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is what you found,” Sasha declared, as
if abruptly deciding to take an interest in the conversation. She turned the
laptop around and showed them the screen, and the image on it that had so captivated
her.
    The display showed what Sigler could only
assume was a digital copy of one of the documents they had recovered during the
previous night’s raid. It didn’t look familiar, but then he hadn’t really been
looking when they’d done the collecting. He recognized the delicate curves of
Arabic script, but there was a block of writing in the middle that looked like
nothing he’d ever seen before. The letters might have been Greek or perhaps
Cyrillic, but interspersed among the not-quite-familiar letters were other
shapes that looked almost like Chinese characters:
     

     
    “What does it say?”
    “I don’t know,” Sasha replied, looking
genuinely bothered by the admission.
    The CIA man broke in impatiently. “It’s
evident from the accompanying message that the enemy does know what it says, and that it’s critical to the development
of a biological weapon.”
    Sigler had been in the Unit long enough that
such a declaration no longer surprised him. The stakes were always high.
America’s enemies were bent on acquiring bio-weapons or loose nukes. It was the
Unit’s job— his job—to nip those
deadly aspirations in the bud.
    “The intel you
collected,” Klein continued, “doesn’t tell us what exactly, but it does tell us
where: an old Republican Guard depot about thirty klicks northeast of Samarra.”
    Sigler reviewed his mental map of the region,
but the area didn’t ring any bells. Samarra lay between Baghdad and Tikrit,
along the eastern leg of the Sunni Triangle, where nearly all of the insurgent
activity had been focused lately. East of the triangle, there was a whole lot
of nothing, all the way to the Iranian border.
    “We had no idea this place even existed; it
doesn’t show up on any of our satellite imagery, going back all the way to the
First Gulf War, so we have to assume that it was decommissioned sometime
following the end of the war with Iran. We should have a UAV over the site
within the hour, but we’re thinking most of it’s underground. Saddam probably buried it to hide it from UN weapons inspectors.
That’s probably why we didn’t find it sooner.” Klein shifted forward in his
chair.
    Here
it comes , thought Sigler.
    “The window of opportunity on this one is
narrow. Once they figure out their couriers got nabbed, if they haven’t
already, they’ll pick up and move. We need to hit this place ASAP.” Another pause.
    “Tonight.”
    Sigler didn’t question the assessment. Klein
wasn’t asking for his opinion or advice; the CIA man was telling him to get
ready. “I’ll tell the boys.”
    “Slow down. There’s more.” He glanced at
Sasha. “You’re going to have a ride-along.”
    This time, Sigler wasn’t able to hide his
dismay. “You’re shitting me, right?” He glanced over at Rainer, but the Boss
was stone-faced. “You mean you’ll bring her in once we secure the site?”
    Klein shook his head. “Miss Therion needs to
be there with you.”
    For the first time since her introduction,
Sasha seemed to be aware of the discomfort her presence was creating. “The
Iraqis know how to crack this code,” she said, tapping the computer screen
emphatically. “And we don’t. We don’t even know where to begin. I have to be
there. I have to be the first one inside.”
    Rainer cleared his throat. “The decision is
made, Jack.”
    “With all due respect, sir, I would like to
say for the record that this is a piss-poor idea.” Sigler hoped that his use of
the military honorific—something that was almost never done in the Unit—would
convey that this wasn’t just run-of-the-mill bitching and moaning.
    Rainer’s reply was succinct. “Deal with it.”
    Sigler glanced at Klein, who now seemed to be
making a studied effort to avoid meeting his gaze, and then at Sasha.