Mustapha’s Daily Goods
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 7:31 p.m.
“Go,” said Church.
“I think Hugo Vox is working with the Sabbatarians.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I opened the briefcase I took from Krystos and found some stuff. Two things in particular and you are not going to like them. The first is a directory of safe houses all through the Middle East. Nothing newer than January first, though, so it fits with what he might have known before he went into the wind.”
“I figured as much. I sent out a network-wide warning after your ‘adventures’ today. The CIA has confirmed two other compromised locations, ditto for Barrier, and the Israelis lost one. Right now you’re sitting in the only safe house in Iran that we know for sure was never on Hugo’s radar. As bad as this is, it could be worse. Most of the houses are untouched, so staff was able to evac safely. We might be in the clear there and-”
“There’s something else,” I said. “Something a whole lot worse.”
I could hear Church take a breath. After today he was probably wishing he could change his number. “Tell me.”
I didn’t actually want to tell him. It would be like dropping a hand grenade into his lap.
“I found a printed list. Fifteen pages of it. Names, social security numbers, home addresses, family members. The works.”
“Who is on the list?”
“Everyone who works for the Department of Military Sciences,” I said. “And their families. Rudy’s on that list. My father and brother are on that list. And, Church-?” I said softly, “Circe is on that list, and it says that she’s your daughter.”
“God…” Church breathed. “Oh my God.”
The silence became huge, filled with flying debris.
Church disconnected without another word.