Smoke Reactivated

by Cherry Laska

  She took a deep breath and skipped ahead to her point. “We were all just so young, and I thought I was in love with Max. When I woke up in the hospital and remembered everything, I was … a mess. I was traumatized, devastated, or I guess you could say I was just broken. The unit was deployed out, and I felt abandoned.”

  “Shit,” Joe said, his fear confirmed.

  “No. We’re both supposed to be letting go of all the guilt, right? After everything that happened to me … to all of us …” She bit her lip. She shook off the emotion with a laugh. “I worked through this in my mind a long time ago and then locked it away. I’ve never told this story truthfully or in its entirety before. I want you to know why I left and, honestly, with you this feels therapeutic.

  “I didn’t know what to do. I would’ve done anything to escape the pain. That’s when Anderson came along. We met at my mother’s while I was on leave recovering. I told him I was an Army VIP transport pilot and the cover story about the robbery and attempted abduction while on leave in Mexico. He never suspected anything and has never known any differently.”

  Joe thought, Seriously? How could a man live intimately with this amazing woman for so long and never suspect she had a secret or notice how special she is?

  “He was attractive, polished, and safe. Anderson came from old money and lived in a world of immense wealth. It was the exact opposite of Army life. He showered me with affection. He spared no expense taking me to amazing restaurants, traveling, buying me gifts. You get the picture.”

  “That must have been something.”

  “Yeah, it was. Now be quiet, Romeo, and let me tell the story.” Jessica laughed teasingly, and he laughed with her, glad to see her sadness fade. “We’d only been dating for five weeks when I found out I was pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Joe quit laughing, sensing a change in her emotion.

  “Yep, big time oh. Surprise. Anderson proposed Andersonstyle. His private jet had just brought us back from a weekend at an island resort. A shiny new Bentley with a giant red bow on the hood was parked near the bottom of the aircraft steps. He told me it was a gift for me. He was replacing my Bentley—my maiden name, as you know—with this one. He got down on one knee right on the tarmac and presented me with a huge diamond engagement ring.”

  “Like a scene from a movie,” Joe said, with something like admiration in his voice.

  Jessica hadn’t thought about the proposal story in a long time. She saw it in a much different light now than she had then. Telling it made her realize she was definitely going to change her name back to Bentley after the divorce.

  “I see now that my head was so messed up. I was hurting, and I was naïve. I said yes and ran away from the bad memories. General Schilling accepted my request for a discharge begrudgingly, and since we didn’t operate under normal Army regulations, he got me processed out of there at lightning speed. Poor guy. I think he felt bad and embarrassed all at the same time.”

  Joe sensed something was off by the lack of joy in her voice and her body language, but for her sake, he hoped he was wrong. “I’m happy for you that it all worked out. You’ve made a storybook life for yourself, Smoke.” They both heard the slight question in what he’d said. Jessica winced, making him think he was right.

  “I have wonderful kids. I love them so much, and they give me unlimited joy. I’m fortunate to be extremely comfortable, but I wouldn’t call my life storybook. I think Anderson went after me the way he goes after a big deal. I was a box for him to check. It was good for his image to have a family at that point in his career. It gave him credibility in the international financial community. We were happy for a short while. Being newlyweds was fun, but as soon as Trevor was born, Anderson wanted me to have a full-time nanny as well as a night nurse so I could travel with him. He wanted to show off a trophy wife. When I refused, he kept moving and barely looked back. The charming gentleman who had romantically pursued me with such vigor vanished, never to be seen again.”

  “I’m sorry.” Joe had a strong urge to find Anderson and inflict some intense physical pain.

  “I appreciate it but don’t worry. That was a long time ago, and my kids make me really happy,” she said, and laughed. “Hey, I don’t mean to be such a downer, but you asked. Speaking of you, look at you leading a special unit for the CIA. You’re making a difference.”

  He shrugged. He knew she was trying to redirect the conversation, but he didn’t want to let it go just yet. “As long as we’re talking, there’s more, right? What’s really going on?”

  She should’ve known he could still read her. “I never could fool you. It’s just personal crap. You sure you want to know all this, Romeo? I’m giving you a chance to get out of it.”

  “Don’t insult me. To use your own words, spill it.”

  “I just found out Anderson is having an affair. Saturday night I walked in on him having internet sex with someone who works for him. He’d already had his lawyers file divorce papers. He gave them to me after I caught him.”

  Joe’s eyes were narrowed and dark. His jaw muscles were set hard like they always were when he was upset. “That son of a bitch. I’d like to kill him for being an asshole cheat and for all the years of not making you happy. How are you feeling about this? You seem pretty calm about the whole thing.”

  “Oh, I’m angry, and I’m disappointed in how the father of my children handled things. I should be hurt, but honestly, I’m not. Like I said, our marriage hasn’t been good for a long time, almost from the beginning really. I am sad for my kids that they’ll have to deal with all the things that go along with divorced parents for the rest of their lives. It’ll even be a factor in their children’s lives. However, being around a loveless marriage isn’t something I want for them. In the long run, I think this will be better for everyone.”

  “I know we haven’t been in contact for a lot of years, but I know you, and you deserve so much better.”

  “I think I’m actually relieved, and I feel very hopeful. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I’m free to make it what I want.” She paused, “You’re the first to know. I haven’t told anyone else yet.” She’d always been able to talk to Joe about anything. He possessed the rare ability to discern when to listen and when to give advice.

  Joe reached over and laid his hand on her arm. “I’m glad you know you can confide in me. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. Do you have a lawyer?”

  “Not yet. I looked over the agreement. It seems decent. I want enough to be comfortable, but I don’t want this to get ugly.”

  “Still, you need to be careful and make sure you come out of this the best you can. Let one of the agency’s lawyers represent you. Nothing gets by them. I’ll give you some names later.”

  “Thanks. That’s good advice. Actually, I do have Anderson in a pretty bad position.”

  Joe nodded. “For the record, he is crazy, and I never liked him.”

  She laughed. “You never even met him.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I stand by that.” Joe was glad to see he could make Jessica laugh.

  “Citation eight-four-niner, Arlington Control. Turn right to zero-one-niner; descend to five thousand feet; cleared for ILS runway one-niner left.”

  “Roger, Arlington Control,” Joe answered and repeated back the clearance.

  “Oh, good. The landing,” Jessica said. “My pucker factor just went up.” She wasn’t joking. Her butt cheeks were clenched, and her heart rate was climbing. The military term for moments of intense fear was descriptively accurate.

  “Breathe. You can do it.” His soothing words had their intended effect, and she relaxed, focusing on what she had to do next.

  17

  PARIS, FRANCE

  HEYDAR PARIA WAS TRYING TO watch the news. He was annoyed with all the clanking pot noises his wife was making in the kitchen cooking his dinner. He turned up the volume to hear the coverage of a police raid at Place de la Fontaine Aux Lions. He knew this was the location o
f Reza’s meeting and anxiously watched to see what had happened.

  Six months ago the Mojahedin-e-Khalq (MEK) leaders had been convinced their investment was lost the night of the raids in Tehran, but they had renewed hope when the Imam had informed Paria an Iranian had sought counsel and had asked for help selling black diamonds. The Imam brought them together. Since then, Paria had helped Reza make the right contacts and prepare what was needed to carry out their plan. Now, everything was at risk once more.

  Paria was irritated when he heard the doorbell ringing. What next? He yelled for his wife to answer it. He blocked out her complaining about something related to the food and strained to hear what the reporter was saying. His relief at learning only a Frenchman was in custody was short lived by his wife’s muffled scream. Paria jumped up and went for the M-73 he kept in the end table. Before he could get the revolver out of the drawer, the first of the men slammed the drawer shut on Paria’s hand and took him down hard. Paria heard a snap and felt the sharp pain. His wrist was broken. A hood was thrown over his head, submerging him in darkness. Paria felt a sting of a needle and went still.

  18

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  JOE PARKED THE CAR IN the Langley employee lot. He smiled. “Welcome to the CIA. Your top secret clearance has been reissued, but you need to fill out some paperwork and get your picture and fingerprints taken. When they give you your credentials and you’re ready to take the oath, text me. It shouldn’t take long. I will come down and administer the oath. Once all that happens, I can take you to the suite so we can get to work.”

  Jessica’s excitement built as they approached the entrance. She got a chill walking over the granite floor with the CIA seal that is shown in movies. Being there was a little surreal. Joe greeted the security guard and told her who Jessica was.

  “I’ll take care of her. Follow me, ma’am.”

  Joe took a position next to her in front the flag. He told her to raise her right hand to take the oath.

  She solemnly repeated, “I, Jessica Bentley Whitley, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a full-fledged CIA officer. She was there to help and she was eager to get started. Jessica followed Joe to a set of elevators. They got off on the third floor and went down the hall to a solid black door. The plaque simply read 323. He waved his ID in front of the keypad and entered a code. The light on the security box turned green. He waited for the click before opening the door to a small sitting area that split off into three hallways.

  “This is our suite,” Joe said. “Our team has full access to all the CIA labs and resources, of course, but we have fifteen hundred square feet here to operate independently when delicate assignments call for secrecy.”

  “Very nice,” Jessica said, taking it in.

  “I’ll give you a full tour later. Let’s meet the team.” He gave her a wink. “They’re waiting for you.” He led the way down the center hall and found everyone gathered in a large meeting room. “Guys, this is Jessica Whitley.”

  A lanky, baby-faced man stood and reached out to shake her hand. In the process, he knocked over a glass of water. “Oooh, uh, sorry. I, ahhh,” he said, frantically wiping up the water, “I’m Marshall Maus. I do gadgets. I mean, I build and manage the team’s electronic devices. I’ve actually got some really cool stuff.”

  “Hello, Marshall. I love gadgets.” Jessica instantly liked him, but wondered how someone so jumpy had the skill to handle microelectronics.

  “Take it easy, Marshall.” A muscular, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy slapped him on the back in a brotherly way. “Hi. I’m Marcus Dalton. Call me Mark. I’m weapons. Glad you’re here, Jessica. Tell me whatever you need, and I’ll get it for you,” he said with a southern drawl.

  He was spectacular looking and had a way about him that would make anyone feel immediately comfortable. He was the all-American boy.

  “Thanks, Mark.”

  “Step aside, Ken doll.” An athletic looking Latin man playfully pushed Mark out of the way. Turning to Jessica and kissing her hand, he said, “Hola, me llamo Alejandro Kerschen. My specialties include genealogy, sociology, and linguistics. I understand you know a few languages.”

  Jessica had noticed several iPads spread around the conference table and assumed they’d been studying her dossier or what she was sure was more of an overview. It couldn’t have included everything; not considering Grey Winds’ missions.

  “Hola, Alejandro. Mucho gusto.”

  Alejandro held his left pointer finger to his lips while he studied her. He turned his head to the left. He turned his head to the right and tilted his chin down. “Forgive me. I’m trying to place your lineage. You have a warm, medium complexion. Your hair is black, not dark brown. I’m thinking English and maybe Italian. But, no, I think not. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Please, enlighten me.”

  “I’m a mix. I’m Scottish, English, Irish, French, and Native American.”

  “Ahhhh. Yes, of course. I can see it now. They’ve mixed well. Thank you for educating me,” he said, as his eyes continued to examine her features, checking off indicators and learning from her ancestry mix.

  “Uh, boss, we have some new information,” Marshall said to Joe.

  “Let’s hear it.” Joe sat down at the head of the table and motioned for everyone to take a seat. “Start at the beginning.”

  Marshall touched his iPad, and the lights dimmed. The wall was covered with TV screens, each showing a section of the one big CIA seal. With another touch on his iPad, the seal faded and was replaced with CIA Operation Black Diamond.

  Alejandro began the brief. “This operation has been deemed Operation Black Diamond. The origin of the name comes from the chatter intercepted referencing the funding of the attack with the illegal sale of black diamonds.” He touched his iPad, changing the screen to a close-up of an older middle-Eastern man. “This is Mir Hussein Mousavi. He was the people’s presidential candidate for a more modern, open Iran supported by the Iranian Youth Reform Movement. I-Y-R-M for short. As you all know, the incumbent president, Mahmoud Amiri, officially won the election, and the people have been protesting.”

  Several familiar images of protestors wearing green bandanas as masks and armbands flashed on the screens. Jessica had seen them on the news. The photos that followed were bloody images she hadn’t seen of the protesters being struck, gassed, and thrown into police vehicles.

  “We believe the results of the election were fixed,” Alejandro said, bringing up photos of two men. “Mousavi actually won, despite everything President Mahmoud Amiri, on the left and the Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Hashem Zardooz, on the right did to terrorize Mousavi’s supporters. We’ve learned many of the biggest supporters—leaders of the IYRM—disappeared several months ago. It’s believed they were killed, imprisoned, or went into hiding.”

  Mark jumped in. “To review: the now former, soon to be retired, lucky not to be in jail Mid-East Regional Director Reese admitted he was running an unauthorized operation advising and funding the IYRM, figuring they’d get their candidate Mousavi elected president. Mousavi would be indebted to the U.S. and become an advocate for us within Iran. When things developed and went all kinds of wrong, Reese’s boys made it out, but SAVAK found the intel they left behind. You can imagine what Zardooz and Amiri did when they got hold of the names of the reformers who were causing them trouble.

  Recent intercepted chatter references a chemical weapon to be detonated in the U.S. as some sort of payback for our part in getting the IYRM wiped out. The only thing that has happened to Reese is him staying where he is in the sand until he retires next year. Not what he’d planned, b
ut considering what he started, he came out like a champ. The lead we got came in from our Paris office. It seems like a probable link to the threat is some young Iranian who met with a shady employee of Chevalier-Fort Chemicals. C-FC is one of France’s major chemical companies.”

  Marshall pressed the control panel, changing the display to an overweight, fifty-ish man sitting with a younger man with a dark complexion at an outdoor café. Before anyone could ask, he explained, “There isn’t a single clear shot of the Iranian. He knew where all the cameras were and avoided showing his face.”

  Mark said, “DGSI moved in on the meet. They have Paul-Henri Moreau in custody, but the Iranian was slick and got away. Moreau was selling chemicals to the Iranian. He won’t admit to what chemicals and insisted he was acting alone. There isn’t much intel on the Iranian. Just the address of where he was staying and the mosque he attended. No job. No known associates. He was operating under an alias that only traces back about six months ago to a train from Rome to Paris. Before that, nothing.”

  Alejandro added, “We’ve given the unknown Iranian the code name Zircone. It’s French and short for Cubic Zirconia.”

  “Cute,” Joe said flatly. He typed something into his iPad and scowled after reading what had come up on his screen. “This happened last Saturday night. It’s been two days. It seems the official channels are closed. I’ll request the state department assert pressure on the French. For now, what they have shared is extremely limited, and I’m not holding out much hope for more information. We need to get over there and figure out who Zircone is.”

  Joe quickly formulated a plan of attack. “Let’s start by checking out everything he was associated with. Marshall, I want you to tap into the French security cams to ID Zircone and track his movements, and please, work your magic. Don’t leave a trace that anyone has been in their systems.

  “Alejandro, you’ll cover Zircone’s apartment. Chances are we won’t find much. He got away at the plaza like a pro, which leads me to believe he probably didn’t leave behind any clues. I also want you to practice up on your prayer rituals. You’ll attend services at the mosque. We need to know who else is involved. We need to figure out if anyone knows what chemicals the Iranian bought and what he plans to do with them. We need to find out when and where the chemicals are scheduled for delivery. Hopefully, they haven’t been delivered already.”