Page 5

5

MAX

A s the plane touched down with a gentle bump, Max tightened his grip on Kyra's hand. It was supposed to be a gentle gesture of reassurance, but the surge of adrenaline he always experienced before the start of a mission made him squeeze a little too hard.

"Sorry." He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss.

"I'm not fragile despite what I look like now," she reminded him. "I'm an immortal warrior. I'm resilient and strong."

"Yes, you are." He kissed her knuckles.

It was Max's first time at Tehran International Airport, and it surprised him how small it was for a country of nearly ninety million people. In the US, an airport this size would serve a community of two to three million at the most.

Apparently, Iranians didn't do much international travel .

He touched the teardrop hanging on a short string around his neck. None of them other than Kyra spoke Farsi, and he hoped the teardrops would do a decent job of translating for them.

He and Yamanu were supposed to be Iranian businessmen returning from a trip to Turkey. Kyra and Jade were their wives, the two Kra-ell females their servants, and Dima and Anton their bodyguards. Yamanu's shrouding and thralling would do the heavy lifting of getting them through the checkpoints, so he didn't worry too much about the teardrops doing a convincing job, but it was still the trickiest part of their mission.

Eric, who was scheduled to arrive later that day with the second jet, wouldn't have the benefit of a master shrouder and would have to rely on the forged documentation and bribes that had been paid to airport personnel. Hopefully, that would be enough. They needed the extra space in his jet in case they were going to return with all of Kyra's family members.

"How exactly does the blanket thralling and shrouding work?" Kyra asked Yamanu. "Do you plant thoughts in their heads or just confuse them and make them think of something else?"

Yamanu tilted his head. "I make a mental suggestion for them to see what I want them to see and what they expect, and I also discourage curiosity by making them feel bored. It's like creating a subtle pressure that guides attention away from us. "

As the jet came to a final stop, Max rose to his feet and retrieved his and Kyra's bags from the overhead compartment.

As they disembarked, he positioned himself in front of Kyra, which for him was a protective instinct but would seem perfectly natural in this culture, where women trailed behind their men.

Yamanu was at the head of the procession, his mind tricks making the process entirely frictionless. Max kept his movements relaxed, but his senses were on high alert, cataloging exits, security personnel positions, and potential choke points.

The officer who took his passport barely glanced at it, his eyes unfocused as he stamped the document and handed it back without a single question.

A tense moment came when a uniformed guard approached their group, his hand resting casually on his holstered sidearm. Max maintained his outward composure while readying for potential trouble. The guard's eyes passed over them, and then he simply nodded and continued on his patrol.

They cleared customs with surprising speed, emerging into the arrivals hall where dozens of people were waiting with signs bearing the names of those they were meeting. Max scanned the crowd, looking for their contact.

"There," Kyra murmured beside him, her voice muffled by the fabric covering her face. She subtly nodded toward an older man holding a sign in Farsi script .

"What does it say?" Max asked quietly.

"Yamanu's fake name," she replied. "That's our contact."

The man spotted their group, smiled, and dipped his head. He looked to be in his early sixties, with a neatly trimmed white beard and the weathered face of someone who had spent much of his life outdoors.

As they walked over to him, he inclined his head again. " Salam ," he greeted, his voice low and gravelly. "My name is Nadim. I'm your driver."

He'd said all that in Persian, but Max's earpieces translated his words to English.

"This way, please," Nadim said, motioning for them to follow him.

He led them through the terminal and out to the parking area, where three nondescript vans waited. They were older models that looked well maintained but not flashy.

"I will drive the first vehicle," Nadim said, switching to English even though they all had translating earpieces and teardrops to translate their speech to Farsi. "You will follow in the others."

"Kyra and I will ride with you," Max said, glancing at Yamanu for approval.

The head Guardian nodded in agreement. "I'll take the second van with Dima and Anton. Jade, you take the third."

"It's about forty minutes from here, depending on traffic," Nadim said, handing keys to Yamanu and Jade. "If we get separated, continue to the address programmed in the GPS units."

Max had questions—dozens of them—about local conditions, security situations, and the intel Nadim and his team had gathered on Kyra's sisters, but they could wait until they reached the safe house and could talk privately.

He helped Kyra into the middle seat of the first van, then climbed in beside her while Nadim took the driver's seat.

Tehran sprawled across a vast plain at the foot of the Alborz Mountains, whose snow-capped peaks were visible in the distance through the haze of pollution that hung over the city. The contrast between old and new was striking—ancient architectural elements juxtaposed against glass-and-steel high-rises, traditional markets alongside modern shopping centers.

Traffic moved chaotically with cars weaving between lanes with barely inches to spare and motorcycles darting through dangerously narrow gaps.

"First time in Tehran?" Nadim asked.

"Yes," Max said. "I'm surprised at how vibrant it is."

Nadim nodded appreciatively at the assessment. "Western media often portrays us as a joyless, oppressed people. The reality is that even though we are not as free as we want to be, we still laugh and find things worthy of celebration. "

The van turned onto a wide boulevard lined with trees, whose canopies provided shade for the throngs of pedestrians milling about. Shops and cafés dotted the street level of buildings, while apartments rose several stories above. Women in various styles of hijab walked alongside men in both Western and traditional clothing, the diversity of dress more varied than Max had expected.

Nadim turned to look at Kyra. "The security around your sisters' homes has increased in recent days."

"We've heard," Max said. "Has anything changed since the last report?"

"Not really," Nadim said. "The two older sisters, those whose daughters were taken, have one guard each posted near their homes. Private security was hired after the girls' disappearance. The other two sisters have four guards each, and no one leaves the house without an escort. The guards even accompany the children to school."

Max exchanged a glance with Kyra. "They are afraid for your other nieces and nephews."

"Is the security provided by the Revolutionary Guard?" Kyra asked.

Nadim nodded. "Not in an official capacity, but they look well trained."

With Yamanu's shrouding, there could be twenty guards stationed at the house and it wouldn't make a difference. What Max was more worried about was the surveillance equipment and who was watching the feed. Yamanu's mind tricks didn't work on electronics, and if the observer was far away, Yamanu's influence wouldn't reach him.

"We got all the equipment Turner requested," Nadim continued. "Weapons, communications gear, surveillance equipment, C4, remote detonators, and timers."

Kyra looked impressed. "I bet it wasn't easy to get everything on that list."

"We have our sources." Nadim smiled, looking smug.

As they drove deeper into the city, the character of the neighborhoods shifted, the buildings becoming less imposing, the streets narrowing. They were entering a lower-middle-class residential area, where multi-story apartment buildings lined the streets, and small shops and food vendors operated from ground-level floors.

Nadim navigated the van through a series of turns, occasionally checking the rearview mirror to ensure the other two vehicles were still following. Finally, he pulled into a covered parking area behind a three-story apartment building that was indistinguishable from its neighbors.

"We have arrived," he announced, killing the engine. "The entire building is secure. I'll show you in through the back entrance."

They waited for the other two vans to park, and then their group followed Nadim inside through a service door and up a narrow staircase to the second floor.

The apartment was modest, but spacious and well appointed, with multiple bedrooms, a large living area, and a kitchen that had seen better days but was clean and serviceable. The furnishings were worn out but looked comfortable, and everything smelled of cleaning solution and air freshener.

"Let's sweep the place," Yamanu said. "I want to be certain it's clean."

"I assure you that it is," Nadim said. "But I understand if you want to double-check."

Yamanu pulled out the portable scanner William had designed just for such a purpose and did a walkabout, checking every room and closet. "All clear," he announced once he was satisfied that there were no bugs. "Go ahead and get rid of those outfits."

"Thank God," Kyra said as she ducked into one of the bedrooms.

"Do you need help?" Max called after her.

"Thank you, but I'll manage."

Nadim walked into the kitchen and pulled out the refrigerator, which slid out of its place with surprising ease. "This is where we hide the arsenal." He tapped the wall behind the refrigerator, and a panel popped free, revealing a large niche behind it.

"As requested," Nadim said, stepping aside so Yamanu and Max could inspect the contents.

The weapons cache included several handguns with silencers, assault rifles broken down into easily concealed components, ammunition, and various tactical gear. On the bottom shelf, securely packed in cushioned cases, were the explosives—enough C4 to create several diversions or, if necessary, bring down a medium-sized building.

"Good job." Yamanu clapped the guy on his back. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Nadim smiled. "I'm handsomely paid for my services, but I'm glad to help regardless of pay."

"What about the neighbors?" Max pointed at the side wall. "What if they hear something?"

"The entire building is yours, and sound doesn't carry to the neighboring houses unless you are very loud."

"Excellent," Yamanu said. "Do you have any other intelligence for us?"

Nadim closed the panel and pushed the refrigerator back with ease as if it was gliding on wheels, which it probably was.

He moved to the kitchen table where a worn leather satchel sat. From it, he withdrew a collection of maps, photographs, and documents. "Detailed layouts of the neighborhoods where each sister lives. Building floor plans where available. And surveillance photos of the sisters themselves, taken over the past week."

Max lifted his head as Kyra entered the kitchen sans the fat suit and traditional clothing. "You will want to be here for this."

She nodded, her eyes scanning the photographs.

They showed four women of varying ages, all bearing a striking resemblance to Kyra and Jasmine—the same high cheekbones, the same graceful necks, the same amber-brown eyes. They were dressed in traditional attire, their heads covered with headscarves, but their faces were visible—a sign that they weren't as strictly religious as the ultraconservative elements who insisted women cover every inch of their skin.

Kyra lifted her hand to her pendant, her eyes wide as she gazed upon the faces of siblings she didn't remember.

"Soraya," she whispered, touching one photograph. "Rana. Yasmin. Parisa." She turned to Nadim. "Did I guess correctly?"

The guy nodded. "Indeed."

Max looked at the pictures, trying to see if Kyra could have guessed who was who by their ages, but it was hard to tell who was the oldest and who was the youngest. "I guess that the heart remembers what the mind forgets," he murmured. "They look like you. Same eyes."

She picked up a photo of the eldest sister—Soraya, the mother of Arezoo, Donya, and Laleh. The woman was perhaps in her mid-forties, lines of care etching her face, but still beautiful. In the image, she stood in a market, examining produce with a distracted air, unaware of being photographed. A single guard could be seen in the background, not even attempting to be inconspicuous.

"We need to get to her first," Kyra said. "I have notes from each of her three daughters, so she will believe me, and she's the eldest, the others will listen to her."