be here quickly. Before she comes, you two must go. Now.”
“Can I help?” Yasmeen asked.
Tauksaun watched her; his eyes seemed to narrow as a frown tainted his round face. “Perhaps. Your father is wealthy. We always need money. Yes, you can help. Twenty million rials would be good. That’s only a little over sixty-six hundred dollars, George, don’t look so surprised.” He rolled, and sat up straighter with a great effort.
“Now both of you out of here with your radio and your American dollars that could get us all shot on sight. The Secret Police will be here shortly. Somebody will always rat on me for a few thousand rials. Out.”
“Thanks for the help,” George said. He picked up the radio and put it away in his shoulder bag, then pocketed the forty-five after making sure the safety was on.
“No thanks needed. I just hope you haven’t got me killed.”
Yasmeen and George went out the front door and hurried down the street. George could almost smell the Secret Police coming. He frowned as they rushed along. He had a little more information, but not nearly what the Company demanded. How the hell was he going to find out anything else without going into the region? The idea of a small plane was good, but he’d have no chance at all renting such a plane down in that area. There might not even be an airfield down there. He didn’t know that much about Iran.
They saw a military vehicle moving down the street toward them. It was still two blocks away. Yasmeen pulled at his arm, and they drifted into an alley, then ran full speed to the next street. Yasmeen looked both ways, then they darted across the street into the alley, and ran through it until they both were panting so hard they had to stop. They leaned against a wall.
“I think we got away from them,” George said.
Yasmeen scowled at him, her eyes almost closed. “I hope nothing happens to Tauksaun. He’s a friend. He helps with the protest movement.”
George shook his head. “Tauksaun will come out smelling like a bunch of violets. He’s a survivor. Not even the Secret Police will be able to hurt him.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“Not the faintest.”
“Come to our house. It’s big and I’ll tell Papa that you’re teaching me better English. He wants me to be good in English. But we can’t even touch at my home. You understand. Iranian women aren’t that free. We have tremendously strict rules.”
“You mean, we can’t make love in your father’s house?”
“He’d chop off your head if he caught us.”
George chuckled. “I think I can keep my hands off you. Which way do we go?”
Before they could move, a man jolted around the corner twenty yards from them and shouted in Farsi for them to put up their hands.
“Run,” Yasmeen barked. She went right, he went left. The Secret Policeman with the submachine gun tracked his best target and fired a 6-round burst. Four of the slugs caught Yasmeen in the back and she stumbled, tried to call out, and pitched into the dirt. Yasmeen died before she hit the ground, where her face dug a foot-long furrow in the dust and garbage of the Tehran back alley.
Before the Secret Policeman could turn his weapon on thesecond person, George had sprinted around the corner to safety. He ran hard down the block to the next alley and surged into it. He paused. No one chased him. George panted. He had to get more exercise and stay in shape.
He’d seen Yasmeen fall. Damn them. She was dead or as good as dead by now. Which left him absolutely at the end of his string of contacts. He was running in fucking hostile Tehran. The Secret Police were hunting him. He had lost his luggage, all of his clothes, and personal gear. He had only his “vitals” in the shoulder bag. He had a deadline of six days to find out for sure where the Iranian nuclear manufacturing site was situated. How in the hell was he going to do that?
8
Saturday, October 22
1622 hours
SEAL training
“Can I help?” Yasmeen asked.
Tauksaun watched her; his eyes seemed to narrow as a frown tainted his round face. “Perhaps. Your father is wealthy. We always need money. Yes, you can help. Twenty million rials would be good. That’s only a little over sixty-six hundred dollars, George, don’t look so surprised.” He rolled, and sat up straighter with a great effort.
“Now both of you out of here with your radio and your American dollars that could get us all shot on sight. The Secret Police will be here shortly. Somebody will always rat on me for a few thousand rials. Out.”
“Thanks for the help,” George said. He picked up the radio and put it away in his shoulder bag, then pocketed the forty-five after making sure the safety was on.
“No thanks needed. I just hope you haven’t got me killed.”
Yasmeen and George went out the front door and hurried down the street. George could almost smell the Secret Police coming. He frowned as they rushed along. He had a little more information, but not nearly what the Company demanded. How the hell was he going to find out anything else without going into the region? The idea of a small plane was good, but he’d have no chance at all renting such a plane down in that area. There might not even be an airfield down there. He didn’t know that much about Iran.
They saw a military vehicle moving down the street toward them. It was still two blocks away. Yasmeen pulled at his arm, and they drifted into an alley, then ran full speed to the next street. Yasmeen looked both ways, then they darted across the street into the alley, and ran through it until they both were panting so hard they had to stop. They leaned against a wall.
“I think we got away from them,” George said.
Yasmeen scowled at him, her eyes almost closed. “I hope nothing happens to Tauksaun. He’s a friend. He helps with the protest movement.”
George shook his head. “Tauksaun will come out smelling like a bunch of violets. He’s a survivor. Not even the Secret Police will be able to hurt him.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“Not the faintest.”
“Come to our house. It’s big and I’ll tell Papa that you’re teaching me better English. He wants me to be good in English. But we can’t even touch at my home. You understand. Iranian women aren’t that free. We have tremendously strict rules.”
“You mean, we can’t make love in your father’s house?”
“He’d chop off your head if he caught us.”
George chuckled. “I think I can keep my hands off you. Which way do we go?”
Before they could move, a man jolted around the corner twenty yards from them and shouted in Farsi for them to put up their hands.
“Run,” Yasmeen barked. She went right, he went left. The Secret Policeman with the submachine gun tracked his best target and fired a 6-round burst. Four of the slugs caught Yasmeen in the back and she stumbled, tried to call out, and pitched into the dirt. Yasmeen died before she hit the ground, where her face dug a foot-long furrow in the dust and garbage of the Tehran back alley.
Before the Secret Policeman could turn his weapon on thesecond person, George had sprinted around the corner to safety. He ran hard down the block to the next alley and surged into it. He paused. No one chased him. George panted. He had to get more exercise and stay in shape.
He’d seen Yasmeen fall. Damn them. She was dead or as good as dead by now. Which left him absolutely at the end of his string of contacts. He was running in fucking hostile Tehran. The Secret Police were hunting him. He had lost his luggage, all of his clothes, and personal gear. He had only his “vitals” in the shoulder bag. He had a deadline of six days to find out for sure where the Iranian nuclear manufacturing site was situated. How in the hell was he going to do that?
8
Saturday, October 22
1622 hours
SEAL training
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