entirely. Not Richards. He mentally calculated the pounds of high explosive needed to bring them down. It was good practice.
He was currently teaching a course on demolitions to the new recruits at the Farm, which was why the call of a few hours earlier had surprised him. Deployment orders. Where, he knew not. Looking at the young man at his side, though, he had some idea.
The agent was of Middle-Eastern descent. What country, he had never asked. He had never needed to know…
Davood Sarami finally decided he wasn’t likely to get any more answers from the big Texan, so he copied the older man’s example by staring out the window of the helicopter, staring down at his adopted land.
The nation he had taken an oath to protect. The son of Iranian-American immigrants, he and the rest of his community had received a rude awakening on the morning of September 11th, 2001. They and the rest of the world.
He had sat in his father’s living room, watching as America’s might came toppling to the ground. Watching- and for the first time questioning the faith he had known all his life. Questioning how terrorists could cling to the same holy scriptures that he did, the sacred words of Allah.
And he no longer knew what he believed…
“As you already know, if you’ve been following the news,” Lay began, picking up the briefing where Carter had left off, “the situation in Iran has changed dramatically over the last few years. With the rise to power of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps following the death of Khamenei two years ago we’ve seen Iran morph into a true praetorian state under the leadership of former Guards’ commander Mahmoud F’azel Shirazi. The clerical oligarchy of the mullahs is still intact, but exists largely at the good grace of the IRGC.”
He passed a photo across the desk to Harry before continuing. “That’s Shirazi. We had initially hoped that this transition might curb some of the evangelical fervor that had characterized the leadership of Khamenei, but we were mistaken. If anything, Shirazi makes Khamenei’s disciple and successor, the Ayatollah Youssef Mohaymen Isfahani, almost look like a moderate.”
Harry nodded. “That’s a significant statement.”
“Under Shirazi’s leadership, Iran has reached an uneasy detente with the West, but most believe it to be the calm before the storm. They’ve expanded their influence over Iraq, with Iranian-backed Shiite candidates gaining a majority in parliament during the last elections. Much of the same thing is happening all across the Stans,” Lay added, referring to the small Muslim countries north and east of Iran, most of them former members of the Soviet bloc and whose names all ended in “stan”.
“IRGC-owned companies now control between sixty and seventy percent of the Iranian economy, which is not to say they allow any real competition in the remaining percentage. The ranks of the
A knock came at that moment. “Come in,” Director Lay called as his secretary entered the room.
“Mr. Richards’ helicopter is landing, sir.”
The CIA director smiled briefly. “Thank you, Margaret.” She disappeared and he turned his attention back to the men in front of him. “Why don’t we go down to the Operations Center and meet up with Richards?”
Kranemeyer took a folder from under his arm and handed it to Harry. “A recruit from the Farm is coming in with Jack. He’s of Iranian descent and speaks fluent Farsi. As of right now, he’s assigned to your team. Things go well on this op, we may make the transfer permanent. This will tell you what you need to know.”
“Right, sir.”
Speed-reading had always been one of Harry’s talents, and he’d read the folders before the elevator reached the level of the Operations Center. By that time he knew just about as much as the Agency was willing to tell him about Davood Sarami, a second-generation immigrant in his mid-twenties. He would know more once he had been able to observe him personally. As to how he would perform-he wouldn’t know about that until they were in the field, past the point of no return. Committed. He hated that.
He preferred to work with men he knew-with men whose abilities were a known quantity to him. Men he could rely upon to do their job.
Men like Thomas, Tex, and Hamid Zakiri, themselves survivors of the Azeri mission as well as many other missions in the years before and since. He knew them all and trusted them. Counted them his friends. But only Hamid, an Iraqi-American Shiite, spoke Farsi.
Harry did, but they needed another who could pass more easily as a native. Hopefully this man would fit the bill…
“So, gentlemen, that is the situation as we have it.” Director Lay looked up from his briefing papers. “Any questions?”
Harry hadn’t been listening. He had heard it all before, all of it explained to him back on the seventh floor. So, he had spent his time watching.
Watching the young Iranian, watching
“How many Iranian troops are at the campsite?”
It was a good question.
Lay glanced over to Ron Carter for the answer.
“Initially, our satellite overpasses were only able to catch a few men, perhaps twelve or thirteen soldiers,” Carter replied, stepping forward, his laptop in hand. “However, the last scan, made twelve hours ago, showed at least platoon strength, approximately fifty men, all heavily armed. There are also an undeterminate number of scientists. I believe we can assume that some of them have military training.”
“Triple-A?”
“Negative-satellite shows no formal anti-aircraft capability. Small arms fire could be intense, though, so a direct air assault is inadvisable. We’ll have to set you down a few klicks out.”
“Do we have any idea why the Iranian military decided to set up a bio-war facility
David Lay shook his head. “None of this makes sense. That’s why we’re sending you in. To figure out exactly what they’re doing.”
“Alpha Team is being reconstituted?” Hamid Zakiri asked, speaking up for the first time. Heads swiveled to where the Iraqi agent stood a few feet away, calmly sipping a Pepsi. At five-nine, Zakiri was far from the tallest team member, but he was light and fast. Back in his Army days, he’d set records on the Ranger’s “Q Course”.
“Yes,” Harry replied, in answer to his old friend’s question. Alpha Team as a whole hadn’t officially been mission-ready in over a year, with one or another of its members deployed separately. His own mission south of the border had only been the latest in a string.
“Almost like old times,” Hamid smiled, white teeth showing against his deeply tanned skin. “All that’s left to do is get Sammy back.”
Harry nodded. The departure of Samuel Han after the Azeri mission had left a hole in the teams, a hole they hadn’t permanently filled even these years later. No one could fault him, though. After the losses that winter, he quite simply hadn’t been able to take it anymore. Leaving the Agency forever behind him, he had retreated into the mountains of West Virginia. Rumor had it that he’d become something of a hermit. The stresses of combat did that to people. The loss of friends…
Davood Sarami had been studying the map on the far wall. When he turned back, his tanned face was strangely pale.
