There, he quickly uploaded the photos and the videos to Langley via his secure satellite channel and called Zalinsky to give him another update. Zalinsky promised to get Eva analyzing the images and told David the Predator drone was finally in position over the missile base. If the convoy left or if any other vehicles arrived, he said he would notify David immediately.
* * *
Langley, Virginia
Eva speed-dialed Zalinsky from her office.
It had only taken an hour. She explained that by cross-scanning the photos with the computer files from Dr. Saddaji that David and Najjar Malik had recently smuggled out of the country, she had tracked down the identities of four of the five suspects David was now tracking. She had names, birth dates, and personnel records on each of them. All four were experienced military police officers in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, assigned to Facility 278 in Hamadan. They were all excellent marksmen, two had received letters of commendation, and each had a top-secret security clearance. One had been the deputy director of perimeter security prior to Saddaji’s assassination. She concluded that they fit the profile of a security force that could be tasked with transporting a warhead. She couldn’t be certain, she said, but there was a strong probability.
Zalinsky agreed. It was circumstantial but increasingly compelling evidence that they had found another warhead. But before they could take it to Director Allen or the NSC, they needed more. He told her to call David right away and brief him on what she had found. She agreed but was concerned about Zalinsky. He didn’t sound well.
“Jack, is everything all right?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t hang up either.
“Jack, what’s the matter?”
Zalinsky cleared his throat. “It’s about David.”
“What? Is he all right? Did something happen?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Zalinsky said. “It’s not him directly. It’s his mom. She passed away tonight.”
Eva gasped. “That’s terrible. When?”
“Just after six.”
“How did you hear?”
“We’ve been monitoring Marseille Harper’s calls and e-mails.”
“Who?”
“You know, Marseille Harper? I helped her parents and the Shirazis get out of Iran during the Revolution. She and David were childhood friends, and she met with Tom Murray this morning.”
There were too many dots to connect all at once for Eva. Marseille Harper? She remembered the name. She remembered that the Harpers had a daughter about David’s age and that the death of Mrs. Harper in the 9/11 attacks was a huge turning point in David’s life. But what was Marseille doing in DC? And here, at Langley? It didn’t make sense. “What was she doing here?”
“It’s a long story.”
“But why would we monitor her? I mean, it’s illegal for the CIA to monitor American citizens on US soil. You know that.”
“It’s not us directly,” Zalinsky assured her. “We tipped off the FBI, they got a court order, and they’ve been keeping an eye on her.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Look, I don’t have time to go through it all now. I’ll fill in the blanks for you later. The bottom line is, Tom let it slip that David works for us. Marseille signed a nondisclosure form, but Tom’s worried she might say something anyway.”
“Let it slip?” Eva asked, incredulous. “How is that possible?”
“Just call David and brief him ASAP.”
“Fine,” Eva said. “But you owe me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Apparently, there’s history between them. I’m not exactly sure what. But I get the sense it’s just flared back up.”
Eva was speechless. Zalinsky was right. She’d had no idea, and she wasn’t thrilled about it either. She hadn’t felt such a strong flash of jealousy in years, and the intensity caught her by surprise. Still, she figured, she was the one in direct contact with David, not Marseille.
“Anytime,” Eva said coolly. “I’m all ears. In the meantime, I’ll tell David about his mom when I call him.”
“No, not right now.”
“Why not?”
“We can’t distract him,” Zalinsky argued. “There’s too much on the line. Let’s get through the next few days and see where we are.”
Eva strongly disagreed but kept silent.
* * *
Khorramabad, Iran
David’s phone rang.
He stepped out of the icy shower—the Delvar Hotel apparently didn’t have any hot water that morning—and checked the caller ID. It was Eva. He grabbed a towel and took the call. She quickly briefed him on each of the four men she had identified so far.
“And the fifth?” David asked.
“No idea, but I’m guessing it’s just another MP.”
“Then why wouldn’t his personnel records be in the files we got from Saddaji?”
“I’m just telling you what I know,” Eva said. “But look, I’m sending you back still images of guys we’ve identified for certain. The rest, my friend, is up to you. And I don’t need to remind you that—”
“—the clock is ticking.”
“Sorry—guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
“Oh, right.”
“Getting any sleep?”
“Hardly.”
“Well, take care of yourself. I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it,” David said. “By the way, where are my guardian angels?”
“I heard they just landed at Desert Alpha about fifteen minutes ago and linked up with their local contact and got their vehicles. They’re actually moving faster than expected. They should be to you in less than three hours.”
David could tell by her tone that she was trying to encourage him. But at that moment, the news had just the opposite effect.
“We don’t have three hours.”
* * *
Natanz, Iran
Jalal Zandi was startled awake by the shrieking ring of his mobile phone.
He rolled over, checked his watch, and took the call.
“The cakes arrived safely,” said a voice that was electronically muffled.
“Good,” he said, trying in vain to rub the fatigue out of his eyes. “Get them ready for delivery.”
“We’ve already started.”
* * *
Khorramabad, Iran
David got dressed quickly and headed down to the lobby.
He was going through caffeine withdrawal and hoped the desk clerk either had made a pot of coffee or could point him in the right direction posthaste. Fortunately, even before he got off the elevator, he could smell the answer. He reached the first floor and made his way directly to a small table where a fresh pot had just finished brewing. He poured himself a large cup, tossed in a few sugars for good measure, then noticed that the hotel actually had a gift shop and that it was open. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it a few hours earlier, but then he’d had other things on his mind. He went in, bought a local newspaper, and sat down on one of the forty-year-old overstuffed chairs in the lobby to wait.
About twenty minutes later, a young man in his thirties wearing khaki pants, a blue dress shirt, and a black leather jacket stepped off the elevator and rang the silver bell at the front desk. He was unshaven but well built, about five feet ten inches tall, with closely cropped hair. David recognized him instantly but took a quick check of the still photos Eva had sent just to make sure. Slowly the barely awake clerk padded out from the back room.
“Yes?” he groaned.
“I want to buy some gum, and I need some petrol for my truck,” the young man said.
The clerk mumbled something about the gift shop and gave the young man directions to a gas station “two blocks down that way and one block to your left.”
David stood, folded his paper, gulped down his coffee, and nodded politely as the young man headed into the gift shop. The moment the
man was out of sight, David moved quickly down the side hallway toward the exit. Seeing the room service tray still in the hallway, he scooped up a used steak knife as he passed by and then bolted for the parking garage.
It was still early. There were only a few cars on the street and no one in the garage.
After verifying that there were no security cameras in the garage, David headed directly for the black SUV, then plunged the knife into the right rear tire several times. Within seconds, the tire had deflated. Next, David walked over to his Peugeot, opened the trunk, tucked the steak knife into a side pocket of his suitcase, and placed the suitcase on the floor by the front passenger seat. Then he grabbed the tire iron out of the trunk and pried off his license plates, first in the back and then in the front. He stuffed these in his suitcase as well and returned to the open trunk.
Soon the young man in the leather jacket came strolling into the garage. He was whistling until he saw the flat tire; then he started cursing up a storm.
“What’s wrong?” David asked innocently, preparing to close his trunk.
The man pointed to the tire and just stared at it, cursing some more. David walked over to take a look.
“Need some help?” he asked, approaching the man from behind.
Still grumbling, the man turned toward David. Just then, David sucker punched him in the face full force with the tire iron in one violent motion. The man flew back against the SUV, and David smashed him over the head with the iron, sending him crashing to the pavement, bleeding and unconscious.
David looked around. There was still no one in sight, but that might not last for long. He checked the guy’s pulse. He was still alive. Then he quickly looked inside the guy’s coat and, as he’d expected, found a holster with a silencer-equipped pistol. He removed the pistol and tucked it into the back of his own trousers. He picked the man up, carried him over to the Peugeot, and set him in the trunk. He quickly fished through the guy’s pockets, removed his wallet, car keys, room key, IRGC ID badge, mobile phone, and an extra magazine of 9mm ammunition, and put all those in his own pockets. Satisfied that the young man was picked clean, he closed the trunk and locked it. Then he got in the car, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking garage, heading east on Route 62.
47
David put on his Bluetooth headset and speed-dialed Zalinsky.
He got Eva instead. “Where’s Jack?”
“In a meeting.”
“I need him, fast.”
“He’s in with Tom. They don’t want to be disturbed. Jack told me to take your call. Where are you?”
“I’m heading east toward a town called Alamdasht. I saw a dusty side road not far from there. I have a guest with me.”
“A guest?”
“Morteza Yaghoubi.”
He briefly explained, then found the side road, pulled off the highway, and drove another couple of miles until he found a small stand of trees surrounding a tiny pond that seemed, at least for now, well out of view of any human being. He backed the car beneath the trees and turned off the engine. There, he opened Yaghoubi’s mobile phone, pulled out his SIM card, stuck it into his own phone for a moment, and uploaded all of the data to Eva. Then he replaced his own SIM card and restored Yaghoubi’s phone. Next, he riffled through the guy’s wallet, snapped a photo of his driver’s license and another of his IRGC ID, and uploaded those to Eva as well.
“So what’s your plan?” Eva asked as she downloaded all the data, half a world away.
“Motivate this guy to talk. See what he knows.”
“Motivate, huh?”
“Hey, it’s not like I can send him to Gitmo just now.”
“No, I guess not.”
“What do we know about him so far?”
There was a pause as Eva pulled up his file. “Morteza Yaghoubi, thirty-four years old, born in Tehran, unmarried, no children, has served in the intelligence division for twelve years,” Eva began. “So far, he sounds like me.”
“Very funny,” David said, not laughing. “Keep going, come on.”
“Okay, hold your horses. I’m getting there,” she said, pulling up more data. “Started out in the al-Quds Force. Trained Hezbollah suicide bombers in the Bekaa Valley. Supplied IEDs to the Mahdi Army in Iraq. Trained Mahdi Army insurgents how to wage ambushes against US forces in Fallujah and Mosul. Was wounded in a botched attack on a Red Cross convoy outside of Baghdad. Was then assigned to the military police unit at Facility 278 two years ago. From what it says here, it would seem he was part of the personal security detail for Dr. Saddaji. Expert marksman. Twice decorated.”
“Sounds like a prince. Anything else?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t let him out of the trunk.”
“Good point.”
“I’ll cut and paste what seems relevant and e-mail it to you.”
“Thanks. Now let’s go through his phone.”
“I’m already on it,” Eva said. “My computer is cross-checking any names and numbers in his phone directory with our database.”
“Any hits?”
“Well, not surprisingly, he’s got the phone numbers for the other three MPs back in that hotel—if they’re still there.”
“E-mail me those,” David said. “That could come in handy. What else?”
“He’s got all of Najjar’s numbers in Hamadan.”
“Makes sense.”
“The rest look like friends, family, other colleagues, but no one else we have in our records.”
“Do me a favor and search for Javad Nouri.”
“I already have,” Eva replied, explaining that she had already searched for any of the names and numbers David had previously given them.
“What about Firouz Nouri and the other guy, Jamshad? I don’t have those.”
“He doesn’t either.”
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m going to open the trunk and pour a bucket of water over this guy’s head.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry.”
He picked up the pistol off the passenger seat beside him and made sure the safety was disengaged. Then he chambered a round and got out of the car.
“You still there?” he asked.
“Of course,” Eva said.
“Good. Stay on the line. If this goes bad, at least you’ll know what happened and where to find my body.”
He walked to the water’s edge and looked for something he could fill with water. “You can never find a good bowl or a hat when you need one,” he said, rooting around the area for anything he could use.
“Story of my life,” Eva quipped.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting a little punchy. Give me something to do. I can’t just sit here and wait until this guy jumps out of the trunk at you with a meat cleaver or something.”
“Thanks. Fine. Look up some more numbers.”
“Which ones?”
“I don’t know,” David said. “Hey, look, I found an old pop can. Maybe this will work.”
He filled it with pond water and had a thought.
“Try Jalal Zandi,” he said, carrying the pop can of water back to the trunk.
“Sorry,” Eva said. “Nothing.”
“Okay, how about Tariq Khan?”
He had just gotten back to the Peugeot and was about to open the trunk when Eva’s tone changed completely. “That’s it, David. We got a hit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tariq Khan,” she said. “He’s got his mobile number and e-mail address in his phone.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Can you run a trace through the Iran Telecom system and find Khan’s phone?”
“I’m doing that now. Hold on.”
David set down the pop can and studied the pistol. He was glad to have it but hoped he didn’t have to use it. He had trained for all eventualities, and he was ready if he needed to be. But he had just killed men for the first t
ime the week before in Tehran, and it was still haunting him. He’d be fine if he never had to do that again.
“Got it,” Eva exclaimed.
“Can you triangulate its position and tell me exactly where Khan is?”
“I don’t believe this,” Eva said.
“You got him?”
“You’re not going to believe this either.”
“Why? Where is he?”
“The Delvar Hotel,” Eva said. “He’s on the second floor.”
* * *
Jerusalem, Israel
Naphtali was set to meet with his Security Cabinet.
But as promised, he met first with Levi Shimon for a light breakfast of coffee, yogurt, and some fruit.
“The answer is no,” Shimon said immediately as they sat down.
“Levi, that’s not acceptable.”
“I’m sorry, Asher, but I can’t tell you the details of our asset in Tehran. It goes against all IDF and Mossad protocols and it’s dangerous, and you know it. Look, either you trust me or you don’t. And I’m telling you, I trust Mordecai. He’s been right every time. We’ve tested and challenged him in a dozen different ways. If he was a double, we’d know it. If he was a fraud, we’d have figured that out by now. He’s the real thing, Asher. Like Mordecai in the book of Hadassah, he has been chosen by Yahweh Himself to save us from the Persians. What does the Tanakh really tell us about Mordecai, right? We know he was a Jew in Susa, the capital of the empire at that time. We know he was the son of Jair, the son of Shimei, the son of Kish, a Benjamite who had been taken into exile from Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar. We know he was Hadassah’s older cousin but that he raised her as his own daughter. We know he was wise and resourceful and that the Lord gave him unique insight into the mind of the enemy and how to counter him. That’s it. That’s all we know. Yet isn’t that enough?”
The Tehran Initiative Page 32
