Cover

Title Page

Dedication

This one is for the mothers of all nations and for the three Americans who were illegally arrested and jailed in Iran: Shane Bauer, Josh Fattal, and Sara Shourd. Glad you’re home safe and sound. Our children are not weapons of war or politics.

To the memory of John B. Maberry, who earned the Congressional Medal of Honor at the Battle of Gettysburg.

And, as always, for Sara Jo.

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Steve Yetiv; Philadelphia police officer Bob Clark; the men of the 1-111 Infantry Battalion, Recon Platoon, with 36th Brigade, Iraqi Army Recon; Michael Sicilia of California Homeland Security; Michael E. Witzgall; Ken Coluzzi, Chief of Lower Makefield Police Department in Pennsylvania; Ted Krimmel, SERT; folklorist Nancy Keim-Comley; Archaeological Museum of Aruba; social media consultant Don Lafferty; Javier Grillo-Marxuach; Emilia Filocamo; Victorya Chase; Danny Evarts of Shroud Publishing; and Father Joseph Bordonaro of the St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church in Warrington, Pennsylvania.

And, of course, my agents, Sara Crowe and Harvey Klinger; all the good folks at St. Martin’s Griffin, Michael Homler, Joe Goldschein, Matthew Shear, Rob Grom; M. J. Rose of AuthorBuzz; and Matt Snyder of Creative Artists Agency.

Part One: Acts of War

Part One

Acts of War

Those who say religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion is.

—MOHANDAS GANDHI

Chapter One

Chapter One

Starbox Coffee

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 7:23 a.m.

She said, “Look down at your chest.”

I held the cell phone to my ear as I bent my head. Two red dots, quivering slightly, danced right over my heart.

“You are one second away from death,” said the caller.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Starbox Coffee

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 7:25 a.m.

I didn’t know the voice. She was a stranger. I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know anything except that she had my cell number. Ten seconds ago I was about to go into Starbox—yes, they really call it that in Iran—for a cup of bold and a couple of pastries. The street outside was empty.

I looked up. The shooters had to be in the building across the street, maybe the fifth floor. Didn’t really matter, the range was a hundred yards and even a sloppy marksman could punch my ticket at that distance. I doubted these guys were sloppy. And there were two of them. I was also pretty sure I knew why they were after me.

“Okay,” I said.

“I need you to confirm your name,” she said in Persian. She had a very sexy voice for a psycho killer. Low and smoky.

“Why?”

“Because I have to be certain.”

“Geez, sister,” I said, “if this is how you ID your targets then I don’t think you’re going to get that contract killer merit badge.”