This took longer, but Rolf did her magic. Elements on the screen began to disappear, and soon all that remained was a line representing the track of their targeted aircraft. It had spun two irregular circles over the city before meandering south.

Rolf said, “It departed on a southwesterly track, roughly a two-hundred-and-ten-degree magnetic heading. Twenty miles south we lose the signal.”

“Can you find out where it went after that?”

“With the radar, not likely. This aircraft was flying low and there are hills in that area. But I can tell you who it was.” After no more than a few keystrokes, she said, “Sierra Three Two Five Papa. I’ve seen the call sign before, but not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smaller aircraft usually navigate around or under our busy airspace.” More typing. “It’s a Cessna 180 seaplane owned by Magnussen Air Charters. They’re based in Oxelösund. I have the address and phone number if you like.”

“Yes, very much.”

Five minutes later Sanderson was back in his car, and consumed with newfound excitement. He started the engine and was about to engage the gearshift when he paused. As his hands gripped the wheel, the phone in his pocket seemed inordinately heavy. He knew he ought to call in his findings to the command center. But would anyone listen? Would anyone act? Possibly. Yet the information would have to go through channels, bounce across a half dozen desks and email inboxes. By then the lead might go cold. That was what Sanderson told himself, anyway.

He put the car in gear, pressed his foot down hard, and minutes later was accelerating onto the E4 headed south.

Chapter 30

THIRTY

The first attempt on Ibrahim Hamedi’s life had earned him a lone bodyguard, a man who doubled as his driver. After the second attempt he never left home, or the compound in Qom, without a sizable convoy. The composition of his escort varied based on setting. Military vehicles were preferred for desert travel, but today, snaking through the baffling maze that was south Tehran, he made due with three armored limousines. Hamedi was in the lead car, which seemed to him counterintuitive from a security standpoint. But then, he was no expert. With awkwardly reassuring logic, he had long ago relented that Farzad Behrouz would take every possible measure to cover both their asses.