The Last Run

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He had just descended far enough into sleep for the dream to begin, the long, blond British spy staring at him past the hidden camera, knowing he was there and watching her. She reached for the silk scarf covering the back of her head, pulled it free, and she opened her mouth, started speaking to him, but the words weren't hers; they were Zahabzeh's.

"They're moving. Sir, they're moving again, Hossein just left the house, they're heading north, our direction!"

Shirazi stared dumbly up at his deputy, winced as the lights came on in the hotel room.

"They're moving!" Zahabzeh said. "They're not waiting, they're going now!"

"I'm awake," Shirazi said, twisting himself out of bed, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. "How long ago?"

"Two minutes, perhaps three. If they're heading for the airport, they'll be there any moment!"

Shirazi began pulling on his shoes, grateful he'd slept in his clothes. "Get Javed and Parviz over there, immediately, tell them to stay in radio contact. They're to make no move, no effort to apprehend, without my direct order."

Zahabzeh was already heading to the door. "Do you want me to go with them?"

"No, get the others down to the cars. I'll join you there in a moment."

He finished pulling on his remaining shoe, got to his feet. Zahabzeh had left the door open, and he could hear him shouting orders to the men, intense and excited. Shirazi waited until the voices faded, the men rushing to do as ordered, then crossed to his go-bag and quickly unfastened the top flap. He dug in deep, beneath the change of clothes and past the papers and money, finding his pistol and the silencer that went with it. He racked the slide, tucked the gun beneath his shirt at his belly, then thrust the silencer into his pocket. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and headed out.

Javed and Parviz had already gone in one of the cars when Shirazi stepped out the front of the hotel, Zahabzeh pulling up immediately and leaning across to open the door for him. The remaining two cars, each driven by Shirazi's handpicked men, idled behind. Shirazi climbed inside the car, keeping his bag slung, and Zahabzeh had them rolling before the door was shut once more. Taking one hand from the wheel, Zahabzeh handed him the receiver for the tracking device they had planted inside Hossein.

"They're headed to the airport," Zahabzeh said.

Shirazi doubted that, had doubted it the moment they'd determined the location of the safehouse. It was too obvious an exfil, and too difficult to accomplish; according to all of his information, Tara Chace was many things, but she wasn't a pilot, and neither was Hossein. Checking the receiver in his hand confirmed the fact.

"No, they're not," Shirazi said. "Now heading northeast. Past us, two hundred meters."

Zahabzeh spun the wheel, whipping the car in a turn around Azadi Square, heading north. Shirazi had chosen the Shalizar Hotel upon their arrival in Noshahr some three hours earlier not because of its cozy decor or its beautiful daylight views of the mountains to the south and the port to the north, but for the simple reason that it had been built almost dead-center in the heart of the town. That decision was saving them right now, and as they headed up Allameh, Shirazi could see Hossein was staying a steady two hundred meters ahead of them.

"They're heading for the water," Zahabzeh told him. "You were right."

"Yes."

"We checked all the piers, we didn't find a boat."

"Then we clearly missed it." Shirazi reached for the radio on the dashboard, brought it to his mouth. "All units converge at Farabi."

Confirmations came crackling back, including Javed. "Confirm, sir? We are to join on your position?"

"Correct."

"Understood."

The blip on the receiver was slowing, now turning east. "Right ahead," Shirazi told Zahabzeh. "Slow down."

"If we lose them-"

"We're not going to lose them. Slow down. This is a trap, Farzan, not a chase. Take the left."

Zahabzeh took the turn as instructed, and they crossed a narrow bridge, spanning one of the many canals that ran throughout Noshahr and dumped into the Caspian. They were less than two kilometers from the shore. Shirazi stared out the windows, searching for any signs of their quarry. On the receiver, he saw that Hossein's progress had come to an almost complete stop.

"They're out of their vehicle," Shirazi said, and added, to the radio, "Stop at Danesh, south side of the park, no lights on approach."

Confirmations over the radio, and Zahabzeh slapped the knob to his left, killing their own headlights. They slowed, turning onto the grass at the southern edge of the little park that ran along both sides of the canal here, and as soon as they had stopped, Shirazi got out of the car, the receiver still in one hand, the radio in the other. He heard the engine die, and Zahabzeh was out now, too, coming around the back of the vehicle and opening the trunk.

The other two cars stopped on either side of them, but Shirazi kept his attention on the receiver for another moment. Hossein was still moving, but much more slowly, and he was sure that meant they were now going on foot. Wherever they had stashed the boat, it had to be close, along the canal, certainly no more than two hundred meters away.

When he raised his head again, the other two men had joined them at the rear of the car, now checking the weapons Zahabzeh had handed them, a compact submachine gun for each, to accompany the pistols they carried. Zahabzeh, Shirazi saw, was offering him one, as well. He took it in his free hand with a nod, raising his radio once more.

"Javed, where are you?" Shirazi asked.

"Coming from the southwest of the park. Should be there in another minute."

"Stop before the bridge and wait for me there."

"Yes, sir."

He lowered the radio again, looked at the group of men, each of them attentive and focused and flushed with anticipation for what was to come. It was cold, cold enough that each breath sent clouds of condensation curling around their faces. Shirazi turned back to the north, searching the bank on either side of the canal. Somewhere in the darkness, hidden by the shadows and the night and the denuded trees, their quarry was preparing to escape.

"Now?" Zahabzeh whispered to him.

"Yes," Shirazi said. "Now. Take Sina and Rostam along this side of the canal. Javed, Parviz, and I will take the other side. And remember, Farzan, we want her alive. No one shoots unless it is to return fire."

"Understood."

"I want her alive," Shirazi repeated.

They spread out, Zahabzeh leading the two others into the park, all of them moving quietly and quickly. Shirazi headed for the edge of the canal, jogging back down towards the bridge, and across, to where Javed and Parviz were just now pulling to a stop. He slowed long enough to give the men time to join him, turning north again, this time along the canal's western edge. Behind him, he heard the clack of metal sliding over metal as bolts slid into place, weapons being made ready.

He moved fast, almost faster than he dared, hearing the steady, soft crunch of his boots on dead leaves and frosted grass. Now and then he caught glimpses of Zahabzeh and the others through the trees on the opposite bank. His heart was beginning to pound, and when he checked the receiver once more, Shirazi saw that his own pulse was making it jump ever so slightly in his hand. Hossein's progress had slowed yet further, and he thought they most certainly must have reached the boat by now.

Clearly, SIS had set their rendezvous for the Caspian itself, somewhere out on the water. He was cutting this very close, Shirazi knew; if Chace got Hossein onto the water, his only option would be to intercept her before the canal reached the sea, either that or be forced to call out boats, and if he did that, the entire operation would fail, as far as he was concerned. But nowhere ahead could he see them, and it was agonizing; to come this far, to be this close, and to lose it all at the last minute, would be unbearable.

Then he saw them, two figures moving through shadows, low to the canal, and he saw the boat, covered by a tarpaulin, moored against the opposite bank, Zahabzeh's side. Chace was leading towards it, still wearing the manteau and head scarf he'd seen on her back in Karaj, Hossein lingering at the base of the wooden steps, perhaps two meters behind. Shirazi held up a hand, coming to a stop in shadows of his own. Javed and Parviz pulled up immediately behind him. Shirazi tucked the receiver into his pocket, pointed.

"I want her alive," Shirazi whispered, then motioned them forward, watched each of them drop into a crouch, their pistols held in both hands, low and ready before them. Shirazi looked to the opposite bank, Zahabzeh visible for an instant as he motioned his own men to spread out.

He slung the submachine gun from its strap over his shoulder, letting it rest against where he wore his bag, and from his pants Shirazi pulled the silencer to his pistol, then quickly screwed it onto the barrel of the gun. Going low himself, he moved quietly forward, Javed just visible to his left, Parviz a little further ahead on the right. He checked the water again, saw that Chace had removed the tarp covering the boat, revealing a slim and low rigid-hulled craft, perhaps only eight meters long, two large outboard motors at its stern. Small and fast and perfectly appropriate for what she was trying to do.

They were nearly opposite her now. Shirazi scanned the far bank again, trying to find Zahabzeh, saw him for a moment between trees, and then he saw Hossein, backing up the stairs from where the boat was moored. He reached the top, Chace now ascending after him, and Shirazi couldn't read her body language, but Hossein took a half-step back in response. She started to lunge for him.

That was when Zahabzeh and his men opened fire.