He missed his car. He also missed one of the things that had been lost during the storm—the 1911 Colt he’d locked in the glove box. Bremby had promised him a replacement and it was time to pick it up and try it out.

  “Hey Gar,” he forced a smile as his friend opened the door. “I think it’s time to check out that new pistol you put together for me.”

  “Come in.” Bremby gestured. “It’s in the back.” He shut the door behind the big man. “You look awful. Having trouble sleeping?”

  “Why does everyone ask me that?” Flame shook his head. “Do I have something written on my forehead?”

  “It’s your eyes, man.” His friend shook his head. “The bags have bags and everything is sunken…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I guess you still haven’t seen the girl.” Bremby shook his head. “Stupid—you’re wasting time…”

  “I said I did not want to talk about it!” Flame’s voice rose a bit. “Where’s the damned 1911?”

  “Come on.” Bremby led the way. “You can try it back here.”

  The Colt turned out to be a match-grade weapon, factory modified for better sights and a smooth trigger pull. Bremby had filed the sear down just enough to give it a hair trigger before adding slightly oversized grips (Flame had big hands) and belled the base of the magazine well to make for easier loading.

  It was perfect.

  “Put a couple of rounds down the spout.” Bremby handed a box of ammunition to Flame as they reached the indoor range at the back of the big building. “See how it feels.”

  It felt damned good. Flame had liked the weapon he’d lost in the keys—he loved this one.

  “Thanks, man.” He clapped Bremby on the shoulder. “This might be the best handgun I’ve ever had.”

  “Better than Heath’s Dan Wesson?”

  Heath, one of Flame’s old teammates from SEAL Team Six had owned a .44 mag revolver that had been specially modified with magna-ported barrel and reinforced frame and rubber grips. Most of the other SEALs had drooled over the weapon.

  “Yeah.” Flame ran a hand over the 1911’s barrel. “I think this one is better.”

  “Thanks, that’s high praise.”

  “No,” Flame smiled—something he rarely did these days. “I need to thank you.” He hefted the pistol. “I’m gonna need a holster for this thing—the new grips change the balance a bit…”

  “Already prepared.” Bremby nodded back to the main building. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “Wait a sec.” Flame bit his lip, and then said, “We might have a mission coming up. We’ll need some muscle…” He looked at Bremby. “Anyone you’d like to recommend?”

  “How much muscle?”

  “Three men, I think.” He smiled at his friend. “And a shooter to protect our primary base as well—a job for you if you’re interested.”

  “Where?”

  “The sandbox—Iraq right down at the Iranian border.”

  “No shit?”

  Flame nodded slowly.

  “When?”

  “If it happens, it’ll be right away—tomorrow or the next day.”

  “I’ll make a couple of phone calls.” He raised an eyebrow at Flame. “Would you be willing to take Gino?”

  Flame thought about that. Gino had screwed the pooch—and the client’s wife—during a previous job. Flame had been furious about the betrayal and had lost all faith in the man. But he can shoot, he thought. And he’s nearly as good in a fight as I am…

  “Yeah.” Flame nodded. “I’ll take Gino back for this one.” He looked at his friend. “See if he’s willing.”

  ***

  “So, Professor,” Kaveh spat the words out. “What were you and your colleagues really up to on our border? What were you looking for?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you…” Dr. Parfitt was seated in a bare metal chair inside a windowless room that was stiflingly hot. Sweat ran down his face as he faced the Iranian officer. “We weren’t on your border—we were in Iraqi territory exploring a Sumerian archeological site.”

  “That site is ten miles from your camp and was thoroughly explored nearly fifty years ago.” Kaveh shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “My school…” Parfitt started.

  “Enough!” Kaveh backhanded the professor across the mouth. “No more lies!”

  “I am not lying, young man.” Parfitt wiped a drop of blood from his lips. “I am telling you the truth.”

  “I don’t think so.” Kaveh leaned closer. “I think you were spying—perhaps for the American CIA.”

  “Do I sound American?” Parfitt asked. “Do I look like a spy?” He shook his head. “Would a spy bring three young girls on a dangerous mission?” He looked into Kaveh’s eyes. “You have made a mistake. If you’ll just return us to our site…”

  “I have made no mistake.” The Iranian glared at his captive. “If you were truly a college professor, you would be crying like a baby by now.” He stood. “No, you are an agent—of who, I do not as yet know.” Kaveh headed for the door, knocking once to alert the guard outside. “But I will, Professor. I will.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Parfitt locked in the windowless, airless room.

  ***

  “Hey, man!” Flame nodded at Aesop when he returned to the office that evening. “How’s the leg?”

  “VA says it’s just fine.” The big ex-SEAL shook his head. “Nine months I wait for an appointment and all they do is take a cursory look and tell me all is well.” He sat back in his chair. “Hell of a way to run a country.”

  “Amen, brother.” Flame sat down next to him. “Did Eric fill you in on the current problem?”

  “Yeah.” Aesop smiled. “Reminds me of a movie—the Return of the Seven.” He turned toward Flame. “Some Mexican grabs a whole village to build a church for him…”

  “That’s not anything like what we’ve got…”

  “Quiet!” Aesop glared at him. “Let me finish.” He leaned back. “Yul Brynner and Robert Fuller,” he said and smiled. “Filling in for the great Steve McQueen, put together a group of gunmen and rescue the hostages and kill a shitload of bad Mexicans.” He raised an eyebrow. “But the fight doesn’t really end until the Mexican leader buys it—shot by Brynner in the middle of the town square.”

  “So that makes me Brynner, right?”

  “Yep,” Aesop’s smile widened. “And I’m McQueen—the real thing.”

  “You’re not going.”

  Aesop rocked back in his seat. “What do you mean, I’m not going?!”

  “Face it, man—you’ve done a great job so far when we didn’t have to cross a lot of country or maneuver over rough ground, but we’re going to have to do both on this mission.” Flame shook his head. “I just don’t think you’re up to it.”

  “But…”

  “You’re still gonna have a job—we have to cover some more of these Sinope dudes while they find and recover their missing drone—I figure you’re going to handle that.”

  “Flame, I can handle the movement—you saw how well I did in Scarsdale…”

  “Sorry,” Flame shook his head. “I’m not going to take the chance—with my life or yours.”

  “Shit.” Aesop glared at him. “At least I sleep at night.”

  “Hey!” Flame half rose. “That’s hitting below the belt!”

  “Gentlemen!” Dana’s voice dropped them both back into their seats. “Save the fight for Iran.” She dumped a stack of papers on the conference table and gestured for Bivens to join them. “I’ve talked to the admiral—who very much wants us to take this mission.”

  “Why’s that?” Flame was genuinely curious—he didn’t see what the old man gained from this particular job.

  “He’d like us to establish a rapport with the Sinope people—thinks it would be good for both sides.” She looked down at the paperwork in front of her. “Besides, there’re three American girls stuck in the middle of this—and he wants them out of it.” She looked at the two men. “So do I.”

  “So what do we have?” Flame looked at the big screen. “Show me.”

  ***

  “Okay,” Flame said ten minutes later. “I think that will work.” He turned to Dana. “We’re gonna need more men—gunfighters who’ll go in with me.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “Bremby’s putting together a list now.” He leaned forward. “We’re also going to need some munitions that even Bremby can’t get—explosives mostly—and some vehicles.”

  “The admiral will supply almost anything we need.”

  “I want Aesop here to cover the base camp,” he said as he glanced at his friend. “With Bremby as a backup.”

  “That squares with what I had in mind.” Dana nodded. “Eric and I will be there too.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “I think it’s best to keep our lines of communication as short as possible. It’ll make commo discipline that much easier.”

  “Fair enough.” Flame nodded. “Then we tell those two old spooks we’re gonna do it?”

  “We do.” Dana leaned back. “And Flame?” She looked into his eyes. “Talk to Kimberly—please? We need you at full strength.”

  “Not yet.” Flame shook his head. “I’m not ready yet.”

  “When will you be ready, buddy?” Aesop put a big hand on his shoulder. “It’s been nearly three months.”

  “Not yet,” Flame repeated, scratching the newly-healed skin of his side. “Maybe when we get back…”

  ***

  Liz McKinnon smiled as she watched her jailer bring in three sleeping mats. She was sure these were identical to the ones being used by the soldiers in the rude barracks buildings she had identified from her window—and was satisfied that he had done his best for the three girls. It’s always good to keep things as friendly as possible, she told herself. It also helps to speak the language.

  The meal he had brought for them had been quite adequate—and, she was sure, the same sort of food the rest of the camp was eating. I hope I made my gratitude clear to him, she thought, knowing her Farsi was far from perfect. But he can understand me—and that’s enough for now. She hoped she wouldn’t be in this cell long enough to grow fluent.

  The other girls had gobbled down their food as quickly as they could, putting their backs to the far wall when their jailer entered the cell. Hirbod, Liz reminded herself—his name is Hirbod and he’s a junior Sergeant in the Republican Guard.

  Hirbod had been nothing but courteous to the three women—Liz knew that such treatment was customary in various Iranian tribes although non-existent in the larger, more so-called civilized, cities.

  We want to keep him friendly, she knew. Keep him on our side. She watched the man set up the sleeping mats. It might be a good thing to have someone—anyone—on our side in the days ahead…

  She smiled as Hirbod turned to the last sleeping mat—the one she would be using.

  ***

  “You will go?” Marmor seemed surprised at Dana’s statement. “You’re willing to take the risks?”

  “We’re in business to eliminate risk,” she told him. “The trick is to plan well enough that you are prepared for almost anything that can happen.”

  “Your plan is that good?” Silverstein looked skeptical.

  “Good enough for us to give it a try.” Flame’s face showed no emotion. “Especially with so much at stake.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “Barring any logistical problems…” Dana glanced at Flame who nodded once. “We should be in country within forty-eight hours.”

  “I’ll consult with my group and arrange for someone to rendezvous with you at the crash…” Marmor smiled and gestured. “I mean the dig site.”

  “Aesop here will be in charge of security at the site.” Dana gestured at the big SEAL. “As per our agreement, his word is law.”

  “Yes.” Marmor nodded. “We’re happy with that.”

  “Eric and I will handle communications and intel for the insertion team.” She nodded at her partner. “Flame will be in charge of the team.”

  “And you really think you can get in and out safely?” Silverstein put in.

  “We’ll get in all right,” Flame looked into the Mossad operative’s eyes. “Getting out will be the trick.”

  The meeting broke up a few minutes later. Marmor and Silverstein rushed off to report to the other members of Sinope while Flame and Dana waited for Bremby to arrive with his list of candidates for Flame’s team. They both hoped that the gunfighters they were about to hire were good enough to carry out the mission.

  Flame’s life would depend upon that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Flame used the long trip to Iraq to study his new teammates. He already knew Gino Gonda quite well, both from their shared time in the military and a recent job in the States.

  Gino had broken faith during that job, almost getting the girl they were guarding killed. Flame had immediately fired him—and almost taken his head off for good measure. They’d been out of touch ever since—but now, needing all the muscle available, Flame had been persuaded to give Gino one more chance.

  He hoped the man didn’t screw up again but thought he’d be okay if he wasn’t in a position to let his dick do his thinking for him.

  Next to Gino was Warren “Topper” Helmers. Topper was a big man—only an inch or so shorter than Flame himself and with hair every bit as red, albeit cut far shorter. He’d spent a busy eight years in Special Forces but had been forced to get out when his little brother developed a particularly nasty form of cancer. The Helmers family had no insurance and Topper didn’t make enough as an Army E-6 to help them cover the medical bills. Outside military service, however, his talents and experience were worth a great deal of money. Bremby had contacted him just as the big man was poised to sign a contract with Academi—the outfit once known as Blackwater.

  He’d been more than happy to take the job Bremby offered instead. He had worked with the arms expert in Afghanistan and, truth be told, was happy to avoid becoming associated with Academi—despite the change in name, the Blackwater brand still had a bit of a stench around it.

  The third man, Paul “Fixer” Francis, had caused a bit of an argument between Flame and Bremby. He was Marine Force Recon, which, as Flame was quick to point out, was not the same as being a Ranger or a SEAL.

  “Hell,” Flame had told his friend. “They say they’re just like Navy SEALs because they go through the same kind of training in airborne and combat diving techniques…” He made a throwaway gesture as he spoke. “But while SEALs like me kill the enemy, Force Recon just gathers intelligence about them.” He raised an eyebrow. “A Force Recon boy once told me that his mission wasn’t truly successful if he didn’t accomplish it without a single shot being fired.”

  He gave Bremby a hard look. “There will damn certainly well be a whole bunch of shots fired on this mission!”

  “Fixer can shoot,” the armaments expert countered calmly. “Probably as well as you can. And the fact that he’s been trained to gather intel without shooting the place up might just come in handy in this case—remember, we’re supposed to save the girls and the Professors, not shoot the shit out of them!”

  Flame had been forced to concede the point and signed off on the Tennessean.

  Now, some forty hours later, the team was stretching as they deplaned at Baghdad International Airport (formerly Saddam International). The admiral had made the necessary arrangements and the group slid through customs without so much as a cursory search—a good thing as their bags held an assortment of killing gear and explosives.

  Once past Iraqi officials, they were met by two young men—as arranged by the admiral—who escorted the incoming team to a parking lot on the airport’s perimeter.

  “We were told you needed some very specific transport,” the first of the men said, his eyes hidden behind very dark sunglasses as he gestured behind him. “I hope these will do.”

  The three vehicles he pointed at were built by Iranian Fath Vehicle Industries—Safirs to the average soldier. One was configured for passengers, a second for communications and control—but it was the third vehicle that caught Flame’s eye.

  “The admiral told us you wanted a Ma Deuce,” the second young man told him. “We couldn’t find one that we felt was totally trustworthy—but this was available…”

  In a 360-degree roof-mount on the cab of the vehicle sat a state-of-the-art Dillon Aero Gatling Gun, a weapon that Flame knew was capable of firing 3000 rounds per minute.

  “Who can use that thing?” Flame asked the group of gunfighters who had followed him out of the airport. “Aside from you,” he said, shaking his head as Bremby’s hand immediately came up.

  “Too big for me, ” Gino Gonda announced. “I prefer my M4.”

  “I can use it.” Topper Helmers nodded and stepped forward. “I’ve done some work with the M134—this can’t be much different.”

  “How about you?” Flame looked at the third member of his group.

  “I’ve seen the schematics.” Fixer Francis shrugged. “But I sure never got a chance to fire one of those suckers.”

  “Okay—Topper, you have top turret.”

  “Got it.” Topper tossed his bag into the back of the Safir and climbed up into the vehicle.

  With that settled, the rest of the team was split up by Flame and Dana and spread out between the three vehicles. The rest of their equipment was tossed into the passenger vehicle which, they quickly discovered, was already packed with a variety of goodies—courtesy of the admiral.

  Bremby climbed into the driver’s seat of that Safir with Francis as company.