Recall (20 page)

“What about the prisoners?” Red asked. “We gonna take 'em or burn 'em?”

Jim's hand edged back toward his KA-BAR. Jannat stepped forward and held her arms out straight as if she still carried the tray. They were shivering. “I have baskets. Big ones. The bread merchants use them. You can knock them out—or I have heroin. We can shove them inside, carry them between us, walk through the market to where the transport will pick you up. It's not far. You'll wear the
ch
dors
. No one will know.”

The creases next to her eyes were crisp now, no longer soft and inviting. What was her angle? Why did she care about their prisoners? Wouldn't she want them dead? Fewer witnesses. Could a whore have a conscience? No, it had to be fear for her life.

“Go make sure the general left,” he said. A nod to Lieutenant Richards sent him following her. Jim grabbed Salar's shoulder. He looked at one eye, then the other, trying to figure out which he was supposed to focus on. “I was told one of our drivers is a pilot. Who? One of them?” he asked pointing toward the corner.

Salar winced and looked at Marksman standing with his hand still on the doorknob. Marksman spoke in Farsi and Salar pointed at Navid.

“What can he fly?”

Salar spoke with Navid, motioning with his hands like an Italian newscaster on speed. Navid glowered.

“He can fly most anything up to twin engine jets,” Marksman said. “Mehrabad International is down the street. Says he could smuggle us in, then we could steal a plane. We'd be at the Gulf in thirty minutes.”

“Ali getting us a safe house outside the city is plan one. If not, that's our backup.”

Navid walked to the window, driving his thumbs into his hips, gaze searching the room. “He's worried about his cover,” Marksman said. “If he flies us out, it's not like he can go back. He'll have to come with us.”

“We could beat him,” Carter said. He was standing next to the bathroom, rubbing his knuckles as if trying to hide them. “Not that I want to, but there's an airport right on the Strait of Hormuz. We could bloody him up to look like a hijacking, maybe break a rib, then leave him behind. We can call in a sub, a SEAL team for pickup.”

“Good luck with that,” Jim said. “Plus, we're almost at daybreak. We'd have to wait till night.”

Marksman leaned toward Jim. “They'll kill his family. The only way we get out and his family stays alive is Carter's idea. Even then, there's a chance VEVAK won't buy it and still kill him.”

Jim rested his hand atop his holster. “It's our backup. Hope we don't need it. If we do, we won't need to fake anything. He'll be flying with my barrel in his ear.” Jim licked his bottom lip. It was salty and chapped. “Ali, get that message to the fusion cell. I need coordinates. We'll knock 'em out downstairs. Everyone else, to the basement with Jannat. We leave in thirty.”

T
he stairs to the basement were rough-hewn slate, cold and dusty. Sharp brown and orange rocks were mortared into the walls. Red followed Lori down, ducking the AK-47 slung over her shoulder. Its barrel waved across his face each time she took a step.

The basement was large with a hotel-sized washing machine. It smelled of moist earth and something else that clung to the back of Red's throat, like a hint of pepper spray. The furnace sat in a sunken area that resembled a seventies-era conversation pit. No windows. A single bare wood door, looking like an oversized Williamsburg window shutter, was on the far wall, padlocked. Jannat slipped a key from her pocket and opened it.

Inside were several racks of uniforms in various colors. It was like a military thrift store, though much better organized. Similar uniforms were grouped together and civilian clothes separated. Chevrons and insignias were piled on a white plastic table.

“How'd you get all this?” Red asked.

“My girls steal it. I pay them extra. I tell them I sell it on the black market.”

Jim walked by a section of naval uniforms. “Stick with Artesh. Marksman and Lori, get a clean blouse.”

The team stripped down and pulled on drab green fatigues. As Red pulled off his boots, the last remnants of the Pardis dropped onto the dirt floor. Lori was unbuttoning her blouse in the far corner. He picked up one end of a clothes rack and pulled it over, making a changing room.

Marksman tossed Crawler insignia with three diamond-tipped chevrons and a rocker at the bottom. “Thanks,” Crawler said. He looked at them in his open hand, then closed his fist so tightly that the tendons stretched. He threw them back, hitting Marksman's chest. “Prick,” he said.

Red pulled on a too-tight boot. All the larger ones were taken, and he certainly didn't have the largest feet of the group. He patted his chest pockets, feeling naked without body armor. Lanyard pulled up his T-shirt. Two bruises discolored his belly, one large and gruesomely purple. “That must be the one you felt.”

“I felt all three,” he said, twisting around as if trying to find another.

They carried only weapons and ammo. Jannat didn't have any small arms, so they'd have to carry their M4s and pray they didn't need to take off the
ch
dors
. Jannat's hands shook as she attached a veil over Red's face. The veins on her hands stood out. They looked paper-thin, old. The dim light reflected from her oily skin, which smelled sweet, like honey. Her upper lip lifted on one side, as if she were trying to smile. Her breath stunk of garlic as she spoke. “Veils are not often worn. But some tribes do. Don't walk close to each other. Try not to look like a group.”

Jim had Ali save his Ketamine and took Jannat up on her offer of heroin. Crawler and Jim held the prisoners while Ali shot them up, then stuffed them into the market baskets, sideways in the fetal position.

Jannat pulled out a frayed paper map and placed it on the earthen floor under one of the lights. Everyone stood around her as she squatted over the map, the bottom of her red dress fringed with yellow dust. She pointed to the location of the house and the pickup point for their transport. “One truck, a refrigerated one with a picture of fish on the side. That's what they use. Go through the market, here. We'll not be noticeable among all the people.”

Jim's thick index finger followed a different route over the map, then punched down. “The trucks from last night. They here?”

“Yes.” Jannat tapped the same spot.

“If we get split or the transport goes bad, that's where we rally.”

A click sounded in Red's ear. Covered in a
ch
dor
, he'd forgotten he had it.

“Comm check,” Jim muttered.

Thumbs-up from everyone.

Jim put Jannat in the lead. He and Carter tailed her, carrying a basket with one of the prisoners between them. “Red, you and Lanyard follow after the drivers. If they run, shoot 'em. Marksman, make sure they understand.”

Red walked up the stairs, glancing back at Lori. He wished she could walk in front so he could watch her. At the top, through a window, he saw an orange glow behind the Tehran skyline, reminding him of the dark silhouettes of the trees during his cold morning runs. Their skeletal lines, though bare in winter, had always given him a sense of energy, just before the sun peeked out and warmed his face. The hard edges of these buildings were cold, unforgiving. Yet, both shared the same backdrop. What was it that drove humanity to such misunderstanding and violence? Was he part of the problem? He pushed the thought from his mind. Now the only thing to do was get Lori home safely. Get everyone home safely.

The cold air from the street pricked his skin. He walked through occasional warmer pockets, the timid heat rising from the heavy stones underfoot. He looked over his shoulder. Lori was still there, but too far back. Crawler looked like an elephant under a black sheet waddling before him. The group was entirely too large. They should have left the traitorous drivers to burn back at the warehouse. Now they were just dead weight, slowing them down.

Jannat kept a brisk pace, welcome in the cold. Jim had given her a comm since she was in point. At least with comms they could communicate if they lost visual.

The rope handle dug into Red's hand. The basket creaked as they walked. He tried to get out of step, to look more like two normal women carrying produce to the market, but Lanyard kept synchronizing his strides.

The market wasn't crowded yet, but vendors were raising umbrellas and sweet pastry smells filled the air. All the alleyways they passed had several people headed in their direction.

“Four soldiers,” came Jannat's voice through the comm. Red stretched his neck to look. She'd already passed the men in uniform. Their rifles were over their shoulders, but they looked more interested in the stand of steaming pastries.

“Keep moving,” Jim said.

Red kept his nose down, but his eyes looked ahead. Jim and Carter passed the soldiers without a glance. Red held his M4 straight down his belly, leaning over to ensure it didn't poke out of the
ch
-dor
. He was careful not to make eye contact. Jannat had said that would be improper. One of the soldiers was smiling as he looked at a pastry with honey-brown glaze. His boots were highly polished. Could be a desk jockey pulled from his paperwork to look for them. Red strained to keep from glancing back, but had to turn his head. Lori was still there.

Crawler had just passed the pastry stand when his foot slammed against a stone. He stumbled, but continued. The noise from his boot made two of the soldiers turn their heads, but only one did a double take. He turned toward Crawler and looked at him as he walked away. Taking a couple steps in halfhearted pursuit, the soldier shouted something.

“Keep going,” Marksman commed. “He's telling you to stop.”

The soldier shouted again.

“Ignore him,” Jim said.

More shouting. Crawler kept up his pace but the soldier quickened, too. Now the other three were following.

“He's looking at your feet,” Red commed. “He sees your boots.”

“These ain't old-lady-sized,” Crawler said.

“He's not giving up. Take down?” Marksman asked.

“Nothing unless he stops you,” Jim said.

The soldier jogged to catch up with Crawler. One of his buddies put a cell phone to his ear. Red slipped his free hand forward and rested a finger on the trigger guard. There was no good way this was going to play out.

The soldier stopped and reached out to grab Crawler's shoulder, then fell to his knees as a 9mm hole puffed silently out through Marksman's
ch
dor
. A second later, the man fell forward onto the river stone pavement.

“One down,” Marksman said. Red hadn't even seen him reach for his sidearm.

A woman was raising a faded red umbrella over a stand of oranges and grapefruit. She turned toward the clatter of metal hitting stone as the body fell atop its weapon. The other soldier kept the phone to his ear, backing up till he stumbled over a basket of bread. A white-haired woman with furrowed skin yelled at him, while the other two ran toward their fallen comrade.

“Heyvoon! Gom sho!”
the woman shouted, picking up the trampled wares.

The soldier with the phone looked at the crowd, ignoring the vocal woman. His gaze met Red's. He dropped the device and reached for his AK, shuddering and falling atop powder-coated pastries as Red placed a three-shot burst into his chest. Brass tinkled to the ground.
Shit, I wasn't as discreet as Marksman
.

Red picked the basket back up and kept walking. Loud footsteps from dress shoes on stone ran away behind him. “Two down, but he was on a phone,” Red commed.

In a few more seconds panic would break out. They could make their escape in the chaos. He pushed the basket toward Lanyard, aiming them to the next alley. A woman in a gray wool peacoat and black hijab over her head trotted into the market, a cell phone pressed to her ear. She passed a squat man with a unibrow thick enough to use as a comb-over. He stared down at a video camera, panning across a box of yellow chicks.

The two last soldiers reached their fallen comrade lying in the middle of the market, looked down and said something to him, laughing. One tilted his head, then dropped to a knee and rolled the dead soldier over. His eyes widened and they shouted at each other, looking around. They pointed folded-stock AKs toward Crawler and yelled.

Crawler spun and from under his
ch
dor
came a deafening stream of muzzle blasts. His covering blew into shreds, revealing an extra-large brassiere stuffed with a blue towel over green fatigues. His square frame braced against the recoil of the weapon. His veil blew out, exposing an unshaven face with a cigar butt clenched between smiling teeth.