The Inca Prophecy (17 page)

The wizened old taxi driver’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. ‘Too far! Too far!’

O’Connor withdrew a large wad of rials from his backpack and waved them at the driver.

‘Too far!’ he protested.

O’Connor shrugged and pulled out his Glock 21 and pointed at the terrified driver’s face.

‘Drive!’ he ordered.

Chapter 20

The huge artillery round had exploded in the Shahadis’ lounge room, demolishing the cinder-brick building in a massive blast. Ahmed raced towards the smoking debris and screamed as he came across Rashida, both her legs missing, her face burned beyond recognition.

‘No, no, no!’ Ahmed cradled Rashida’s lifeless body. Mansoor struggled up the hill and Ahmed turned towards his father, tears streaming down his blackened cheeks. ‘The Israelis have done this!’ he yelled, his face a mask of grief.

Mansoor, his wizened features frozen in shock, moved further into the rubble, only to find the blackened, broken and burned bodies of his wife and two daughters lying together in the rubble of what had once been the Shahadis’ kitchen. Mansoor looked up to see Omar Abbasi, their Sunni neighbour, charging through the smoke, brandishing a pistol.

‘Shahadi! You Shi’ites!’ he screamed, his eyes wild with hatred and grief. ‘You heretics! Look what you and Hezbollah have done! You have brought the wrath of Allah on us all!’

Without warning Abbasi brought the pistol up in a trembling hand and fired. Mansoor, clutching his chest, slumped to the ground and fell against the body of his wife, a bloodstain spreading over his dust-covered clothes. Abbasi turned and fled down the hill before Ahmed had a chance to react.

Ahmed stood for a few seconds, stunned. Blinded by tears of grief, he gently laid Rashida’s body on the ground and ran towards his father. By the time he reached the shattered kitchen, Mansoor was dead.

CNN’s nightly news anchor, Walter Crowley, looked grave as he prepared to go to air with the lead item: Israel Invades Lebanon – Again.

‘International criticism is mounting,’ Crowley began in his mellifluous tone, ‘over what many see as Israel’s disproportionate response to the recent capture of two Israeli soldiers on patrol on the southern border of Lebanon last week. The Israeli Defense Force has launched a comprehensive air and ground attack across Lebanon, with continuous bombing sorties and barrages of artillery. The assault has put the Rafic Hariri International Airport out of action and reduced hundreds of buildings to rubble in the Haret Hreik sector of Dahiye.’

The producer cut to video footage of bombed-out buildings,
streets blocked by huge mounds of twisted reinforced concrete, burnt-out cars and trucks, and electric wires dangling from poles leaning drunkenly towards the rubble. A massive fireball was seen erupting as an Israeli missile struck a high-rise apartment building in another densely populated area, sending clouds of smoke and debris hundreds of feet into the air. The vision shifted to exhausted rescue workers carrying the dead and wounded away from the twisted wreckage of the Halat Bridge in the Christian heartland of Beirut, and then to the side of a highway where the bodies of migrant workers, killed while trying to flee the attacks, lay in rows in a ditch.

‘An attack against the Jiyeh power station in the south of Beirut has sent 10 000 tonnes of heavy fuel oil into the Mediterranean,’ Crowley continued. ‘The Israelis have invaded Lebanon three times previously, and these latest attacks come at a time when the Lebanese have just finished rebuilding key infrastructure. In southern Lebanon, assaults on villages close to the border have resulted in over half a million Lebanese fleeing their homes.’

The vision cut to an old woman in a chador struggling over a pile of concrete, carrying what she’d been able to salvage from the wreckage of her home in plastic bags.

‘All major road bridges have been destroyed, and the highways are crowded with refugees. Aid organisations are trying desperately to provide food and water. The European Union has issued a statement expressing concern over the disproportionate use of force, and some senior officials in the United Nations have described the Israeli attacks as a violation of international law. But other officials have been equally critical of Hamas and Hezbollah for abducting
the Israeli soldiers. The UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan has issued a statement deploring the loss of life and urging restraint on both sides, demanding that Hezbollah release the two captured Israeli soldiers.

‘Here in the US,’ Crowley continued, ‘calls for a ceasefire have been rejected by the Bush administration.’ The vision cut to the US Ambassador to the United Nations, John Bolton, saying, ‘The notion that you just declare a ceasefire and act as if that is somehow going to solve the problem, I think is simplistic.’

The producer flicked to live coverage of a rally on Manhattan’s East Side, where over a thousand people had taken to the streets in support of Israel, including Senator Hillary Clinton. ‘I want us here in New York to imagine, if extremists and terrorists were launching rocket attacks across the Mexican or Canadian border, would we stand by or would we defend America against these attacks from extremists?’ the senator asked. ‘Israel must know that Americans and people who value freedom and the rights and dignity of human beings around the world stand with Israel as she defends herself against these unwarranted, unprovoked attacks of Hamas, Hezbollah and their state sponsors.’

‘And now to other news making headlines this day …’

The little village of al-Bazourieh was devastated, and the sheer number of bodies made it difficult for the community to adhere to the Muslim practice of burial as soon as possible after death. As the only remaining family member, it was Ahmed’s heartbreaking task
to shroud the bodies of his parents and sisters. Three days after the Israeli artillery had levelled the town, the community gathered in the shell of the mosque for prayers for the Shahadi family. The coffins were all draped in the red, white and green Lebanese flag, the one covering Rashida’s tiny white coffin wrapped twice around.

Prayers complete, the men of the community shouldered the rest of the coffins while Ahmed carried Rashida’s, and the funeral procession wound its way from the shattered mosque to the cemetery on a small hill just outside the village. There the family was buried, each body facing Mecca. Long after the villagers had left, Ahmed stayed by the freshly dug graves, tears streaming down his face. By the time he rose, the sun had set, and he wandered numbly back to the makeshift tent he’d erected near the remains of the house, vowing that at the end of the obligatory three days of mourning, he would return to Beirut and offer his services to Hezbollah. If he were given the chance to avenge little Rashida and the rest of his family, he swore he would kill as many Israelis and their supporters as he could. And if he could avenge his father’s death, he would take out Sunnis as well.

Chapter 21

General Shakiba picked up the secure line to his office. ‘Shakiba.’

‘Rostami, here, sir,’ Colonel Rostami announced nervously. ‘There have been some developments. I’ve just received a report from Major Golzar. Major Jafari spent last night in Tehran, and this morning, he returned to the International Hotel in Qom … but now he’s vanished.’

‘He’s absent without leave?’

‘Yes, sir. He hasn’t reported for duty this morning.’

The line went ominously quiet. ‘You think he’s found an interest in Qom … or do we have a spy in our midst?’ Shakiba demanded finally.

‘Hard to say, sir. Jafari’s pretty naïve when it comes to women … Golzar’s all but ruled that possibility out. The major’s not sure what Jafari’s up to, but the night the Pakistanis were with us, Golzar found Jafari talking to a visiting professor from Trinity
College Dublin. So far, the professor’s visa checks out, but we’ve checked with the hotel, and he’s disappeared as well, and Golzar strongly suspects the two events might be connected.’

‘Where’s Golzar now?’

‘In Qom, sir, directing the search.’

‘Tell Golzar to contact me,’ Shakiba rasped angrily. ‘Give him my direct line. I’ll have Jafari’s and this professor’s details placed on a priority watch-list at all the airports, ports and border crossings. There’s a lot at stake here, Rostami, and we relied on your recommendation with Jafari. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if he’s working for the infidel!’

‘Yes, sir.’

Rostami was wasting his breath. The line was already dead.

Fifty kilometres west of Qom, O’Connor ordered the terrified driver to pull over. He took out his encrypted satellite phone and dialled up the CIA’s operations centre in Baghdad.

‘This is Cyrus, how do you read me, over.’

‘Cyrus, this is Zero Alpha, five by five.’

‘Currently located grid 452821, will require extraction vicinity grid 547824, at first light tomorrow.’

‘Roger, Cyrus, grid 547824… wait … wait out.’ There was a pause on the line before the voice continued. ‘Cyrus, this is Zero Alpha, copied extraction grid … could that be a hot extraction, over?’

‘Quite possible, over.’

‘Roger, Seal Team Five is briefed. The team leader’s call sign
is Alcatraz One and they’ll be in position west of the line by dusk tonight.’

‘Cyrus, roger out.’

O’Connor grinned to himself as he climbed back in to the taxi and ordered the driver on towards Kermanshah, a large city nestled in the shadow of the Zagros mountains. West of the line meant the Seal team would find a location as close as they dared to the Iraq–Iran border, without alerting the Iranians to their presence. It would be tricky stuff, but O’Connor had every faith in the Navy Seals. They were the best in the world.

Four hours later, they refuelled and grabbed some kebabs. The driver had relaxed a little, perhaps because O’Connor had insisted he take 150 million rials as compensation for the hijacking of his taxi. As night fell, they headed towards the city of Eslamabad-e Gharb. From there, if they weren’t intercepted, they would turn north towards Kerend-e Gharb and on through the remote mountains to Sarpol-e Zahab where, provided their luck held, they would be in striking distance of Qasr-e Shirin and the border.

Golzar checked his watch as he reached for the ringing phone in his room at the Qom International Hotel. It was well after midnight.