After removing a tow rope from the back of the vehicle, Jafari tied it to Okada’s wrists, and began to walk. They had a bottle of water each and that was all. It can’t be far,” Jafari reassured himself. It’s early, the air is cool, and Haatim is waiting.

  Two hours later the water was gone, Jafari was towing Okada, and sweating heavily. She walked stiff legged, stumbled occasionally, and seemed only half conscious. He didn’t care so long as she kept walking.

  The sun passed overhead. Then Jafari saw something shimmer in the distance. The salt dome? Yes! According to the GPS readout on his sat phone they were close. Haatim will be surprised, Jafari thought. He has food and water. All will be well.

  Jafari jerked on the rope. “Come on! We’re almost there.”

  The salt dome continued to take on substance, until Jafari could see the entrance, and a hint of the vehicles parked beyond. Sentries. Where were the sentries?

  The thought was lost as a flock of vultures hopped out of the cave and took to air. Their bellies were full, and they were slow to rise.

  Jafari could smell the dead bodies by that time. And as he dragged Okada into the shade the full extent of the horror was revealed. Bodies lay sprawled all about. Bloated faces were hard to make out because they were easy meat for the vultures.

  Jafari’s first thought was that the bombs had been stolen. He rushed to find out. Okada tripped and fell. Jafari released the rope in his hurry to reach the truck. The back was open. And the bombs were there!

  Jafari felt a surge of relief. The money was important, yes. But keeping his promise to Wali was critical. Everyone knew that bad things happened to anyone stupid enough to cross the Butcher of Kom.

  So, if there was no robbery, what then? Where was Haatim?

  Okada knelt in the sand, head bowed, and sobbed quietly as Jafari moved from body to body. All of the enforcers had been shot. But one had been shot in the leg, and stabbed in the chest. A bloody knife lay near an outflung hand. And there, on the inside surface of the man’s forearm, was a tattoo. Tattoos weren’t all that common in Iran. This one consisted of a geometric representation of a star. Haatim. It had to be Haatim.

  Jafari began to cry. Haatim had been like a son to him. The boy into whom all of his wisdom, ambition, and love had been poured. Dead in the desert.

  Jafari flinched as a gun fired and a bullet snapped past his head. He turned to find that Okada was on her feet holding a pistol in both hands. She was dehydrated, and she was tired, so the weapon wandered from side-to-side. Jafari stood and offered a hand. “Give me the gun.”

  Okada fired three additional shots before the pistol ran dry. All of the bullets missed. She continued to jerk the trigger as Jafari arrived to remove the weapon from her hands. He was gentle. He couldn’t help but respect Okada for trying. Plus, he needed her.

  Jafari led Okada over to one of the SUVs and opened the back. There were duffle bags, tools, and a dozen bottles of water in a cardboard box.

  There was food too. Snacks mostly … But something was better than nothing. “Have some water,” Jafari said. “And rest up … You can sleep in the back seat if you want to.”

  Then, lest Okada try to kill him again, Jafari went looking for weapons. There were plenty to find. After adding a second pistol to his personal arsenal, and reloading the weapon he already had, Jafari dropped the remaining guns into a crevice.

  Meanwhile he was thinking. What led to the slaughter—an argument? Or, had some of the enforcers attempted to steal the bombs, while others sided with Haatim? Perhaps a gunfight broke out and all were killed. The truth would never be known.

  The sun was starting to set. And Jafari knew it was unrealistic to continue without rest. But he didn’t want to share the cave with half a dozen rotting bodies. So, he towed most outside for the vultures to feed on.

  Haatim’s body was the single exception. Jafari was exhausted. But, after taking a nap, the Iranian was determined to bathe his nephew’s body, wrap it in a sleeping bag, and bury it at sunrise. Then, he would take the box truck and leave. The rest of his life was waiting.

  ***

  The Kavir Desert, Iran

  The column had been underway for hours. It was hot. Too damned hot. And the trip was monotonous. The sky was empty. The desert was empty. And the horizon was impossible to reach.

  Finn was sitting in a Bradley, head nodding, when he heard Pinnick’s voice. “Alpha-Six. This is Alpha Two. Our Raptor operator spotted what might be the MERCY. It’s about four miles east of our twenty. Over.”

  Finn sat up straight. The mental fog disappeared. “Delta-Seven will take the Strykers and investigate. Watch out for mines and IEDs. Six out.”

  Finn heard a double click by way of an acknowledgement. It seemed to take forever before the Strykers arrived and Revell made his report. “Alpha-Six, this is Delta-Seven,” Platoon Sergeant Revell said. “We’re on site. It’s the Benz alright. The doors are hanging open and the interior is splattered with what appears to be dried blood. Out.”

  Finn felt his spirits plummet. It was silly to hope, but he had.

  The column arrived on scene fifteen minutes later. Finn gave orders to establish a perimeter, authorized a half hour break, and made his way down the Bradley’s rear ramp.

  The sand drifted Mercedes was a hundred feet away. Molly Keaton was there taking pictures. She nodded. “It looks as if Jafari killed Nouri and Beech while they were inside the vehicle.”

  Finn stuck his head inside to look around. Everyone agreed that Jafari had been driving. And, given the ghastly wound to Nouri’s face, Finn figured that the Iranian had been seated in the front passenger seat when Jafari shot him.

  As for Beech, all the blood directly behind Nouri suggested that the scientist had been seated there, with Okada to his left.

  “Check this out,” Keaton said. She was standing beside the SUV, and pointing at the back surface of the driver’s seat.

  Finn stepped in to take a closer look. The cream-colored leather was a mess. At first Finn thought he was looking at some bloody smears. Then he realized that the smears were letters. They spelled, “CAVE.” Finn took a step back, and turned to look at Keaton. “What do you think? Okada?”

  Keaton nodded. “Yes. She’s no dummy. She knew we might find the car. So, she got Jafari to tell her where they were headed, and used some of Beech’s blood to write it down.”

  Finn frowned. “I doubt that Jafari saw it.”

  “Right,” Keaton replied. “There was no attempt to remove it. But, even if he were to see it, Okada knew he wouldn’t kill her.”

  “Because he needs her,” Finn said.

  Keaton nodded. “Exactly.”

  Finn turned his attention to the front of the vehicle. The key was in the ignition. After sliding into the driver’s seat Finn tried to start the SUV. It cranked but wouldn’t start. The gas gauge was sitting on zero. That explained why Jafari had been forced to abandon the Mercedes. And then what?

  Finn thumbed the transmit button on his radio. “Alpha-Seven … This is Alpha-Six actual. It looks like Okada left us a message. Put in a call to the wonks at Central Command. Ask them to search for the location of a cave or something similar within a twenty-five-mile radius of our twenty. And tell them it’s urgent. Out.” Owens acknowledged the order with two clicks.

  The answer came as Strike Team 3 was preparing to depart. Owens arrived just as Finn was about to board a Stryker. “We got lucky, sir … A salt dome is located about four miles east of here. There’s a hollow space inside called the Kahf Alqafila or Caravan Cave. Caravans used to stop there.”

  “That’s got to be it,” Finn said. “I’ll take the Strykers and go ahead. Who knows? Maybe the bombs are sitting there waiting for us! And Okada too.”

  “Sure, they are,” Owens replied. “Majors are such optimists.”

  ***

  Kandahar Stadium, Kandahar, Afghanistan

  Warlord Akhtar Wali was looking forward to the Loya Jirga. But not for the same reasons that the other 2,500 delegates were. Some of the attendees were warlords. But most were elders, business people, and religious figures—all chosen to represent a city or province.

  The gathering was set to take place in Kandahar’s open-air sports stadium on what promised to be a pleasant day. The mood was festive as food vendors, guides, and beggars vied with each other to work the crowd.

  Most of the beggars were female drug addicts with children in tow. Wali felt nothing but contempt for them. They were stupid people doing stupid things.

  The Loya Jirga has a long history in Afghanistan. The most famous gathering took place in 1747, when tribal leaders met in Kandahar to elect a king. After nine days of debate, they chose Ahmad Shah Durrani, the man who founded Afghanistan.

  Now a meeting of considerable consequence was about to take place once again. A young warlord named Taaj al-Qazi hoped to become president in the wake of ex-president Jalaal al-Molla’s assassination. It was al-Qazi’s intention to “… bring Afghanistan into the 21st century.”

  By which al-Qazi meant establishing a federal government that actually worked, a strong judicial system, and equal rights for women. An agenda that Wali strongly opposed. He liked the way things were.

  The crowd parted as Wali’s company-strength force of South African bodyguards pushed their way through the throng. All of the soldiers had served in South Africa’s National Defense Force and were uniformly black. That stemmed from the fact that Wali didn’t trust white people or his fellow Afghans. Besides, the all-black security troops stood out, and were part of his brand. Each soldier wore a red ball cap, a black uniform with red embellishments, and carried scope mounted, AK-15 assault rifles. A pair of patent leather boots completed their outfits.

  The soldiers were by far the smartest looking bodyguards present and, as Wali made his way toward the entrance to the soccer stadium, heads turned to watch them pass.

  Sadly, from Wali’s point of view, only two of his soldiers could accompany him into the sports arena. Wali’s decision to use mercenaries was more than an ego trip. Nine times out of ten warlords were murdered by a relative, an assassin working for a rival, or a combination of the two. That’s why Wali didn’t let such people anywhere near him. And that explained why he was still alive at forty-six years of age.

  Other attendees welcomed Wali by saying, “Salam alaikum.” (Peace be upon you.) Such niceties were absurd since most of the attendees would have been happy to shoot Wali in the face. They’re dogs, Wali thought. But, like dogs, they can be taught to heel.”

  Those who had money, and were willing to spend some of it, could sit in front. But rather than expose his back to hundreds of people, Wali took his place in the top row of seats with a bodyguard seated on either side of him. A strategy intended to make shooting Wali more difficult for snipers, and to prevent strangers from talking to him.

  A continual stream of announcements poured out from the loudspeakers as people filed in. The attendees cheered when the soccer team made a brief appearance. Wali took advantage of the opportunity to make business calls on his sat phone.

  Finally, after half an hour of waiting, the Loya Jirga finally got underway. Wali made use of a small pair of binoculars to eyeball the VIP seats on the far side of the stadium. And sure enough, al-Qazi was there, surrounded by a coterie of sycophants.

  Wali let the binoculars hang so he could use his cell phone. The text message consisted of two words. “He’s here.”

  The reply was equally succinct. “Executing.” It was an ironic choice of words.

  The person on the other end of the interchange was a Russian agent who, as part of Russia’s efforts to cultivate a positive relationship with Afghanistan, had been ordered to assist Wali rather than al-Qazi. A decision driven by the fact that al-Qazi had spent some of his childhood in the United States, and was considered to be soft on the west.

  The fact that Wali had promised to establish an authoritarian regime didn’t hurt either. Because that type of government was easier for the Russians to influence.

  But if the Russians planned to use Wali, he planned to use them as well, and the nuclear bombs would give him the leverage necessary to keep the Russian bear in its cage.

  Wali couldn’t scan the sky. Not without looking suspicious. But he wondered how soon the Russian Kronshtadt Orion UCAV (unmanned combat aerial vehicle) would be visible.

  The Orion was a long endurance, high-altitude surveillance and attack vehicle. But according to most military experts, the Russian UCAV had a long way to go before it would be able to compete with an American Reaper.

  That didn’t matter in this case however. The Orion, which had U.S. markings, could carry four guided missiles. And that would be more than sufficient for the task at hand.

  Wali’s thoughts were interrupted as an engine was heard, people looked up, and half a dozen shoulder-launched missiles streaked into the air. Two of them hit the low flying Orion and caused it to explode.

  But four guided missiles were already on the way. They hit the section of seats where al-Qazi was sitting and killed dozens of people. Wali resisted the impulse to use his binoculars lest the act be remembered and remarked upon.

  Instead, he allowed his bodyguards to hustle him out of the stadium. Other warlords were being evacuated as well. After all, if there was one drone attack, there could be another.

  Wali smiled. Al-Qazi was almost certainly dead. And later, once the police examined the wreckage, they would find pieces of the drone with U.S. markings on them.

  Foreign experts would claim that the UAV was Russian. But the sheeple wouldn’t believe it. They would demand a strongman. Someone with the alkhisiatayn (testicles) to oppose the Americans. And Wali was the obvious candidate.

  ***

  The Kahf Alqafila (Caravan Cave), Iran

  Finn felt a sense of anticipation as the salt dome appeared in the distance. Were the hijackers there? And if so, would they try to run? He ordered the Strykers to circle wide and cut off any attempt to flee. Then he went forward with two Bradleys, half expecting to come under fire.

  Finn was riding in the AX OF ALLAH, as part of an effort to rotate through all of the unit’s vehicles. The Bradley’s commander, a Wakil Raqib (sergeant) named Awi al-Sapek, was eager to please. “We could, how do you say, hose the place down.”

  “We could,” Finn agreed. “But please don’t. Doctor Okada could be in there. Besides, we want prisoners if there are any to be had.”

  “Yes, sir,” al-Sapek said. “We will be ready just in case.”

  “And I take comfort from that,” Finn replied. “Order the driver to hit the brakes. We’re close enough. Drop the ramp.”

  With an M4 carbine in hand Finn led a squad of Saudis toward the salt dome. The closer he got to the cave the less hopeful he was. There should have been some sort of reaction by then. And, when a vulture rose to flap away, Finn knew what to expect.

  The bodies lay side-by-side. Six of them. Even the men’s mothers wouldn’t have been able to recognize the beak-torn faces. And the rest of their bodies had been ravaged as well, leaving little more than stringy sinew, and sections of gleaming bone.

  Finn forced himself to examine them anyway. Was Jafari there? With empty eye sockets staring? Not insofar as he could tell. As for Okada, none of the corpses were small enough to be hers. That came as a huge relief.

  Finn heard a flurry of clicks and turned to find Keaton, a couple of feet away, snapping pictures. He liked her. A lot. Was she obsessed with death? The way her ex said she was? Yes.

  But, how could a war correspondent ignore the obvious byproduct of human conflict, which was death? And street reporters were no different. If there was a car accident with fatalities, every TV crew in town would rush to cover it. “So, who are they?” Keaton wondered out loud.

  “They might be hijackers,” Finn replied. “Maybe the hijackers were hijacked. Let’s go inside.”

  The Saudi soldiers had been told to remain outside until ordered to enter the cavern. Finn was no cop. But even he knew that it was important to preserve a crime scene. Not that a forensic investigation was possible. Still, it made sense to limit foot traffic at first.

  The first thing Finn noticed was that, while two SUVs were present, the box truck and presumably the bombs, were missing. Maybe the hijackers had a falling out, Finn mused. Or maybe anything. But it’s my guess that the dead men were already dead when Jafari arrived.

  So, he took the truck, and left. End of story. Except what about the bombs? Were they on the truck?

  “Perhaps Okada left a message,” Keaton said. “If she did, it might be in one of the SUVs, written on the back of the driver’s seat.”

  The possibility was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. There was something spooky about Keaton’s ability to parse the possibilities of death. “That,” Finn said, “is a good idea. Let’s check.”

  A careful inspection of the SUV parked closest to them produced nothing. But the second vehicle produced a jackpot. There, written with a felt tip pen, was a succinct message. “Have bombs. Headed for A-stan? T-ban? O.”

  Finn backed out of the doorway to let Keaton in. He heard the camera click three or four times—followed by a ripping sound. And, when Keaton turned, he saw the piece of leather in her hand. “I cut it out,” she explained. “The spooks like this kind of stuff.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? Finn asked himself, as he accepted the evidence. She’s smarter than I am. “Thank you. It seems as if I say that rather frequently.”

  Keaton shrugged. “I used to work the police beat. Homicides were my specialty.”

  Of course, they were, Finn thought. Molly is an interesting woman.

  ***

  Zabol, Iran

  Zabol was the capital of Zabol County, Sistan and Baluchestan Province. It was home to Zabol University, was served by a regional airport, and located near Lake Hamun, which was frequently dry. None of which mattered to Jafari. His orders were to follow the Delaram-Zaranj Highway east into Afghanistan, where Wali’s private secretary would meet him, and take delivery of the bombs and Okada.