saw an old Soviet BMP1 troop carrier whose sides had been stenciled with Republican Guard markings. Ruts showed where it had first been angled to block the road. Now its headlights shone directly onto the canvas-covered police truck. Sitting on the light desert soil with their backs against it were the surviving Baghdad policemen and their officer, who was bleeding from a shoulder wound and no longer sported his tariq pistol. Standing sentry were two CIA agents who might easily pass for Iraqis.
"Do you know what they were planning to do with us?" Smith asked Donoso.
"Yup. Get you deep out in the middle of nowhere, kill you, and hide your corpses where not even the Bedouins would dream of looking."
Jon raised his eyebrows. He exchanged a look with Randi. It was no surprise.
Donoso said, "I need those Kalashnikovs, Mr. Bonnet. Both of them, little lady."
As Randi and Jon handed over their weapons, Randi explained to Jon, "Donoso's an unrepentant male chauvinist pig. He knows better, but he just doesn't care. So he calls me little lady, or girlie, or sweetie-pie, or any other demeaning cliche he can dredge up from his rather ordinary redneck background."
Donoso grinned widely. "She sticks to `pig breath.' She's got great legs but a limited imagination. Let's go. Into the carrier."
"A limited imagination? Hey, I'm the one who saved your butt in Riyadh. Where's your respect?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Whoops. That occasion slipped my mind." He added their AK-47s to a pile of other weapons taken from the Iraqi policemen. "See your guns in there?"
Jon quickly located his Beretta, while Randi dug around until she uncovered her Uzi. Donoso nodded approval and scrambled up into the carrier. Smith and Randi followed.
As they found places to sit, Jon nodded back at the prisoners. "What are you going to do about the Iraqis?"
"Nothing," Donoso told him. "If they so much as hint about being out here on their own in a police truck, they'll get a fast trip to Saddam Hussein's gallows. No way are they going to breathe a word about what happened."
Smith understood. "Which means they'd better have their own guns when they get back to headquarters."
Donoso nodded. "You got it."
While the prisoners glared up sullenly, the old troop carrier spun its treads into the parched soil and took off. Its speed increasing, the driver directed the big machine down the center of the narrow road that led deeper into the hard, rocky landscape. The moon was sinking in the west, while stars glimmered brightly above. Far ahead on the horizon were dry, rolling hills, black against an even blacker sky.
But Jon was watching behind. At last the Iraqis ran across the sand to the pile of guns and their truck. Now that the carrier was out of rifle range, they were safe to flee. Seconds later, their canvas-covered vehicle disappeared, raising mushroom clouds of light soil as it rushed back to Baghdad and, perhaps, survival.
"Where are we going?" Randi wanted to know.
"Old World War One outpost the Brits built," Donoso answered promptly. "It's nothing but ruins now. A few tumbledown walls and desert ghosts. A Harrier will pick you up there at dawn and fly you out to Turkey."
"They don't want me to stay on, pig breath?" Randi wanted to know.
Donoso shook his head with disgust. "No way, baby girl. This cute little caper has compromised you and damn near the whole operation." His voice rose, and he glared again at Jon. "Hope it was worth it."
"It was," Jon assured him. "You have a family?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. Why?"
"That's how important it is. With luck, you've just saved their lives."
The CIA agent looked at Randi. When she nodded, he said, "Works for me. But you'll have some fast talking to do at Langley, kiddo."
Randi asked, "You're sure a Harrier can take both of us?"
Donoso was all business. "Stripped, no missiles, one pilot. Not comfortable, but it can be done."
The lumbering carrier continued on through the windswept desert. Moonlight shone down, casting an unearthly silver cloak over the rocky wadi. Meanwhile, everyone's eyes were alert. Without ever discussing it, their gazes surveyed all around, watching uneasily for more trouble.
The ruins were on the north side of the road. From the carrier, Smith studied them. The remnants of stone walls emerged like worn, gray teeth from the desert. Skeletal brush had blown against some, while a clump of thorny tamarisk grew nearby, indicating water flowed somewhere under the salty surface of this forbidding landscape.