The Minders

by Max Boroumand

  “The game is on. Be careful.”

  Earlier, having seen the killing on video for the first time, he had called a friend, Henry, back in California. He asked his friend to watch over Amitis, to stay far but close enough to help, that she might be in danger. He wanted her safe, but also wanted to see whom if anyone would go after him and his family.

  That afternoon he was on a plane home, worried sick about her safety, given the way they had so callously killed the poor county clerk. The torture and the final double taps to the head were too brutal. Only a cold-blooded killer can be so unfeeling.

  * * *

  After two long flights and a stopover in Los Angeles, Jason was back in Monterey. Having deplaned, he made his way to the cabstand for a ride home. As he neared his house, he passed a familiar car with one of his best friends on the inside. By the look on his friend’s face, and the well-positioned middle finger, he knew all was well. He was finally home. He paid the cabbie, and ran to the front door, to a warm loving embrace from his wife.

  “What is going on? I’ve been sick with worry for you,” Amitis said, holding him ever so tight.

  He pushed his way in and quickly closed the door. He held her for a good minute or two, just consuming her essence. He then took her to the office, turned on his office scrambler and began to explain what had transpired. She was holding his hands in a tight grip, frozen in place by the story, a story that started strange and kept getting stranger by the minute.

  A strong and loud wrap on the back door jolted them both. Jason jumped at the sound and peeked around the corner to see his friend. He let him in. They shook and gave each other a quick half-shoulder bump, the he-man’s hug, as they walked back to the office.

  “Bud, it’s been a while. What the fuck is going on? And where’s my beer?” his friend yelled as he sat in Jason’s office chair.

  “Good to see you again Henry,” Amitis said sarcastically as she worked her way to the kitchen to grab him a beer.

  She never really liked this friend, covered in tattoos, crude language, and his all-around crassness. But, she could not overlook the long friendship. These two had been friends for over twenty years. She brought the beer into the office and handed it to him.

  “Thanks babe.” Looking a bit peeved, he slapped her on the rear as she walked by.

  “No Budweiser?” he said smiling. He opened the beer with his car keys even though it was a twist off, yet another bad habit.

  “So, I’ve been watching your wife. There were no issues. My man watching your office had a different story. He has seen the same dude surveilling your office. He visited your secretary several times.” He detailed the man’s activities and all other relevant data. The man was definitely not interested in your secretary, and not in your classes, but was interested in you.

  “I could tell by his mannerism, the way he drove, his change of clothing, his gate, his street craft, he was a professional.” Finishing his beer, he asked for another.

  Henry confirmed Jason’s worst fears. They were onto him and quickly. They would soon find their way to his house. He called his secretary to tell her he was back and checked on his calendar. She mentioned the man’s visits. She was not overly concerned. The man was merely asking questions about curriculum, different teachers, their strengths and weaknesses, all normal conversations.

  If only she knew. Jason thought.

  Instead of waiting for the minder, Jason decided to speed the game up, driving it to its conclusion on his schedule. He and Henry discussed what to do next. Henry would keep watch on the house and Amitis. Jason would set himself up as bait to draw the man out.

  Would this be an interrogation or assassination, or both? Jason worried.

  * * *

  The best way to bait the minder was to act as normal as possible. Jason started his morning with his daily routine, a morning jog, followed by a drive back home, on the same road he always used, and the same with his drive to work. He parked his car, knowing the minder was close. He was happy to have the minder on him and away from his wife, and happy Henry had her under observation. One of Henry’s men was watching the minder watching Jason. Everyone watched by someone. He wanted to play the minder’s game but several steps ahead. The game involved people he cared about and he needed details. He needed the plan to move forward undisturbed from their end. Yet, he needed to know the master plan, or at least something more to go on.

  Two days into his return, the minder followed him everywhere, at his house, at his work, even when jogging. Even at the grocery store. The minder quickly figured out that Jason was not an easy target. Jason was careful, and although predictable at a high level, he was random in the details. He drove the same road but not the same exact time, sometimes early, sometimes very early, and at times right on time. He never drove the same speed. He changed lanes and watched who followed. He never parked in the same spot. He always parked where people would be or where it was safe, like in front of the police station. He even looped his jogging runs at different distances, so he would come by the car several times, or none. Jason changed the little details, just enough so that a plan could not develop. Jason was a consummate and habitual professional.

  This was not going to be an easy snatch and grab. The minder had to think bigger, smarter.

  * * *

  Henry and his crew too had surveilled the minder. They had dozens of photographs. They had his fingerprints, not from his motel or car, but from the microwave at a gas station convenience store, where he bought and heated a burrito. They sent all the data to Langley for a full background check. The man was a legal U.S. citizen, highly educated, and well-travelled, with combined years in Europe and Australia. Nothing stuck out causing any red flags. He had no criminal records, not even a parking or speeding ticket. This was the second minder he had come across. They had fully profiled the Denver minder too, with nothing out of the ordinary.

  Where were they trained? For whom do they work? Who are these people? Jason was getting irritated.

  Both minders were of Iranian heritage. Neither had any relationship to any Middle Eastern groups, cultural centers, or mosques. None had any fanatical friends or affiliations. They were definitely not the poster child for what we thought a terrorist to be. The dark haired, bearded, olive toned, badly dressed Middle Eastern man you see in every FOX newscast, the ones you envision driving cabs in Manhattan or who might run a 7-11 around the corner, or who you’d see being interviewed outside a mosque. These two were the kind of people you would want as friends, as employees, or as family. They blended in perfectly.

  Jason knew the only physical constants in his life were his office and his house. No one would attack him at the office. It was on a military base. He did not fear a simple snatch and grab. He was too careful for that, and Henry’s men would never allow it to happen. The house was the real risk. The house had to be the final playground. They were unsure what would happen, but they decided to set the stage. They would open up the house, letting in the minder for whatever was to be. This would be their sandbox.

  * * *

  The next evening, Jason decided to take his wife for a nice dinner at a local restaurant. They both got fully dressed for the evening, taking a leisurely drive to the restaurant. Once there, Jason handed the valet the keys and a twenty, asking to have the car parked in front. The boy, with a twenty in hand, smiled in agreement. They went into the restaurant for what was to be a nice two-hour romantic meal.

  The minder followed them and watched until they began ordering. He then rushed back to Jason’s house. He had studied the house many times and had planned his entrance earlier. He started by turning off the power to the house, and then disconnected the cable and phone lines, cutting off any communications. Finally, he cut the wires to the outside alarm speakers. Once inside, he quickly cut the wires to the inside alarm speakers. He set his duffle bag filled with explosives down and began undoing the alarm system cover. The very first step was to reset and reboot the alarm. Having done
that, he planted explosives all around the house, turned on the attached short distance receivers, and quickly worked his way back to all the cut and disconnected wires and cables for a fast repair, and then to his car, to wait.

  He was not planning on a conversation. The minder concluded a snatch and grab would be impossible. Any conversation would be fruitless. Direct contact with Jason would be more trouble than it was worth or might even be dangerous. As ordered, he was to eliminate the threat. Eliminate it was.

  Jason was hoping for a conversation. He needed to have a conversation.

  * * *

  Jason and Amitis loved their favorite restaurant. It was the best steakhouse in town. They both ordered a medium rare filet mignon, beefsteak tomato with blue cheese dressing, and a side of creamed spinach and sautéed mushrooms. For drinks, they ordered a very nice bottle of red wine from Napa. To finish, they put in an early order for the molten chocolate cake.

  Dinner was wonderful. Jason and his wife finally felt a little love in their life given all that was going on. They ate and drank slowly, chatting at length about their boy Sean, about Bobby and his family, their lives together. It gave Jason so much energy to be with his wife. They were great friends and a great couple. Shortly before dessert, Jason got a text from Henry. He looked down, raised an eyebrow, and put the phone back in his pocket. Finally, the freshly made cake arrived. The scent of hot melted chocolate filled the air around the cake. The coffee too arrived, a nice cup of strong coffee for Jason and a decaf for Amitis.

  Nearly two hours had gone by. They were done with dinner and were driving back home. Jason was deep in thought. He was getting ready in his mind. He wanted to be ahead of the minder in this game. His wife’s life depended on it.

  Given Henry’s text, Jason knew things were not going to go exactly as he wished.

  * * *

  They arrived back at their home. Jason parked the car in the garage and closed the garage door before leaving the car. The minder was sitting in his car, several homes away and across the street, waiting. He was waiting for a light to turn on in the house. He saw the light in the kitchen turn on. He paused for several seconds and pressed a button on his transmitter. Nothing happened. He pressed repeatedly. Nothing happened. He got out of his car. Walked several feet towards the house and raised his arm. Pointing at the house, he pressed the button, success.

  The concussion from the explosion pushed him back hard against his own car. Car alarms were going off blocks around. He quickly got his bearings, jumped back in the car and drove off. Just like the Denver minder, he texted in his report.

  I eliminated the problem. We are back on track.

  * * *

  Driving away, on a road behind Jason’s house, was Henry with two people crouched in the back seat. He described how the minder placed the explosives in the house, and while the minder waited in the car, Henry entered through the back door, removing the short distance receivers. He then piled some of the explosives together by the front door, and fashioned a homemade detonator, with a blasting cap and some wires that he stretched to the back of the house. He dumped the majority of the explosives inside a tub filled with water. He wanted to save some of the house’s contents, at least try to do so, without losing the effect. He finally connected it to an egg timer and car battery from the garage.

  As soon as Jason and Amitis were in the house, Jason and Henry rushed her through the back door. Henry set the timer to thirty seconds, turned on the kitchen light, and ran to the back fence. He jumped over and ran down the small hill to the back street where he had his car parked, with the other two waiting.

  “The things you can do in the dark, with pliers and household goods, are incredible. So, now you’re dead. What next?” Henry said, as he sped up and away from the house.

  Jason and Amitis crouched in the back seat as Henry drove.

  “Now, I will hunt them down, and scorch them and the earth on which they stand.” Jason was holding his wife tight and close.

  He stopped just long enough to send Mike an email, telling him they were well, safe, and on the move.

  He also contacted Warren Spencer, the CIA Deputy Director, and Jason’s handler of old, asking for a major favor.

  Henry drove them to his home in Salinas.

  19 | The Short Game

  The local police had the entire block cordoned off, especially from the public and media. They evacuated all surrounding homes. Three fire engines were at the scene. The fire was nearly out, with some hot spots left. The FBI and Monterey Presidio MPs were on site as well. The media had been portraying the event as an accidental gas leak and explosion. However, the local police initiated investigations in all other areas as well, as a matter of procedure. Later in the morning, several other black vans and a SUV moved in, well past the police line, driving right up to the half-burnt house, with one van backing into what was the garage area.

  They spent another hour sifting through the rubble and smoldering rooms, finally admitting the news crew. They had to stage the closing parts of the on-site investigation just right. This took many phone calls until finally approved under national security protocols. The news media rushed as close as allowed and began filming from every angle. So many bright lights were on. It seemed like high noon but in white. Suddenly all cameras focused on the removal of two body bags, carried by two men each, to the black van. All news channels aired every bit, live and with all wanted details in place. Commentaries covered the death of a decorated civil servant and his wife. The cause of death was under investigation.

  * * *

  Gordon was sitting in Mike’s office with the entire family watching late breaking news on FOX. They truly enjoyed the animated commentary on that station. FOX guaranteed long and detailed coverage. They loved talking about terrorism, conspiracy, and anything that could help bolster their rating, catnip to Murdoch’s agenda, shaping the political culture of the countries in which he operated. They were the best outlet for telling Jason’s demise. That was exactly what they wanted.

  “So when’s the funeral and do we have to go?” Mike’s daughter asked with a smile.

  “Jason always wanted to be cremated,” Gordon laughingly explained.

  Seriously, he continued, the bodies would be at the morgue for at least four to six weeks while going through the autopsy and investigation. We have bought ourselves some time before we have to figure out actual funeral plans, as fake as they may have to be.

  * * *

  Half of the initialed agencies in Washington were sniffing around for details on this new threat assessment. They all wanted to know what was going on, with more than a dozen communiques, from several agencies, going in every direction. Jason received one email from Warren Spencer, asking one simple question.

  Everything went as planned. what’s next?

  Jason sent a quick response, with more compelling information, a request for continued help and to stay dead in public, and finally, for some time. Spencer responded.

  I’ve bought you two weeks to get me some answers.

  * * *

  Jason left his wife behind with Henry’s family. He and Henry then began their trek up to the San Francisco Bay Area. They would be there within a couple of hours. Henry’s friends were well on the tail, following trackers placed on the minder’s car and luggage. With Jason seemingly out of the way, it would be easier to collect detailed intelligence, and to put better plans in place.

  These people were not, in any way, amateurish or above killing people. If they could execute someone on U.S. soil, they could do much more back in Iran. They could definitely cause some major havoc right here in the U.S. Jason needed more than his own abilities. He desperately needed help.

  Henry eventually caught up with his friends. They met at a local food truck for some coffee and a burrito. It was late afternoon. They were several blocks away from the building in which the startup was located, and the minder’s first stop. An hour later, Henry got a text from his other man with an address i
n Palo Alto where the minder seemed to live.

  The entire group met back at a nearby motel. They chose to be closer to the warehouse than the minder’s house. They were not sure of either location as being part of anything. The warehouse seemed more reasonable and away from public scrutiny. They waited until well after dark. Henry and Jason went to the warehouse. The other two men went to the minder’s house. Surveillance had reversed.

  * * *

  It was three in the morning. The warehouse district was almost empty. Not empty enough to break into one. It seemed as though many of the warehouses were filled with startups, all having odd working hours. Most, if not all, had good security. All were afraid of having their intellectual property stolen. In Silicon Valley, all the money was in IP.

  “Don’t these fuckers ever go home? Get real jobs fuckers!” Henry was getting sleepy and irritated.

  Henry had to rant. That was his vice. He hated all that came out of this area. He shouted that Twitter and Facebook were all bullshit. Who had time to waste all day on Facebook, and who gave a shit enough to read other people’s daily trivia? What a sad bunch of people!

  “But, you know, I found one of my exes on Facebook. Happy I didn’t marry her. What a dog!” Henry said smiling.

  “You have Facebook?” Jason snapped with a big grin.

  “No, my wife is on it all the time. I just check to see what she’s doing!” he replied diffidently.

  Jason shook his head, smiling. He too didn’t care for the Facebook addiction, wanting to change the subject back to the warehouses. These days many of the warehouses rent to startups, he said. Part of the lease payment was always stock options. A lot of them move out quickly to bigger places, but the property owner keeps the stock options, and leases to a new group, at an even higher price. In the end, he could have options for dozens of companies. Some become rich leasing to these guys, which was not a bad gamble. However, the local shopkeeper, wanting a small space or a warehouse had little chance of getting a deal. The whole valley was great if you were in tech, and sucked for most everyone else.