thoughts and she looked up to see their object standing before her.
“Good evening, Carol,” David Lay greeted softly, uncertainty in his tones. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. Whether grief for the unrecoverable past or the men he had lost this night, she had no way of knowing.
“I need you and Carter in Conference Room #2. Five minutes.”
And then he was gone as quick as he had arrived. As it always had been…
2:45 A.M. Tehran Time
The crash site
Darkness surrounded him, enrobing him in its folds. Tancretti tried to move again, searing pain shooting through him. His legs were broken. He was helpless. Helpless .
It wasn’t a familiar situation for the Air Force colonel. He had always been the one in charge, controlling his actions. Guiding his destiny.
He nearly blacked out again, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out. The metallic taste of blood seeped into his mouth, oozing from a cut lip.
From above him, around him, he could hear the sound of small-arms fire, the sound of men selling their lives as dearly as possible. He fumbled desperately for the service automatic at his belt, rolling over on one side to extract it from its holster. Fear seemed to rise in his throat, fear he had tried to suppress ever since the CIA agent had left. Ever since he had been alone.
The Beretta was a comforting bulk in his hand, fifteen 9mm rounds making him just as effective as any man with both his legs under him. Just as effective.
Suddenly, a figure loomed out of the darkness and Tancretti brought the pistol up in both hands, his voice trembling as he cried out a challenge.
“Easy,” the figure replied. English.
Relief washed over the colonel like a tidal wave. He couldn’t see the face in the darkness, but it must be one of the CIA men. He was saved.
The figure shifted and in that movement, Tancretti could see the gleam of a knife blade. He screamed and tried to roll away, knowing his legs could not move him. Knowing he was going to die. His fingers pressed the trigger reflexively, a single wild shot filling the cave with its echo.
It was too late. It changed nothing. His target moved as he fired, fingers reaching down to grasp the wrist of his gun hand.
The knife swung down in its long, curving arc, slicing across his throat. And it was over. All over…
5:48 A.M. Eastern Time
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
The walls of the conference room were soundproofed to shut out the sounds of the bustling operations center outside, the windows coated with a thin sheath of Teflon to dampen the vibration of voices against the glass. Even here in the heart of the Agency, the possibility of someone using a laser mic to record conversations could not be ruled out.
Lay looked up as the door opened and his daughter walked in. His may have been a prejudiced appraisal, but she was heart-achingly beautiful, her mother written there in every gesture, every smile, the light in those azure blue eyes. Trisha.
He pushed the vision aside with an effort and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
“What is shared here,” he began, “stays here for reasons I’m sure I don’t need to explain to either of you. We are facing a crisis. As you both know, we are proceeding under the assumption that Alpha Team has been taken out. They were drawn into a carefully laid trap. Which means somehow, someway, the regime knew they were coming. While we will continue our efforts to reestablish contact with the team, we must move on to the next facet of the problem. How did they learn of our plans? Ron?”
The analyst shook his head. “Nothing, boss. Absolutely nothing. If someone got in, they’re a lot better than I am.”
“Probability?”
Carter smiled sheepishly. “Our security programs are ironclad and I’ve been working with computers since the Commodore. It’s not an impossibility, but it’s sure not probable.”
“Carol?”
“I concur with Ron,” his daughter responded.
“Good evening, Carol,” David Lay greeted softly, uncertainty in his tones. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. Whether grief for the unrecoverable past or the men he had lost this night, she had no way of knowing.
“I need you and Carter in Conference Room #2. Five minutes.”
And then he was gone as quick as he had arrived. As it always had been…
2:45 A.M. Tehran Time
The crash site
Darkness surrounded him, enrobing him in its folds. Tancretti tried to move again, searing pain shooting through him. His legs were broken. He was helpless. Helpless .
It wasn’t a familiar situation for the Air Force colonel. He had always been the one in charge, controlling his actions. Guiding his destiny.
He nearly blacked out again, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out. The metallic taste of blood seeped into his mouth, oozing from a cut lip.
From above him, around him, he could hear the sound of small-arms fire, the sound of men selling their lives as dearly as possible. He fumbled desperately for the service automatic at his belt, rolling over on one side to extract it from its holster. Fear seemed to rise in his throat, fear he had tried to suppress ever since the CIA agent had left. Ever since he had been alone.
The Beretta was a comforting bulk in his hand, fifteen 9mm rounds making him just as effective as any man with both his legs under him. Just as effective.
Suddenly, a figure loomed out of the darkness and Tancretti brought the pistol up in both hands, his voice trembling as he cried out a challenge.
“Easy,” the figure replied. English.
Relief washed over the colonel like a tidal wave. He couldn’t see the face in the darkness, but it must be one of the CIA men. He was saved.
The figure shifted and in that movement, Tancretti could see the gleam of a knife blade. He screamed and tried to roll away, knowing his legs could not move him. Knowing he was going to die. His fingers pressed the trigger reflexively, a single wild shot filling the cave with its echo.
It was too late. It changed nothing. His target moved as he fired, fingers reaching down to grasp the wrist of his gun hand.
The knife swung down in its long, curving arc, slicing across his throat. And it was over. All over…
5:48 A.M. Eastern Time
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
The walls of the conference room were soundproofed to shut out the sounds of the bustling operations center outside, the windows coated with a thin sheath of Teflon to dampen the vibration of voices against the glass. Even here in the heart of the Agency, the possibility of someone using a laser mic to record conversations could not be ruled out.
Lay looked up as the door opened and his daughter walked in. His may have been a prejudiced appraisal, but she was heart-achingly beautiful, her mother written there in every gesture, every smile, the light in those azure blue eyes. Trisha.
He pushed the vision aside with an effort and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
“What is shared here,” he began, “stays here for reasons I’m sure I don’t need to explain to either of you. We are facing a crisis. As you both know, we are proceeding under the assumption that Alpha Team has been taken out. They were drawn into a carefully laid trap. Which means somehow, someway, the regime knew they were coming. While we will continue our efforts to reestablish contact with the team, we must move on to the next facet of the problem. How did they learn of our plans? Ron?”
The analyst shook his head. “Nothing, boss. Absolutely nothing. If someone got in, they’re a lot better than I am.”
“Probability?”
Carter smiled sheepishly. “Our security programs are ironclad and I’ve been working with computers since the Commodore. It’s not an impossibility, but it’s sure not probable.”
“Carol?”
“I concur with Ron,” his daughter responded.
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