“This is the President.”

“Mrs. Todd, we’ve just learned that plotters in Iran are targeting their president. We believe it’s the same group responsible for the missile. They’ve put a bomb on his plane at the Tehran International Airport.”

“We’re certain of this?”

“Reasonably certain. The plane is due to take off for the States inside an hour. It’s on the ground at Imam Khomeini International Airport, near Hangar Five. The bomb was just delivered to the airport.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reid.” The President pushed back her chair. “Do we have new information on the warhead?”

“No ma’am. The Air Force F-15Es should be ready to take off in just a few minutes. The task force in charge of securing and removing the weapon is being gathered. We’ve added a Marine combat team, and will get additional forces if possible.”

Todd put down the phone and bent her head down, resting her forehead on her fingertips.

It made sense now—a faction of the Revolutionary Guard would attempt to assassinate the country’s president, while launching a suicide attack against Israel. There would be chaos in the country. They would take over.

Except there’d be nothing left to take over. Israel would turn the country into a nuclear wasteland, desolate for the next two hundred years.

No. They would stop it all in time. She had the right people in place, thank God.

If she warned the Iranian president, would it inadvertently hamper the mission to stop the missile and retrieve the warhead? If the army and air force in Iran went on alert, how much harder would it be for the Air Force to find its target?

But she had to warn him. Just as she had to warn the Israelis.

Todd picked up the phone. There was a good chance the Iranian president wouldn’t believe her, but she would try anyway.

77

Over Saudi Arabia

BREANNA AND THE C-17 PILOT, CAPTAIN FREDERICK, HAD just settled on the course into Baghdad when Danny Freah called her from Iran. The MY-PID routed the call from its network to her sat phone; the connection was slightly delayed but so clear she could hear him gulping for air as he ran and talked to her at the same time.

“They’re getting ready to launch,” said Danny. “They have the oxidizer in and they’re almost done with the fuel. They’re putting the nose to the warhead on. They’re going to launch, Bree.”

“Now?”

“Any second. Ten minutes at most. I’m going to stop them.”

“Danny—”

“Hera’s with me. We’ll blow up the missile.”

“But—”

“I’m on it. Don’t worry.”

There was a strain in his voice she’d never heard before. For the first time since the mission began, Breanna felt truly scared.

“Godspeed” was all she could say.

78

Northern Iran

DANNY PUSHED DOWN THE RAVINE, CUTTING TOWARD THE rear of the complex in a wide arc. He came up a short hill, then plunged into a thicket of prickle bushes. The stickers clawed at him and the brush was so thick that he realized after a dozen yards that he had lost his way. He stopped to get his bearings and gather his breath.

“What are we doing?” said Hera.

“Tell me how to get down to the rear of the missile storage building,” Danny told the Voice. “I want to get down there without being seen. But I want to get down as quickly as possible.”

“Computing,” said the machine. “Go thirty meters to the east, then make a fifty degree turn.”

For the next sixty or seventy yards, the Voice seemed omniscient. First it took them out of brush, guiding them to a copse and an easily climbed set of rocks. But then the computer started them to the north, working through an open field that Danny thought they could easily have cut through.

Did he trust MY-PID or not? It couldn’t explain itself when he asked why it was leading them that way, saying only that it had calculated the route according to his specifications.

“We’re going to end up back at the sea the way we’re going,” groused Hera.

Finally they took a turn to the east. But the going became much tougher—they were walking through thick sticker bushes, which pulled at their clothes and smacked at their faces.

The Voice told Danny they would have to crawl for twenty meters. He got down on his hands and knees. Feeling a little like he was the butt of a joke, he crawled until he came to a barbed-wire fence. He held up the fence and waited for Hera. Once she was through, he slipped under himself.

“Target shed is three hundred meters ahead. Follow the unused roadbed.”

The computer had used old satellite images, as well as its view from the Owl, to find the roadway, which after the turn under the fence was hidden from the launch area by the buildings. Danny slipped his night goggles down around his neck; there was more than enough light to see. He checked his grenade launcher and rifle.

“Be ready to fire,” he told Hera. Then he rose and began running toward the missile building.

BANI ABERHADJI WATCHED AS THE WORKERS BALANCED ON the ladder, performing the last checks while the fuel was topped off. The elation he’d felt earlier had dissipated. He was back to being the man he’d been throughout his life—the quiet problem solver, the thinker always several steps ahead.

After the missile was launched, he would go north to a safe house in the hills overlooking the Caspian Sea. There, he would begin reaching out to his Guard contacts, getting things in line to take control of the council.

If he had to, he could evacuate temporarily to Baku. It was not his preferred course, but it might be necessary, depending on the West’s reaction.

“Imam, we are ready to begin the countdown,” said Abas. “You need to unlock the code on the primary pump.”

It was an extra safeguard the brothers had worked out, making it impossible for anyone but him to fire the weapon.

Aberhadji nodded, and began walking toward the base of the erector.

THE BUZZ OF THE MACHINERY WAS SO LOUD THAT DANNY had trouble hearing the Voice.

“Repeat.”

“Battery in Owl UAV is drained to within five minutes.”

“Copy,” he said. There was nothing he could do about it.

As he neared the back of the missile building, he angled toward the launching area, trotting, trying to conserve his energy for the final charge, trying to keep his adrenaline and emotions under control.

Just then two men came out of the front of the building, turning the corner toward him.

The fear that he had struggled alternately to contain and to ignore broke its bounds, exploding inside him. It was a dragon inside his chest, its hot breath immolating every inch of his flesh, every bone, every organ.

Kill, or be killed.

Danny fired a burst into their midsections. They crumpled, almost disintegrating in front of him.

Everything blurred. He bent forward, running faster, his head pounding. His chest felt as if it would explode. The blood vessels in his neck bulged, the blood threatening to spurt through their walls.

The missile was forty yards away. He dropped to a knee and fired a grenade. The projectile rose in a high arc toward the body of the missile, sailing directly toward the thick midsection. At the last moment it veered to the left, skimming against the side and falling beyond.

Danny pumped in another round. Someone began firing at him. The grenade exploded in the distance.

“Get down!” yelled Hera, throwing herself on top of him as he fired his second round.