“Why my house?” Dempsey said as they walked out of the TOC, the automatic lights going dark behind them.
“In case something gets broken,” Smith said. “If you haven’t noticed, when this crew gets together, something always does.”
EPILOGUE
VEVAK HQ
Tehran, Iran
November 12, 1557 Local Time
Behrouz Rostami shifted in his chair. His right leg had gone numb from sitting for so long. It was coming up on two hours that Modiri had made him wait past their scheduled appointment time. This was intentional, Rostami knew. Modiri loved to play his games. Penance and punishment. Submission and servitude. Games didn’t bother Rostami; he played them with people, too. The only thing that upset him in a boss was incompetence, and Amir Modiri was anything but incompetent. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for others in the upper echelon of VEVAK.
His escape from America had been surprisingly easy. He simply rented a car and drove north on I-29 all the way to Winnipeg, entering Manitoba using a VEVAK-obtained Canadian passport. For operations in America, he always posed as Canadian, since Canadian citizens did not require a visa and typically suffered few questions from US border officials. Going the other way was even easier.
Modiri’s secretary’s phone buzzed.
She answered it, acknowledged her boss’s terse instruction, and motioned Rostami in. Modiri had chosen a homely, middle-aged thing for his admin, no doubt so as not to upset Maheen. The Director’s wife was not permitted access to this floor, but that was irrelevant. Maheen was a queen bee, and the queen’s spies were everywhere, buzzing, buzzing, watching, and buzzing.
Rostami was surprised to find all the shades drawn in Modiri’s office and the lights off. When he closed the door behind him, the office fell as dark as night. Modiri was sitting behind his desk, perfectly still with his eyes closed. Despite the pins and needles still pulsing down his right leg, Rostami took a seat opposite the desk. He did not speak, just stared at his boss and watched him breathe and wait. After a very long time, Modiri bowed his head and began massaging the skin under the curve of his eye socket.
Rostami resisted the urge to speak. It was obvious; Modiri had a migraine, and it was best not to antagonize the man in any way.
Modiri exhaled loudly but spoke softly. “The Suren Circle is compromised thanks to you.”
“I do not accept responsibility for the Circle’s undoing. They were soft, stupid, and weak. Corrupted by their time in the West. Useless to you,” he replied, the harsh words incongruous with the careful, hushed tone he used to convey them.
“Not useless. The Circle has returned one hundred times our initial investment in intellectual property, equity holdings, and cash. They proved to be far better financiers and thieves than spies. That is not lost to us.”
“With all due respect, it was your idea to utilize them for this operation, not mine.”
Modiri opened his eyes. “You speak brazenly for a man who just failed his mission.”
“I did everything that was asked of me and more. If you are looking to assign blame, blame someone else.”
Modiri smiled and then winced for doing so. “You know, Behrouz, you’re right.”
Rostami was taken aback by his boss’s words, and fought to keep his expression neutral.
“You’d think after all these years I would have learned my lesson,” Modiri said.
“And what lesson is that, sir?”
Modiri took another deep, cleansing breath and said, “The same lesson I forget over and over and over again.” He reached into his top-right desk drawer, the drawer where Rostami knew he kept a Beretta 9 mm pistol. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
I’m about to get a bullet in the head, Rostami realized.
He watched Modiri’s right hand come into view, but instead of clutching a pistol, the Director’s fingers held a file folder. Rostami exhaled relief and tried to bring his heart rate back under control as Modiri opened the folder and leafed through a short stack of photos. He selected one photo and slid it across the table.
“Do you know this man?” Modiri asked, rubbing his eye socket again.
Rostami brought the photograph close to his face and squinted to study the image in the near-total darkness. It was a photo he had taken of the American Special Forces operator who had foiled al-Mahajer’s attack in the Old Market. In the image, the operator was sighting over his rifle, his naked left forearm visible with a disfiguring scar that cut across the cords of muscle like a coiled snake. “I know this man,” he seethed. “Just not by name.”
Modiri slid another picture across the desk and then a third.
Rostami picked them up. They were pictures of the same man from different angles and in different locations. One background was wooded; the other looked like a city street.
“Where were these taken?”
“The first one is from security camera footage recorded in the grounds around a lake house outside Geneva.”
“The house where we met with your brother? The house where one of our security men disappeared?”
Modiri nodded. “And the other photograph was taken by one of our New York agents documenting the American counterterrorism response at the UN six months ago.”
“Do we know who he is?” Rostami asked, staring at the picture.
“No. He doesn’t appear in any database.”
Rostami smirked and returned the photos to Modiri’s desk. “So, you want me to find him and kill him?”
“You’ll never find him,” Modiri said, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “Or the organization he works for. To kill this man, we need to make him come to us . . . and I think I have the perfect plan to do it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We would like to acknowledge and give special thanks to the team at Thomas & Mercer. We are indebted to our editors: JoVon Sotak for taking a chance on John Dempsey, and Jessica Tribble, who works tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure the series reaches its maximum potential. From developmental edits, to line and copy, to cover art, to marketing and promotion—all the pieces of the puzzle are managed and executed with excellence and care. Our team is the best in the business, and we want the world to know it.
Thanks to Sarah Burningham, whose incredible and tireless PR work introduced the Tier One Series and John Dempsey to hundreds of thousands of readers.
Thank you Rick Fox and Chris Schneider for all you’ve done to support us and help put our work in front of our brothers and sisters serving in the military. Your commitment to the United States Armed Forces is unparalleled.
We owe a special thank-you to our agent, Gina, the best damn literary agent in the world. You created us, and you bring life and enthusiasm to every book we write.
And last but certainly not least, we’d like to thank our wives, who work tirelessly and selflessly to support our writing careers. Without family, it all means nothing. We love you.
GLOSSARY
AQ—Al Qaeda
AFSOC—Air Force Special Operations Command
BDU—Battle Dress Uniform
BUD/S—Basic Underwater Demolition School
BZ—Bravo Zulu (military accolade)
CASEVAC—Casualty Evacuation
CENTCOM—Central Command
CIA—Central Intelligence Agency
CO—Commanding Officer
CONUS—Continental United States
CSO—Chief Staff Officer
DEA—Drug Enforcement Agency
DNI—Director of National Intelligence
Eighteen Delta—Special Forces medical technician and first responder
Ember—American black-ops OGA unit led by Kelso Jarvis
EMCON—Emissions Control (Radio Silence)
EOD—Explosive Ordinance Disposal
EXFIL—Exfiltrate
FARP—Forward Area Refueling/Rearming Point
FOB—Forward Operating Base
HRT—Hostage R
escue Team (FBI)
HUMINT—Human Intelligence
IC—Intelligence Community
INFIL—Infiltrate
IS—Islamic State
ISIS—Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham
JCS—Joint Chiefs of Staff
JO—Junior Officer
JSOC—Joint Special Operations Command
JSOTF—Joint Special Operations Task Force
KIA—Killed in Action
LCPO—Lead Chief Petty Officer
MARSOC—Marine Corps Special Operations Command
MEDEVAC—Medical Evacuation
MOIS—Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, aka VAJA / VEVAK
Mossad—Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations
NCO—Noncommissioned Officer
NETCOM—Network Enterprise Technology Command (Army)
NOC—Non-official Cover
NSA—National Security Administration
NVGs—Night Vision Goggles
OGA—Other Government Agency
OPSEC—Operational Security
OSTP—Office of Science and Technology Policy
OTC—Officer in Tactical Command
PDA—Personal Digital Assistant
PJ—Parajumper/Air Force Rescue
QRF—Quick Reaction Force
RPG—Rocket Propelled Grenade
SAD—Special Activities Division
SAPI—Small Arms Protective Insert
SCIF—Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility
SEAL—Sea, Air, and Land Teams, Naval Special Warfare
SECDEF—Secretary of Defense
SIGINT—Signals Intelligence
SITREP—Situation Report
SOAR—Special Operations Aviation Regiment
SOCOM—Special Operations Command
SOG—Special Operations Group
SOPMOD—Special Operations Modification
SQT—Seal Qualification Training
TAD—Temporary Additional Duty
TOC—Tactical Operations Center
UAV—Unmanned Aerial Vehicle
UN—United Nations
UNO—University of Nebraska Omaha
USN—US Navy
VEVAK—Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, analog of the CIA
Zeta—Colloquial name for the Mexican drug cartel aka Cartel del Norte
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Photo © 2012 Jennifer Hensley
Photo © 2015 Wendy Wilson
Brian Andrews is a US Navy veteran who served as an officer on a 688-class fast-attack submarine in the Pacific. He is a Park Leadership Fellow and holds a master’s degree in business from Cornell University. He is the author of the Think Tank series of thrillers (The Infiltration Game, The Calypso Directive). Born and raised in the Midwest, Andrews lives in Tornado Alley with his wife and three daughters.
Jeffrey Wilson has worked as an actor, firefighter, paramedic, jet pilot, and diving instructor, as well as a vascular and trauma surgeon. He served in the US Navy for fourteen years and made multiple deployments as a combat surgeon. He is the author of three award-winning supernatural thrillers: The Traiteur’s Ring, The Donors, and Fade to Black. He and his wife, Wendy, live in Southwest Florida with their four children.
Andrews and Wilson also coauthor the Nick Foley Thriller series (Beijing Red, Hong Kong Black) under the pen name Alex Ryan.
War Shadows (Tier One Thrillers Book 2) Page 35
