Lieutenant Saeedi’s machine-gun barrel glowed white hot, and the heavy volume of fire focused on John’s position. Alex thought he had it bad, but now John had it worse. John ducked behind the tree. Splinters flew off the tree in front of John as Lieutenant Saeedi and the Guards made toothpicks out of it.

“Sierra One, this is Dunham, over,” the ship called. “NSA reports that General Tehrani has departed the biological weapons compound and is bugging out. JSOC wants to know if you’re pursuing.”

JSOC can kiss my ass. “Now is not a good time.” Alex left the mike on without speaking for two seconds so the Dunham could hear the Outcasts getting their asses pummeled. “Out.”

“Now is not a good time, roger. Uh, Dunham out.”

Alex picked up his fragmentation grenade, pulled the pin, let the spoon fly, cooked off a couple of seconds, and threw the grenade like a baseball from center field to home plate — right in front of Lieutenant Saeedi. “Frag out!” Alex, Cat, and Miguel took cover. The grenade exploded, but Lieutenant Saeedi continued to curse like a madman — his MGA3 machine gun unrelenting. Is this guy human?

Alex popped up and fired at Lieutenant Saeedi. Cat and Miguel tossed their grenades and shouted, “Frag out!” The stereo duet of frag out reached Alex’s ears like sweet music. Swoosh went John’s AT-4 CS. Alex and his crew ducked behind the tree. The explosions took the fight out of the Guards for the moment, but the moment wouldn’t last forever. The Outcasts weren’t going to have a better chance of hoofing it out of Dodge than now. “John and Cat, leapfrog back!” Alex called.

32

Lieutenant Saeedi lay on the ground with the bottom half of his right leg blown off and his intestines spilling out onto the ground. As his right leg spurted blood, he picked his intestines off the ground and tried to put them back in his body, but they slipped through his bloody fingers. “Help me, Khan!” he cried.

Major Khan advanced to Lieutenant Saeedi’s position and looked down on him. “I’ve been helping you since I first commanded you.” Major Khan blew his whistle. “But I can’t help you now.” Major Khan advanced with his Revolutionary Guards.

“Help me, please!” Lieutenant Saeedi sobbed.

33

“John and Cat back!” John and Cat yelled as they turned and ran to the rear.

A whistle blew, and Major Khan and his Guards advanced on the Outcasts’ position.

Alex and Miguel fired at the Guards, but they continued to advance. Miguel was an experienced operator and Alex probably didn’t have to tell him, but Alex told him anyway: “Miguel, stand by to leapfrog back!”

“Standing by to leapfrog back!” Miguel said.

John and Cat began shooting. That was Miguel and Alex’s cue.

“Miguel and Alex back!” Alex yelled. The two stood up and raced to the rear. In the corner of Alex’s eyes, he saw John and Cat ahead ten yards to his left.

Major Khan was shouting commands at the Guards again. The Guards’ shooting picked up, especially in Alex and Miguel’s direction.

Alex ran harder — so did Miguel. They passed John and Cat’s position and kept going ten yards before dropping down and firing at the Guards. The Outcasts continued leapfrogging in pairs to the rear, but the Guards regained their confidence and pursued, increasing their firepower. The next time Alex and Miguel ran to the rear, the air around Alex burned: dirt chunks hopped out of the ground, tree wood sprayed his face, the air sounded like the inside of a popcorn popper, and branches fell on his head. Alex wanted to crawl under a rock and hide, but he had to lead. Alex and Miguel dropped down behind John and Cat’s position and returned fire, but their firepower had the mere effect of pissing at an angry herd of charging buffalo. Alex and his crew needed to put more distance between them and Major Khan — fast.

John and Cat leaped to their feet and sprinted. Before they passed Alex’s position, Alex yelled, “Don’t stop running — just keep going!” He faced Miguel. “Miguel, let’s get the hell outta here!” They stood up and beat feet.

The four Outcasts ran at the same time without stopping. Alex jumped over bushes and logs. He dodged trees left and right, running for his life. The others did the same. A bullet grazed the inside of Alex’s right thigh, tearing his trousers and cutting his flesh. John ran with a limp and slowly fell behind. Seconds later, Miguel went down. Shit!

Alex stopped to help Miguel up, but he didn’t respond, so Alex hoisted him in a fireman’s carry and ran with him. Now Alex was behind his team. He raced to catch up. A bullet struck Alex from the back, almost knocking him to the ground, but Miguel’s body absorbed the bullet. Alex pumped his legs until they burned, then he pumped them harder. His lungs ignited, and he ran until he literally puked.

John ran with a limp twenty yards ahead of Alex. Cat continued twenty yards ahead of John. They were too spread out, but Alex didn’t want to tell them to slow down.

Fortunately, the Outcasts put so many trees between them and Major Khan’s men that the Outcasts couldn’t see any more Guards. The Guards probably figured that shooting trees was a waste of ammunition, so they stopped. Unfortunately, now they were probably running full speed after Alex and his crew.

The Outcasts couldn’t keep running west — deeper and deeper into the rain forest. They needed to get back to the ship. About five klicks south was the Paragua River. When a SEAL is in trouble, he heads for his home, the water. Alex radioed John and Cat. “Rally at Papa,” he said. Papa was their code for the Paragua River.

Alex saw John and Cat shift direction south before he lost eye contact with Cat. Even though John was running with a limp, he was still ahead of Alex. After about a kilometer, Alex lost sight of John, too. Alex tried to run faster but slipped and fell. Before he could pick himself and Miguel up, he noticed someone standing there watching. He startled Alex. The someone was a something — a monkey. The monkey bared its teeth and shrieked. As Alex stood up, the monkey charged him, but Alex jammed his rifle muzzle into the monkey’s chest. This time the monkey let out a scared scream and ran away. The monkey stopped and turned around to watch Alex, but he poked his rifle in the monkey’s direction, and it ran away for good. Alex picked up Miguel and ran south.

Eventually, Alex reached the river. The waters were dark and stretched three kilometers wide; he couldn’t see John or Cat. He called them on the radio. Cat gave Alex their GPS coordinates. He hurried downriver, where he found the two on the shore. John lay on the ground with his leg and arm patched with blood-soaked bandages. Cat sat next to him. “He lost a lot of blood,” Cat whispered. “Just passed out again.”

Alex felt the pulse in Miguel’s neck — nothing. Then Alex put his cheek next to Miguel’s mouth, but Alex felt no breath. Then he noticed a bullet had penetrated Miguel’s chest where his heart was. “Miguel is dead.”

“Oh, no.”

Alex glanced inland. “Major Khan and his friends will be showing up any moment. We need to get to the ship.”

“Time to get wet?”

Alex nodded. He blew air into Miguel’s life vest, inflating it. Likewise, Cat inflated John’s. Then Alex and Cat inflated their own vests. Miguel wouldn’t be needing his AKMS magazines of ammo anymore. Alex opened Miguel’s pouches, found four magazines, and divided them between himself and Cat. “Ready?” Alex asked.

Cat nodded. She and Alex pulled John and Miguel into the water with them and floated northeast holding on to each other. “John, wake up, buddy.”

John didn’t respond.

“Come on, John, wake up.”

Nothing.

“John, wake up.”

“Amen,” John said groggily.

Alex was happy to hear John’s voice. The river felt warm as they drifted down it.

“Cat, you okay?” Alex asked quietly.

“Just some scratches,” she replied. “Nothing serious. How about you?”

“Just some scratches.”

After five kilometers, they floated around a bend. Even if Major Khan tracked them to the water, now he couldn’t see them. Alex’s concern of Major Khan following them was replaced with a new concern. Something large and low to the ground waddled from shore toward them and disappeared with a splash — a thirteen-foot-long crocodile. With all the blood on Alex’s crew, he was sure they smelled like a delicious meal. He hoped the four of them together were too big for the crocodile and that its prey was something else. Not seeing the croc made Alex nervous, and he wished he had a bigger blade than his Swiss Army knife.

After Alex and Cat had floated fifteen more kilometers, Alex stopped worrying about the croc and started worrying about John. “Hey, John, buddy, wake up.”

John didn’t move.

“John, wake up.” Alex shook him, but there was no response. Alex tried some more. John still had a pulse and was breathing, but he wouldn’t wake up.

Soon, up ahead appeared the village — La Paragua. A school of fish swam through Alex’s legs.

“Ah!” John yelled.

Alex was happy to hear his voice but concerned about what the problem was. “What is it?”

“My leg! Something bit me.”

Something sank its teeth into Alex’s leg where a shot had grazed the inside of his thigh. The teeth were sharp as steak knives. Alex yelled.

“Piranhas!” Cat gasped in a whisper. “Swim to the shore!”

Alex kicked as hard as he could, worried the piranhas’ next target would be his crotch. Cat and John kicked, too. A piranha nipped at Alex’s trouser leg, so he kicked faster. Better to be a target that’s moving than one that’s stationary. One bit into his left calf and hung on. The pain was excruciating. Alex kicked so fast that his lungs ached. He turned in the water to swim on his side, which was the easiest position in which to hold Miguel and swim a one-handed sidestroke. Then Alex turned onto his back, where he could only kick. Alex kicked and turned until he flipped the piranha off, but all the movement seemed to stir the blood in the water and whip the piranhas into a feeding frenzy.

“Ow!” Cat yelled.

More piranhas gathered. Miguel received the worst of it because Alex, Cat, and John were too busy protecting their lives to protect his corpse. The piranhas feasted on Miguel.

Alex, Cat, and John reached the shore. Alex pulled Miguel out of the water, laid him down, and kicked the vicious little bastards off his body. Cat helped. John collapsed. After Alex and Cat had knocked all the piranhas off Miguel’s body, Alex stomped a piranha’s head into the mud.

Alex hoisted Miguel onto his back, and Cat carried John using the same fireman’s carry. They headed northwest through La Paragua. The village was quiet except for some dogs. After hiking the first klick, Alex was winded, but Cat seemed fine. Alex didn’t want to be beaten by a woman, and he didn’t want to show weakness. He didn’t like carrying Miguel through the village, but Miguel had given his life for the mission, and it was the least Alex could do. It was like many experiences in the Teams: You don’t have to like it; you just have to do it.

While walking the next klick, Alex wondered if the SUV would still be where they parked it. Did one of the locals steal it? Did the Guards find it? He wanted to prepare himself for the kick in the crotch when he found out it wasn’t there, but thinking about it now only made the hike more difficult. Live in the moment and just take things one step at a time. As was often the case, he’d just have to let himself be surprised by the kick in the nuts. The only easy day was yesterday.

One more kilometer later, Alex and Cat reached the green Ford Explorer, right where they’d left it. Alex and Cat laid Miguel and John on the ground. Cat covered the area with her AKMS rifle while Alex checked around the vehicle for signs of tampering or booby traps. There were none, so he retrieved the key from Miguel’s pocket and opened the door. Alex loaded Miguel into the third row of seats and Cat laid John across the second row. She elevated John’s wounded leg, placing it on his backpack, to slow the bleeding. Cat put his wounded arm on his chest to give it more elevation. Alex was too tired to drive, but Cat looked like she still had energy, so he gave the keys to her. She looked at him for a moment. Alex wanted to ask her what the look was for, but this wasn’t the time or place for a conversation, so he kept quiet and hopped into the passenger side of the SUV. Cat quickly sat in the driver’s seat and drove away with the lights off. Alex kept watch for anyone following. Cat drove through La Paragua, reached Highway 16, and traveled three kilometers north. “I’m going to turn on the lights so I don’t crash into something,” she said.

“Sure. No one is following us.”

Cat turned on the lights. There were no other cars on the road in front of them, and she gunned the engine.

Alex grabbed a water bladder from Miguel’s backpack and a blowout kit from Miguel’s pocket. Alex examined John’s breathing and pulse — he was still alive, but his skin was cold. He woke John.

“Let me rest,” John said.

“Just drink some water,” Alex said. “Then you can rest.” He tilted John’s head, placed Miguel’s water bladder tube to John’s lips, and squeezed it, wetting John’s lips. John drank for nearly a minute until the water stopped in his mouth and spilled out onto the seat. Alex decided not to push it, worried that John might vomit, resulting in more dehydration.

John passed out again. Blood had soaked through his bandages. Removing John’s bloody bandages would only cause more bleeding, so Alex put fresh bandages from Miguel’s blowout kit on John’s old bandages. Then Alex cleaned a particularly nasty bite from the piranha on John’s leg and bandaged it, too.

Alex radioed the USS Jason Dunham and gave them John’s medical status. They said they were ready to give an IV, blood transfusion, and whatever else he needed.

The jungle hid the horizon to the east, but the sky above was brightening. Alex offered Cat some water.

“That’s Miguel’s water, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty sick.”

“I’d expect him to do the same. Wouldn’t you?”

“You guys can use my water when I’m dead, but I’m not going to drink Miguel’s.”

“And if you run out of water, whose water are you going to drink? John’s? Mine?”

“Just let me dehydrate.”

“Have you been dehydrated? I don’t mean thirsty, I mean—”

“I said I’d rather die than drink Miguel’s water!” Cat cut him off.

Alex put the water down. He waited several minutes before speaking again. “You gave me a look when I gave you the keys to the SUV.”

“I was going to tell you that you look like how I feel.”

“I was pretty exhausted.”

“Is that why you asked me to drive?”

“Yes.”

“It’s awfully brave of you to admit that.”

Alex shrugged.

The sun shone brighter, and Cat would need to blend in as a civilian. She unbuttoned her cammie top and removed it with one hand while driving with the other. Beneath, she wore civilian clothes. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’ve got the feeling back in my legs and shoulders,” Alex said.

“That’s a start.”

Alex opened a packet of alcohol wipes. “If you need a break, just tell me, and I’ll drive.”

“Are you saying that because it’s your job, or are you saying that because you care about me?”

Alex used a wipe to take the camouflage paint off her face. “Both. Jabberwocky told me that if you take care of your SEALs, they’ll take care of you.”

“Who’s Jabberwocky?”

“He was my sea-daddy. At SEAL Team Two.” Sea-daddy meant mentor.

A rusty truck drove slowly in front of them, and Cat passed it. “I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he die in Iraq?”

“Major Khan killed him.”

Cat became quiet.

Alex wiped the camouflage off her neck. Then he cleaned her hands. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

More vehicles drove on the highway, and Cat passed another. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m just wondering,” he said.

“I just don’t want to tell you.”

“Now I’m really wondering.”

“You said you’d be finished after this mission.”

“It’s true.”

“After you kill General Tehrani, you’re going after Major Khan.”

Alex took off his cammie top, revealing his civilian shirt underneath. “Yes.”

“That’s not part of the mission.”

“It’s part of my mission.”

“Why?”

“For Jabberwocky.”

“Just Jabberwocky?”

Now Alex knew where this was heading, and Cat was no fool. “Leila, too,” he said.

“Jabberwocky and Leila are dead. They don’t need you to kill Major Khan.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

“They kill one of yours, then you kill one of theirs, then they kill one of yours,” Cat said. “The cycle never ends.”

“You’re still mad about Leila. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Cat passed a car — then another. “Yes, I’m still mad. I don’t want to lose you — not to Leila, not to Major Khan — not to anybody. I’ve loved you since Indonesia, and I’ve tried to fight it, but I still love you.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I still love you.”

34

Alex put his cheek next to John’s mouth — he was breathing. Then Alex felt the artery in John’s neck — his pulse raced. The racing heart was a sign that John was running out of time.

Cat finished driving north, 487 kilometers in under seven hours, arriving at Puerto La Cruz. Sailors wearing civilian clothes and piloting an unmarked RHIB picked up her, Alex, John, and Miguel at the pier and motored away. Fortunately, the winds were calm and the ocean smooth as glass, shining under the afternoon sun — peaceful. Lying on his back, John looked peaceful, too — for all the wrong reasons. Alex had cleaned the camouflage paint off John’s skin, and John’s face looked gray. Alex put his cheek down to John’s lips — he wasn’t breathing. Alex checked John’s pulse — it galloped like the lead horse in a Kentucky Derby. Alex used his left hand under John’s chin to tilt his head back until John’s chin pointed up, making John’s air passageway straight. Alex placed his cheek to John’s mouth — still no breathing. Alex put his ear to John’s mouth — no sound. With Alex’s right hand, he pinched John’s nostrils closed. Then he sealed his lips over John’s and blew air until John’s chest rose. After John’s chest contracted, Alex blew again — long and slow.

“John stopped breathing,” Cat told the RHIB pilot. “We have to hurry!”

“We’re going full out, ma’am,” the pilot said. “This is as fast as she’ll go.”

Every five seconds, Alex breathed into John. After three minutes, Alex stopped to see if John would breathe on his own. “Breathe, John. Come on, John. Breathe, damnit!” John still wasn’t breathing. Alex resumed giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The USS Jason Dunham had moved closer to shore while remaining in international waters — every little bit helped. A chief hospital corpsman met the Outcasts when they arrived, quickly ushering John to sick bay, where he gave him an IV and blood.

Alex and Cat waited outside sick bay to find out John’s condition. When the doorknob to sick bay turned, Alex’s anxiety level rose.

The chief hospital corpsman smiled.

Alex’s anxiety level suddenly dropped. He felt like he was on a roller coaster.

“How is John?” Cat asked.

“Better,” the chief hospital corpsman said. “He had injuries caused by the shock effect of the bullets, and he lost well over forty percent of his blood. If he wasn’t in such excellent physical and cardiovascular shape, even if he could have survived the trauma, his cardiovascular would have collapsed. John is lucky to be alive.”

“Can we see him?” Alex asked.

“I guess,” the chief hospital corpsman said.

Alex and Cat thanked him and walked inside. John lay hooked up to an IV. His eyes were open.

“John,” Alex greeted him.

“Hi, John,” Cat said.

John turned and looked at them and didn’t say anything — he was quiet that way. Alex’s sister was quiet, too, and Alex was comfortable with that.

“Anything we can do for you, buddy?” Alex asked.

“Take me with you,” John pleaded.

“You know I can’t do that. Not while you’re in this condition.”

“I know,” John said sadly.

They were silent for more than a minute. “Anything else?” Alex asked.

Alex had never seen John cry, but now moisture glistened in the corners of his eyes. “You know what I want,” John said.

Alex knew. “With extreme prejudice.”

Cat lowered her head.

Alex and Cat left the operating room.

“The captain would like a word with you in his stateroom,” the chief hospital corpsman said.

Alex and Cat walked to the nearest ladder and climbed to the third floor (0–3 level) amidships, then found the captain’s door and knocked.

“Enter,” a voice said.

They walked in to find the ship’s captain, seated with two naval officers Alex didn’t recognize and the Evaluator officer who spoke with a lisp. In the center of the navy blue carpet was the U.S. Navy’s blue and gold seal — an eagle gripping an anchor and a ship sailing in the background.

“Please, sit down,” the captain said.

Alex and Cat sat.

“We just finished talking with JSOC, and they said they’ll give you the divining rod at your final destination. JSOC traced General Tehrani’s location to an Iranian Aframax-category oil tanker.”

“Where is the tanker now, sir?” Cat asked.

“After the tanker left Venezuela, JSOC lost it, but the tanker’s manifest reads that it’s sailing for St. Petersburg, Russia, to deliver crude oil. The tanker should arrive in St. Petersburg in about thirteen days. Right now we’re returning to Virginia. When we’re within helicopter range, our Seahawk will fly both of you to NAS Oceana, and you’ll be shuttled to the Dam Neck annex, where you’ll debrief from this mission and brief for the General Tehrani mission. After taking a couple of days to prepare, you’ll fly a civilian flight the rest of the way: Norfolk to Washington, Washington to Frankfurt, and Frankfurt to St. Petersburg. You both should arrive a week before the oil tanker.”

35

Killing General Tehrani would be the easy part. Throughout history, prominent people have been killed by focused madmen: John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald numbering among them. The hard part would be escaping — requiring a rational mind and sense of calm that men like Booth and Oswald didn’t possess.

It was Thursday morning when Alex and Cat’s Lufthansa plane landed on a black runway surrounded by snow on the tarmac at Pulkovo Airport in St. Petersburg, Russia. It was Alex’s first visit to Russia, and as the passengers disembarked the plane, his nerves kicked in. If he didn’t control his feelings, he’d become his own worst enemy. Both he and Cat could end up in a Russian jail or dead. Alex thought to himself: You’ve done this in countries around the world — Russia is just another country.

The interior of the Pulkovo-2 terminal appeared more modern than Alex expected. Skylights brightened the terminal with natural sunshine, and artistic geometric shapes and lines adorned the ceiling. Alex and Cat stood in line for fifteen minutes before their turn came to pass through immigration and customs.

The immigration officer greeted them and asked for their passports.

Alex and Cat handed him their passports. Alex’s was German, and Cat’s was Lebanese.

The officer’s lips pressed tightly together. He slowly eyed the passports before checking the pictures with Alex’s and Cat’s faces. “What is the purpose of your visit?” he asked in unaccented English.

It bothered Alex that this officer might be a cut above the rest, but Alex didn’t show his concern. “Travel.”

“You two are married?”

“Yes,” they said emphatically.

The officer’s gaze focused on Cat. “But you’re from Lebanon?”

“Yes, we met while skiing in Germany.”

“Where in Germany?”

“The Black Forest,” she said.

“How’s the skiing there?”

Cat grinned mischievously. “I’m a better skier than he is.”

“How long have you been married?” the officer asked.

“Just a little over a year,” Cat said.

“Why did you come to St. Petersburg for travel? Most people choose Moscow.”

“We didn’t want to go where most people go,” Cat explained. “We wanted someplace unique — for us.”

The officer smiled. “Welcome to St. Petersburg, Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann. Enjoy your visit.”

Alex felt relief, but he tried not to show it. They proceeded to the baggage carousels and retrieved their luggage. Then they entered another line to pass through customs. Alex and Cat carried separate bags. Together they approached the customs officer. He pointed to Alex’s bag and gestured for him to put it on the metal counter and open it. Alex did.

“Do you have anything to declare?” the customs officer asked with a thick Russian accent.

“No,” Alex and Cat replied.

The customs officer rifled through Alex’s clothing, leaving a wrinkled heap. Then the officer dumped the toiletries out of Alex’s toiletry bag on top of the heap of clothing. He flipped the pages of Alex’s German paperback novel then tossed it on the heap. Next, he opened Alex’s notebook computer and turned it on. He opened the DVD drive and saw it was empty. After tapping his finger on the keyboard, he closed the cover, returned it to Alex, and waved him through. Cat volunteered to show the customs officer the contents of her luggage, but the officer waved her through, too. Alex wasn’t pleased about the mess the customs officer left him with.

Cat snickered.

Alex glared sideways at her. People passed through customs around him as he repacked his suitcase.

Cat laughed. It was contagious because Alex laughed, too. His anxieties about passing through Russian customs and immigration and his irritation about repacking flowed out with his laughter. Nothing else seemed to matter more than her. Rather than fold the rest of his clothes, he just stuffed them in the suitcase and closed it. Alex lowered his suitcase to the floor and rolled it over to where Cat was standing.

“You think that was funny?” Alex asked, pretending to be angry.

“Sidesplitting.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“Your smile is irresistible.” He kissed her in front of customs and all the people passing by. Instead of keeping a low profile and moving on, he’d just committed one of the dumbest moves of his tactical career, but Alex didn’t care. They continued to kiss as arriving passengers bumped into them on their way out of the customs area. Finally, the Russian officer who’d rifled through Alex’s suitcase yelled at them in Russian, gesturing for them to get out. Alex and Cat stopped kissing.

“You smell funky,” Cat said.

Alex aimed his nose at his right armpit and took a whiff. “I need a shower.”

“I do, too,” Cat admitted.

They grabbed their suitcases and walked through the sliding glass door. Alex and Cat navigated their way through the airport until they found the exit. Outside the wind blew and the weather was below freezing, so they put on their jackets, gloves, and knit caps. Alex and Cat located the Avis rental car agency and rented a Mercedes-Benz E-class—capitalism.

Alex drove them out of the airport area and on a road that cut through white-powdered evergreens and leafless trees before turning left. Snow blanketed the countryside. Because most everything was written in Russian, Alex couldn’t read it, but he could read “Coca-Cola” written on the factory they passed on the right side of the road. Then Alex drove under two levels of highway before reaching an oval-shaped intersection in St. Petersburg.

Formerly known as Leningrad, St. Petersburg was originally founded by Tsar Peter the Great at the beginning of the eighteenth century and had served as the capital of Russia until 1918, when the capital shifted to Moscow. On the western edge of Russia, St. Petersburg also had the distinction of being the northernmost city in the world with a population of more than a million.

In spite of being in the city, trees seemed to grow everywhere. Deeper in the city, bus stops appeared more frequently, and there was what looked like the entrance to a subway. Soon they crossed a hundred yards over a canal. Above the city rose two skyscrapers: a broadcasting tower and the golden dome of St. Isaac’s Cathedral.

Although the main streets were clear of snow, side streets were untouched by snowplows or crews with snow shovels. A prosperous city like St. Petersburg with more than five million inhabitants should have generated enough money to clean snow off the streets — instead, the money probably went to corrupt officials or organized crime.

Finally, Alex stopped in front of the Grand Hotel Europe. The five-story building covered half the block and was more than a hundred years old, but its baroque façade retained its elegance. Alex and Cat removed their bags, and Alex handed the valet the car keys. The valet parked the car, returned, and gave Alex a laminated ticket to use later when he needed to pick up his car. “You will love hotel,” the valet said. “Tchaikovsky, Pavarotti, and Elton John stay here. Many famous people stay here.”

A porter greeted them and carried their luggage as they checked in. Marble and gilt decorated the interior, friezes were carved in the ceilings, and antique furniture added class to the five-star hotel.

After they checked in, the porter pushed their baggage on a cart to room 112, the Fabergé Suite, inspired by the Russian jeweler, Carl Fabergé. Alex tipped the porter, and he departed. Standing inside the suite’s vestibule, Alex surveyed the living room. Nineteenth-century gold-colored patterns covered the walls like the designs on Fabergé Easter eggs. Also, the bases of the dark-colored table lamps were patterned like Fabergé eggs. A picture of the jeweler hung on the wall next to the window. Aged copper and precious stones encrusted the antique-style furniture. A painting of a young nineteenth-century woman hung over the couch. There was a closed wooden cabinet for the TV, and the ceiling was more than twelve feet high. Walking farther into the room, Alex saw a king-sized bed in the bedroom. The bed looked soft and luxurious.

“Do you want to shower first, or shall I?” Cat asked.

“Go ahead.” Alex walked over to the window and looked out. It was snowing, but he could see the Russian Museum, Arts Square, and the statue of poet Alexander Pushkin — Alex read Pushkin’s “The Gypsies” while studying at Harvard: “In the deserts you were not saved from misfortune, / And fateful passions are found everywhere. / And there is no defense against fate.” Alex sat and checked his computer for a secure email from JSOC, hoping for an update on General Tehrani’s location, but there was no message.

When Cat finished showering, Alex took his turn in the spacious bathroom made of Italian marble. After they both had cleaned up, Alex and Cat ate lunch in the hotel restaurant. Then they went for a ride to do a reconnaissance of the pier where General Tehrani’s oil tanker was scheduled to arrive. Although it was bitterly cold outside, Alex and Cat stayed warm inside the Mercedes. She snuggled up against him as he drove.

After their reconnaissance, they returned to the hotel and stopped at the Caviar Bar and Restaurant. Even though the restaurant wasn’t open on Mondays or Tuesdays, Alex and Cat were in luck because the restaurant opened on the other days. They were also fortunate because the menus were in English. In the center of the white tablecloth at their table was a lit white candle sitting in a silver candleholder.

The waiter pushed a cart over to their table. Cat hungrily eyed the wide selection of caviar on display.

“Would you like some, Mrs. Lehmann?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I’d love that, Mr. Lehmann.”

Alex ordered the caviar bar cocktail: beluga, osetra, and salmon roe.

Using a small spoon, Cat put chilled caviar on small blini and added a touch of sour cream, chopped egg, and a sprinkle of chives.

“The way you eat caviar makes it look so delicious,” Alex said.

“You want to try one?”

“No, thanks. My parents tried to initiate me, but it didn’t stick. Sarah and Grandpa didn’t care for caviar, either.”

Alex put his hand on hers. She looked in his eyes as she pulled her hand away. His eyes locked on hers. She put her hand on his.

“I’m thirsty,” Cat said.

“Russian Standard Premium Vodka?”

They continued gazing into each other’s eyes until their drinks arrived. Alex and Cat took a sip. “I didn’t know you liked vodka,” she said.

“You know what I like?”

“What’s that?”

“Your eyes. The way the candlelight flickers in them.”

The waiter arrived and served their soup. Alex ate meat solyanka. It was thick and tasted spicy and sour. Cat had clear Russian mushroom soup made with barley and vegetables. They shared a taste of their soups with each other.

Alex enjoyed the soup. It was masterfully made, but also just being with Cat had elevated Alex’s sensations. On the downside, he felt as if he were softening as an operator. “You ruined me,” he said.

“What? When did I do that?”

“As an operator. You ruined me in Switzerland.”

“You kissed me first.”

“It wasn’t part of the mission.”

“You make me feel alive,” she said.

“You make me forget things.”

“That doesn’t sound so good.”

“Things that don’t matter.”

“You know we could walk away from this mission, if we wanted to.”

“This mission still matters.”

“We could.” She slid her finger around the rim of her glass.

“Don’t say that, please. Don’t push me away tonight.”

Cat let it go.

For the main course, Alex enjoyed beef Stroganoff. Cat tried the steamed Kamchatka crab Romanov-style with champagne sauce and salmon caviar. Although it didn’t sound good to Alex, she fed him a bite with her fork, and he liked it. From his fork, Cat sampled the Stroganoff.

For dessert, Cat ordered the Composition of Russian delights: Russian mille-feuille, baklava, berry kissel, and lemon vodka sorbet. Alex ate Pavlova cake with berries — meringue cloud with Chantilly cream and berries. They ate more of each other’s dessert than they ate of their own.

Alex paid the check. “What would you like to do tonight?”

“You know what I like?” Cat asked.

“What’s that?”

“Your eyes.”

He took her hand in his and didn’t let go. Even when they returned to their room, turned the lights on, and gazed into each other’s eyes, he didn’t let go. Alex took her other hand. She kissed him.

He pulled away so he could stare into her eyes.

“I wish …” she said.

“You wish?”

“You’re easy on the eyes.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

She let it go and kissed him again.

Alex stopped kissing her and kicked off a shoe. Giggling, Cat kicked hers off, and the shoe hit the far wall. Laughing, they kicked off their remaining shoes together, hitting the far wall. He led her to the bed, and they stood next to it. Snow continued to float down from the sky outside their window. They kissed. He finally released her hands to unbutton her blouse. She stripped him down to his silk shorts, and he stripped her down to her bra and panties.

Cat giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Alex asked.

“You still have your socks on.”

He smiled. “So do you.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Alex stripped off her bra and panties, and Cat removed his silk shorts. They kept their socks on and lay in bed embracing each other. At some point during the heat of passion, they lost their socks. Afterward, they showered together and made love under the hot water spray. When they returned to bed, they made love once more. Morning came quickly, and Alex ordered breakfast in bed. Shortly after Alex put the empty dishes in the hall, he and Cat made love again. Finally, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When Alex awoke, it was Friday evening. Cat’s side of the bed was empty, and he heard the shower running. After she finished in the bathroom, Alex showered, too. Then they left their room to eat dinner in the hotel at L’Europe. The spacious hall featured high illuminated arches above balconies that filled the length of the hall. An enormous stained-glass window, Apollo riding in his chariot, covered the end of the hall. On a stage below the window, two musicians played Tchaikovsky, one on harp and the other on a baby grand piano. More stained-glass windows served as skylights that ran the length of the ceiling. Potted plants added color to the restaurant. Alex and Cat ate the gourmet menu for two: truffle-flavored scrambled egg inside an egg topped with salmon caviar, American prime beef tenderloin, and cake layered with milk chocolate and berries. In spite of the exquisite surroundings and delicious meal, it was merely foreplay. Alex and Cat hurried back to their room and made love again.

Sunday, the weather warmed above freezing, and since Alex and Cat needed pictures and souvenirs to strengthen their identities as tourists, they ventured out and took a walk through the Winter Palace Square before touring churches under onion-shaped domes. In one of the churches, Alex and Cat sat on a pew. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. I’m sorry I was angry at You for all these years. After he said amen, a burden seemed to lift from his shoulders, and he felt lighter.

Later, they took a boat ride on one of the city’s canals. In the evening, they attended a ballet in the Bolshoi Zia, the main hall of the St. Petersburg Philharmonic, where Tchaikovsky had conducted.

Monday, the temperature dropped to its lowest point and snow fell constantly. Alex and Cat kept warm inside the Hermitage Museum, created by Catherine the Great. Currently her museum held more paintings than any other museum in the world.

Although Alex and Cat took more than enough tourist pictures and purchased enough souvenirs, they needed weapons. Tuesday morning, Alex and Cat woke up at 0500 and before 0700 entered a nearby hotel. The lobby was crowded with people checking out and departing for the day. Alex carried a newspaper under his left arm as part of his identification and rolled his black Samsonite suitcase with his right hand. From inside the hotel, Alex spotted a man outside who was rolling an identical black Samsonite suitcase with his left hand and squeezing a gray raincoat under his right arm. The man entered through the front lobby door and walked toward Alex and Cat. Likewise, Alex and Cat walked toward him. Alex and the man bumped into each other.

“I’m sorry,” the contact apologized. Alex knew he worked for the U.S. government, but Alex didn’t know which of its alphabet soup agencies.

“It’s okay,” Alex said. It seemed like an innocent exchange, but they were exchanging bona fides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The contact reached down with his right hand and grabbed Alex’s suitcase handle before he shifted his jacket to his left hand. Alex reached down with his left hand, grabbed the contact’s suitcase handle, then shifted his newspaper to his right hand. They walked past each other as if nothing happened, and nobody seemed the wiser. Now Alex had weapons, ammo, grenades, flash-bangs, the divining rod, and the rest of their mission equipment.

“You’ve got that look again,” Cat whispered.

“What look is that?” Alex asked.

“That scary look — like you’re about to kill someone.”

“Day after tomorrow — Thursday.”

36

Wednesday afternoon, Major Khan stood with General Tehrani outside on the oil tanker as it sailed at full speed — sixteen knots an hour — for St. Petersburg. The general appeared about to puke as the tanker pitched and rolled in the sea. General Tehrani tightened his jacket to protect himself from the stinging cold as he spoke on his cell phone to his superior in Tehran. “I contacted the Ground Forces of the Russian Federation, but they won’t send anyone to meet us tomorrow in St. Petersburg — not one person. It’s an outrage, sir!”

General Tehrani listened. His face looked green, and he belched.

“I know we’ve had some tense times with Russia,” General Tehrani said, “but I looked the other way when they persecuted our brothers in Georgia. After the fall of the USSR, I established better relations with Russia — even purchased weapons from them. I agreed with their opposition to Turkey’s regional influence, and I sided with Russia and China to oppose U.S. influence in Central Asia. And this is how the communists repay me? America is the devil, not me!”

General Tehrani shook his head as he listened to his superior on the phone. He burped again and swallowed hard.

“I was hoping you might be more successful than me in reminding Russia that they owe me,” General Tehrani said.

General Tehrani listened, but something was wrong.

“Hello?” General Tehrani said. “Come in. Hello?!” He frantically fidgeted with his phone. “Damnit — I lost them! Damn!” He staggered to the side of the ship and vomited over the side.

37

Before sunrise on Thursday morning, the snow fell as if a giant dump truck had unloaded its bed on St. Petersburg. Alex and Cat parked their Mercedes near the docks. As they walked to the ships it looked to Alex like a scene out of World War II. A large warehouse had obviously burned down within the last few weeks and those adjacent to it had been severely damaged. Steel girders leaned at extreme angles and piles of charred rubble took on the appearance of white pyramids. It looked like a war zone.

They surreptitiously boarded an oil tanker tied to the pier. The crew had unloaded the vessel days ago; now it was empty. Unlike other ships, where the bridge was located near the bow, the oil tanker’s bridge was located at the stern. Alex and Cat broke into the bridge and closed the door on the freezing weather behind them. Inside the ship, the bridge was still cold, but not as cold as outside in the wind. Windows spanned the 180 degrees in front of the bridge, giving Alex and Cat a panoramic view of ship’s lights on Neva Bay in the Gulf of Finland, leading out to the Baltic Sea.

The sun that leaked through the clouds and snow warmed up the bridge, but it didn’t warm up the cold tubes of energy gel Alex and Cat ate for lunch. A ship neared the pier, but it wasn’t General Tehrani’s. Again and again, Alex and Cat became anxious at a ship’s arrival, only to find out it wasn’t the general’s oil tanker. Although General Tehrani’s ship was supposed to arrive at noon, it was late.

As the sky became darker, another ship approached the pier and stopped in the bay while a tugboat brought it the rest of the distance to the pier. Cat handed Alex the binoculars. Finally! The vessel was the Iranian oil tanker, General Tehrani’s ship. A dockworker helped tie the ship to the pier, and the ship’s deckhands lowered the gangway from the stern. Soon the Venezuelan crew scurried off the ship — they wouldn’t be offloading oil tonight. Alex worried that one of the crew might be General Tehrani in disguise, but with the divining rod attached to Alex’s combat vest, he picked up the first beep in his earphone. “General Tehrani is on board,” Alex said.

Alex and Cat put on their black balaclavas and readied their sound-suppressed AKMS assault rifles. “There’s a guard standing just outside the bridge,” Cat said. “He’s got an AK.”

Alex slipped out of the bridge on the side away from the Guard. He rested his rifle on a metal lip protruding from the ship and took aim through his scope at the upper torso of the man. Alex exhaled, and in the natural pause before he inhaled, he pulled the trigger slowly until he heard the shot and felt the recoil. The Guard fell, but he stood up again, and Alex shot him in the upper body again. This time, the Guard didn’t stand up.

Another Guard stood inside a passageway near the gangway. Alex moved to a different location to enable a clearer shot. This time, Alex aimed higher, and after the shot, the Guard went down.

Alex motioned to Cat, Let’s go. She exited the bridge behind him, and they descended the stairs to the main deck, where they surveyed the general’s ship once more. There seemed to be no more shooters outside waiting for them, so Alex and Cat jogged across the gangway of their ship, hurried onto the pier, and ran across the general’s gangway and onto his ship. The divining rod beeped more frequently. They were nearing the general.

Alex took the point position and Cat covered his six. Alex put a bullet through the head of the fallen Guard in the passageway. The head wobbled, but the rest of the man’s body remained still. Better safe than sorry. Alex stepped over his body and into the ship’s interior. To Alex’s right was a metal bulkhead, and in front was the passageway that led to the port side of the ship. Alex turned left, pulled on a metal bar, and opened the hatch before he proceeded aft through its passageway. To his left was the starboard bulkhead, and to his right was an open door leading to the living spaces for the crew — it looked empty. Alex didn’t have enough shooters to clear each room, so he just passed the open door — following the beeps on his divining rod. The beeps sounded in staccato as if Alex were right on top of the general, but he was nowhere in sight. To Alex’s right was a closed door leading to the crew spaces. Alex expected General Tehrani to be on the deck above, where the ship’s officers berthed, but he had learned to expect the unexpected. He quietly turned the doorknob and opened the door. Creeping inside, he searched the berthing area with its racks standing three high, like bunk beds. The deeper Alex and Cat searched into the crew’s quarters, the less frequently the divining rod beeped. General Tehrani must have been directly above or below them.

Alex took Cat out of the berthing and moved aft. At the ladder, Alex went up. As he reached the top of the ladder, he heard shots below. Cat was shooting it out with someone. Alex looked down and saw someone near the ladder below the crew’s deck, but he couldn’t see if the person was armed. Alex was now near the galley and mess on the officers’ deck. From inside the galley on Alex’s deck someone fired shots, missing. Alex fired back, missing the shooter. Shots rang out from the man near the ladder below the crew’s deck, and when the rounds hit the ladder next to Alex, they sparked. Alex ducked into the galley to avoid the man in the ladderway and waited for the man in the galley to poke his head out again. Meanwhile, he was cut off from Cat on the deck below him.

When the man in the galley poked his head up, Alex didn’t miss. He snapped off two shots and saw that at least one tore through the top of the man’s head. Blood spurted high in the air as the man fell. Alex realized that the beeps had become less frequent. The general wasn’t above the crew’s deck; he was below. Alex returned to the stairwell as the man below the crew’s deck was climbing up. Alex wanted to shoot him — if Cat stuck her head out a little, Alex’s shot would miss her; if she stuck her head out a lot, he’d hit her. If he didn’t take the shot, the man climbing the ladder might take her down with a shot from behind while she was shooting it out with someone else. “Shooting down!” Alex called before firing. Alex’s round cracked the man through the top of his head. The man in the ladderway made a clanging sound as he and his weapon crashed to the deck below.

No more shooting sounds came from Cat’s position. Either she’d popped the bad guys or they’d popped her. “Alex coming down!” Alex shouted before he descended the ladder to the crew’s deck. Cat appeared. Behind her a bullet-riddled man in a green uniform with an AK lay motionless.

“You okay?” Cat asked.

“Yeah. You good?”

Cat nodded. “Take us to the general.”

She sounded positive and Alex hoped she could remain upbeat — their situation would probably become worse before it got better. Although Alex was stationary, the general’s beeping became even less frequent. “The general is escaping.” Alex returned to the stairs and smoothly descended them until he stepped on the man with a bullet hole through his skull, lying next to a large storage compartment. General Tehrani’s signal beeped faster. Alex glided down another flight of steps, landing on the engine room deck. He paid attention to his earpiece to find out if he was heading in the correct direction. The beeping rate increased. Alex could hear that Cat was above him, engaged in a firefight with Guards on an upper deck.

From the engine room, a Revolutionary Guard peeked around the side of a post covered with gauges, pipes, and control panels. He shot at Alex. Alex returned fire. Alex’s shot hit the post but missed the Guard. None of the Guard’s body showed to the left of the post, but he overcompensated by allowing his leg to stick out on the right side of the post. Alex drilled the Guard’s leg near the kneecap. The soldier yelped and fell to the deck, exposing himself from his leg to his gut. Alex tattooed him in the gut with three shots. The Guard grunted.

From behind a labyrinth of pipes in the engine room flashed three AKs, their shots striking all around Alex — deck, bulkhead, and overhead. Alex took cover behind a bulkhead and waited for a lull. He needed to fight through the Guards in order to advance to the general’s position. Alex switched to full auto, lay on the deck to vary his location, and when the three Guards’ shooting slowed, Alex looked around the corner and sprayed about ten rounds at the maze of pipes they had fired from. Water sprayed from bullet holes in pipes.

In spite of Alex having delivered what he thought was an effective counterattack, three Guards answered Alex with a hurricane of lead. Alex hid behind the metal bulkhead, but the onslaught was so furious, he wanted to hide under the ship. When the firing eased up, Alex leaped to his feet, turned around the corner, and unleashed ten more rounds on full auto, emptying his magazine. More water sprayed, and the Guards stopped firing. Once again Alex took cover behind the bulkhead. “Changing mags,” Alex informed Cat, then reloaded.

“Cat coming down.” Her footsteps on the metal steps echoed from the ladderway above.

Before Alex could enter the engine room, another storm of lead punched the bulkhead and surrounding area. What the hell? Did I miss all of them? Are these reinforcements? Meanwhile, the beeps in his earpiece slowed. “General Tehrani is getting away.” Alex grabbed a grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and let the spoon fly. “Frag out!” He cooked three seconds off the five-second fuse before giving it an underhand toss into the engine room. Boom! “Moving forward,” Alex said.

“Moving forward,” Cat repeated.

Alex shuffled forward into the engine room as efficiently as possible. If he went too fast and missed a shooter, he could die. Efficiency trumped speed. Smooth is fast.

He searched behind the labyrinth of pipes and found three Guards lying on the deck. Two more writhed on the ground. Alex shot each of the writhing Guards in the head. A bloody Guard sat with his back against the wall and his AK rifle on his lap. He raised his hands in surrender, but Alex didn’t have time for prisoners — or tricks. Alex shot him in the forehead.

Alex scanned for threats as he proceeded through the engine room looking for the general. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. He must have fled up the ladder on the port side. Alex climbed the ladder on the port side, aiming his AKMS up the passageway. The higher Alex climbed, the higher the rate of beeps sounded. Alex reached the storage deck and continued up the metal ladder to the crew’s deck. The metal hatch leading to the ship’s passageway was open — someone had left in a hurry. Alex entered the passageway where the dead Guard from earlier lay, hopped over him, and hurried outside. Alex ran across the gangway. Before he reached the end of it, he spotted a lone man running from the pier. Alex stopped, planted his feet, and aimed. “General Tehrani!” Alex yelled.

The man turned and looked in the direction of Alex’s voice. It’s him. General Tehrani rushed away, just before Alex took the shot, missing him. Before Alex could take a second shot, the general ran past the heavily burned warehouse and disappeared.

A shot zipped past Alex’s ear. He ducked and spun around, but couldn’t see the shooter.

“Sniper!” Alex shouted into his mouthpiece. “On the deck.”

Alex debated dealing with the shooter, but realized Tehrani had to be stopped. He spotted a length of coiled rope near the railing. He took a smoke grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and threw it toward the shooter. As soon as the smoke billowed up ten feet Alex got up and ran to the gangway, charging down it onto the dock after Tehrani.

Snow and concrete kicked up by his foot as the sniper got off another shot at him. Alex didn’t bother to return fire, but ran after Tehrani, following his tracks in the snow.

38

The run winded General Tehrani, and he knew he couldn’t go much farther. He jogged between a line of railroad tank cars on his left and the long, shattered hulk of the burned warehouse on his right. After the building ended, there was a gap between it and a small two-room building. Frantically looking for a good place to hide, he spotted a huge mound of snow on a triangular patch of land surrounded by piles of twisted girders and smashed concrete cinder blocks. Off to the left it looked like children had hollowed out the snow in the rubble and created a small snow cave. Adjacent to the snow cave sat a giant snowball, possibly the base for a large snowman. In front of it lay a smaller-sized snowball cracked into three chunks. General Tehrani picked up one of the three chunks of snow and put it in the cave. Next, he pushed the giant snowball, but it wouldn’t budge. The base seemed frozen to the ground. He put his shoulder into it and pushed harder until the snowball broke loose from the ground and rolled forward. Then General Tehrani knelt between the snowball and the snow cave and pulled the snowball toward him until it closed off much of the cave. Freezing wind blew snow through the upper right portion of the cave, where it remained open. General Tehrani’s hunters might see him inside the cave, so he used the chunk of snow he’d deposited in the cave and plugged the biggest opening of the hole, protecting himself from most of the frigid wind and the hunters’ eyes.

39

Alex chased after Tehrani, tracking his movement through the snow. He came up to the rail line and stopped. The tracks were lost in a mess of slush.

Suddenly, something hit Alex from behind, like a hot baseball bat striking his left shoulder. It hit him with such force that his left hand lost its grip on his AKMS, and he almost fell onto the tracks. His vision blurred and his ears rang and he fell to his knees. The ringing in his ears took away his equilibrium. “Sniper,” Alex reported weakly. He didn’t recall the sound of a rifle, but he sensed he’d been shot by Major Khan.

“Alex!” Cat yelled. “Get up and run, Alex! Run!”

“I can’t see,” Alex cried.

“You have to try!” Cat shouted.

Alex scurried on his knees toward the railcars, knowing he’d buy himself a few more seconds. His vision remained blurry. Everything was a swirl of white and black. His hearing still ringing, Alex felt unbalanced, afraid to move because he might fall and he wasn’t sure he could pick himself back up again. The shot had pierced his shoulder, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Major Khan took his second shot. In that moment, Alex regretted not being able to see Cat’s smile again, but he imagined it.

He heard two more shots, but he could tell they weren’t aimed at him. His left hand went numb and he looked down. Cat was holding his hand, helping him to his feet.

“I’ve got your hand. Just run with me, baby. Run.”

Alex stumbled with her across the railway tracks and into the warehouse. His feet tangled up in some wire and he stumbled and fell, dragging Cat down with him. A shot zipped past them. Cat returned fire, then helped him up, and they ran. He couldn’t hear if Major Khan took more shots. Maybe he was still working Alex into his crosshairs. Alex ran for Cat, and he ran for himself — he wanted to live. As he ran, the ringing continued in one ear.

They weaved through the rubble, up and over crumpled metal siding and a pile of huge gears. Cat led him to a heap of rebar and then stopped when they got around to the far side.

Alex’s vision began to clear. He noticed a black object in her hand. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s General Tehrani’s cell phone. It probably fell out of his pocket. I found it on the gangway.”

“That’s why my ear keeps ringing.” He took out the earpiece that monitored the divining rod. The ringing in his ear stopped.

“Your shoulder is bleeding.”

Alex looked around the debris and snow for any signs of General Tehrani. “I lost him. I know he’s close, but where?”

Cat grabbed his shoulder and Alex winced. “We need to get you bandaged up.”

“Khan will be coming, and we’re too out in the open to stay here,” Alex said, looking around them. “There, see that ducting. It must have fallen from the ceiling when the building burned down, but a lot of it is still intact.”

Cat peered around the rebar and swept the area. “Okay, we’ll get in there and I’ll patch you up. Go.”

40

General Tehrani’s body heat warmed the inside of his snow cave, and the temperature became almost comfortable. The general smiled. An officer fights to become a general, and when he succeeds, he spends the rest of his career protecting his rank. In 1979, Iran executed eighty-five senior generals and expelled the majority of its junior generals. Officers like Tehrani who were loyal to the regime were promoted to general. In 1980, Saddam Hussein invaded Iran, but during the Iran-Iraq War, General Tehrani repelled Saddam Hussein’s army from Iran and commanded human-wave attacks through barbed wire, machine-gun fire, and chemical weapons attacks — taking over land in Iraq. Finally, a truce was called between the two countries, and Iran told General Tehrani to give the Iraqis back their land. He beat the Iraqis, and now in his ice cave, General Tehrani was beating the Americans. I cannot be defeated.

He heard two people outside his cave speaking English, a man and a woman. The woman said, “General Tehrani.” They’re looking for me. Although he wanted to put snow in the cracks of the entrance to his snow cave to better conceal himself, he dared not move for fear of alerting the Americans to his location. Also, his body heat quickly warmed the snow inside his cave to water, which froze into ice, so it was becoming more difficult to scrape together a handful of snow anyway. Fortunately the wind drove the heavy falling snow into the cracks of his cave, cloaking the general in darkness. Now they’ll never find me. If I stay here until morning, they’ll be gone. When I hear the Russians come to unload the crude oil, I can ask for help.

General Tehrani’s knees weren’t as strong as they used to be and the soft snow beneath him had become ice. He shifted his body from a kneeling position to sitting. Because he couldn’t sit up straight in the cave, his neck ached from bending over. The aching slowly traveled from his neck down his spine, but he’d rather have an aching spine than be dead. I can recover from an aching spine. Soon his ass ached from sitting on the ice.

The air inside his cave became stale, and he loosened the top button on his collar so he could breathe more easily. After a while, he lost track of time, and the air became more uncomfortable to breathe. It occurred to General Tehrani that he might not have enough oxygen, and if he didn’t let some oxygen in soon, he might suffocate. He used his finger to try to poke a hole where the snow had filled the cracks at the top of his cave’s entrance. If the hole was small enough, he could let air in without being seen from the outside. In spite of his effort, his finger couldn’t poke through. He tried other locations, but the snow had frozen solid.

I could be trapped in here. General Tehrani pressed his hands on the cave’s entrance, searching for a soft spot to break through, but he found none. He searched the rest of the cave — ice. Now he feared suffocating in the ice cave more than he feared the Americans.

General Tehrani hoped the Americans had left the area. He pounded on the cave’s entrance, hoping to beat a hole through to the outside, but the harder he pounded it, the harder he packed the ice. The pounding made his hands and fists sore, and he expended more of his precious oxygen, making it more difficult to breathe. He pressed his shoulder against the entrance, but the ice didn’t budge. He kicked at the entrance until his feet became too sore and weak to kick anymore.

He reached for his cell phone, but it was missing. He’d dropped it somewhere. “Help! Somebody help me! Can anyone hear me?! I’m suffocating!” General Tehrani remembered his metal belt buckle and took it off. Then he used it to scrape the ice, but he expended too much oxygen for a small amount of progress that would take days to complete. “Help! Please help me from this tomb!”

After screaming for help for as long and as loud as he could, he ran out of energy and breath. “Help! Please, help!” He curled into a fetal position, and his voice became faint: “Help. Please, somebody …” General Tehrani could no longer speak. Dizziness gripped him and the edges of his vision began to gray and then darkness overcame him.

41

“You’re lucky, it was a clean through-and-through,” Cat said, wrapping the bandage tight around his shoulder.

“Don’t feel lucky,” Alex said, grimacing as Cat finished her work.

“Poor you,” Cat said, picking up her rifle and peering out from the ducting.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching out and patting her leg with his right hand.

“Wait until you get my bill,” Cat said.

Alex crawled a few feet away from Cat and looked out through a tear in the ducting. He knew that if Major Khan wanted to stop him before reaching downtown, Khan would have to pass between the narrow length of land stretching between the piers and the city. Alex and Cat couldn’t keep all of the piers under surveillance, but they could monitor that narrow stretch of land. Alex looked for a good sniper position. Rows of oil tanks stood ten stories tall — taller than anything in the area. A ladder led to the top of each tank, but since the ladder was the only entrance and exit to the top, it would be easy for a sniper perched on top to become trapped. Also, the tanks were too far away from the narrow stretch of land. A three-story building had a great view of the narrow stretch of land and was well within range of Alex’s rifle. The three-story building had the added bonus of a raised roof that sheltered it from view from the ten-story-tall oil tanks. It seemed like the best place for a sniper. Major Khan would think the same. Alex quickly looked for where Major Khan might set up a countersniper position. There was a smaller two-story building that didn’t have a commanding view of the narrow stretch of land, but it had a view of the three-story sniper position. Alex felt strongly that Major Khan would set up a countersniper position in the smaller two-story building, so Alex looked for a counter-countersniper position, and he found it in a pile of girders and rubble. If Major Khan set up in the sniper position, Alex wouldn’t be able to see him. Worse, if Major Khan set up a counter-counter-countersniper position, Alex was screwed.

“Okay, let’s move,” Alex said, pointing outward.

“You sure?” Cat asked.

“One hundred percent,” Alex said.

He crawled back out of the duct and slowly stood up while Cat covered him. He tested his legs and was relieved that his equilibrium was back. His shoulder was a screaming nightmare, but it could wait. He waited until Cat got out of the duct, then led her past a line of tanker cars on a train track. They crawled the last twenty feet to the pile of snow-covered debris. Alex pointed to a depression five feet away for Cat to use. He waited until she was in place, then wormed his way under a girder and to the left of a spool of steel cable. He carefully unwound several yards of the cable and heaped it up in front of him. He poked his rifle between the loops and made sure his scope had a clear view. Next, he grabbed some metal shards and placed them to his right, angling them so they were parallel with his rifle barrel. He found a section of tarp and slowly pulled it over his head to further break up his form. Satisfied, he watched the countersniper position and the surrounding area.

The snow continued to fall, making spotting anything difficult. Alex began to shiver and started tensing and relaxing his muscles to combat the cold. A sniper who couldn’t shoot straight was useless. He began mentally cataloging shapes and distances. The mounds of rubble made it an almost impossible task, but Alex kept at it, focusing on likely areas and discarding those he knew he’d never use.

After half an hour, Alex sensed movement near the countersniper building, but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was. Minutes later, he saw movement through a window on the second floor. Although Alex could see only the vague silhouette of a person sitting behind his rifle, positioned on a table, Alex knew it had to be Major Khan. The movement stopped.

As Alex inhaled, he aimed carefully, trying to empty his mind. If he emptied his mind then his target wouldn’t sense Alex was thinking about him. Adjusting for distance and wind direction, Alex’s sights lined up perfectly on Major Khan’s upper body. During Alex’s exhale, he didn’t wait until he expelled all his air. Instead, he held his breath so the movement of his lungs wouldn’t throw his shot. If he held it too long, his body would crave oxygen and tremble. Alex squeezed the trigger, building the tension in his finger until his AKMS fired. The recoil thumped his shoulder with a satisfying wallop. It was a perfectly placed shot. The figure of Major Khan remained sitting in his chair as if stunned. Alex shot him again in the chest. Major Khan slumped face-first onto the table in front of him.

Before Alex moved from his position to make sure Khan was dead, Alex sensed something eerie. Somebody is watching us. He froze.

“Cat,” he whispered. “Stay perfectly still. Khan’s still out there.”

The countersniper wasn’t Major Khan. That was one of his Guards — bait. Alex’s eerie feeling changed to fear. Where’s Major Khan?

If Major Khan knew our exact location, he’d already have taken his shot. He may know our general location, but he’s waiting for us to move so he can pinpoint us. Alex remained still, waiting for Major Khan to make the first move. Behind Alex and Cat there wasn’t much land between them and Neva Bay. Normally, Alex would consider the water as one of his primary retreats, but with the freezing air temperature, near-freezing water conditions, and no wet suit, the water wasn’t his first choice of retreat. Whether he was winning or losing, Alex always tucked emergency exits into the back of his mind.

Between Alex and the city, a little over a hundred yards away, shots were fired at full automatic from another pile of rubble. Thirty shots sprayed Alex’s rubble pile. Some of the shots were so close that snow fell down on him. The enemy knew Alex and Cat were in the debris, but he didn’t know exactly where. He was trying to flush them out.

Alex spotted the muzzle flash and traced the rifle barrel to the shooter lying on the ground. He wasn’t Major Khan. Where is Major Khan? Probably waiting for me to whack this Guard and give away my exact position. The shooter was doing something — probably changing magazines. The shooter stood up and walked toward Alex’s position, aiming his AK at him and Cat. As he arrived within less than a hundred yards, Alex realized their discovery was inevitable. Snipers who froze in place too long were dead snipers. Now Alex had to get the jump on the shooter before the shooter jumped him. When the shooter reached fifty yards away, Alex pounded him twice in the chest. The shooter fell back as if he’d been struck by a sledgehammer.

“Follow me,” Alex whispered. He ran across the tracks and into another of the damaged buildings. There would be more options for cover in there. Alex glanced back. Cat was right behind him. When he reached the middle of the narrow stretch of land, he headed southwest toward the city, where the land would expand and give him even more options for maneuvering. Especially after getting shot in the left shoulder, Alex wasn’t going to stick around and wait for Major Khan, who had obviously upped his game since their days in Iraq.

As Alex ran southwest, he passed the fallen countersniper’s building on his left and a snowy mound on his right. Fortunately, the building and mound covered Alex’s left and right from anyone shooting at him. Unfortunately, he was in a kill zone where he could escape only backward or forward — with little wiggle room in between. Shit! After fifty yards, there was a break in the mound to the right and Alex took it. Bang! A shot sounded from behind. Alex glanced back to see if Cat was still with him. She was.

Alex’s new location was no better than the previous one. Although he had more space to maneuver, he had no cover to protect him from Major Khan’s bullets, and he had no idea how many Guards the major had brought with him. Alex nearly panicked trying to find a better place for maneuvering, but he remembered to breathe — deep and slow. His legs pumped hard and fast. He zigged and zagged southwest through the open space. Bang-bang, bang-bang! Alex felt one hot round pass the left side of his neck and heard another pop the sound barrier above his right ear. Alex slanted left before continuing southwest. He sprinted through a narrow stretch that opened to several buildings and a large oil tank. The terrain gave him more places to take cover, but it was still limited. Alex ran to the right, behind the tank, looking for a better place to make a stand. Finally, to the southwest, he found a maze of buildings, metal pillars and pipes, and train cars to provide him multiple sources of cover while he maneuvered—perfect.

Alex entered the maze, taking cover behind a tangle of metal pipes, and when he turned around to catch Major Khan and his men in less favorable terrain, Alex realized that Cat was nowhere in sight.

“Cat, where are you?” Alex called over the radio. He heard gunshots in the distance.

Meanwhile, six Guards and Major Khan came around a building corner. Alex thumped the first Guard twice in the chest. The remaining five Guards and Major Khan advanced quickly to cover behind a long storage shed. Alex fired at Major Khan, hitting the shed just as the major hid behind it.

Alex moved to a new position so he wouldn’t be a predictable target, behind a large metal pole. Two Guards appeared, one on each side of the shed. The Guard on the right exposed his whole body and peppered lead in Alex’s direction. Alex answered the Guard on the right with two rounds. Although Alex was aiming for the Guard’s chest, Alex inadvertently leaned into the shot, pressing his muzzle down, and hit the Guard in the right side of his belly. Alex’s second shot went higher, but too far right, missing the Guard. The Guard fell on his ass.

The Guard on the left emerged again and fired. Alex squeezed off two rounds, missing him. Alex ducked behind some pipes. He pushed his weapon around the side of the pipes and aimed at the left side of the shed, waiting for the Guard to show his face again. When he did, Alex busted a cap in the Guard’s eye. His second round struck the Guard in the forehead.

Major Khan and his three remaining Guards had only two places to stick their heads out from: left of the shed or right of the shed. Between the shed and Alex, the Guards would be in open territory. If Alex allowed Major Khan and his men to advance to his position, they could use the multiple sources of cover and their superior numbers to shoot at him from more angles than he could protect himself from. He had to hold his ground.

Alex hustled to a position behind another tangle of pipes. All three Guards appeared from the left side of the shed, advancing toward his position while shooting. Their shots gave the pipes concealing Alex a severe spanking — oil sprayed from them. Alex flicked his selector switch to full auto and cut into the Guards, stopping their advance.

While Alex focused on halting the advance of the Guards to the left of the storage shed, Major Khan had taken aim from the right of the shed. Bang! An AK round struck Alex in the back of the right hand, exiting his palm and knocking his rifle out of his hand. “Damn!” Alex’s rifle dangled by its sling.

Alex sidestepped and ducked to the left, avoiding Major Khan’s line of fire, but Major Khan advanced while shifting his fire in Alex’s direction, popping holes in pipes that gushed oil into a pool on the ground. Alex kept moving to the left while he gripped his rifle with his left hand. He rose and fired on full auto, emptying his magazine. Alex wasn’t accurate enough to hit Major Khan, but he was accurate enough to cause the major to slip in his tracks and fall on his back. Alex attempted to wiggle the bloody fingers on his right hand, but they wouldn’t obey. His whole hand felt like it’d been stabbed with daggers. And his rifle had run out of bullets.

Major Khan must have sensed Alex was in trouble, because the major hopped up and charged Alex, spitting hell out of his rifle barrel. Alex crouched down to avoid being shot. The noise alone terrified him, but Alex knew he couldn’t let his fear take over. He wanted to reload a new magazine into his weapon, but he wasn’t sure he could do that with only one hand and at the same time successfully dodge Major Khan’s bullets. Although Alex’s customized Zoaf sound-suppressed pistol was in the holster on his right hip, he could reach around with his left hand, draw it, and reposition it for firing. There was also the option for Alex to use his last grenade.

With his left hand, Alex jerked the pin out of the grenade, but the grenade fell out of its pouch, landed on the ground, and the spoon flew. Alex ran away from the grenade and Major Khan. He dodged pipes and took cover behind a cluster of them.

Major Khan pursued. Boom!

A piece of shrapnel ripped through Alex’s trousers and stabbed him in his thigh. He grunted. Ignoring the pain, he sneaked around to the side to see what had happened to Major Khan. Dozens of geysers spouted black oil from pipes, permeating the air with fumes and changing the white snow to black. Slowly, Major Khan rose from the ground, his feet unsteady. The oil had transformed him into a hideous black monster.

Fire. I need fire. Alex could shoot at metal and hope a spark would ignite. He didn’t have a thermite grenade or even a lighter that would stay lit as he threw it. However, he remembered he hadn’t used any of his flash-bangs. Alex put a flash-bang under his right arm and held it tight while he pulled the pins, then he tossed it at Major Khan. More than a million candela flashed, 170 decibels of boom shook the air, and the oil around Major Khan combusted.

Major Khan became a human flame. He ran away from Alex, passing through the fire surrounding him, screaming in Farsi.

With his left hand, Alex reached across his stomach and drew his pistol. Then he manipulated it until he acquired the proper grip. He crouched while moving in Major Khan’s direction, limping around the inferno. Fire had replaced the snow on the ground, and pipes sprayed flames like Roman candles. Alex felt the heat, especially on his face. The blaze lit up the surrounding area, helping Alex spot fresh tracks in the snow. He followed the tracks until he came to Major Khan crawling in the snow facedown. Major Khan was black from head to foot, his clothing tattered and smoldering. Maybe he sensed Alex standing there, or maybe he tired of crawling on his stomach, but Major Khan turned over on his back. He had no visible weapon. His badly burned face showed no emotion as he stared into Alex’s eyes. Major Khan said something in Farsi.

“This is for Leila.” Alex shot Major Khan once in the left thigh.

Major Khan gritted his teeth and hissed.

“This is for Jabberwocky.” Alex shot him in the crotch.

Major Khan wailed.

“And this is for me.” Alex shot him in the forehead.

Blood oozed out of Major Khan’s forehead. His eyes remained open as snow fell on them. Soon a light sheet of white covered his charred body, flickering in the light of the nearby inferno.

Alex sat down exhausted. He knew the oil might explode at any moment, but he was too tired to move. Just need a little rest.

A minute later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He turned his head and looked up to see an Iranian Revolutionary Guard standing there aiming his rifle at Alex’s face. So this is it. This is how it ends. The Guard grinned and squeezed his trigger. Alex closed his eyes. Pop. Alex felt a warm spurt of blood on his face.

Something was wrong. The shot wasn’t loud enough, and Alex felt no pain. He opened his eyes. The Guard bled from the middle of his face. He swayed once before toppling over. Behind him stood Cat with her sound-suppressed AKMS aimed at where the Guard’s head had been. “Sitting down on the job?” she asked.

Alex smiled weakly. “What took you so long?”

“Took the scenic route.” She noticed his right hand. “What happened?!” she exclaimed.

“Let’s just get to the car before we run into any more surprises.”

“You need a doctor.”

“Not in St. Petersburg. Not after what we did here.”

“I’ll charter a boat to Finland and contact our embassy. Take you to an operating room.”

“Thanks.” Alex stood and limped southwest.

Cat walked beside him. “What do we do about General Tehrani?”

“No idea.”

“Maybe he fell in the ocean and drowned.”

“I doubt it. He’ll turn up one of these days, and when he does, he’ll be somebody else’s problem.”