“Hold on,” the agent said as they crowded around her.

She continued pressing her face against the viewer, then suddenly sprang into action, pulling back a bolt and letting the panel drop inward. She scrambled down the steps and said, “Hurry! Let’s go.”

Nir went up first. Once at the top, he saw hands reaching down, and a voice said, “Arms up.”

He raised his arms over his head and felt the hands clamp on and haul him up with amazing ease. When he was back on his feet, he could see why. Two bearded men, both a head taller than Nir and tightly muscled, were lifting Doron. A sour smell told him he was in some sort of dairy truck. This cargo area had a single light in its ceiling, and apart from the growing number of bodies, it was empty.

Dima was the last one in, and the two men actually grunted when they pulled him up. With heavy Arab accents, they pointed to the open hatch in the floor and said to the Russian, “You close. Latch. Latch.”

“Got it,” Dima said.

With a practiced precision, each of the burly men stepped to the hole and dropped through. Dima closed the hatch and slid the two bolt locks in place.

It was a short drive to the Erbil International Airport and the CIA’s operational hangar. The U.S. president wanted their target dead almost as much as the Israelis did, so a deal had been worked out between the ramsad and the director of the American intelligence agency for transportation into Iran. The president, though, had made it clear to Israel’s prime minister that once they were in-country, they were on their own. It was imperative that he be allowed to disavow any knowledge of the operation.

Nir felt the truck brake, and the rear door slid open.

“This way,” said a man in a U.S. military uniform. Nir jumped out and followed the marine to a helicopter, its rotor just beginning to turn.

“I thought you marines retired your Hueys,” he said, nodding to the chopper that had to be at least 50 years old.

“I think your pilots would beg to differ, sir. Please go on board and strap in.”

“Thanks.” Nir slapped him on the back before climbing up into the copter, and then instead of sitting, he stuck his head into the cockpit. “Hey, boys, I appreciate the lift. I’m Nir Tavor, team leader.”

Without turning, the pilot said, “I’m Captain J.J. Marks. That boy over there is my junior First Lieutenant Caitlin Bader.”

You idiot. Nicole is right. When it comes to females, I have absolutely no game.

“Sorry, no offense intended. Just wanted to thank you for giving us a lift. I have to admit, though, I don’t think I’ve seen one of these Hueys since I last watched Apocalypse Now.”