“It is so big and hard, Kyle. I think you must like me.”

  She was still above him, and he pulled her down lower, and she guided his engorged penis into her. She was soaking wet with sexual tension, and he slid in easily. It was his turn to gasp with pure joy, and he felt his penis slide in all the way, and then they started to screw.

  Afterwards, he quickly dressed and buckled on his holster. He thought back to his original comparison, of Mitra with the Italian President’s girlfriend, Ruby the Heart Stealer, Karima El Mahroug. Yes, Mitra was in an altogether, different and higher league than Berlusconi’s girlfriend. But he could understand a man being driven mad by such beauty, by such powerful exotic feminine beauty and allure.

  “Kyle, we must forget this ever happened. Remember, we are in Iran, and I am the daughter of a Mullah.”

  “How could I forget you, Mitra?”

  She smiled. “Because you have your life back home, and people who love you. This was just,” she thought for a few moments. Then her smile widened. “A cultural exchange.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m for culture, always.”

  “Chief!” a voice shouted up the stairs. “Boss needs you, something’s up.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He checked that he had everything, his weapons and kit. Then he kissed her, gently this time, a brush on the lips.

  “Thank you, Mitra. I don’t know what to say. That was, fantastic.”

  “For me too, Kyle. You are a wonderful lover. I wanted you badly when I first saw you. But now you must go.”

  “Will we ever…?”

  “Just go. We are from different worlds. Go back to yours, and think of me sometimes.”

  “Dammit, Mitra. I can’t just leave you like this.”

  “You must. I have my life, and you have yours. And when you are sad, remember this one afternoon in a dusty Iranian city, and this thing we had. Then you will smile. Go!”

  It was as he was walking down the stairs that his mind cleared, and he remembered what bugged him about her description of Goldiz. He walked into the room where the men were sat around with expressions of gloom. Talley looked at him. In front of him were the secure sitcom terminal and a tactical electronic pad.

  “It’s a bust, Chief. I managed to get through to our people in Helmand, and they’ve heard from NSA. They finished decrypting that material, and there’s nothing that points to our target. Not a single fucking thing!”

  “They’re pulling us out,” Will rumbled ominously. “After all we’ve been through to get to this damn place, now they want us to turn tail and run back to Mamma.”

  “You’d better get your gear together, Chief. They’re sending in a couple of helos from Helmand. They’re crossing the border tonight, and we need to be at their LZ by midnight. It’d be too risky to send them further inside the country. The Iranians would pick up their radar signatures, and they’d be dead ducks.”

  “Boss, why don’t you cancel those helos? We can go on with the mission.”

  Talley grinned. “Very funny. But that’s a big N O. Without a location, we could be running around this sandpit for months and not find anything.”

  “Unless I can give you the exact location.”

  “You what!”

  Nolan smiled at the bomb he’d dropped in the room.

  “I know where it is. Goldiz.”

  “Goldiz! No way, that’s the town they saturated with poison gas.”

  “Bullshit. I’d stake my pension there’s no more poison gas there than there is in San Diego.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Will asked, his eyes curious.

  “It’s obvious. Think about it. They wouldn’t destroy a valuable weapons laboratory. And if it were so poisoned, why would the troops who patrol it wear regular camo kit? Surely they’d wear NBC suits, or whatever they have over here. I’m telling you, it’s Goldiz. It’s the perfect cover. A facility they claim to be poisoned, so it keeps everyone away. It sure kept us away.”

  “Christ, you could be right.” He stopped to think for a few moments. “I’ll get on to Helmand again. They could run some high-level telemetry tests. They should be able to determine if the ground’s poisoned or not. And if the Intel boys re-examine the overhead photos, they’ll pick up clues from there. All we need to see is regular troops on patrol without protective gear, and maybe plants and small animals on the ground, and that’d be proof positive. Well done, Chief. Damn it all, this could put us right back on course. How did you work this all out, was if difficult?

  He thought back to the way he’d spent his afternoon. The sloe-eyed beauty, the fragrance that surrounded her, and the spicy mystery of her body.

  “Not really, Boss, no. It wasn’t difficult at all.”

  Chapter Six

  They waited for three hours after Talley had signaled Helmand and requested updated telemetry data from the Goldiz area. They had to wait while the results of overflights were examined and re-examined, and finally the numbers were crunched through the computers. The poison village was a sham.

  “The mission goes ahead,” Talley said quietly. “The telemetry results were all negative, so we now know we only have the Iranian military to deal with, not any poisonous substances.”

  “What are we facing?” Will Bryce called out to him. “Do we have any intel on troop numbers, what kind of ordnance they’re packing over there, anything we need to know about?”

  The Lieutenant nodded. “They’ve sent the latest assessment. It looks like they have two companies of troops in the immediate vicinity.”

  “Regular army? Nolan asked.

  He shook his head. “Pasdaran. These guys are all Revolutionary Guard, and we understand they’re not green troops either. They’re well equipped and well motivated, so if we run into them, we have to kill them mighty fast. They’ve a bunch of helos they use to patrol the area, locally made Panha Shabaviz. It’s some kind of a Bell variant. We need to be careful with those. Most of them are fitted for reconnaissance, but they have a couple fitted out with miniguns. Those gunships are bad news, I don’t need to tell you that.”

  “How do we know which is which?” Brad asked abruptly. “I mean, if there’s a helo on my ass, do I ask them what they’re packing or what?”

  “If one of those things is chasing you down,” Will muttered, “you shoot the bastard out of the sky. When he’s on the ground, you can ask him nicely.”

  Some of the men chuckled.

  “They also have aircraft flying patrols over the area,” he continued.

  The men went silent.

  “They’re flying Mig-29s, but we’re more likely to see Sukhoi SU-24s. They patrol in pairs, and I don’t need to tell you they’re ground attack fighters, and we need to keep well away from them. That’s why we’re going in at night, and we need to out before daybreak. If we’re still around, those fighters could churn us into mincemeat. Next, the ground defenses.”

  The atmosphere in the room was tense as he went on.

  “They have night vision capability, so we need to bear it in mind. These Pasdaran troops are armed with AKMs, which we’re already acquainted with,” he smiled, and there were a few laughs. “As well as RPGs, Soviet DsHK heavy machine guns, and there’s one more thing. Snipers.” Nolan and Merano, the unit snipers, looked up attentively. “Our intel reports they have a small sniper unit undergoing training in the area. Only four men at the last count, but they’re armed with the Iranian made Nakhjir, that’s their version of the Dragunov. It’s true that these Iranians aren’t the most efficient of troops, but these Revolutionary Guard are the exception to the rule. And the snipers even more so. They’re well trained and dedicated, so if you see a long gun sticking out anywhere, you know what to do. Those bastards will kill you quicker than any ground attack helo or DsHK machine gun. Any questions?”

  “When do we leave,” Zeke Murray asked.

  “Tonight, as soon as it’s dark.”

  “Transport, Boss?”

  He looked at Nolan. “Mullah Kareem has arranged for a couple of trucks. The one he used in the raid on the barracks is too noticeable. These trucks are used for transporting dates, so they shouldn’t stink of fish like the last one. One of them is an open backed truck; the other is a box van. We’ll split half the Platoon in each vehicle.”

  Avrim Cohen walked from the rear of the room. “Lieutenant, there are three of us Israelis. I will go with Abdul. Perhaps he could drive one of the trucks as he is an Arab and will not attract attention. David,” he looked at Meir, “you can go in the other, just in case.”

  “You take the box van,” Meir smiled. “I get claustrophobia riding in enclosed vehicles.”

  Avrim grimaced. “You’d better not tell them back in Jerusalem, or you’ll find yourself riding a desk.” He looked across at the Lieutenant. “Does that arrangement suit you?”

  Talley nodded. “Okay, Avrim, Abdul can drive the box van, and you can ride with him in the cab. You’re clear on the objective, communications frequencies, and the exfiltration plan?”

  Because you’d be on your own with the remainder of Bravo Platoon if our truck is destroyed in an airstrike. Those Sukhois would be murderous if they found them.

  Avrim nodded. Talley looked around the room. “That about takes care of it. Chief, split the men into squads for each truck.” He checked his wristwatch. “It’ll be dark in an hour, so let’s get moving. One last thing, the mission objective. This place, Goldiz, is to be destroyed. We can call in a hit if necessary. There are cruise missiles on standby, and the UAVs will be close. It would be better if we could blast the place, but it may not be possible. But when we leave Goldiz, the guys back home want it rubbed off the map.”

  * * *

  Nolan spent the last two hours checking and rechecking his gear. A half hour before the jump off time there was the sound of engines outside. He went out and watched two trucks rumble into the yard. Kareem had opened the gate for them, and hurriedly closed it as soon as they were inside. They were both Renaults, slightly smaller than the fish truck the Mullah had used, but they looked newer, in better repair. Both were sign written in Arabic.

  “These belong to a transport company,” he explained. “They are used for carrying packages all over the eastern part of Iran. You will find them more reliable than my old truck, and much faster.”

  He nodded. “Where did you get them?”

  He hesitated. “The daughter of the owner asked me to arrange for them to be stored. I’m sure she won’t mind me borrowing them. But I would like them back, if possible,” he grinned.

  “I doubt that’ll be possible. They’ll be compromised after the mission. The military will be looking for them all over the country.”

  “In that case, perhaps your country could send her compensation for them. I can always forward any money to her.”

  “Yeah, we can do that. What happened to the owner?”

  He criticized the Ayatollah in Teheran, Khameini, so they came and took him away.”

  “They put him in prison for criticizing your leader?”

  “No, no. They hung him from a crane in the main square of Sa’adat Abad in Teheran.”

  He nodded and walked away.

  Fucking Iranians! Except that Kareem’s an Iranian. I wonder if there are many more like him. Probably not.

  He looked around for Mitra before they left, but she was keeping out of sight. Maybe her father suspected she’d been with the Navy Seal, or maybe she was just busy. He had to fight down feelings of longing for her. In that short space of time, she’d invaded his should with her mysterious, fragrant beauty. Then he though of his kids, as he always did before a mission. And Carol, who was taking care of them back home. With an effort, he pushed the thought of Mitra to the back of his mind. And then Talley came down to the courtyard.

  “Let’s mount up. Lock and load, people.”

  Nolan checked his men aboard the open truck, eight men, seven Seals and David Meir. They climbed into the rear of the vehicle, and he slammed the tailgate closed, making sure a tarpaulin covered them. Then he got behind the wheel and started up the engine as Talley climbed into the passenger seat. He looked around one last time, but there was no sign of Mitra. He started the engine and looked at Talley

  “All set, Boss?”

  Talley nodded. “The other truck is ready. Let’s roll.”

  Kareem was manning the gates. He opened them, Nolan engaged the gears, and drove out into the deserted nighttime streets of Mashhad. The elderly Mullah waved once and then closed the gates behind them. Once more, they were going to do battle with the Iranian military. But this time with the Pasdaran, the Revolutionary Guard. The killer fanatics who were the power behind the brutal, oppressive regime that ruled over life and death in the Islamic Republic.

  * * *

  They reached the outskirts of the city, and following the directions given by Kareem, were able to avoid the checkpoints. The road ran through open desert, and in the distance, they could see a low range of mountains. They crested a hill and stopped at a crossroads. There, in the distance and straight ahead, lay the village of Goldiz, seven miles from their position. But even as they checked out the landscape that lay before their target, the clanking rumble of tracks and the throb of a powerful V8 diesel engine sounded ominously above the low hum of their idling truck engines. It was coming from the track that ran downhill to the north of the crossroads. The men in the rear of the trucks were oblivious; they were effectively blind, but Nolan and Talley had heard the sound too many times before. An armored personnel carrier was about to make an appearance, and they had seconds before it crested.

  “Chief, get out of here, fast!” Talley shouted.

  “Copy that, Boss but the other truck is right behind me, I can’t go backwards. It’ll have to be straight ahead, and they’ll see us coming in Goldiz. That track to the south is too narrow. We’d be sitting ducks.”

  “There’s no choice, take it. We’d better pray the others are alert.”

  He keyed his mic. “This is Bravo One, we have a hot situation here. APC coming up from the north. I say again, APC. Get out of here fast, any way you can.”

  “Copy that, Bravo One, we’re outta here. We’ll rendezvous when we’re clear.”

  Nolan was fighting the wheel as the truck bucked and rolled on soft suspension, hurtling down the hillside toward the heavily guarded village of Goldiz. And behind them, the APC suddenly materialized. The green monster, seen through the night vision goggles, looked like a Soviet BMP.

  “Christ, it’s a BMP, a Boragh. It’s one of their home made APCs.”

  “Is that good news or bad?” Nolan shouted, battling to keep the truck on the road.

  Those guys in the back must be rattling around like peas in a pod!

  “Bad. They upgraded the armament from the old Soviet stuff, and that bastard carries a thirty-millimeter cannon and a 12.7mm DsHK heavy machine gun for secondary armament. If they hit us with a burst, we’re toast.”

  “I’m on it, Boss. But we’ve a way to go before we can get off this road.”

  “It’s too far. Stop and get the guys under cover!”

  He jammed on the brakes and before the truck had rolled to a stop, Talley and Nolan jumped out, ran around the back, and slammed down the tailgate.

  “Out, out, get under cover! Iranian armor, right behind us! Use the M203s. The other truck’s a sitting duck.”

  They leapt out of the truck as if it was on fire. At the side of the road a narrow irrigation ditch provided them with limited cover. Nolan looked up and ducked back as the Boragh opened fire. A curtain of heavy .30 caliber cannon shells hammered out of the main gun and tracked along the road, ripping up chunks of tarmac and stone, and then hit the truck. Holes appeared in the bodywork, and the heavy burst tore it to pieces. Then the shells hit the fuel tank and it exploded with a massive roar. One of the Seals had opened fire with his grenade launcher, and one of the missiles exploded harmlessly ten feet to the side of the BMP. And then it turned its attention on the other truck.

  Whoever was giving the orders; they’d made the wrong call. Either Abdul panicked, or Avrim misread the situation. They neither ran from the BMP nor dived for cover. Instead, they tried to outrun it. The Boragh was powered by a 345 horsepower V8 diesel engine. Even driving on its steel tracks, it was still capable of speeds in excess of forty miles an hour on rough ground. Avrim’s truck had steered onto the unmade track that led to the south. The commercial truck and the armored personnel carrier were evenly matched for speed. The modern Renault could hit eighty mph on the flat, but on uneven ground was slowed to little more than the speed of the Boragh. But the Iranian armor had the cannon, which more than made up for any deficiencies. The end came almost in slow motion. Talley was shouting, “Fire, fire, hit that bastard with the grenades. Hit it, now!”

  The launchers popped and the three Seals in Talley’s squad fired their first grenades. Before they’d landed, they had another three in the air, and then three more. The first grenade exploded, and then the second, bracketing the charging armored vehicle but without damage. The third sailed overhead and went up only feet in front of the Boragh, right next to the most heavily armored part of the vehicle. The first cannon rounds from the 30mm Russian built Shipunov 2A42 automatic cannon threw up chunks of road, and then walked into the fleeing Renault. The fourth grenade hit, this time it smacked against the armored side of the Boragh, but it was not a lethal hit. The fifth grenade landed. This time right on the driver’s viewport. The vehicle started to slew to one side as the driver, either blinded or dead, lost control. But the 30mm cannon kept firing, undamaged by the grenades, and the heavy cannon fire stitched through the rear of the truck and continued on into the cab. The Renault left the road, trailing a cloud of smoke and pieces of metal from the shredded bodywork, and as they watched, it tipped over on its side and slid to a stop. The rear doors came open and a man appeared, trying to climb out. But now it was the turn of the secondary armament, the DsHK 12.7mm heavy machine gun.