Strike on iran, p.22
Strike on Iran, page 22
And then he tensed. They were passing the north side of the square, and a group of soldiers were walking straight toward them. They’d probably ignore them, but at the side of them a couple of cops were flanking them, and both had their gaze fixed on Nolan and Mitra. They stopped in front of them. The older man held up his hand in an unmistakable gesture.
“Stop. Who are you, what are you doing here?”
They both wore sunglasses, dark blue shirts and pants, with matching berets and holstered pistols on one side of their belts, and a long baton the other side. The older man had the three chevrons of a sergeant, and the paunch of someone who’d let himself go to seed.
“Why are you preventing us from going about our business?” Mitra flared. “You have no right to stop us on the street. We’re doing nothing wrong.”
“This town has been designated a special security area. All citizens must show their papers and explain their business.” His stern expression changed to a cruel smile. “You do have papers, Madam?”
The soldiers had walked on, not interested in a minor piece of cop business. Nolan stole a look around. They were temporarily on their own. He put his hand into his overall and felt for the butt of his Sig. It’d be risky taking down a couple of cops in such a public place, but there may be no other way.
“Of course we have papers,” Mitra answered, still playing the aggrieved innocent. Nolan wasn’t sure it was the right way deal with these cops, but she was the one with local knowledge.
“Unfortunately, we have come to deliver supplies to the local Mullah, and we came in a hurry when we heard the soldiers were here, in case they closed off the town. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure we bring our papers next time. It was just an oversight.”
The cop shook his head. “You should know better than to walk around without papers. You know the law. You’ll have to come with us.” He nodded to his companion. “Get on the radio and call for a van to take them in.”
Nolan looked back at Mitra, who was smiling at him.
Smiling?
“Please, don’t do that. Can’t we come to some arrangement?”
“What sort of arrangement?” He sneered at her. Then he looked at the other cop and shook his head slightly, warning him to hold off on the radio.
“There’s an empty store across the street, why don’t we find somewhere to make ourselves comfortable?” the cop with radio said, leering at her.
The older cop looked unsure, but the younger one nudged him. “Come on, Sarge, why not? It’s alright for you, you’re married, but I haven’t had a woman, well, not since we busted that brothel racket. That was six months ago.”
The older cop nodded. “Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I get much opportunity to dance the mattress tango, Samir. I’ll keep an eye on them. Go and kick the door open, just make sure there’s no one in there. We’ll give this girl a taste of real men. Is this derelict your husband? Why does he not speak for you?”
“Of course not. I am not married. He is my cousin. He can’t speak. He’s a bit, you know.” She made a twirling motion with her hand against her head. The cop grinned.
“He’s a lunatic, is he? Maybe we can help him learn a thing or two.”
The other cop had kicked down the door and entered the store. He came back out and signaled them across.
“Okay, let’s go, both of you. And this’d better be good. I’m not breaking the rules for nothing.”
“Please don’t hurt me. I can go home for my papers. Please!”
He laughed as he pushed them both along. They went inside with both cops behind them. They were more interested in Mitra and seemed to forget about Nolan. The interior was dark and gloomy. It smelled damp and musty. It was bare of furniture, but there was a threadbare rug on the floor.
“Get down on your knees, and take that chador off so I can see you. You can suck off my dick. If I lie with a woman, my wife would know as soon as I got home. Hurry up, girl, we haven’t got all day.”
Nolan noticed the man’s voice was hoarse with desire.
Good, he’ll be sloppy.
His comrade was staring at the girl with unbridled lust as she removed her chador. His pants betrayed him as his erection tented out from his crotch. The older man unzipped his fly and his penis leapt out, excited and erect. Mitra stared at it.
“Don’t just stare at it,” the cop croaked. “On your knees and start sucking. By the prophet, I need this.”
She slowly dropped to her knees.
“Open your mouth, whore. It’s time you had a real man in there.”
Nolan shot the younger cop first. He reasoned the guy with his dick hanging out of his pants was not likely to react fast. The man saw his hand move into the overall and snatch it back out holding the silenced Sig Sauer. He made a move toward his holster, but he was slow. This was a cop who’d terrorized the locals for far too long, without anyone putting up any opposition or protest. ‘Phut’. A single round took him in the throat, and a second hit him in the chest, stopping his heart. Nolan swiveled to cover the older cop. The sergeant slowly put up his hands, looking comical with his rapidly dwindling penis shriveling back inside his fly.
“No, please, don’t shoot. I have a family, children, my wife, they…”
“You shouldn’t have put your cock before them, buddy,” Nolan said quietly as he pulled the trigger. Another double tap and the man was flung backwards to the floor. Mitra shivered as his corpse landed next to her. Nolan held out his hand to help her up, but she ignored it and got to her feet, pulling on her chador.
“Keep an eye on the door. I’ll find somewhere to stash these bodies. The longer it takes to find them, the more time we have to get out of here.”
She nodded and walked slowly to the front of the store. Nolan dragged the bodies to the back, behind an old countertop. He covered them with debris, lumps of wood, pieces of cardboard, and old newspapers that littered the floor. It would have to do. He checked the rear door, but it was locked by a small padlock even flimsier than the one the cop had smashed to get into the store. He went out to the front where Mitra waited.
“Come on, let’s go.”
* * *
They exited the store and bumped straight into the arms of a senior Pasdaran officer, a colonel. He’d been walking past, flanked by a squad of four men. Two walked either side of him.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” he said politely.
He looked at her with no interest and then at Nolan. His eyes flickered with recognition. “You!”
Abdul Hussein shouted at his men, “Arrest these two people. They are spies, Americans!”
Nolan snatched his Sig Sauer from under his overalls and shot the first man that came near; the quiet ‘phut’ lost in the noise of the town around them. The other three were clawing for their weapons. He couldn’t shoot all of them, not in the open street. He did the only thing possible and gripped Abdul’s arm and twisted it behind him. He ground the barrel of the Sig into the man’s neck.
“Don’t come any nearer, any of you! One step, and he’s dead.”
They stopped, gaging the possibility of getting to Nolan before he shot their officer. The three soldiers edged nearer, but Mitra rapped out an order.
“He’s not joking. If you want this man to die, keep coming. Otherwise, step back. Don’t be stupid. If he dies because of your stupidity, it’ll be the last mistake you ever make. Get back! Leave the guns in the holsters!”
They did as she told them, but Nolan knew it was just a matter of time before they made their move.
“Mitra, get back into the store.”
“But, we’ll be trapped.”
“Do as I say. It’s okay.”
She moved fearfully toward the doorway. Nolan pulled Abdul, keeping his body between him and the soldiers. He stopped when a gun barrel pressed against his neck.
“Release the Colonel, you dog. Do it now, or you die.”
He stood still for a moment, but he was out of options. He pushed Abdul toward his soldiers and waited.
“Now put down the pistol.”
He bent down slowly, twisting at the same time to see who was behind him. A young Pasdaran officer, probably Colonel Abdul Hussein’s gofer, had crept up unnoticed behind him. He was still holding a pistol pointed directly at Nolan’s head. The three remaining soldiers dropped their hands to their holsters and clawed for their weapons, their faces hot with anger at the death of their comrade. They stopped as a shot roared out, echoing around the street, deafening in the confined space. Nolan threw a look behind him. Mitra was holding a pistol, a wisp of smoke still coming out of the barrel. It was an Israeli Jericho, a small, 9mm automatic. She’d moved it to cover the soldiers who were watching her carefully. Her eyes were wide with horror at what she’d done.
“David gave it to me, Kyle, just in case. I had to shoot him. I thought he was…”
Nolan nodded. He still had hold of his Sig, and he turned back to cover Abdul and the three Pasdaran soldiers. In the distance, he could hear shouts of alarm.
“Mitra, get into that store. We’re going out the back way. Abdul, don’t even think about trying to stop us, not if you want to live.”
The man smiled. “You won’t get away, Chief Nolan. You and your American friends will hang from a crane in the main square when we arrest you. And I’ll give that girl to my men for a few nights in the barracks. When they’re finished with her, she’ll hang too. And there’s not a thing you can do to stop me.”
“Yeah, maybe, Abdul.”
He squeezed the trigger, and Abdul fell screaming to the ground. Nolan fired two more shots that sent the soldiers scattering out of the way, then he ran through the doorway. He went straight through to the back and shouldered the door. It flew open to a dark and noisome alleyway. When he looked around, Mitra was still stood, frozen in shock.
“We have to go now! Come on.”
“But I…”
“David needs you, Mitra!”
She nodded and followed him out the back door and along the alleyway. They reached the end, and she turned left to go back to the truck. And David Meir.
“Mitra, we need that phone. Where can we buy one?”
“This way.”
She changed direction and ran north along a narrow lane that threaded through people’s houses, past lines of washing hung across the street. They were almost at the end when she saw what she was looking for, a store with most of its wares displayed in the street. Hardware, saucepans, buckets and brooms. But inside were shelves displaying DVD players, portable LCD televisions, radio sets, and cellphones. They darted inside, and Nolan slammed the door shut, turning the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. The owner looked up, but his angry shout choked off when he saw they both carried pistols.
“Take it, whatever you want. There is a little money in the cash drawer. Please don’t shoot me.”
“He’s not going to shoot you, you old fool. We just want to buy a phone.”
“At gunpoint? You only needed to ask.”
“He wants a satphone.”
“In that case, you will have to go to the police station and fill in the forms for a license. It is difficult for a satphone. It could take...”
A few hundred yards away, Nolan could hear the sound of soldiers running, the tramp of boots, and engines starting.
“You’ll have it connected to a satellite service, and you’ve got exactly two minutes, buddy.”
He spread his hands, a look of helplessness on his face. “But it takes months. If the authorities found out, I could…”
“If you don’t make if happen in,” he looked at his watch, “one minute and fifty seconds, you die. It’s your choice.”
The man’s hands shook as he dragged a satphone from a box high up on a shelf. He ripped the packaging to pieces, slammed in a battery from another shelf, and a sim from a drawer underneath his countertop. Then he called up the operator.
“Mohammed, I need to connect this line, right now. Yes, I know it’s irregular. No, I don’t have a license number. I know it’s not procedure, but listen. That girl you wanted, the one who dances in the café? She’s my niece. I can arrange for her to be with you anytime you want. Yes, it’s a promise, but I have to have this line connected now. You’re sure? Okay, half a minute, good. Call in the café tonight, and she’ll be there for you.”
They waited, sweat pouring down the man’s face.
“You’re giving him your niece, this girl from the café?” Mitra asked him, a look of contempt on her face.
“I don’t even know her. I had to say something to get him to cooperate.”
She grinned. “He won’t be happy when he sees you.”
“No, I’ll have to find him another girl. I have four daughters. He may settle for one of those. It was better than dying.”
Her grin faded. “I’d like to shoot you myself, you bastard.”
“No, please, I didn’t mean it.”
“Mitra, keep watch by the door. Tell me if anyone comes near.”
She turned away, and Nolan saw her eyes. They glittered with white-hot anger at the man’s casual use of his daughters to pay off his contact. She looked out through the glass window.
“Soldiers, two of them. They’re walking past, checking inside the stores.”
“Pretend you’re tidying up. Try and look as if you work here. If they try to make contact, tell them you’re stocktaking or something. Maybe you’ve got the IRS here, the tax authorities. Tell them anything, but keep them away.”
She nodded. Nolan jerked around as the phone beeped twice.
“It is connected, ready to use. Now please, take it and go.”
He kept in the shadows at the back of the store and looked toward the front. Two soldiers were gesturing for Mitra to open the door. She’d found a sheaf of papers and was waving them, making writing motions, and they finally got the message. They disappeared further along the street. He turned back to the storeowner.
“Do you have a rear entrance?”
“Yes, yes. You are welcome to use it. Please leave before we are all arrested.”
“Yeah, we’re going. How much?”
“How much?”
“For the phone, for the connection.”
He looked startled. “You’re not stealing them?”
“No.”
The guy picked up a calculator and worked out some figures.
“A quarter of a million rials. Is that too much?”
Nolan grimaced. It seemed like a King’s ransom. “It sounds like a lot, but I only have American dollars. Would you take those?”
“Dollars? Yes, definitely. Two hundred and fifty dollars.”
He nodded with relief. “Yeah, that’s no problem.”
He counted out three one hundred dollar bills and handed them over.
“Keep the change, and thanks for your help.”
The storekeeper still looked at the three bills with astonishment, hardly daring to believe that not only had he not been robbed, but also he’d actually made money out of the deal. “Yes, anytime. You want more phones. You come back to me.”
“Yeah, maybe not. There is one thing. Do you have an old set of clothes you could sell me? Something like that robe thing you’re wearing?”
The man nodded. “I have something, yes, a spare robe for when I am cleaning the store. It is very old and very dirty.”
“If you can throw in a headscarf, something to change my appearance, you’ve got a deal. And sunglasses.”
The man rushed into his storeroom and emerged with the robe and scarf. He helped Nolan into them and then gave him a pair of new sunglasses from his rack.
“How much? Will one hundred dollars cover it?”
“Thank you, Sir, you are very generous.”
“Yeah.” He looked to the front of the shop where Mitra was still keeping watch. “We’re leaving out the back way. Let’s go.”
He tucked his HK416 inside the robe, making certain he had quick access to the Sig, and headed for the back door.
They emerged into a lane at the back of the store. The town had become busier, and there were more civilians walking round, mixed in with the soldiers who looked warily at the crowds; looking for a guy wearing old overalls, accompanied by a woman. Nolan led the way now, hurrying toward the abandoned plant where the rest of the men were hiding out. They reached the factory gate, checked to make certain they weren’t being followed, and went in to join the others.
“This is connected?” Talley asked, looking at the satphone.
“Sure, it’s ready to go. Who’re you going to call up, Boss?”
“Admiral Jacks, that’d be the best bet. I’ll see if I can get through.”
* * *
It took five minutes. First he had to convince a skeptical operator at Coronado to put him through to Jacks’ secretary. Fortunately, Talley knew the man, a petty officer of long service, and he recognized the Lieutenant’s voice. Finally, Jacks came on.
“What’s happening, Lieutenant? Why are you calling me on a regular phone?”
“It’s a satphone, Sir. It’s the best we could do. We need your help.”
They talked at length, and Talley outlined the problem.
“You’re asking me to provide fire support inside Iran? They’re still pretty pissed about the missiles that hit their weapons plant. But on that occasion, we were able to deny it, and they knew there was so much fallout that to prove we’d done anything wrong, their dirty bomb project would have come out. But this is something different. If we get this wrong, we’ll wind up manning a weather station in the Antarctic.”
“We have to have help. There’s no way out otherwise. The town is garrisoned by an entire Pasdaran regiment, and they know we’re here. They’re searching for us now.”
“So you need a Reaper overflight, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Sir, a Reaper would be a start. I’m also asking for an AC130 on standby over the Afghan Iranian border. We could have problems getting across.”
“I’ll do my best. Anything else? What about weapons and equipment?”
