Incoming: Zeb Carter Series, #7

By Ty Patterson

Old enemies don't die. They become more wily.
 

The spymaster plans to ruin the US economically and kill millions of people in the Western world. 
Zeb Carter is determined to stop him.

By offering himself as bait.


Zeb Carter had stopped the greatest terrorist act against his country.

However the ring leader behind its attack,  a deadly intelligence chief, was still out there.

That enemy has an audacious plan to ruin the US economically and kill millions of people in the Western world. 

Zeb Carter and his team are determined to stop him. 

However they'll have to offer themselves as bait.

 

In a hostile country and in a city that has been turned into a giant prison just for them.


★★★★★ 'An OMG, Freaking-Fantastic, Unputdownable, Unmissable, Unforgettable, Running-Out-Of-Superlatives, One-Click Thriller'

★★★★★ 'Hands down, the best thriller of the year'

★★★★★'Dazzling! Ty Patterson gets better with each thriller he writes'

★★★★★'A stop-the-clock, call-in-sick thriller reminiscent of the best of Gregg Hurwitz, Vince Flynn and Brad Thor'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Patterson
• Release date: Jun 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781916236929

Book preview

1

Shahriar, Iran

---

The four vehicles circled the enormous compound. None of them indicated they were part of a convoy or were in a group. They were merged with other traffic, trucks, vehicles, buses on Shahidan Inanlu Boulevard, each one of them going to their end destinations.

The four cars didn’t seem to have any particular end point. The flashers on each one blinked when they reached Shora Boulevard and cut over to Allameh Tabatabaee Boulevard and joined it. Aroose Shekhari Garden fell behind as the road turned right and at Farmandari Square, they joined Kalhor Boulevard.

Left again on Modarres Boulevard which turned into Shahidan Inanlu Boulevard at the park that split the double carriageway.

The enormous loop circled the town of Shahriar, in the province of Tehran, forty kilometers to the west of the country’s capital. Population of three hundred twenty-eight thousand.

The city had made the wrong kind of news in recent times.

More than two hundred protesters had been killed several months ago by police and military as people rioted against gas prices. A Ukrainian airplane had been mistakenly shot down by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, IRGC, near the city. All one hundred seventy-six passengers and crew killed.

The IRGC was initially formed to preserve the Islamic way of life in the country. It had grown beyond its ideological origins and with over a hundred thousand troops, had become a military force that prevented foreign interference, clamped down on dissenters and answered only to the Supreme Leader. Bringing down the aircraft was another in a long list of callous acts.

The four vehicles weren’t circling Shahriar for its recent notoriety or for the aircraft’s crash.

---

Their occupants were interested in the Shahriar Garrison. Training base for the Quds Force, a division of the IRGC that focused on unconventional warfare and extra-territorial military operations.

A covert outfit so powerful that it had become more famous than its parent body. It had over thirty thousand soldiers and its chief reported independently to the Supreme Leader.

Intelligence agencies around the world knew Quds Force for what it really was.

An outfit that supported terrorists around the world. Hezbollah, Hamas, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Yemeni Houthis, the Quds Force trained those outfits, provided them with arms and intel and helped them fight their causes.

The Iranian agency didn’t limit its activities to the Middle East. It was long suspected of helping North Korea in its cyberwarfare and nuclear ambitions.

Shahriar Garrison was one of the many Iranian bases the Quds Force had. The outfit trained Afghan fighters, mercenaries from all the over the world, and sent them to Syria and various hotspots in the region.

Ten Iranian suicidal terrorists had come out of the camp and had come close to pulling off the deadliest terrorist attack in the United States.

‘Not much to see here,’ a driver in one of the vehicles spoke aloud. She wore a hijab, a head scarf, that loosely covered her hair. Mandatory for women in Iran.

Meghan Petersen. Alert eyes surveying the compound wall of the garrison, hands resting loosely on the wheel, guiding the Toyota through traffic. Broker, the man next to her, leaned back and stretched his legs out. Crossed his arms over his chest and chewed gum as he watched the camp go past.

‘That place’s impenetrable,’ Beth Petersen, in another vehicle, exclaimed. ‘Look at those cameras on the walls. Those will be the obvious ones. They’ll have drones, biometric sensors, more guards than we can imagine.’ She snatched a look at her passenger, Zeb Carter, who seemed to be dozing, unconcerned. ‘There are just the eight of us. You’ve got a plan?’

He didn’t reply.

‘Hope,’ Chloe, driving another vehicle, said solemnly. ‘He’s hoping, thinking hard and the power of his thought waves will breach those gates.’

Bear, her partner and seated alongside her, chuckled just as the entry to the camp flashed by.

Cross barrier, security guard hut, armed soldiers, similar setup to thousands of camps around the world.

‘Hope and Zeb!’ Bwana, the driver of the fourth car, snorted. ‘You got something, bud?’

‘He’s probably sleeping,’ Roger drawled from the passenger seat. ‘This going around in circles is very relaxing.’

Beth risked another look when she had overtaken a bus, frowned when Zeb’s head lolled. Punched him on the forearm. ‘You’re really sleeping?’ she yelled.

‘A man can’t even rest,’ he grumbled as he straightened. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a plan.’

‘Take your time,’ Meghan said encouragingly when he didn’t speak for several moments. ‘Don’t be in a hurry. I mean, what’s there to worry us? Those soldiers, those drones which might be identifying us as we drive, pshaw!’ she scoffed.

Zeb grinned. The twins, they had a way about them.

‘We’ll use missiles,’ he said.

2

They had arrived in the country six weeks ago, each one of them taking separate flights to Syria. They had then joined the refugee travelers who were fleeing that country to escape from the war and devastation wreaked by Daesh and the continuous infighting between the government’s military and rebels.

Each one of them had paid hundreds of dollars to secretive middlemen who arranged such travel. From Syria to Iraq and then across the land border to Iran. A new route, the brokers claimed, that would avoid the entry blocks that were being put up by various countries to stem the flow of migrants.

The travel would take them through the northwest of Iran, across the border to Turkey, from where they would be led to Europe.

The Agency operatives broke away from their respective travel groups near Urmia, a remote town. Promises of new lives and passports in Germany, France or the United Kingdom didn’t interest them.

Zeb was the first to arrive at the rendezvous on the outskirts of Lake Urmia. The rest of his team arrived over the next twenty-four hours. All of them in good shape, none of them detected at any of the border patrols in the countries they had traveled.

Getting to Tehran was the easiest part of their infil into the country.

Each one of them had Iranian names and the credentials to back them up. Their employer was a charity that helped educate children who were orphaned in war. Such an organization did exist and conducted its activities all over the Middle East. Its CEO, Jeff Ryker, was the lead undercover CIA officer, long established in Iran and had readily taken on the Agency operatives.

He and Zeb had history, of the good kind. Besides, it was a new era of cooperation between the CIA and the Agency. Catlyn Feder, the Director of the US’s most recognizable intelligence outfit, had gotten to know Clare and her team well in a previous mission. She had found she had a lot in common with the Agency head and the women had become friends and allies.

---

Zeb and his crew looked Middle-Eastern and blended easily in the local populace.

All of them except Bwana. Impersonating as Ebrahim Yekta, his cover was that he had been adopted by an Iranian couple when they had worked in the West Indies. They had returned to Tehran and which was where he had grown up. Despite the water-tight legend, their plan was to minimize his street-time. Anyone looking like him would attract attention in Iran and they didn’t want that.

Zeb had suggested that Bwana stay back in New York, but the operative had put up a stormy protest and that had decided the issue.

Roger had grumbled that he too stood out. ‘I’m good looking,’ he had grouched. He had thrown his hands up in surrender at the baleful glares he received. ‘Anything for the team,’ he had declared manfully.

Meghan and Beth wore brown contacts and masqueraded as Susan and Ghazal Abdi. Chloe as Soraya Yazdani, needed no disguise.

They were in Iran for a specific mission, the deadliest one they had undertaken.

Take down Siavash Mostofi, head of the Quds Force, the man who had almost succeeded in bringing the United States to its knees.

---

‘Five vehicles,’ Zeb said as Beth continued the circuit around Shahriar. ‘Positioned around the garrison.’ He outlined his plan as the convoy rolled along, weaving in and out of traffic. A driver did a double-take when he saw Beth and had to swerve sharply to avoid smashing into a bus. Women drivers weren’t uncommon in Iran, but they weren’t seen that much on busier routes.

‘Remind me again,’ Bwana growled, ‘why we are doing this? We came to Iran to get Mostofi, didn’t we?’

‘Because,’ Chloe sighed wearily, ‘we need to rescue Jori Reuben and Zeha Benisch. We owe them.’

‘Why can’t Mossad extract them?’

Zeb grinned when Beth rolled her eyes at him. Bwana was going over ground they had already covered. He didn’t interrupt however. It’s how we go over mission details, making sure every one of us knows our roles.

He looked beneath his seat while the younger twin explained, checked his go-bag with his Glock and magazines hadn’t rolled back, settled in his seat as Chloe broke down the operation.

Reuben, a Mossad operative, was undercover in the garrison, impersonating as Haroun Kabali, a Syrian terrorist. He had been rescued by Quds Forces soldiers and brought to the garrison to train other fighters. His cover was an elaborate construct to covertly pass on vital intel to Tel Aviv.

Benisch was another Mossad agent, whose legend was that of a high-class brothel owner. She periodically visited the garrison and had made it look like she had fallen for Kabali.

Mostofi suspects someone inside the garrison leaked the identities of those ten terrorists. He’s locked down the entire camp, Zeb thought as he stared blindly at passing vehicles.

Benisch, who had been visiting Kabali, was trapped inside the base. Neither she nor Reuben were suspected, but it’s a matter of time. Their covers are good, very good, but they won’t hold up to the scrutiny that Mostofi will bring. He’ll torture and kill until he finds the informants.

He shifted in his seat and stretched. Avichai Levin, the Mossad ramsad, its Director, would have run a daring raid to free his operatives. The lockdown’s cramped his operations. Mostofi’s men along with the IRGC had made it difficult for any foreigners to enter the country. Levin did not have enough people in Iran to pull off the rescue. Which is where we come in. We arrived before Mostofi sealed the borders.

Their rescue would also help the Agency’s mission. It’ll deplete Mostofi’s resources. It would also send a message that Quds Forces weren’t invincible. It would give hope to the millions of Iranians who suffered under the brutal regime of the Supreme Leader, one which was ruthlessly enforced by the IRGC and Quds Forces.

‘Seen enough?’ Beth spoke over Chloe’s run down.

‘Yeah,’ Zeb straightened. ‘Let’s get some missiles.’

3

Tehran’s metropolitan area was divided into twenty-two districts that administered Iran’s largest city and provided infrastructure and services to its thirteen million people.

There was a clear, north-south divide in the city. The northern neighborhoods, which also happened to be closer to the foothills of the Alborz Mountains were where the wealthy and the elite lived. Niavaran, Sohanak, Elahiyeh and the surrounding locales had well-maintained streets, a European feel and featured fancy cars.

The southern neighborhoods such as Darvazeh Ghar, Javadiyeh, and Nazi Abad were where the less affluent lived. Poor infrastructure and city services, higher crime, more homeless, marked them.

The central neighborhoods, were where the government offices and administrative buildings were. Bahrestan was home to the country’s parliament, the Islamic Consultative Assembly was located. Grand Bazaar, a ten-kilometer long market that sold various goods and trinkets was in the central part of the city.

Beth led the convoy as she navigated expertly through, coming in from the west, skirting the edge of the bazaar, took the Nawab Expressway, went around Bahman Park and entered Hezar Dastgah.

Through small alleys where children stopped playing and stood back to let their vehicles pass. Staring wide-eyed at the women driving, all of whom had let their hair veils slip to cover their faces. An opening that widened into a street market.

Beth rolled to a halt and parked behind a fruit truck; the other vehicles arranged in a neat line behind.

Zeb donned his shoulder holster and concealed it between his Tee and jacket. Climbed out, put on his shades and wrapped a shawl around his neck. ‘Salaam,’ he greeted a vegetable vendor and proceeded through the market sampling various wares, Beth beside him.

‘Parvez’s stall is at the far end.’ Meghan in his earpiece. The elder twin was several paces behind, buying fruit from a vendor. Zeb negotiated with a fruit seller and bought a bunch of bananas while Beth went ahead. He peeled one and bit into it, turning around casually. No armed men. No police. No one who looked threatening. Bwana and Bear, towering over the shoppers, met his gaze fleetingly and shook their heads imperceptibly. They too hadn’t detected any threats.

He finished eating and dropped the peel in a bin. Hurried to catch up with Beth who was haggling with Parvez in Farsi.

Nope, not bargaining. She’s relaying Avichai’s code, in between negotiating prices. The store-owner was young, bearded, his dark eyes impassive as he went through the to-and-fro that every seller did. He matched the photographs that Levin had sent.

The vendor got to his feet and snapped his towel at an inquisitive fly. ‘Come with me, khanom,’ he addressed her. ‘The freshest fruit is inside, to keep them away from dirt and insects.’

Khanom. Ma’am. He’s acknowledged who we are and tagged on the polite address. It was the passcode protocol that they had agreed with the Mossad Director.

They followed him inside the store, the cloying smell of farm produce filling their nostrils. The store was much larger than what it looked like from outside. A narrow corridor with shelving on either side which opened into a receiving area. A large pair of weighing scales hung from the ceiling. Notebooks and files were piled on a counter.

Parvez beckoned and led them to a smaller room which was filled with sacks of grain. He moved several of them with Bear and Bwana’s help and cleared a space in the middle of the room. He bent to the floorboards and sprang a concealed lock to open a trapdoor. A ladder went down and disappeared into the gloom.

‘Come,’ he said and disappeared into the darkness.

Zeb went first, his hand near his Glock, alert for an ambush. There wasn’t one. Parvez turned on a light when he reached the bottom, illuminating a large storage room. He went to the side wall, slid back a false panel and dragged out a crate.

Opened it and gestured at its contents with a flourish. ‘Javelins,’ he said simply.

Zeb looked at them and then at the vendor who was sporting a small smile.

‘Right in the produce market?’

‘Where else?’ Parvez laughed. ‘No one comes inside the store. The smell puts them off.’

‘How long have you been doing this?’

‘Long enough.’

Zeb nodded, not put off by the seller’s reluctance to elaborate. It was a business transaction, enabled by Mossad. Nothing more.

‘All good,’ Broker said when he had finished inspecting the weapons. ‘How do we take them out?’

‘Come at night,’ Parvez replied. ‘There’s a passage through here,’ he pointed at a rear wall. ‘That will open up in the loading docks for my store.’

He hesitated. ‘You’re planning something?’

‘Yeah,’ Zeb said, turned away and led his team out.

‘Whatever you need, let me know. I can get them. Anything for friends of our mutual friend.’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything,’ the store owner promised. ‘There are lot of stock piles around the country that our friend has arranged. I can access all of them.’

Zeb nodded in thanks. He had shipped out all their daily gear with Ryker’s help. On top of that, the CIA itself had weapons and equipment they could use.

Still, it’s good to know we can get harder-to-find weapons in Tehran if we had to.

4

Agarage owner provided them with military uniforms and vehicles. A restaurant server gave them more intel. The guard routines at the garrison, the location of the cameras, the security center, the residential buildings and Rueben and Benisch’s quarters.

Over dinner, at an alfresco establishment, Zeb brought out a map of the city. They would look like tourists to onlookers, going over the next day’s sights.

‘We know what to do,’ Meghan said before he could start.

He folded the map and stuffed it inside his pocket. What was the point in wasting words if they knew?

---

At one am, seven vehicles came around the garrison on Shahidan Inanlu Boulevard. One of them, an SUV with Iranian Army markings, slowed and eased into a rest stop used by truckers. It parked between two large vehicles and its lights turned off.

Traffic was light that time of the night. No vehicle slowed to give it a second look. The trucks’ occupants didn’t emerge to look at the army ride.

Of the remaining vehicles, three broke off, their drivers positioning themselves to the front and right side of the garrison’s compound walls. Three others carried on, joined Shora Boulevard and two parked at the back of the camp, around its rear exit. The sixth ride looped around the garrison and came to the truck stop fifteen minutes later.

Zeb nosed the military vehicle out, slowing to allow Broker, Roger and Bear to climb in. In the rear mirror, he saw Meghan give a thumbs-up as she navigated her Jeep to occupy the space he had left.

He joined Inanlu Boulevard and sped down the loop.

‘Drones are in the air. Missiles, locked and ready.’ Beth, in their earpieces.

The UAVs were sophisticated equipment, each one of them made of the same light-weight carbon composite used in space shuttles. Stealth paint and RAM, Radar-Absorbent-Material, ferrite isotopes and flying wing design … similar technology that went into the making of the B-21 Northrop Grumman bombers. It was the first outing for the drones outside of the US.

The garrison will have radar and its own drones circling the base. We need our UAVs. They’re the only ones that will evade detection.

Zeb checked his mirrors and eased into Modarres Boulevard. His left blinker flashed as he approached the garrison’s main entrance. He checked his companions. Broker, Bear and Roger, sitting straight, and yet relaxed at the same time. All out-fitted in Iranian Army uniforms, their shoulder-boards indicating they were majors.

‘Ready?’

‘Hell, yeah,’ Roger fist-bumped with Bear while Zeb switched seats with Broker, a maneuver conducted with practiced ease.

---

Broker turned into the driveway and halted at the cross-barrier. Zeb lowered his passenger window and announced himself in a bored tone. ‘Colonel Rashidi, from the Inspection Directorate.’

That particular division was responsible for ensuring all the camps, the training regimes, were in accordance with IRGC rules and processes. While Quds Force had become an almost independent body, the Inspection Directorate still had jurisdiction over it.

It’s well-known for carrying out surprise visits. The guard, an enlisted soldier, hesitated, glanced inside the vehicle and stiffened at the sight of the other officers.

‘I’ll need to check, agha,’ he replied formally.

Zeb glanced at him coldly. ‘Check? Who will you check with? Don’t you know how we work? We can come at any time.’

The guard moistened his lips. Another armed sentry sauntered from the guard hut. ‘What is it, Feroze? Who are they?’

‘They’re from the Inspection Directorate, Hamid,’ Feroze straightened, glad to have some back-up.

The second guard straightened his shoulders. He seemed to be more experienced and showed no nervousness.

‘Security protocol, agha,’ Hamid nudged Feroze out of the way as he glanced inside, his eyes lingering on Zeb’s shoulder pads and on his name plate. ‘We need to call in for any unannounced visitors.’

Zeb nodded imperiously. They’ll call the security center which will crosscheck with the IRGC command. One more guard inside that hut, his hand on the phone.

‘Don’t waste time. Do it. NOW!’

5

The missile came out of the darkness. A split-second streak of fire and fury before crashing through the compound wall. It brought down a security tower and exploded in a ball of fire and dust.

The guards turned around in shock. Their jaws dropped. Zeb leaped out of the vehicle and clubbed Hamid down with a vicious blow to his head. He lunged over the ground and brought Feroze down too.

Bear and Roger raced to the hut as more explosions sounded and slugged the third guard. They ripped out the phone and shot up the computer screens.

‘GO!’ Meghan ordered in their earpieces. ‘Security building is down. Admin offices are, too. One comms tower is destroyed. Our drones will start EMP-blasting in a moment. We won’t have comms ourselves.’

‘Copy that,’ Zeb signed off and jumped inside their ride and hung on as Broker took off. Bear and Roger leaped from the hut, clung to the roof rails and crawled inside through the side door.

‘Won’t those guards report us?’ Broker huffed beside Zeb as he sounded his horn and navigated through a trickle of soldiers coming out of buildings.

‘Nope. They’ll be too embarrassed to admit they were sucker-punched. They’ll say they were knocked out by the missile’s heat wave. Something like that.’

The trickle became a flood as men ran on the road aimlessly, looking dazed.

‘GET TO THE EVACUATION AREA,’ Zeb leaned out of the window and thundered. ‘WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. WE NEED TO GET OUT.’

They looked at him, stiffened at the authority in his voice and at his uniform. They trotted towards a demolished building.

There’s a training ground over there, where troops gather. Reuben’s intel, backed up by the server, had mentioned a manual escape by climbing over the walls, in case the camp was overpowered.

Broker kept driving, shouting orders from his side, at other soldiers who accepted his commands without question.

‘That’s the mosque, on the right,’ Bear hissed.

Zeb nodded and clutched the door handle as Broker drove faster. Time was of the essence. The Quds Command would hear of the attack. They would find comms were down. Reinforcements would arrive. The vehicle shuddered as it rolled over rubble. That burning husk was the central administration building, where the commander’s offices were. That tower over there, leaning crazily, was out of commission.

Broker turned on a tarmac road. Two soldiers barring their way who seemed more self-possessed than the others. One of them raised a palm to stop them, the other fingered his weapon, an HK MP5. Zeb jumped out of the vehicle. Didn’t call out. He bodyslammed into the first guard and punched him while Bear swung out from the rear and swatted the second with an almost lazy flick of his fist.

‘ARREST THEM,’ Zeb yelled at a bunch of soldiers who had stopped to stare. ‘THEY QUESTIONED MY AUTHORITY. THEY’LL BE COURT-MARTIALED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’

The soldiers hurried over, grabbed the fallen men and led them away.

‘YOU KNOW WHERE TO GO?’

‘Yes, agha,’ one of them replied. ‘The route beyond the training ground. We’ll gather outside the camp and wait for orders.’

‘GO.’

Zeb cursed at the lost time and jumped on the vehicle’s running boards as it raced towards the first residential building. Men, many of them armed, jumped out of the way as they sped toward the residential building.

He jumped off and rushed towards the stairs before Broker had brought the ride to a stop. He shoved soldiers out of the way as they staggered down the stairs.

He grabbed one by the collar. ‘HAVE YOU SEEN KABALI?’ The man looked at him dazedly and sidled past when Zeb let him go.

Third floor. That’s where the trainers and the officers stay.

He burst up the steps, yelling at the men to make way, his friends behind him. Second floor, a group of soldiers hovering over a fallen man. Zeb’s heart sank. He pushed them aside. A Quds man, his face bleeding, glass shards stuck on his face. Not Reuben. ‘Take him down,’ he snapped. ‘This building’s not safe.’

Third floor. Skidding on spilled water and something darker that he didn’t dare think about. Fifth door to the right. He pounded on it. No reply. Was raising his hand to knock again when it opened abruptly and he was yanked inside.

He got a quick glimpse of Reuben’s bearded face. Ducked to evade the incoming blow but wasn’t fast enough. The concrete-like edge of the Mossad man caught him on the side of his temple, made his head ring.

‘Stop!’ someone yelled and when Zeb looked up, Bear had shoved the kidon against the wall with a hand to his throat, his Glock to the belly.

‘We’re friendly,’ Zeb rasped at Reuben in Hebrew, rubbing his head gingerly. He packs a punch. ‘We need to get out of here. Where’s Benisch?’

The Mossad operative looked at him, checked out Bear who had stood down but was alert for any sudden moves. His eyes flicked over to Roger and Broker who were at the door.

‘Who are you?’ Reuben asked, his eyes curious, his body tense.

‘Zeb Carter. That’s Bear. Broker and Roger over there. Avichai knows us. Some of the other kidon too.’

‘Carter?’ Reuben, rocked back in astonishment. ‘I’ve seen your photographs. You don’t look like him.’

‘You’ve heard of disguises?’ Broker smirked from the doorway.

‘I don’t mean to be a spoilsport,’ Roger drawled, ‘but this isn’t the time for lengthy explanations.’

‘You all speak Hebrew?’ Reuben carried on, still processing the arrival of the Agency operatives.

Zeb had enough. He reached out and slammed the kidon against the wall. ‘GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER,’ he hissed. ‘WHERE’S BENISCH?’

The Israeli blinked. He fell into Mossad agent mode. ‘Third building from here. Women’s quarters.’

He set off without a word, brushing past Broker and Roger and headed for the stairs. Zeb followed him, backed up by his friends.

The building had nearly emptied, just a few stragglers, as they raced down the stairs. ‘Agha!’ A soldier called out when Reuben overtook him. ‘Do you know what happened?’

‘Looks like we’ve been attacked,’ the Mossad operative threw back. ‘Get to safety.’

They hit ground level. Reuben joined Broker and Roger on the running boards while Zeb climbed inside. A colonel had to maintain appearances. Broker hit the gas, the tires spun and bit and they took off creating passage through the fleeing soldiers. Military trucks on the road, gathering slow-moving soldiers. No one giving them a second glance or stopping them.

There’s no command left, Zeb figured. The missiles must have killed everyone in authority. Or, they are dazed and trying to work the comms.

The vehicle’s skidding halt roused him and he was out in a flash, running behind Reuben. Halted suddenly when a thought occurred. Quds men might commandeer the vehicle if there’s no one in it.

‘We’ll stay here,’ Bear read his thoughts and smiled wickedly. ‘Someone needs to babysit Broker.’

Zeb turned and went up the stairs. Caught up with Reuben who was climbing nimbly, directing fleeing women to get to open space.

‘Cooks, cleaners, wives of those men who aren’t given family quarters,’ he panted at Zeb’s questioning look.

They rounded on a floor, froze for a moment at a scream.

‘That’s Zeha’s room,’ Reuben took off like a rocket.

Zeb kept pace, entered the room which was already open, automatically moving to the left, away from the open door, as he took in the scene.

Two men crouching over a woman on the floor. Three others pinning another on her bed.

The Mossad man lunged towards the bigger group with an oath while Zeb turned his attention to the two Quds soldiers who were straightening at the presence of the intruders.

The beast inside him, slumbering till then, filled him in an instant.

They were going to rape the women.

One soldier called out, his hand reaching for the gun at his belt. The other circled Zeb warily.

They must have seen my uniform, but they don’t care. They know they’ll have to kill me. That was the only way the soldiers could extricate themselves.

Zeb didn’t wait for the men to attack. Gun Man hadn’t drawn yet. That gave him an edge. He might be thinking shots will draw attention. He feinted at the second man who reared back.

Zeb attacked, a scythe-like blow at the man’s belly that would have felled him. The soldier saw it coming, deflected it neatly and counter-punched.

Zeb saw it coming. The beast made it feel like he was fighting in slow motion, enhancing his reaction speed and time. He caught the incoming wrist, twisted it and applied a lock, heard the man yell out, took a punch to his waist, another to his neck, but kept turning and clamping down on the man’s hand until his wrist snapped and his shoulder dislocated and he screamed, but Zeb didn’t let up, not even when the second soldier leaped up on him from behind and brought him down.

Zeb twisted eel-like as he fell, wrapped his right arm around the first soldier’s neck and squeezed, elbow-punched the second attacker in the face with his free arm and landed heavily on the man. Kept hitting him, taking blows in return, the cold fury inside him letting him absorb the punches.

‘CARTER!’ Reuben’s sharp voice cut through his killing rage.

He blinked. The body on top of him was limp. He pushed