Ali’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Dr. Khan is a professor of anesthesiology at the USC Medical Center. He’s also a Muslim.”
“Sunni Muslim,” Khan corrected.
Ali bristled. “A heretic.” The Iranian was a devout Shia.
“That’s the best I could do on short notice,” Pearce said.
“This was not part of our deal,” Ali said.
“If I was going to kill you, you little shit, I promise you I wouldn’t do it with tranquilizers.”
“And if I leave right now?”
“It means our deal is off. Then I’ll put a bullet in your stomach before you reach the exit door, and then the fun times can really begin.”
Ali was trapped. Without the threat of the explosives at Petco Park, he didn’t have any more leverage.
“I am trusting your honor to deliver me safely,” Ali reminded Pearce, mustering as much ferocity as he could.
“You’re lucky I value my honor.”
“I am surprised you do. Infidel mercenaries have no loyalty to anyone but themselves, and there is no honor in that. Perhaps Allah will indeed be merciful to you on the Day of Judgment.”
“I’m curious. Why did you reveal the location of the Petco Park explosives to us? I thought you people enjoyed slaughtering helpless civilians.”
Bravos had posed as installers two weeks before and replaced the foam bumper guards that wrapped around the support poles throughout the stadium, but instead of using styrofoam in the replacement job, they had used tubes packed with C4 and steel flechettes, then reattached the advertising sleeves that covered the bumpers. After Pearce had confirmed the Russian submarine with Ali, the Iranian revealed the location of the bombs. An FBI demolition squad took care of the rest.
“New American civilian deaths would have served no purpose, but they would have incurred the wrath of the United States upon my government. And for the record, I did not install those devices. It was Bravo’s men who did it. So, technically, I and my government have assisted the United States in defeating a terrorist attack by the Bravos upon your nation.”
“And we’re supposed to be grateful?”
“No. That would be presumptuous.”
Pearce marveled. Like most Eastern cultures, Iranians had no sense of irony.
Ali continued. “I just want the record to be clear. There must be no false pretext for hostilities between your government and mine.”
“We don’t need a false pretext to wipe your maniac government off the face of the earth. You’ve given us plenty of real ones.” Pearce checked his watch. “Time to get rolling. Dr. Khan is going to put you to sleep, and when you wake up, you will be in Tehran, alive and safe. The rest is up to you.”
“I must warn you that the anesthesia I will be using is quite potent. You will probably have a slight headache when you wake up, but it’s nothing to worry about,” Khan added.
“And it goes without saying, once you arrive in Tehran, all bets are off. My promise is to deliver you alive and well today. My one goal in life is to make sure you have very few tomorrows. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Pearce stepped closer to the smiling Iranian.
“When this mess finally gets cleaned up, don’t be surprised if you find me knocking on your door.”
Ali didn’t flinch. “I shall be waiting with a cup of hot tea.”
“Dr. Khan will take care of you from here. And the two pilots up front? Both are armed, and both know who you are.”
Dr. Khan slipped back his sport coat, revealing a pistol on his hip. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pearce. There won’t be any trouble.” He glared at Ali.
“One more thing.” Pearce held out his smartphone for Ali to read. It had a text message on it for Ali from President Myers to Mehdi Sadr, the volatile president of the Iranian regime.
“Have you memorized her message?”
Ali nodded.
“It’s for President Sadr’s ears only. If he doesn’t contact her within twenty-four hours after your arrival, her offer is withdrawn. Understood?”
Ali nodded again. “I will deliver it as soon as I arrive.”
“Roll up your sleeve,” Khan ordered.
Pearce remained in the cabin until Ali was safely knocked out and tucked into bed with an IV drip in his arm.
“Thanks, Doc. I owe you one.”
“I’m just paying it forward, Mr. Pearce. My family owes you everything.”
Pearce stepped off the jet stairs just as a van rolled up to the hangar. Three men and two women swiftly exited the vehicle and began unloading the crates of high-tech gear they’d brought with them for the long flight to Tehran.
Washington, D.C.
After several days of testimony by experts hostile to the president’s agenda, the House Armed Services Committee hearing finally invited a Myers ally: Mike Early. As the president’s special assistant on security affairs, he was both appropriate and relevant to the hearing’s subject matter.
“Invited” was a term of art; the administration intended to fight any sort of summons on the grounds of separation of powers. But Early eagerly agreed to answer any questions put to him. He wasn’t even sworn in.
The first questions from the committee Republicans were personal, detailing Early’s extensive and heroic national service, and the next questions they asked were pure softballs that allowed him the chance to crow about the great successes of the national security structure in the past few weeks rounding up drug kingpins and wiping out the Bravo terrorists.
Representative Gormer let them ask all of the questions they needed to. Early’s smile got wider and wider as the morning went on, Gormer noted. Early relaxed, dropping his guard. He even cracked a few jokes.
Until Gormer dropped the bomb.
Gormer pulled his microphone closer. “Tell us, Mr. Early, exactly who is Troy Pearce?”
Early was caught short. In a million years, he wouldn’t have guessed that Gormer had any clue about Troy, let alone the balls to ask about him in the middle of an ongoing classified operation. The more he thought about the question, the angrier he became, but also the more confused. He hadn’t been briefed for this possibility.
“Troy Pearce is a friend of mine, and the CEO of Pearce Systems, a registered federal defense contractor.”
“And is it true that President Myers hired Mr. Pearce and Pearce Systems to conduct the targeted assassination of Mr. Aquiles Castillo, a private citizen of Mexico?”
Early couldn’t hear himself think as dozens of digital cameras whirred and flashed in front of him. A crowd of news photographers was squatting directly in front of his table, blasting away with their cameras like frenzied paparazzi.
“No comment, Mr. Chairman,” Early finally blurted out.
“Is it true this administration hired Mr. Pearce to murder other foreign nationals and to carry out its other clandestine foreign-policy objectives?”
“No comment.”
“Is it true that this administration has engaged the services of Pearce Systems to perform espionage operations against foreign governments, including Mexico, a respected ally?”
“No comment.”
And so it went.
The shit storm had begun and Early had forgotten to bring his umbrella.
The chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, Sandra Quinn (D-GA), watched the live hearings seated on a couch in Senator Diele’s office. In the chair next to her was Vice President Greyhill.
