“We have go-mission on that now?”
“You know it.”
“I am happy to report, sir, that the American did not escape with samples of the toxin.” President Shirazi lifted his eyes to look into the monitor above his desk, displaying the video uplink from the border. He smiled. “Well done, Harun. You have confirmed this?”
“Yes, sir. Plastic vials were recovered from the saddlebags of the dead horse. They contained the blood samples he was transporting. Having brought the Americans under fire, they were unable to retrieve the vials before we closed in.”
“You have pleased me, my nephew, but your work is not yet done. I want you to return to Tehran as soon as possible.”
“As you will, sir.”
Shirazi hit a button on his remote and the monitor went black. He rose and walked across his office. Fate. Destiny.
The will of Allah. It didn’t much matter what one called it, the end result was the same. His fingers trembled at the thought of it. This was the purpose for which he had been born.
Casualty reports lay on his desk, estimates of the Jews and Muslims who would die in the attack. They were only the beginning. The world would be set aflame…
“Do you know whether this Agent Caruso was acting alone? Was his, in effect, a solo mission?” Carol Chambers asked, looking up from her notes.
Harry shook his head. “No, he had a woman follow me on my run, so that gives you two. Standard protocol would be a third person who would hang back and provide coordination and overwatch. Minimum three.”
“So that would likely be how Director Haskel found out so quickly?”
“Correct.”
She turned back to her laptop and began typing. “If you’ll give me a moment, I need to get this forwarded to the DCIA immediately. Then we’ll prepare for your call to Achmed Asefi.”
“Good.” Harry remained seated, watching her as she typed. “One thing Carter didn’t say-how did we get a current number for Asefi?”
“If Ron didn’t tell you, I’m sure you don’t need to know,” she replied, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Harry shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to be.”
“Just jerking your chain,” Carol retorted with a laugh. “Let’s put it this way. Asefi is a dirtbag.”
“I gathered as much.”
“Carter told you about the whorehouse in Bulgaria?”
“An ‘Eastern European escort service’, was I believe the delicate way he described it,” Harry responded with a smile.
“A whorehouse in Bulgaria,” she repeated, looking over the top of her computer at him. “Asefi left contact information there, updated every two months. It seems that they have periodic access to young boys, and our man wanted to stay in the loop on the hottest ‘deals’.”
“So, we’re negotiating with a pedophile,” Harry said after a moment.
“That’s right. We don’t know if the contact number will connect us directly with Asefi or whether he has a cut-out, but the director has given the go-ahead.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chaos. As a warrior, Hossein had always been tasked with its creation, its manipulation. Having it thrust upon him was another matter.
He looked at the model on his desk, a model of their target made from bits of wood and clay by a recruit who had been considerably more skilled at art than he was with a rifle. He was gone now, along with the rest of the ineffectives.
Hossein rose and crossed the room, carefully considering and rejecting his options each in turn. He could still hear Isfahani’s words, streaming through his mind.
“
Then why, he had asked, are we going to all this bother?
“
Hossein’s fingers stroked the dome of the model absently as he stood there, lost in thought. Somehow, pragmatist that he was, the promise of divine intervention seemed less than helpful. Semantics aside, it did nothing to conceal the truth.
This was a suicide mission…
“Nichols,” Lay acknowledged Harry’s arrival with a brief greeting. “We’re almost ready to begin.”
Carter looked up from the laptop in front of him. “All due respect, sir, but I would like to point out that Director Haskel did not agree to read Nichols in on the FBI’s mission.”
“Haskel is not in charge here,” Lay announced, turning to glare at his top analyst. “I am. He got caught with his pants down and I’ll be hanged if he’s going to dictate terms. If you will, Harry, sit at that end of the conference table. You’ll be out of camera range, but able to hear what goes on.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lay adjusted his tie, a nervous tic Harry had seen many times before. Putting on his battle face.
The phone in front of Lay buzzed. “Director Haskel is waiting for you to start, sir.”
“Good.” Lay reached for the remote and powered up the LCD monitor on the opposite wall. After a couple seconds, the visage of the FBI director appeared on-screen.
“Good morning, Director Lay. Shall we get started?”
Lay’s face didn’t change. “That would be a good idea, Eric. I’m meeting with Colonel Mueller of GSG-9 at eleven, so don’t waste my time.”
“I don’t intend to. A week ago, director, your agency put this country in the peril of great embarrassment with the poor execution of Operation TALON.”
Harry could see the surprise written in the DCIA’s eyes, but he made no expression of it. “Following the revelation that someone was responsible for leaking mission-sensitive intelligence to the Iranians,” Haskel continued, “the President asked my Bureau to run a covert investigation of your Agency.”
