by JB Turner
Meyerstein looked around the group. "Maybe so. But I'd rather be safe than sorry. We need to assess any potential threat. And quick."
FOURTEEN
Mohsen Sazegara yawned as he peered through field glasses from behind the tinted glass of a UPS truck, parked down the street from Pete Dorfman's father's house. He was running on empty after an hour's sleep. The plan to neutralize Dorfman twenty four hours earlier had to be abandoned after some cop cars began cruising the neighborhood after reports of a missing child. But that was only a temporary blip.
He checked his watch. 9.01 a.m. He adjusted the specially modified Bluetooth headset. "Still no sign of life," he said.
Couple of beeps in his ear. "Copy that."
Sazegara smiled. He had all the time in the world. He had been waiting for this moment for the last eighteen months when his team had been assembled and given the mission. He had studied the life of Peter Dorfman. He had watched him from afar. The assassination had been aborted on three separate occasions. Each time the abort signal had been like a dagger through his heart. He had grown to detest Dorfman.
Sazegara had followed Dorfman across Europe and now to America, observing his decadent western lifestyle. But he sensed today was going to be the day. He could imagine Dorfman's last gasp. The look on his face for a split second as he realized how it was going to end. Dorfman wouldn't know who he was. And that in itself was rather pleasing.
"Stand-by," the voice said in his ear.
Sazegara glanced in his side view mirror as a jogger kneeled down to tie his shoelaces. The minutes dragged.
Dorfman's father had left the home over thirty minutes ago for his morning exercise with the dog. His route was the same each and every day. It was a four and a half mile power walk around the sidewalks of his quiet community.
A beep in his headset. "One and a half miles from the house."
"ETA?"
"He's stopped for a rest. You've got fifteen minutes, twenty max. It's a green light. I repeat, this is green."
Sazegara took a moment to compose himself. He knew this was as good as it was going to get. "Copy that." His stomach knotted. Game on.
He started up the truck and headed further down the tree-lined street and parked directly outside Dorfman Snr's house, blocking the view of neighbors opposite.
Sazegara put on his shades and baseball cap. He pulled back the slide of his Glock, fitted the silencer and put the gun in the back of his pants. He took a deep breath, picked up the large parcel in the passenger seat and opened his door.
His heart was beating hard as he walked down the garden path. He felt self conscious wearing the brown shorts, matching shirt.
Sazegara pressed the buzzer and the bell rang. Padded footsteps inside headed down the hall. The door opened and the familiar face was staring back at him, eyes bloodshot. In a bizarre way, he wanted the moment to last. The frisson of anticipation.
"Peter Dorfman?" Sazegara said, giving a broad smile.
Dorfman rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah. What's this?"
Sazegara pulled out the silenced gun and pressed it to Dorfman's forehead. He pulled the trigger twice drilling two bullets point blank into his head. Blood splattered across Sazegara's face and UPS outfit. He thought he tasted blood. The adrenaline surged through his body as Dorfman collapsed back in the hall.
Sazegara stepped inside, put on his forensic gloves and shut the door. He kneeled down beside Dorfman and fired off the rest of his magazine into his face.
Dorfman took out his iPhone and took six shots of the corpse. Then he sent the photos to his handler thousands of miles away.
Sazegara headed upstairs. He retrieved a cellphone beside a bed and MacBook Pro in an adjacent study.
Then he headed downstairs and took one last look around.
A voice in his ear said, "Five minutes."
Sazegara cleared his throat. "We're going home," he said, issuing the code words once he was going to leave.
He took one more look at Dorfman. He shut the door and headed out into the harsh Florida sunshine, climbed in the UPS truck and drove away.
He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw he was smiling.
FIFTEEN
Meyerstein had ordered in Chinese and the four of them ate in silence as they stared at the five names on the wall. The names were written in marker pen on a whiteboard, a red asterisk marked beside Charles Burns.
Meyerstein said, "Jimmy Rosen, Blaine Vicenza, Pete Dorfman, Albert Rain. Tell us about them, Jon."
Reznick stared at her. "Dorfman lives in Fort Lauderdale, I know that. And Albert lives in Burlington, Vermont. I've lost touch with Jimmy and Blaine."
Meyerstein said, "We need to work through the list." She looked at Reznick and smiled. "I'm sorry for being so curt on the phone earlier."
The two analysts pretended not to listen.
Reznick said, "Maybe I deserved it."
"What makes you say that?"
"Never mind."
"No, tell me."
"I shouldn't have contacted you out of the blue like that."
"Forget it."
Meyerstein looked across at Reznick. "Follow me. Let's take a walk."
They took the elevator to the lobby level of the office block and headed out into a courtyard with a fountain, benches and ivy on the walls.
Meyerstein sat down, as Reznick remained standing, hands in pocket. "I usually do my best thinking when I've got some time and space to breathe," she said and smiled.
"You get much chance these days?"
"I'm a slave to my day planner. If it's not in there, forget it. Meetings, strategy, briefings, interviews, discussions. We have a lot of stuff on the go, let me tell you."
Reznick said nothing.
"Tell me about Charles Burns. What was he like?"
"What can I say? He was as tough as they came. Huge guy. But gentle with his wife and kid. Very respected. Didn't say a whole lot. But he didn't have to. We knew him as Tiny. But he was the bravest in Delta."
"I read that you extracted him from a situation in Fallujah when you were in Iraq."
"Let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. But yeah, that happened. He was shot up bad. They were closing in. And we know how that would've ended."
Meyerstein said nothing.
"Didn't have much luck on leaving Delta. Living in a goddamn trailer in Delray Beach for a while."
Meyerstein went quiet for a few moments. "I think you've spooked a lot of the guys in there today. Any sign of Iran operating with impunity on American soil certainly stirs things up."
Reznick said nothing.
"What was it like?"
"What was what like?"
"Tehran?"
"Shithole."
Meyerstein closed her eyes for a moment as if de-stressing. Her cellphone rang and she picked up. "Meyersetein." A long pause. "I need it ASAP, do you hear me Roy?"
Meyerstein ended the call and looked at Reznick.
"Problem?"
"The initial assessment into what we are facing, be it Iranians or whatever, will be with us within the hour."
"How's it shaping it?"
"We'll know soon enough."
Slattery and Berryman had been working flat out as they tried to track down the four other Delta operators who had been on the top secret Tehran mission with limited success. They only had a confirmed address for Dorfman in Florida.
Reznick wasn't surprised. But the lack of progress only added to a sense of anxiety in Meyerstein.
Reznick said, "I was speaking to Dorfman at the funeral and afterwards. He said he was planning to be in Fort Lauderdale with his father for the next few weeks."
Meyerstein said, "The Special Agent in Charge of Miami will be sending an agent to visit Dorfman, if he's not already done so. We should hear something soon."
Reznick nodded. "What about Blaine? He's the most routine and grounded of them all."
"L.A. couldn't trace him. Anywhere. Did you know Blaine outwith Delta?"
"Well, we've tried tracing him, but nothing so far. He has two estranged daughters and they haven't seen him in ages."
Reznick said, "Chelsea and Lana."
"You know them?"
"Blaine appointed me their godfather to look after them if something happened to him. All grown up now."
"So why are they now estranged?"
"Blaine could never settle after leaving Delta. Wife left him and daughters sided with her."
Meyerstein sighed. "Some people never get a break." Her phone rang and she picked it up. "Roy, finally, what's the latest?" She closed her eyes. "When?" A long silence. She ended the call. She turned to face Reznick. He could tell something was wrong.
"What is it?"
Meyerstein looked at him straight in the eye. "Jon, I'm sorry."
"What is it?"
"The agent in Miami. She turned up at Dorfman's address in Fort Lauderdale and was met by a crime scene. Dorfman was shot during an apparent home invasion. He's dead."
Reznick closed his eyes. "Motherfucker." He could say nothing more as he absorbed the news.
Meyerstein ran a hand through her hair. "Charles Burns in a road smash. Pete Dorfman gunned down. I don't believe in coincidences."
Reznick felt sick. He felt an anger beginning to build with him.
"They're here. And they're going to kill us all. Those were Tiny's last words."
Meyerstein stared long and hard at Reznick. "What do you mean?"
"Just before he died, Tiny called me from the car wreck. At first I didn't understand. Now I do."
Reznick turned and looked at the list of names on the board. Dark thoughts began to cloud his head.
SIXTEEN
Meyerstein had that familiar feeling of dread in her stomach. The same feeling she felt if an investigation was running into trouble. But this was worse. She had ignored a warning from Reznick. A red flag. Had she acted sooner would Dorfman still be alive?
Damn.
She pushed that thought from her mind.
She felt stressed. She didn't want to show it. Ever. But the teeth grinding told its own tale.
Satisfied she had enough evidence, Meyerstein had decided to make this official and call on all the resources available to her. Eyebrows would be raised that Reznick was back on the scene, but she could handle that.
She sipped some fresh coffee and stared at the faces on the huge split screen beaming back from the National Counterterrorism Center. There were currently four people from various locations on videoconference. She had listened impassively to the confirmed updates on the two sudden deaths of the ex-Delta operators.
Meyerstein gathered her thoughts for a few moments, glanced at the papers in front of her before she spoke. "There is no doubt in my mind that an Iranian plot is being played out in the country as we speak."
Assistant Director Andrew Nuffield, in charge of the FBI's counterterrorism unit, said, "Martha, I agree. This is part of a concerted attack on America. But we've been blindsighted. Where the hell did this come from?"
Meyerstein looked up to the screen. "Andrew, we don't know if this is the Iranian government or a rogue operation. What's clear is that we'd be none the wiser but for Reznick's persistence. I didn't take his concerns seriously at first. I was wrong."
Nuffield nodded. "We need to focus on Reznick as a priority. I think he should be taken to a safe house until we deal with this. The last thing we need is for a guy like this to be running around, giving us more headaches than we've already got."
"Andrew," Meyerstein said, "we'd be making a mistake by cutting Reznick out. I've used him in the past . . ."
"I'm well aware of that, Martha. But he's a wild card."
Meyerstein said, "We'll come back to Reznick. What about the other three? What have the Strategic Assessment and Analysis Unit come up with?"
"We'll have an update in less than two hours."
Meyerstein sighed heavily. "Meanwhile the three ex-Delta operators who were in Tehran are at high risk." She sipped some more coffee. The caffeine jolt felt good. "We're behind the curve, and that's not a good place to be."
"Our resources and assets are being utilized to the max, Martha."
Meyerstein looked at her briefing paper on Jimmy Rosen. "Is this right? It says here that Rosen is a White Supremacist in Arizona."
"That is correct. Militia nut. Loosely linked with the Hell's Angels, his name has also been given as supplying methamphetamine."
A man up on the split screen wearing a starched white shirt, dark tie and with short gray hair cleared his throat. "Can I cut in here, ma'am?"
Meyerstein said, "Of course, go right ahead."
The man let out a long sigh. His blue piercing eyes stared from the screen at her. "Colonel James Seeberg, CIA, attached to the Counterterrorism Center. There is an element to this that we need to be very much aware of."
Meyerstein said, "And what's that Colonel?"
"The rationale we believe for this Iranian action, if it is indeed Iranian action, is to avenge the nuclear scientists deleted by Delta operatives, am I correct?"
Meyerstein said, "If by delete you mean assassination, then, yes, that is the rationale and that is the linkage we are working with."
"Firstly, I think we've got to be real careful about placing too much store by what Reznick asserts is true."
Meyerstein shifted in her seat. "Which part Colonel? That his ex-Delta buddies have been assassinated? Or that he's making up the operation carried out in Tehran?"
A patronizing smile from the Colonel. "I think it's easy to interpret events which suit our mindset. I'm not saying that the events in Tehran didn't happen . . . it's just that I think there are implications further down the line if we do accept these events as factual."
Meyerstein shook her head. "Colonel, I don't have time for your agency doublespeak bullshit."
"Let me apologize if I didn't make myself clear. I'm more concerned about American national interests than these three ex-Delta guys."
"Are you saying we should not concern ourselves with this?"
"Quite the opposite. I think it's important that we find them and take them to a secure place. And that includes Reznick."
"Colonel, I've worked with Jon Reznick on two separate investigations with national security implications, and his conduct and capabilities were quite exemplary. I want him within the FBI team working with us."
"I disagree. It would be best for all concerned if Jon Reznick is taken to a secure facility with immediate effect."
"And just say he doesn't want to go, Colonel, what do you propose then?"
The colonel leaned back in his seat, unsmiling. "Assistant Director Meyerstein that will simply not be an option for Mr. Reznick."
Meyerstein couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I'm sorry?"
FBI Counterterrorism Assistant Director Andrew Nuffield cleared his throat. "Martha, I'm with the Colonel on this. We need to get Reznick out of the way. Not only for his safety but also for U.S. national interests."
"Andrew, we're losing some perspective here. Reznick is a valued asset. We need him front and center on this investigation as it unfolds."
The Colonel interjected, "May I remind you Martha that there's an APB out on Reznick."
"That can be taken care of."
Nuffield sighed. "Look, we're going round in circles. The decision has already been taken."
Meyerstein took a moment to absorb the full implications of what Nuffield said. "What?"
"This is Counterterrorism, Martha, and I'm the lead on this."
"I knot you're the lead here. But you know I'm right. We need Reznick here."
The Colonel softened his tone. "Martha, we have a team already en-route from Dulles, who will be removing Reznick to a secure facility within the hour."
Meyerstein f
elt sick. "What is going on here?"
The Colonel said, "It's for his own good, Martha."
"His own good? Are you kidding me?"
"We believe Reznick is a potential danger to America."
"That's bullshit and you know it. I want to know what everyone else thinks."
The faces on the split screen were impassive.
The Colonel leaned forward, hands clasped. "I'm sorry."
"Who made this call?"
"It came from higher up the chain."
"How high?"
"Director of Homeland Security. And above."
Meyerstein shook her head as she kept her anger in check.
"It is what it is, Martha. You need to deal with it and move on."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll have to consider your position. Good day, everyone."
The videoconference screens went blank. Meyerstein sat in silence for a few seconds. She felt the shock and anger course through her body. Go with it she thought to herself. It was what her father had taught her. Don't let shock or anger turn to fear. Harness the energy and use it to propel yourself forward. "Goddamn." She ran the conversation round her head again. She hadn't seen this coming. The thought of incarcerating Reznick against his will was unthinkable.
Meyerstein reflected on what they had said. It was the usual CIA bullshit. The Colonel didn't want any talk of American involvement in Iranian civilian assassinations to be discussed with anyone at any level at any time.
She knew how Reznick would react. She pictured him being tasered before being dragged out by a CIA team. She couldn't bear the thought of that. She didn't want to face up to it. But she would have to.
She would have to tow the party line on this one.
Shit.
A sharp knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Stamper popped his head round the door. "We got a problem."
"What is it?"
"It's Reznick."
Meyerstein sighed. "What now?"
"He's disappeared."
"What?"
"He's just stolen an FBI Lincoln from the garage and driven out onto the streets of Washington, cool as you like."
SEVENTEEN
The first thing Reznick did was ditch the Lincoln and drive away a stolen brown Mustang outside a Dale City diner, just off I-95, south of DC. He popped a couple of Dexedrine on the freeway. The drugs kicked it. He felt the chemicals rouse his system. He was switched on as he headed for Richmond, Virginia, a plan formulating in his head.
