He checked his wrist GPS and made a slight correction for course. His altitude looked good, and he determined he was on the correct glide path. He used his night vision goggles to survey the ground below. It was typical desert, wide-open patches of sand with clumps of scrub and small, rocky hills. Their landing ground had been chosen carefully, a flat area of sand, surrounded by low hills that would screen it from any wandering patrols. He saw the sand rushing toward him and relaxed his body, bending his knees, and preparing for the impact. A second later, he touched down and began to stow his ‘chute. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see another Seal descending. It was Will Bryce, who stepped in to another perfect landing, stowed his ‘chute, and joined Nolan to watch the rest of the squad come in for a landing.

  “All we need now is this truck, Chief. Getting to Mashhad on foot ain’t gonna be a barrel of laughs.”

  “If they said he’ll be there, he’ll be there.”

  “He’s a Mullah, Chief. I’m not totally happy about trusting one of those people.”

  Nolan smiled. “They can’t all be bad.”

  “Can’t they? I reckon if…”

  He was interrupted by a low, urgent call from out in the desert. It came from about a half mile away. Both men chambered rounds into their rifles and ran over to a distant cluster of rocks. Avrim Cohen and Abdul Hussein were staring down at a body. They ran over to join them.

  “What’s this, Avrim?”

  He looked up at Nolan, his face grim. “It’s Moshe. He’s dead, and his neck’s broken.”

  “Dead! No way!” Nolan knelt down beside the body of the Israeli and checked his pulse. Nothing.

  “How the hell did it happen?”

  The man shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We came down a little off course, and I couldn’t find him at first. I walked over here and almost tripped over the body.”

  “How come you were off course? Don’t you have GPS?”

  He nodded. “Of course we do, and I checked it all the way down.”

  “Yet you still landed off course?”

  “Yes, it’s strange. I don’t understand it.”

  Nolan exchanged a glance with Will Bryce. There were two possible reasons for the error. Either the Israeli GPS devices were faulty. Or they’d been tampered with. And if that was the case, someone had deliberately tried to interfere with the mission. But who, and why? Avrim was no fool, and he saw the expressions on their faces.

  “I doubt they were tampered with. They came straight out of the IDF Special Forces stores, and David Meir checked them out before we left.”

  At that moment Meir appeared, walking out from the other side of the rock pile. Avrim gave him a sharp look.

  “Where have you been?”

  “My GPS put me in the wrong place, I landed right on the bull’s eye, but it left me more than a half mile from where I should have come down. I think it was faulty.”

  “I thought you checked them out, David.”

  “Of course I checked them out, I’m not a fool,” he replied angrily. “But there’s only so much I can check. I didn’t do a full alignment check, that would have taken too long and we were in a hurry, if you recall. You told me to make it quick.”

  “That’s true, I did. Perhaps a technician has made an error, David. But it cost Moshe his life. He landed in the middle of these rocks and broke his neck.”

  “My God, poor Moshe. It’s hard to believe.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  They heard Talley calling through their earpieces. “This is Bravo One, truck approaching! Get undercover and keep alert. We may need to take this down if he gets too close.”

  They rushed back across the flat sand. The Seals were already deployed in shallow depressions in the sand. Talley was crouched behind a rock pile, and they joined him. The sound of an engine was faint but unmistakable in the distance.

  “There’s a road about three hundred yards to the north. He’s coming from the direction of Mashhad. What happened over there?”

  Avrim told him about the death of Moshe Israel, his voice bitter.

  “He earned promotion during our operation ‘Days of Penitence’, in the Gaza strip, did you know that? No, of course you wouldn’t. He was a hero. He went into Beit Shanoun, a Palestinian town, to rescue one of our soldiers who’d been kidnapped and was about to be executed by the Palestinians. He got him out and killed seven of the enemy. Now he’s dead, in this godforsaken shithole. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “It’s what we sign up for,” Talley said sympathetically. “Accidents do happen.”

  Nolan kept his face neutral. There were a few questions he’d like answered about the ‘accident’, but right now wasn’t the time. The truck was approaching fast, and then it slowed and stopped. The headlights were switched off, and they watched its ghostly green image through their night vision goggles. Abruptly, a flashlight winked in the driver’s cab. Once, then twice. A short pause, and then twice more.

  “It’s him,” Talley said. “That’s Kareem, let’s go. I’ll round up the men. Chief, would you go with Avrim and take a couple of the men to bring back the body.”

  Nolan nodded. “Sure, me and the boys can handle that. The Israelis should stay to check out that truck driver. He’s their guy, after all.”

  “Good plan. Avrim, go forward with your guys and make contact. Call us when you’re certain it’s secure.”

  The Israeli got up. “I will do that. David, Abdul, come with me, and be ready in case this is not Kareem.”

  Nolan raced back to the area where the body of Moshe Israel lay. Will was with him, and they’d brought along Brad and Zeke to help carry him back. He stopped them from picking up the corpse.

  “Wait one, I just need to check this out.”

  Bryce nodded. “Something about it doesn’t smell right.”

  In the green, artificial intensity of his NVS he could see the neck, twisted at an unnatural angle. He leaned closer and examined the man’s neck. There was a dark, red bruise that ran along the side of his neck, right across the line of the carotid artery. A killing blow. An expert killing blow.

  “He was murdered,” Will said savagely. “By one of our people?”

  “There’s no one out here, Will. Who could it be, if not one of us?”

  The men were staring at the surrounding area as if some homicidal nomad was lurking in the shadows. But there was no one, only the tracks of boot marks on the ground that suggested no one other than the Special Forces had been in the immediate vicinity.

  “This is Bravo One, we’re preparing to move out, and we’re waiting by the road. Speed it up, Bravo Three.”

  “Copy that.”

  Nolan nodded to them. “Let’s take him back. I don’t know what Avrim intends to do about the body. I guess he’ll have to bury him here. There’s no way we’ll get him home.”

  They picked up the dead Israeli and carried him across the desert to join up with the rest of the squad. As they were nearing the road, they saw the looming shape of an open backed truck. And something else that made all four of them itchy to put down the corpse and cock their weapons. The turban of a Shi’ite Mullah. Talley intercepted them.

  “This is Mullah Zakariah Kareem, he’s our contact man.”

  They put down the body and Nolan went forward to see who they were dealing with. The Mullah held out his hand. “Please to meet you, American.”

  After a brief pause, Nolan shook. “Yeah, you too.”

  The man was old, incredibly old. Or he looked it. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation. His face was dark brown and wisps of graying hair straggled from out of the sides of his turban. His skin was lined, deeply etched from either age or suffering, or both. Gapped, broken and crooked teeth appeared when he smiled, and the only feature of any note on his ravaged face was his eyes. They were more than brown; almost jet black, yet they shone with a fierce luminescence, almost as if he had some extra powers of vision, perhaps the power to see in the night. Or maybe they were the eyes of a fanatic.

  “You speak English?”

  He nodded. “Of course, yes. I learned English in England. I was there during the nineteen fifties, during the reign of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi. I have found it both a help and a curse since then, but still, I am pleased to be able to speak with my American friends.”

  “Why a curse, Sir?”

  The man smiled, revealing more black gaps than teeth. “Can you imagine the suspicion attached to an Iranian cleric who spoke the language of the Americans, after the revolution when The Ayatollah Khomeini came to power? Everyone who had any connection to America was branded a spy. I spent ten years in a damp cell after they accused me. But then I managed to get out after the Ayatollah died, during the confusion.”

  “So that’s when you decided to help us, the Americans?”

  He looked puzzled. “The Americans? Oh no, not at all. I work for the Israelis.”

  He smiled when he saw Nolan’s expression. “It’s really quite simple. My mother is Jewish. My father married her when he was on an assignment overseas. Naturally, they hid the fact of her religion and brought me up as a Muslim. They eventually found out about her, and she was tortured and executed. It was after that, I decided to work for Israel.”

  “So, you’re no longer a Muslim.”

  He looked surprised. “I am very much a Muslim, and I work as a Mullah, ministering to my people in Mashhad. I am not fighting the Muslims, my friend. It is the Iranian government I fight. For revenge.”

  They both looked around at the sound of digging. Avrim, David and Abdul were digging a grave for their dead comrade. When the shallow hole was large enough, they put the body gently down and covered it with sand.

  “Our people will come back for him,” Avrim said.

  “Don’t worry, I will ensure his grave is not desecrated,” Kareem assured him.

  “Time to get moving, people. We need to be off the streets by daybreak,” Talley called over the commo.

  They climbed aboard the old truck. It was a European Renault, which looked as if it had seen service through two world wars; it was so battered and bent out of shape. And it stank.

  “It was used to transport fish from the Caspian Sea for many years,” Kareem explained. “I am sorry, but it is all I could find at short notice. There is a tarpaulin in the back you can cover yourselves in case we run into a patrol or roadblock.”

  “Do you think we’ll hit any trouble?” Talley asked him.

  “This is Iran, Lieutenant. The police, the Revolutionary Guard, the army or local militia, any of these people could stop us for any reason. Maybe a security check, or even a simple shakedown.”

  “Okay, you hear that men? Stay sharp, and if anyone looks like they’re getting too close, try not to make too much noise.”

  “Too much noise?” Kareem asked.

  “When they kill ‘em,” Talley explained. “Would you care to get the truck moving, Sir? Times a’wasting.”

  * * *

  They made it halfway to Mashhad without problems. Then they saw the roadblock up ahead. Nolan was in the cab with Talley. He spotted the faint glow of a lantern in the far distance.

  “Something up ahead, Boss. Could be a roadblock.”

  “If there is something up there, it will be a roadblock,” Kareem informed them. “That is the place they always choose. The road narrows between two steep hillsides, and there is a deep ravine between them with the bridge built over it.”

  “Is there another way through?”

  He shook his head. “I am afraid not, no. We could always wait. They may return to the city.”

  “We can’t chance it, no. This mission is fully urgent, and our orders are to proceed without delay. Chief, tell the men to be ready. When we draw alongside the guards, take ‘em out. Quietly. Mr. Kareem, describe this bridge to me.”

  While Talley talked to the old Mullah, Nolan keyed his mic and spoke to the men in back.

  “We have a roadblock coming up. We’re taking it out. Vince, be ready to snipe anyone who looks to be in charge. The rest of you, we want to keep this covert, so if we can kill the guards without leaving any traces of a battle, so much the better. That way, we’ll load the bodies into their vehicle, and we’ll take it out into the desert and lose it. Use single shots, automatic fire only if something goes wrong.”

  “Copy that. Avrim wants to know where we want him.”

  “Tell him to hang tight and watch our backs. If they see any stragglers who look like they’re getting away, kill them.”

  “Copy that.”

  They approached the bridge, and the layout of the guard post became clear. They’d positioned a steel post across the road, and thirty yards away on the other side of road a machine-gun position covered the approaches. As far as they could see, the gun was not manned. All they had to contend with were two guards armed with wooden-stocked AKM assault rifles, the later development of the iconic AK-47. They may have been the Chinese copy, known as the type 56. Either way, they packed enough firepower to cause them problems. A hail of 7.62mm bullets was just as lethal, whether they were Chinese or Russian made. Nolan touched his mic.

  “I don’t want any obvious damage to the guard post, so keep it single shots to take out those guards. With any luck, we can hide the bodies, and they won’t know we’ve been here.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Those are not regular infantry!”

  Nolan and Talley looked sharply at the old Mullah. “What do you mean? They don’t look like Special Forces.”

  “They are not Special Forces, Lieutenant, they are Pasdaran, the Revolutionary Guards. Something is wrong. They don’t normally use them to man a simple checkpoint. They would see it as beneath them. They are used when extra security is required.”

  “I’ve heard of them, Sir,” Talley replied. “What’s the difference between them and ordinary troops?”

  The elderly man looked across from the wheel. “In a word, fanaticism. The Pasdaran effectively run the government here in Iran, and their commander even has a powerful seat in the cabinet. Their soldiers used to be paramilitaries, but now they have more than thirty divisions of troops, all of them fanatical followers of the Islamic Revolution. They are totally loyal to the government and hate the West, American in particular.”

  “Our only concern is their fighting abilities, Sir,” Nolan interrupted. “Are they good soldiers?”

  The old man nodded. “Some are, yes, highly dedicated. Others are not so skilled, but they all have one thing in common. They will die for what they believe in.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. So they’re fanatics, we’ll keep that in mind.” He keyed his mic. “The guys are the checkpoint are Revolutionary Guard, so stay sharp and make sure we get them all. These guys don’t play games.”

  “It may not be so easy to kill them without visible damage if they’re likely to put up a fight.” It was Will Bryce’s voice.

  “Just make sure you don’t miss.”

  “Copy that.”

  They drew close to the checkpoint, and when they were only ten yards away, slowing to a stop, the door to the guardhouse opened. Two soldiers came out. One was an officer, who stood and watched the approaching truck. The other man walked over to the machine gun emplacement, sat down beside it, and started to ratchet a round into the breech.

  “We see him,” Will’s voice came over Nolan’s earpiece. “We were talking about which guard to hit first, but it’s decided. Vince has got a bead on him. He’s found a nice little shooting loop in the side of the truck bed. The rest of us will take the other three, and Avrim’ll take his men and sweep the area to make sure there’s no one hanging out in the boonies.”

  “Copy that. Almost there.”

  The Revolutionary Guard stepped out and held up his hand for them to stop. In the darkness, he couldn’t see the two Seals in the cab, but as Kareem stopped the truck, his eyes flared in astonishment. They were the last things he would ever see. A dozen shots thumped out from the back of the truck, and the officer and two men were tossed to the ground like lifeless rag dolls. The machine gunner was quick. He had the reactions of a cat. Even as Nolan watched the guardhouse, prepared to stop any further troops from emerging to join their comrades, he saw the man swinging the barrel of the heavy weapon in their direction. And that was as far as he got. Vince Merano opened fire, and the man went down as two rounds in quick succession ended any aspirations the man might have had for a long and notable military career. He joined his comrades in the sand behind his sandbagged position; another revolutionary fanatic about to enter the Muslim heaven, or wherever these people hoped to end up. Or probably nowhere, just a dusty unmarked grave somewhere in the far wastes of Iran.

  Nolan’s earpiece clicked. “We’ve got soldiers crossing the bridge! Avrim and his guys are waiting to hit them before they get here.”

  Will’s voice, and the three men in the cab strained to see through the gloom, lit only by a few bare bulbs strung along a thin wire running from one side of the bridge to the other. But in its faint light, they could see four men running from the other side of the bridge. And closer to them, Avrim and his two Israelis crouched undercover of the steel bridge struts waiting for them like spiders awaiting the fly into its web. And then they stopped, forty yards short of Avrim’s position and two hundred yards from the truck. Nolan slid his SWS out of the truck cab and sighted on the enemy. Almost along his line of sight, one of the Israelis lifted his head for a better view of the enemy. Vince’s voice came over the commo.

  “I can see one of them, but the angle is wrong for the others.”

  “Copy that, wait for my order.”

  “We should have made certain Avrim and his guys were on our net, Boss,” Nolan murmured to Talley.

  “You’re right, Chief. It won’t happen again. Can you take them?”

  “I can take them, but I need the Israelis to keep their heads down.”

  “Just do your best. We have to finish this, and fast.”

  Just then, he got a clear sight of all three Iranians. He clicked the mic.