Smoke Reactivated

by Cherry Laska

  The concertgoers had arrived for the show, but they didn’t slow Reza. He had spent days studying the flow and movements of the crowds. He swiftly wove through the sea of people. Surprisingly, the woman who’d been on the bench with the stroller was somehow closing the distance on him. He pushed an elderly man into his wife. They both fell and blocked the female officer’s path, creating enough of a deterrent to allow Reza to get down the stairs. The doors of the train were just about closed as he slipped through and was whisked away to safety.

  Seven stops on the M5 line, a switch at Gare du Nord, and Reza would ride all the way to Orly International. Everything he needed he wore, carried in his bag, or he would buy later.

  8

  TWO WEARY INVESTIGATORS FROM THE Direction générale de la Sécurité Intérieure (DGSI), the agency responsible for France’s domestic counter-terrorism and counter-espionage intelligence, stood watching the suspect through the mirropane. The fact that Paul-Henri Moreau hadn’t broken and spilled everything he knew about the illegal chemical sales baffled the veteran intelligent officers. The man was obviously soft and used to luxury. He was grossly overweight, and everything he wore from his clothes to his cologne was expensive. The man seemed resigned to his fate and had wept several times over the past six hours during their interrogation. He’d admitted to very little and given them no information of value. Moreau tried to raise his hand to wipe his running nose. The movement was jerked to a halt by the short handcuff chain that ran through the ring attached to the metal table. His bottom lip began to quiver as he bent his head forward.

  The junior of the two investigators let out a frustrated sigh. “This prick is more scared of whoever he is involved with than he is of you or me.”

  The gray-haired man walked closer to the glass and put his hands on his hips. “Whatever Moreau knows has the potential to embarrass someone extremely important. The captain has gotten several calls from Minister’s office wanting to know what this guy has said. We have been instructed to make sure we keep the information secure. I’m retiring in two months, and I don’t need this shit screwing that up.” Without facing his partner, he said, “We’ve got five days before we have to press charges. Perhaps we should make things a little more uncomfortable. Let’s see if La Santé can change his mind about who’s scarier.”

  9

  36,000 FEET OVER

  THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

  REZA HAD FOUGHT HIS ANXIETY all the way through the security check and boarding process. He feared being pulled from line for inspection. He had exchanged his trendy clothes for gray sweatpants with a baggy New England Patriot’s sweatshirt and Super Bowl hat. What he couldn’t change was the thing that could make him a target—his ethnic look. Now that the plane had leveled off at its cruising altitude, he could relax. He would allow himself to be at ease for at least the next seven hours. He closed his eyes and dozed.

  He didn’t find peace in his sleep. It was haunted by the disturbing images of his friend Pasha being shot in the head, the barrage of bullets that had followed, and the toxic fire. It was all so vivid. Reza woke and willed back the bile that rose in his throat.

  When the battle at the garage had begun, everyone tried to get out of the way. Reza’s unstable injured ankle hadn’t supported his weight, and he’d fallen, landing behind Arash’s large tool chest. It had shielded Reza. He’d been frozen in horror on the grease-stained floor with his best friend’s blood and brains all over his face as the IYRM, his friends, were slaughtered right in front of his eyes. Reza knew Allah had saved him to show him the depth of evil of the Iranian people’s enemies so that Reza would work to make things right.

  The bullets had ricocheted around the garage, throwing sparks that ignited the pool of oil on the floor from where Arash had pulled up the passports. The fire spread quickly to all the flammable liquids and filled the garage with thick black smoke. Reza had choked on the noxious mixture of burning flesh, petroleum, and rubber. His survival instinct kicked in, and he’d managed to pull himself across the floor to reach the dirt bike he’d seen. He could taste the toxic fumes in his mouth now. They threatened to make him sick.

  The garage had been almost entirely engulfed in flames when something exploded, keeping the police at bay. Reza knew he had to get out or he would burn to death. With Allah guiding him, he had embraced the excruciating pain. He kick-started the dirt bike to life and gunned it in the direction of the plate glass window, not knowing what he’d face on the other side. When Reza broke through the front window, the police on the other side were consumed with dealing with the fire. In the chaos, no one noticed his noisy exit. The police had mistakenly assumed that between the bullets and the fire everyone inside was dead.

  Reza left Tehran and made his way to Turkey. When the bike finally ran out of gas, he continued on foot and took rides from brave sympathizers. Reza had struggled crossing the rugged terrain, constantly working to avoid capture and fighting to survive. It had been miserable. Reza slept out in the open and went days with very little food and water. His injured ankle slowly mended. He knew his discomfort was nothing in comparison to the pain the men who’d never even made it to the garage had faced or were still facing. The thought of his friends and family being tortured, imprisoned, or raped had never left his mind and had motivated him to keep going. He heard Pasha’s words and never forgot the promise he’d made to his friend.

  Reza had been forced to leave his beloved homeland, his family, and everything he’d ever known. Once he arrived in the city of Van, the trip became physically easier. Supporters took him in and cleaned him up. When he’d asked what was known of the families of the men killed, his worst fears had been confirmed.

  Two days later, the despondent Reza was driven across Turkey to the city of Izmir on the western coast. Under an assumed name, he had purchased a ticket on one of the cruise ships.The first night on the ship, he sat in his small cabin and opened Pasha’s shoulder bag for the first time. Reza learned the details of his friend’s plan to seek revenge on the Americans and President Amiri and had found the small fortune in black diamonds intended to finance it. With this information, Reza’s heartache and hatred of those responsible turned to determination to carry out what he believed was the path Allah wanted him to follow.

  When the ship docked in Rome, Reza had taken his few belongings ashore. He wouldn’t be returning to the ship to make the rest of the voyage. Later that day, he boarded a train for Paris.

  By the time he arrived, his heart and mind were completely resolved to what he must do. It had been forty-three hard days since he’d left Tehran.

  Reza prioritized securing an apartment and purchasing a laptop. The IYRM had taught their members how to be untraceable online. Reza used what he learned and sent emails to the twenty-six embassies located throughout Paris with all the incriminating evidence the IYRM had compiled on Zardooz and Amiri. Reza included the raids on the homes of the IYRM members and what had happened at the garage. Reza waited and watched the news for any indication that any of the governments were acting on the information he’d sent them, but he saw nothing. Daily, he checked the online email account he’d set up, but his inbox remained empty. His thoughts grew darker every day that no help was sent for his people. While he waited, he focused on refining Pasha’s plan. Reza split his time between working on his laptop in his dingy apartment and reaching out to the contacts from Pasha’s notebook and learning the city. Reza had grown increasingly more agitated by the violent images of unrest and protests that had been continuously broadcasted since the charade of the election a few days earlier.

  It all had led up to the meeting earlier that day with the chemical company executive and to the plane on which Reza was now traveling. His preparations were complete and things were in motion. He’d lost everything he’d ever cared about except Allah. Reza knew he would never make it back to his country but by following the plan that was Allah’s will, he could help all Iranians live safer, happier, freer lives, and he could make those
responsible for his pain suffer miserably.

  10

  I-75, SOUTHWEST FLORIDA

  TREVOR’S FACE WAS ILLUMINATED by the streetlight as they passed underneath it. His pillow was propped up against the window, and he was out cold. Jessica was envious. She couldn’t wait to get home to bed. It had been a long night, followed by a long day.

  After a night of disturbing dreams—a mixture of painful memories and imagined possibilities of a chemical weapon— Jessica had awakened exhausted and sore. She adjusted in her seat to reach the almonds in her bag in the back and felt the bite of lactic acid in her muscles. Even though she knew her sore body would thank her later, right now it was making her pay for the recent exercise.

  Sitting on the bleachers of the high school gym all day had been a little painful. It had seemed a bit surreal to be watching her sons wrestle while thoughts of terrorists kept surfacing. She had tried to push the worry out of her mind. As she watched matches where her sons and their teammates competed against the opposing team, she temporarily forgot about everything else. She loved the sport of wrestling. It was too brutal for some, but for Jessica, who fully admitted to being type-A, it was the ideal sport, a true one-on-one battle. After all, wrestling was the oldest sport known to man. When no one she knew was wrestling, she found her mind kept returning to everything Joe had told her.

  Now as the miles passed, she ran through everything she’d read. She would call Joe in the morning and give him her answer. He’d be disappointed and truthfully, she was too. It would have been exciting working and being with Joe again. She felt the old pull to protect and serve her county. But as much as she was worried about the threat, she hadn’t changed her mind.

  When Jessica hit the I-4 exchange with a little under an hour left to get home, she tried to push Joe and the CIA out of her mind. She sipped on her water and tried to think of anything else.

  11

  ORLANDO, FLORIDA

  JESSICA WOKE UP THIRSTY. THE digital clock by the bed read 3:04. She kicked off the covers, grabbed her cell, and activated the flashlight to cross her dark bedroom. She was trying to stay in a semi-sleepy state with the hope of returning to bed for a few more hours. She shuffled to the kitchen and noticed Anderson’s office light was still on. She heard muffled sounds. She felt bad he was still working and decided it would be nice if she brought him a drink and a snack.

  Jessica filled her glass and drank half of it while she filled a second glass for Anderson. She grabbed a protein bar and headed back. Pushing open the doors to the office she said, “Hey, I brought you—What in the hell?”

  Anderson jerked, stabbing at the keyboard in a panicked attempt to shut off his computer screen. A woman Jessica recognized as the Senior Vice President at Anderson’s company was in a white, see-through teddy in a compromising position. She let out a small scream as Anderson finally found the off button and the screen went dark. “Don’t you fucking knock?” he snarled. “What are you doing?”

  “What am I doing? What are you doing? No. Forget that. I can see what you’re doing.” Jessica stared at her husband as he stood up and tried to figure out his next move.

  “Goddamn it! Why’d you even come in here?”

  Jessica controlled her anger and outrage. The part of her that was fueled by anger, not jilted love, wanted the satisfaction of swearing and yelling at him. She’d love to tell him he was a disappointment as a man, father, husband, but she wouldn’t give in to that part. Anderson thought so highly of himself that he would dismiss her completely. She knew by remaining calm and delivering each word with precision, it would give her the advantage to control the situation. She handed him the glass and protein bar, then shut the door behind her.

  “I don’t want the kids to hear us. Keep your voice down.” She pointed to his office chair and commanded, “Sit down.” He complied. Jessica sat facing him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We both know our marriage hasn’t been good for a long time. Neither one of us is happy in our relationship. How you’ve handled it is disgusting and extremely disappointing.” His nostrils flared indicating he was prepared to battle. She pressed on, not giving him a chance to speak. “I never would have thought you’d actually be unfaithful. Obviously, I was giving you too much credit. You’re having an affair with Laura Crawford.” Jessica shook her head dismissively. “We need to consider what’s best for our children and ourselves. Now, I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

  Anderson sat in a state of confusion. Her calm demeanor had thrown him. With a look of dislike and a voice full of venom he said, “You’re right. I haven’t been happy with our marriage for a very long time. You’ve been a disappointment to put it nicely.”

  Wait a second, Jessica thought, he’s trying to blame this on me. She bit her tongue and called him a few nasty names in her mind. There were people who created their own reality, and the man she was married to was definitely one of those people. No matter what she said, she knew he’d never admit he was to blame in any way for anything.

  He continued, “You wanted to stay with the children and not travel with me. You didn’t want to be a part of my world. You didn’t take care of my needs.”

  That was a lot of you didn’ts and mys for a guy who had just been caught cheating. He swiveled his chair and reached to unlock the hidden safe in the bookshelf. He took out a manila envelope and shoved it across the desk at her.

  “I’m in love with Laura.” That should have been a major blow to Jessica, but it wasn’t. Anderson continued, “I’m filing for divorce. I was going to give you these papers Monday morning after the kids left for school and before I left for the conference. I thought it would give you a few days to calm down.” She could tell he was waiting for her to protest, to yell, beg, or cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Keeping her voice from showing any emotion other than her intended resolve, she said. “I’ll look over the paperwork with my attorney to make sure it’s fair. And while I agree we should end our marriage, I have to insist on three conditions.”

  “Oh, great. I knew it. What?”

  “Relax,” she said with open revulsion. “I only want us to put the interests of the children first. Always. And that entails a few simple things. One is we keep this civil. That means we don’t say anything bad about each other, call each other names, or fight in front of the kids no matter how angry or upset we might get with one another. Two, we wait a few weeks to tell them; just until the end of school and after Trevor’s graduation. Last, you be the best father you can to them, which means actually showing up to their events.” Anderson was silent for what was in Jessica’s opinion way too long. “Really? You have to think about that?” She looked at him in disbelief. She’d had enough. “Agree, and I give you my word that your friends and colleagues will never know about what happened tonight. And I will never let the kids think you are responsible for the divorce. Do you agree?”

  “Fine. I do with one stipulation of my own.”

  “What is it?”

  “You still have to be a part of the Miami Gala.”

  “Are you serious? Why would you even want that?”

  “Believe me, I don’t. However, you’re still Mrs. Anderson Whitley. There’re too many clients expecting you there. The markets are too volatile to give them any cause for speculation about the stability of my marriage or my company. Do we have an agreement?”

  “We do.” Jessica stood, nodded slightly, and went for the door. She couldn’t wait to be away from him. Anderson remained in his leather chair, looking a little stunned by what had just happened.

  12

  JESSICA CLIMBED BACK IN BED feeling oddly relieved. She was getting a divorce. There it was. It wasn’t a good thing in general, but she knew in her heart it would be the best thing for her and the kids. It’d even be better for Anderson. As much as she disliked him at the moment, he’d always be the father of her children, so she would always wish the best for him, if for no other reason than it would make his interactio
ns with the kids better. They’d all been in a less than ideal environment for a long time. Now, she could move forward. She just wasn’t sure to where or doing what.

  She was wide awake and didn’t think she’d be going back to sleep. She turned on the TV. It came on to coverage of the growing protests in Iran, making her think of Joe. “Could I?” she whispered to no one other than herself. She needed to work it through. She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from her nightstand. By the glow of the TV, she labeled the headers and began writing down the points as she thought of them.

  PROS

  —Challenge myself

  —Get away from Anderson

  —Opportunity for me and my kids to be independent

  —Stop a terrorist

  —Help a friend who needs me

  CONS

  —Danger

  —Not here to make sure kids do everything they need to do for school and sports

  —Lie about what I’m doing

  —Might have lost my skills

  Jessica reread the list. She grabbed a ponytail elastic from her nightstand, put her hair up, and looked over the list one more time. She knew there were probably more arguments she could make on both sides of the column, but if she was being honest, she wanted this. She’d been expertly trained and had operated at an elite level in this type of work. She was excited at the idea of challenging herself. The more she thought about it, the more she thought it could be done. The kids were older. Their days were packed full of school, practice, homework, and activities. She certainly didn’t care what her cheating husband thought.