The southern Tip of Azerbaijan
Joshua and the four-man rescue team were exhausted. Cannon looked through his binoculars and nodded. “That looks like a city up ahead. Must be Lerik — the secondary pickup point.”
After driving out of Tehran and back north to the Iranian coast, the rescue team and Joshua waited for the Israeli chopper to appear at the rendezvous point near Neka. But the Israelis didn’t show. Somehow, the team wasn’t surprised. Israel had other problems on its hands. As a result, the five men had to scramble. They had to swipe a powerboat and cross the Caspian Sea toward Azerbaijan. They fully expected the worst, namely, to meet up with Iranian patrol boats en route and then have to fight their way through. But for some reason the Iranian coast guard never appeared. All they could figure was that something big must have happened, some change in Iranian military strategy regarding its coastline.
Just short of the border, they dumped the boat and walked inland, relieved that at least they were close to leaving Iran. They waited until nightfall to cross into Azerbaijan, then walked past the town of Astara and thirty miles north to Lerik.
Jack pulled out his GPS and secured the coordinates. They were now only a few miles from the pickup point, but they weren’t expecting an Israeli helicopter this time. The Israelis had summoned help from the Republic of Georgia, which lay to the north of Azerbaijan. Georgia had resisted an alliance with Russia and had secretly coordinated defenses with Israel. But as a former part of the Soviet Union, it retained mutual contacts with the Russian republics. So it was decided by Rocky Bridger and the IDF headquarters that a civilian commercial helicopter from Georgia was likely to raise few eyebrows if it was seen over Azerbaijan airspace. Georgia agreed to the plan and sent a two-pilot helicopter to the new pickup point.
The team looked at their watches. Cannon said, “We have six hours until pickup. Let’s find a safe place to crash for a couple of hours.”
They found a spot just off the main road. They settled at the edge of a thick forest of trees. Cannon pointed out that the trees were called demir-agach, the famous “iron tree,” with its orange leaves and fruit. A few of the guys picked some of the fruit off the branches. That was enough, together with the cooler full of food on the boat they had stolen, to help ease their nagging hunger for a while.
From their position they could see the road below. Cars passed. A convertible filled with several dark-haired, attractive girls passed, and the two younger special-ops guys, both of whom were single, cracked jokes. But Joshua couldn’t help thinking about Abigail, wondering if she’d been told about his rescue. Surely she had. He had left her behind with so many burdens. And he thought about Cal and was glad he was there with Abby. Joshua was certain that Cal would step up to the plate and be the man of the house in his absence.
And Joshua wondered about his country.
As he lay on the mossy forest floor, he was feeling his age, as well as the effects of the beatings he had received in captivity. But one thought overshadowed even his bone-sickening fatigue and pain. He wished he could simply will the message across to the other side of the planet: Abby, please know how much I love you, baby … I’m coming home …
Then he was struck with a thought, and he put it into silent words: God, please let Abby know I’m all right. Keep her safe. Deb and Cal too. Thanks for listening. Amen.
Down on the road, a few people on horses clip-clopped past. Then it was quiet for more than an hour. Joshua, in his exhaustion, drifted off into a deep, otherworldly sleep.
The quiet was broken, however, with the rumbling of a military convoy that echoed up to the forest — armored Humvees, tanks, troop transports, missile launchers — all rolling down the road.
The team members sat up fast and rigid, like pointer dogs.
Jack was the only one to speak. “Something’s about to break loose.”