Chapter 4: Forget the Scarf

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Denton sat alone in the private jet as it skimmed the North Atlantic skyline. From above, the water's surface looked restless and murky, reflective of his mood. The air phone rang. A sharp, high-pitched noise that irritated him.

'Go ahead.'

'We've tracked every military Land Cruiser within a radius of fifty klicks,' Grace said.

Denton had assigned Grace as leader of the team tasked with tracking and capturing the defective operatives: Sophia, Damien and Jay.

'We have two suspect vehicles,' she went on. 'One is confirmed to contain military personnel, but the other has been abandoned at a large lake east of the border. It stopped moving one hour and twenty minutes ago. Echo Four India has disabled booby traps inside the Cruiser and recovered the RFIDs. The defective operatives have cut them out.'

'That shouldn't be possible.' Denton pinched his nose and exhaled hard. His ears popped. 'Wait one.'

He opened his laptop and navigated to the US National Reconnaissance Office portal. He logged in with his Department of Defense ID, then said to Grace, 'Coordinates.'

He keyed in the GPS coordinates as she read them out. He was using recent coverage recorded by the KH-14–2 spy satellite. Once the imagery loaded, he overlaid the road maps and fed in Grace's team's locations. With that done, he gave the terrain his full attention.

He could see a lake near the eastern border that was shaped like an arrowhead and flanked by nearby mountains. He identified the abandoned Land Cruiser just north of a small town on the lake's east side, and zoomed in on the ultra-high resolution image to inspect the river. Panning east, he followed the river as it snaked away from the lake toward a mountainous region.

He checked the operations queue for all satellites in the area over the next six hours. Only one was in range—the same KH-14–2 that had recorded the recent coverage—but it was currently in use for a high-priority operation.

'We won't have the luxury of live satellite coverage,' Denton told Grace. 'So you'll have to find them the hard way.'

'Yes, Colonel.'

'Do you have any leads?'

'We suspect the defective operatives have crossed the river either by boat, ferry or possibly by swimming. It would be logical for them to steal a vehicle and continue on a northeast bearing.'

'Into the mountains,' Denton said.

'Difficult for us to ambush by vehicle. It's a clever way for them to slow us down. We've placed a blocking party just before the north border and we have four helicopters searching vehicle routes. There aren't many, so it won't take long to find them.'

Denton zoomed in to inspect the Land Cruiser's location. 'I think you're wrong.'

There was a moment's silence. 'Colonel?'

'They're not heading for the north border,' he said. 'They're still moving west. They're heading deeper inside Iran, you halfwit. Move your—'

He stopped, realizing the implications of what he'd just said.

The defective operatives were heading for the holy city of Qom, right near a subterranean former military base the spy satellite was queued up for. The same former military base that a US Air Force B-2 Spirit stealth bomber was soon to take out with a GBU-28 bunker-buster bomb—the Fifth Column's planned retaliation for the "suicide bomber" who killed the UN Representative.

Sophia and her team were walking right into the middle of a 2.5 ton bomb.

*

'Assuming we even make it across the border,' Jay said, 'what do we do there?'

He steered the hospital bus over a long bridge and into a tunnel. The tunnel ran deep inside a mountain.

'There's a budget hostel on Amir Kabir Street with dial-up internet and kettles that boil water. It's basic but it'll do us,' Sophia said. 'We use cash and take a double room.'

The bus crawled up the steep tunnel, churning through second gear. Jay flipped the sun visor to block out the rising sun.

'And then what?'

'That's it. Hole up as backpackers,' she said. 'Maybe Australian this time. How's your accent?'

'Bloody great, mate,' Jay said.

Sophia shared a glance with Damien. It wasn't great.

Jay pointed to the rear-vision mirror. 'You watching that?'

There was a fire truck starting up the tunnel behind them. It seemed to be having just as frustrating a time as they were.

'Relax,' she said, before spotting a Humvee entering the mouth of the tunnel ahead. 'Or maybe not.'

They weren't over the border yet.

'Get down!' Jay said. 'And my face is showing—give me a scarf or something.'

'I don't think they'll go too hard on your fashion sense,' Damien said.

Sophia took her eyes off the Humvee just long enough to check the rear-vision mirror. Even if Jay could turn around—the tunnel was at least wide enough to do so—the Humvee would easily outrun them.

Unprompted, the fire truck behind them slowed to a halt, then used the width of the tunnel to make a tight turn. Now it was going back the way it had come.

'What's it doing?' Damien asked.

'Going back to the bridge,' Sophia said.

As the fire truck disappeared from view, she noticed water leaking from its fire hose.

Jay hit the brakes. 'Forget the scarf.'

The approaching Humvee pulled up broadside, window down. Inside the passenger seat, someone wielded a Javelin fire-and-forget missile launcher.

'Get to the back,' Sophia said. 'Now!'

She scrambled to the rear of the bus, Damien two steps ahead.

Jay stayed in the driver's seat. He threw the bus into reverse. Its right side scraped the tunnel, whipped around, its left side exposed to the Humvee. She didn't hear the missile launch, but knew in a tunnel like this it would be firing in direct attack mode. It hit the road beside the bus. Either they were a poor shot or they'd intentionally missed.

She covered her face as glass fragments showered her. One side of the bus buckled inwards. Then the entire bus tipped onto its right side and slid headfirst down the tunnel.

Sparks skittered across either side of the bus like a fiery parting wave. Sophia switched her grip to the seat beside her and held tight. Her shoulder crunched against something ... heard metal screaming ... glass exploding ... asphalt ... darkness.

*

The bus gathered speed as it plunged down the tunnel.

The sound of metal scraping asphalt filled Sophia's ears. The bus was still on its side and sliding—fast. It was like the road had become ice.

At the front of the bus, Damien was out cold, draped precariously close to a window frame, asphalt rushing past underneath. Jay scrambled to pull him away from the window.

Under the tunnel lights, the asphalt looked greasy. Then she remembered the fire truck. How did she miss that? They were using the fire truck to hose down the tunnel. And if she had to guess—going by the speed at which they were sliding right now—the road had been splashed with a polymer based anti-traction material that would make their retreat impossible on wheel or foot.

We're too expensive to be killed.

Behind her, the rear doors burst open. The bottom door smashed repeatedly against the asphalt and the top door flapped above, dangling by one hinge.

The Humvee followed them downhill. A head emerged from the passenger side window. She recognized the operative's face: Luke, with the garlic-bread fetish.

Her gaze locked onto the door as it flapped on its remaining hinge. She climbed over the seats toward it. Sparks jumped up from grinding window frames. Glass slipped down her neck and scratched her skin.

Luke took aim with his rifle. She reached for her pistol. It wasn't there. She was in civilian clothes and Damien and Jay were the ones with stolen pistols.

The bus shuddered. She lost her balance and almost tumbled onto the asphalt rushing beneath. She wrapped her arms around two seats and held on.

Luke fired.

The rear door flapped, deflecting his shot. He fired again. A tranquilizer dart sliced past Sophia and plunged into a nearby seat.

She climbed to the next row of seats. The door came free off its last hinge and slipped under the Humvee's wheels. The vehicle wobbled, turned sharply. It tipped onto its side and sent Luke tumbling out of the vehicle.

'Hold on!' Jay yelled from the front.

He was looking at something else.

The bus reached the mouth of the tunnel, taking them out into the open. The road leveled out across a long bridge and Sophia saw who was waiting for them.

Six operatives.

We're screwed.

They stood off-road at the far end of the bridge, tranquilizer rifles waiting until the bus slid into range. She looked down at the asphalt passing beneath the window frames. The bus wasn't slowing down. Instead, it was picking up speed. The fire truck had coated the bridge too.

Jay had roused Damien back to consciousness. Blood was congealing on his scalp, matting his hair. Damien and Jay were her last operatives, she didn't want to lose them.

'End of the line,' Damien said.

It was difficult for them to hear her yelling over all the noise, so she waved an arm, catching their attention. She pointed to the broken windows above her. It was their only way out.

Jay looked back at the operatives in the distance. The bus was approaching them fast. They didn't have much time.

Jumping from the seats, Sophia gripped a window frame and hoisted herself through, squinting against the fragments of safety glass. She climbed out of the window and on top of the bus.

The Humvee slid across the bridge in their wake, unable to steer or gain any traction. There was nothing but a thin steel guardrail on either side to stop the bus or the Humvee from plunging off the bridge. Below, it was a thirty-meter drop into the river.

She recognized the Humvee's driver, even though she hadn't worked with him before. It looked like he was drawing his own tranquilizer rifle.

She had maybe twenty seconds at most before the bus came into range of the operatives' tranquilizer rifles. Even if they couldn't get a clear shot as the bus slid past them, they could wait for the bus to come to a standstill and then move in. If Sophia and the other two were going to escape, it had to be while the bus was in the middle of the bridge.

She held onto the window frame, ignoring the bits of safety glass. She couldn't jump off the bridge yet, at least not until the bus had passed the cliff walls.

'Jay!' she yelled. 'Move!'

On top of the bus, Sophia crawled over the window frames, heading for the rear of the battered vehicle. The operatives watched her from the distance, waiting patiently with their rifles in both hands.

She looked over her shoulder, relieved to see Jay was climbing out behind her. But the movement of the bus shifted and swayed. Now it was sliding sideways across the bridge instead of headfirst. A segment of the guardrail curled into the air and struck the Humvee behind them like a coiled snake. The Humvee wobbled.

Sophia gripped tighter, her knuckles turning white. She kept her body pressed against the bus. Over her shoulder, she could see Jay up to his chest in window frame, only one hand holding on. He'd almost fallen back inside. She couldn't work out why he wasn't using both hands.

The Humvee spun slowly until the driver was visible again. He was right behind the bus now, only meters away. It was an easy shot for him as took aim at her.

Sophia held on.

A pistol shot rang out from inside the bus, catching the driver in the eye. He slumped in the seat, tied in by his seatbelt, as blood ran from his eye socket.

Any second now, she'd be in range of the operatives.

She moved as quickly as she could toward Jay. Then discovered what the delay was. Damien was underneath him, his face covered in blood. He was conscious, but didn't seem able to move. She saw a tranquilizer dart embedded above Damien's left shoulder blade. He'd been hit.

Jay was helping him up. And it was taking far too long.

She climbed to the next window frame. One more to go. She reached the last frame. The end of the bus ground fiercely against the bridge railing and she almost lost her grip.

Jay reached across, his pistol in one hand. 'Shoot them!' he yelled. 'Send them into cover.'

She took the pistol and aimed at the operatives standing roadside. Except they were no longer there.

Where did they go?

Right now, in this sliver of time, nothing mattered except saving her team. The Fifth Column didn't matter. The failed operation didn't matter. Security didn't matter. Damien and Jay were her family and she wasn't going to leave them here.

Jay was holding one of Damien's arms. He passed the other arm to Sophia so they could haul him out together. Damien had fallen limp; the benzodiazepine from the dart had relaxed his muscles. He wouldn't be conscious for much longer.

She heard the chop of a helicopter moving low over the mountain.

'Get him out!' she yelled. 'Now!'

She wasn't sure if Jay heard her, but he pulled harder anyway and almost lost his own footing. He tried again. She wasn't going to jump without them. She couldn't do this alone. They had to survive. She needed them out of the bus.

The helicopter shot into view.

But it wasn't an attack helicopter.

There were no autocannons, no machine guns, no rocket or missile pods. It looked like its entire stomach had been surgically removed, leaving only the cockpit, the six-blade rotor and the tail rotor. It was a CH-54B Tarhe, a military heavy-lift cargo helicopter. The missing chunk in the Tarhe was occupied by a cylinder with a remotely operated hose.

Non-lethal sticky foam.

Sophia locked her feet under the window frame behind her and pressed herself against the bus. With one hand, she aimed her pistol at the approaching Tarhe. The hose nozzle was pointed right at them.

She squeezed the trigger.

Her shots punched holes in the foam cylinder. She emptied half her magazine into it; the holes leaked a spray that looked like bubble bath liquid. It foamed in the air, streaking out behind the helicopter in thick white fingers.

The Tarhe slowed to match the bus. The sudden decrease sent the foaming liquid forward. The foam lashed across the helicopter's windshield and adhered to its polycarbonate polymer surface. The liquid bulked into hard fluffy clouds. The helicopter faltered, its pilot's vision obscured.

More liquid sprayed past Sophia, washing the front of the bus. It foamed and expanded, covering Damien's arm and shoulder. Sophia climbed over another window frame, struggling to grip the pistol as she pulled herself closer. She needed to pull Damien out before the foam hardened.

But something bit into her, just below her armpit. She looked down to see a dart wedged under her arm. With one hand, she quickly plucked it free.

The Tarhe plunged in front of the bus, nose down. Sophia leaped to the next window frame and extended a hand. Jay dropped down beside Damien, his legs sinking into sticky foam.

'Your feet!' Sophia yelled.

Jay just looked at her. She knew he wasn't leaving him.

He tried to pull Damien out, but the foam had hardened over half his body. He was trapped and the best Jay could do was prop his head up so he could breathe.

'You owe me a beer,' Jay said.

The helicopter crashed in front of them.

Sophia shielded her face as debris bounced off the bus. Then the bus ploughed right through the wreckage, pinwheeling from the impact. Sophia hung on desperately. The bus spun like a ceiling fan blade, faster and faster. Her vision slipped. Her fingers slipped.

The spin wrenched her from the window frame. A smear of gray sky. Fire. The bridge. Something shiny. Water crashed around her. She shut her eyes.

Held her breath.

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