“Okay.” Dana looked into the big man’s eyes. “Let’s talk about something else. Have you ever heard of the Sinope Club?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, they’ve heard of you.” Dana allowed a smile to cross her face. “And they want to talk to us about a mission.” She raised an eyebrow. “You could use a mission, couldn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Flame nodded. “A mission would be good.”

  “So let’s talk to these people.” Dana motioned toward the pathway and the parking lot beyond. “Before they give the job to someone else.”

  Flame took a moment to take a long look at Manny’s grave, then turned and headed for the parking lot alongside his partner.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Where are we taking these people, Kaveh?” Parvez asked as the little convoy rumbled across the old battlefield and across the border into Iran. “Are you really going to turn them over to the Revolutionary Courts?”

  “Of course not,” Kaveh El-Mafty had joined the military the day the Infidels attacked Saddam’s armies in Kuwait. He had no love for the Iraqis, but far less love for the non-believers who had meddled in the affairs of Islam for much too long. “I will take them to the jail at my camp outside Ahvaz for the moment.” Kaveh’s "camp" was little more than a collection of unfinished buildings built during the Iran/Iraq war and abandoned thereafter—until the Iranian command needed a place to put the young firebrand and his troops.

  “I want to find out more about whatever it is they are looking for before I do anything else.” He turned to his companion. “It was you that alerted us to their search—do you truly not know what they are after?”

  “I do not, my brother. You know I was not at home when the crash occurred—but my eldest son tells me that the men who came did not find all the pieces—I suspect that is why these people have come.” He shrugged. “They told us they were searching for Sumerian artifacts—they told the same tale to the students who came with them, but I am sure there is something else.” He looked at Kaveh. “The one called Parfitt is in charge. Only he and the other professor—Cowie—seem to have any knowledge of their real goal.”

  “Then we must wrest that knowledge from them.” Kaveh nodded to himself. “It is the only way I can regain the confidence of my superiors.”

  “What if I am wrong and they are truly nothing more than simple archeologists?”

  Kaveh shrugged. “Then we will make them disappear and my superiors will know nothing of this.” He smiled. “The desert has many such secrets, Aban—as you well know.”

  “Even the women?” Aban thought of their kindnesses to him and his family.”

  “Even the women.” Kaveh smiled. “It would be the will of Allah, would it not?”

  Aban could only nod as their convoy travelled deeper into Iranian territory.

  ***

  “Our last communication was two days ago.” Mark Marmor gestured to the map Eric Bivens had put onto the big screen. “They were supposed to report in every twenty-four hours.” Marmor raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Something must be wrong.”

  Dana studied the two men sitting across from her in the meeting room she and Flame had recently added to their office suite. Marmor was an older man—perhaps sixty-five years old—with a British accent. He was quite overweight and had the sort of pasty complexion that only a life spent indoors creates.

  His companion, Ron Silverstein, was a different sort of animal entirely. Although nearly Marmor’s age, Silverstein was tall and lean, with the sort of muscle tone that only comes from years of hard living and exercise. His complexion was dark, his skin leathery—the skin of a man who had spent his whole life outdoors. It was clear that he was—or had been—a field agent while Marmor was a back office type.

  “Just what is it your people were looking for?” Flame, already antsy, asked the obvious question.

  “Do you remember when the Iranians claimed to have captured an American drone?” Silverstein spoke for the first time, his voice betraying an accent that was clearly mid-eastern in origin.

  “Sometime in 2011.” Flame nodded. “I remember there was a bit of a flap among some of the intel staff I was working with.”

  “There were two drones in that flight.” Silverstein told them. “Neither actually belonged to the United States, although your people were kind enough to accept that designation—and the embarrassment involved—to avoid a nasty confrontation between the Iranians and the real owners of the drones.”

  “They were Israeli.” Marmor put in. “A test of some new systems that our military scientists had added to the drone’s weapons system.”

  “Both drones were purchased from the US a few years earlier. The captured one was flying trail—its job was to monitor the other more important and experimental aircraft.”

  “Why Iraq?”

  “Terrain was right for our purposes and with lots of American drones flying around, we could hide in plain sight.”

  “Good plan.” Dana nodded. “What happened?”

  “We’re not completely sure.” Silverstein licked dry lips. “Both drones were hit by some kind of electronic weapon—something that burned out their internal guidance system.”

  “Afterwards,” Marmor put in, “their most basic programming came into play and forced them to land immediately.”

  “For one, that meant coming down inside Iran itself.”

  “The other…” Marmor shrugged rather eloquently. “Crashed in the desert near the Iranian border.”

  Silverstein pointed to the map and said, “Our people were able to recover most of the wreckage—the area is mountainous and the aircraft was badly mauled.”

  “It wasn’t until the tech people went through the debris and reconstructed the vehicle that they discovered that we were missing some very important parts," added Marmor.

  “We believe that wreckage is still in the area. It’s why our people—and the college students they hired as cover—were working there,” said Silverstein.

  “As there is a real archeological site nearby, we were sure no one would take any notice,” Marmor added.

  “It appears you were wrong about that—someone definitely noticed.” Bivens had been working his computers while listening to the briefing. “Look.”

  He put an image up on the large screen that dominated one end of the room. “NSA had a satellite with a pretty good oversight of that area—it shows three vehicles heading toward your campsite. See them there?” He pointed to the dust trails on the image. “They headed back toward the Iranian border just a few minutes later,” he said as another image appeared on the screen. “They crossed into Iran shortly thereafter, finally stopping here.” A final image. “This appears to be a military base of some kind—albeit an unfinished one. Pretty typical—barracks on two sides, headquarters on top, brig on the bottom.” He shrugged. “Give me a moment while I do a quick search for more information.”

  “The base was started sometime in 1990 but never completed,” Marmor put in. “They never built a wall so there are no guard towers. It’s supposed to be deserted but our intel says a small unit of the Revolutionary Guard has moved in over the past month or so.” The rotund agent spread his hands helplessly. “Why they took our people, we don’t really know.”

  “Can’t you go to your government?”

  “Which one?” Silverstein shrugged. “An Israeli protest would be met with laughter; one from Great Britain with derision.” He shook his head. “No, we have to recover our own people and, unfortunately…” He turned toward Flame. “Most of the members of the Sinope Club are a bit too long in the tooth to handle a mission like this one—but you seem to be perfect for the task.”

  “Just what is the Sinope Club?” Dana asked.

  “You will keep the information confidential?” Marmor raised an eyebrow.

  “Of course.”

  “All right.” He glanced at Silverstein who nodded once. “You have heard of the Diogenes Club? From the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”

  “Mycroft Holmes’ club? The one that houses the British Secret Service of the period?”

  “That’s right.” Marmor smiled. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to meet someone as young as you who has actually read the Holmes books! You wouldn’t believe…”

  “Mark.” Silverstein’s voice brought the other man back to reality. “Later.”

  “Right.” Marmor smiled sheepishly for a second, then: “Ron and I—along with a dozen or so others, decided to form a similar club for the present century—a club composed of former intelligence operatives who have been deemed too old to be useful and thus, retired—put out to pasture, as it were.”

  “Interesting.” Dana smiled. “And how do your governments feel about this sort of ‘freelance’ operation?”

  “My people…” Marmor shrugged. “MI-6, as you might have guessed, just don’t seem to care as long as we stay out of their patch.”

  “I was Mossad.” Silverstein shrugged as well. “And in my country, we take any help we can get.”

  “What’s so important about the missing parts of the second drone?” Flame cut into the conversation. “What’s so important that you’d put two of your members and three innocent girls at risk?”

  “The second drone was fitted with a ‘Sling of David’ missile—something a bit more powerful than the Hellfire munitions your drones usually carry.” Marmor looked at Flame. “It is the missile that is not accounted for.”

  “Jesus.” Dana looked at Marmor. “Just how powerful is this missing missile?”

  Marmor turned to Dana, his face suddenly quite serious. “Quite.” He glanced at Silverstein who nodded once. “You see, the Sling of David is nuclear capable.”

  “Nuclear!”

  “The one that disappeared does not have a fully-armed warhead…”

  “What does it have?”

  “It requires the insertion of a plug of plutonium for full activation.” Silverstein put in, his face sober.

  “How big a warhead?”

  “Not huge.” Marmor looked at the floor. “Perhaps seventy-five kilotons…”

  “The Hiroshima bomb was only sixteen kilotons,” Bivens put in. “Seventy-five kilotons would obliterate a medium-sized city!”

  “It was designed for use against the Iranian nuclear facility at Fordo.” Silverstein’s voice was calm. “As you know, that particular base is heavily fortified.”

  “We looked at the kind of operation you’re suggesting.” Bivens shook his head. “Even with a nuke you can’t be sure of getting all the facilities and if you miss—even a little—you’d take out Qom, one of Islam’s holy cities.” He glanced at Dana. “The whole Mideast would go up in flames.”

  “If we do not act before Iran manages to build nuclear weapons of their own,” Silverstein put in, “it will be Israel and its people who will be engulfed in flame.”

  “We’re not going to delve into that particular problem right now.” Dana shook her head. “That has to be handled at a higher level.” She looked at Marmor. “What is it you want us to do for you?”

  “Two things.” Marmor sat and leaned forward. “First and most importantly, we want you to rescue our people—and the three innocents taken with them.” He smiled. “His reputation suggests Mr. O’Donnell would be the ideal choice to handle that.”

  “What else?”

  “After they are safe, we would like you to protect a new team looking for the missing drone.” Marmor shrugged. “Most of our people are intel analysts and cipher experts. We lack muscle—and we can’t afford to just leave the missile where it is given the risk that somebody might stumble upon it.”

  “I understand.” She glanced at Flame. “My partner and I will have to discuss this.” She nodded toward the door. “Please give us a few hours—we’ll have an answer for you by seven tonight.”

  “Don’t wait too long.” Marmor stood. “Remember that the Iranians have two of our people. We have no idea how they’re being treated.”

  “Not to mention the three girls,” Silverstein stood and headed for the door. “The three American girls.”

  The two of them left together.

  ***

  “What do you think?” Dana ran her gaze from Flame to Eric and back. “Is it even possible?”

  “Go into Iran proper, break into a jail there and get five hostages out and across the border to safety?” Flame grinned sourly. “Jimmy Carter gave that a shot in the seventies—how’d that work out?”

  “We’ll have better intel, better equipment,” Bivens put in, eyes on Flame. “And better men.”

  “It’s crazy.” Flame ignored the implied compliment and shook his head. “I mean, we’d probably have to shoot our way out against the whole Iranian army!”

  “It’d be a free-fire situation.” Dana raised an eyebrow at her partner. “Might be what you need to get out of your funk.”

  “I’m not in a funk…”

  “Oh?” Dana leaned forward. “When was the last time you slept through an entire night?” She sighed. “You are having the nightmares again, aren’t you?”

  “It’s none of your God-damned business,” Flame said, as he started to get up.

  “The hell it isn’t!” Dana slammed her palm down on the table, freezing the big redhead in place. “You’re my partner, Flame—and right now you’re pretty near useless to me.”

  “I can still do my job!”

  “Prove it!”

  “You want us to take this crazy mission? Shoot our way into Iran and pull out two old men?”

  “Don’t forget the three co-eds.” Dana grinned. “There was a time you’d have jumped at that.”

  “Yeah.” He slumped into his seat. “Maybe…”

  “Let us work up a mission plan.” Dana nodded at Bivens. “I’ll talk to the admiral, find out what he thinks…”

  “Okay.” Flame stood. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”

  “Meet here at, what, six-thirty?”

  “I’ll be here.” Flame headed for the doorway. “And I’ll be ready.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Liz looked around the tiny cell she and the other two girls had been forced into. She’d expected the Iranians to bring them to Tehran or some other large city. Instead, they’d only driven a few miles to some kind of broken-down army base just on the other side of the border before forcing them out of the trucks and separating the girls from the professors. The girls had been taken into a squat building on one side of the compound that Liz was sure had been designed as a stockade. The professors were forced—at gunpoint—to go in the other direction into a rather small stone-and-brick building at the other end of the camp.

  This thing is just made of concrete block and steel rebar, Liz thought as she studied the cell. They didn’t bother to put glass or bars in the windows, she noted wryly—they didn’t have any reason to do so considering this window. The opening was clearly not wide enough to permit a human body to pass through.

  The cell was hot, humid and foul-smelling—there was no air conditioning and damned little circulation—and Liz knew that she and the others were going to be stuck here for God knew how long.

  Make the best of it, she told herself. Survive—just stay alive—someone will get you out.

  Liz settled herself as comfortably as she could on the hard-packed dirt of the floor (there were no beds) and tried to relax—a chore made difficult by the noise level around her.

  The other two girls were crying loudly enough to wake the dead.

  “Shut up!” she told them. “Crying won’t get us out of here.”

  “What will?” Mandy sobbed. “They’re going to rape and kill us, aren’t they?”

  “We are people of the book,” came a man's voice from the doorway. “We do not rape and we never kill without good reason.” A large man in an ill-fitting uniform stepped into the rather dim light. “I have come to give you proper clothing.” He held up a pile of dun-colored cloth. “You must put it on immediately.”

  “Okay.” Liz stood and stepped in front of the door, hands out. “You must also get us beds.” She nodded at the others. “We can’t be expected to sleep on the floor.”

  “I will do what I can.” He unlocked the door and handed the clothing to her. “Just remember that this is a very minor army base—we do not have all the luxuries you Americans are used to.”

  “Just beds.” Liz held his eye. “Your soldiers have beds, don’t they?”

  “I will see what can be done.” He relocked the door. “In the meantime…”

  “We’ll put on the clothes.” Liz nodded slowly. “It would be foolish not to do so and we are not fools.”

  “Just so.” The soldier smiled, revealing badly broken teeth. “I will return with food and water as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you.” Liz handed a set of clothing to Mandy, another to Kaylee. “We would appreciate that.” She waited until she heard the outside door close before stripping off her sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts. “Come on, girls.” She held up the long robe the man had given her. “Change into the clothes he brought.”

  “Why?” Mandy whined. “It’s not going to get us out of here.”

  “Not right now,” Liz wriggled into the loose-fitting robe, and examined the scarf that she knew was to go around her hair. “But if we ever get the opportunity…” She pulled the scarf into place, and kicked at her old clothes. “We’ll get a lot further dressed like this then we ever would wearing our own things.”

  Kaylee nodded at that—and began changing. It took longer to convince Mandy but, finally, all three were dressed in proper Muslim dress.

  Liz waited for their jailer to return. She was thirsty—and she had a feeling that if she played things just right, she might be able to get more than food and water from the broken-toothed man…

  ***

  While Dana and Bivens worked on a mission plan, Flame drove out to Bremby’s place. His Mustang was still in the shop being rebuilt—the storm in the Keys had done a mind-boggling amount of damage and the car had stayed in the elements for the month it had taken for the bridge to be rebuilt, making things that much worse. The insurance company had given him a loaner—a cheap Kia that rattled when he exceeded forty miles an hour.