Desert Falcons. Don Pendleton

“Have I not become a master fisherman?” He laughed. “What do you wish me to tell them?”

      “Tell them to take a taxi to this hotel and to wait there until they are contacted.” He handed the Arab a card with the name of a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the Strip. “Reservations have already been made.”

      Shabahb nodded and typed the message and clicked the mouse button to send it.

      “Please, get me another can of that cold beer.” Shabahb gestured toward the small refrigerator. “All the work on this computer has given me a tremendous thirst. I feel like I’ve been marching in Baghdad.”

      Androkovich grinned. He didn’t want the man to imbibe just yet. An inebriated cleric would be too prone to make a mistake, and that was something he couldn’t afford at this crucial juncture.

      “In one minute, my friend. Let’s first make sure we have these two fish hooked and on the line.”

      They sat in silence, the Arab glanced furtively at the refrigerator, and then back to the screen of the computer. “It takes some time, since the message is routed through so many servers.”

      “I know. I set it up that way, remember?’

      Shabahb grunted and licked his lips. “Please, I need a drink. I’ll get it myself.”

      The Russian made a tsking sound and squeezed the Arab’s shoulder, increasing the pressure until the man grunted in pain. “Not till we’re sure.”

      * * *

      Understood. It is the will of God.

      “Do you see?” Shabahb asked. “Is it not just as I predicted?”

      Androkovich smiled and stepped over to the refrigerator. He pulled open the door and removed one of the frosty cans and set it on the desk next to the computer. As the Arab reached for it, the Russian placed his hand on top of the can and shook his head.

      “First, give them the reassurance of the faithful.” He smiled, allowing a trace of malevolence to filter into the expression. “Tell them their service and loyalty will be rewarded in this life and the next.”

      Shabahb snorted as his fingers danced over the keyboard.

      “What did you tell them?”

      “I told them that their faith and service would be rewarded with the customary number of virgins in paradise.” He laughed. “It will be enough to sway them. But for us, my friend, we know the value of a woman who has had plenty of practice in pleasing a man, do we not?”

      Androkovich was not amused by the Arab’s attempt at camaraderie. “Make sure they’re hooked before you make jokes.”

      Shabahb sent another message and received a confirmation. He pointed to the screen.

      “See? They have replied. Now, may I please have my beer?”

      Androkovich caught the Arab’s gaze and held it for a long five seconds, and then let a smile creep over his lips as he lifted his hand from the top of the beer can.

      “Sure, my friend,” he said, deciding to ease up a little on the man. “Quench your thirst. Drink deep from the well.”

      As he watched, Shabahb popped the tab on the can and guzzled the beer.

      “Thanks, boss,” Shabahb said, pausing to exhale.

      “Have another one, my friend.” He opened the door to the refrigerator, grabbed a can and tossed it to the Arab, then took out the burner cell phone he used for communications with Masoud. It was time to work on the newest wrinkle in the plan.

      He stepped outside into the early-evening air and admired the majestic sweep of the mountains in the distance. He was going to miss this view. Perhaps, once this was over and the Saudis had paid him in full, he would settle near another mountain range, but definitely not in the desert, or the United States. Just as he was about to call Masoud’s number, Androkovich heard a clip-clopping of hooves. He turned and saw Eileen Autry atop her brown-and-white horse. She called out to him.

      He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned as she rode up. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a tan blouse that clung tightly over the swell of her breasts. Her legs looked long and lean in blue jean pants, which were tucked into ornate, leather riding boots.

      “I’ve been wanting to talk with you,” she said.

      He disliked looking up to anyone, especially a woman, but he anticipated that the conversation would be shorter if she didn’t dismount.

      “What can I do for you, Ms. Autry?” he asked.

      “I know my brother hired you to maintain security,” she said, “but we don’t want our ranch turned into some armed camp.”

      Androkovich raised an eyebrow and smiled.

      This could be a problem, he thought, depending on what she had seen.

      “What do you mean?” he asked.

      The horse’s head twisted to the side, and the animal snorted. Eileen tugged the reins a bit. “I mean, you and your men didn’t have to have all those rifles earlier. The situation was touchy enough.”

      The Russian nodded, but added, “Your brother wanted a show of force. Perhaps you’d better speak to him.”

      “Believe me, I will.” She adjusted her grip on the reins, and the big animal shifted, causing Androkovich to step back. “And what were your men doing down by the rear gate? It looked like they were planting some kind of mechanical devices.”

      Shit, he thought. If she’d taken a closer look, would she know what they were?

      He gambled she would not, being the spoiled, pampered rich-girl type.

      “Those are special devices to alert us if anyone trespasses,” he said. “But be careful if you’re riding over in that area. There’s a lot of lines and wires that could trip your horse.”

      The woman’s expression took on a startled, angry look. “Then, clean up the area immediately. As I said, we don’t want our ranch turned into some kind of fortress.”

      “Perhaps you’d better take the matter up with your brother,” he said. “It was all done on his orders.”

      “Shane told you to do that?”

      He knew her male sibling would agree to anything Androkovich said. “That’s right. And although I report directly to him, I don’t want to get in the middle of a family feud. All I’m trying to do is make sure you’re all protected.”

      Eileen’s eyes flashed. “I’ll speak with him.” She jerked the reins hard, and the horse’s head turned away. In a moment she was moving back toward the house at a fast trot.

      The Russian took a deep breath and scrolled down to Shane Autry’s cell phone number. He’d have to give him a heads-up that Eileen was on the warpath, and then call Masoud. He felt like one of the circus jugglers he had seen once in Moscow in his youth.

      So many balls to keep in the air at the same time, he thought.

      And sometimes it felt like he was juggling some damn meat cleavers.

      * * *

       FBI Field Office, Las Vegas, Nevada

      BOLAN STUDIED THE large map on the wall of Special Agent Gila Dylan’s office. As maps went, this one was pretty detailed and covered a substantial amount of the county. Not only had she highlighted in red the location of Camp Freedom and the last known location of the two missing BLM Park Rangers, but she also had the route of the Las Vegas Marathon in yellow and the site of the desert warfare training seminar in orange.

      Agent Dylan walked into the office holding a thick file and sat down behind her desk.

      “Sorry to keep you two waiting,” she said, “but I had to check in with