by JB Turner
"Americans."
"What else?"
"Parents were Iranians."
"What happened to them?"
"We're piecing it together. UCLA students. Probably radicalized. The parents by all accounts didn't know a goddamn thing."
"What about their computers?"
"We've just arrived. Early days. Forensics are combing laptops, cellphone records. We'll build up the picture."
Meyerstein slumped into a chair and spun it round to face the young fed. "What a goddamn mess."
"The pattern has been set. We can all see the common thread. Reznick saw it first. Our problem is if this gets out . . ."
"The fallout would be immense, I know," Meyerstein said. "The American people don't want to hear about some Iranian hit squad roaming around the country. Taking out people in Florida, California and God knows where."
The young man nodded.
Meyerstein asked, "Why didn't they take out Reznick when they took care of the two Iranian-American students?"
"My gut feeling? A separate cell tasked with following the two young men to ensure they were taken care of if they got into trouble."
"So the triggerman might not have known that was Reznick on their tail?"
"Compartmentalize. Need to know. You know the drill."
Meyerstein sipped some more cold coffee and put down the cup. "What's NSA saying?"
"They're tracing calls to both the kids' cellphones which we have. But it's bouncing around everywhere. Encrypted and virtually unhackable. Will take time."
"We should never under-estimate the Iranians."
"One of the best Special Forces in the world. Knowledge, technical skills, know-how, built up over many years . . . they train Hezbollah; pass on most of their knowledge to them. Bombs, counter insurgency, terrorism, intelligence, you name it."
Meyerstein sighed. "Shows what we're dealing with. They still got Vincenza and wiped out the two Iranian-Americans who were on their side."
"Resourceful, ruthless and being able to adjust plans to a fast-moving situations are hallmarks of any special forces."
A hard knock at the door and a SWAT team leader stepped into the command vehicle.
Meyerstein said, "Did you get Reznick?"
"We got Jon Reznick."
"Where is he?"
"At a secure facility."
"On whose goddamn orders?"
"President's national security adviser."
TWENTY EIGHT
It was a high-speed thirty minute journey north along the Pacific Coast Highway to Point Mugu naval air base.
Meyerstein sat throughout the journey in quiet contemplation. Events were getting out of control. She felt the pressure building. There were going to be more deaths until this cell was destroyed. O'Donoghue would be taking flak from the intelligence community. He wasn't averse to replacing a team, and worrying about the consequences later.
A base security guard alongwith Roy Stamper and the SWAT team leader escorted her deep into the bowels of the base. Down shiny corridors, air conditioning units growling low in the background. Her security guard was replaced by a naval detail as they moved into a secure area.
"They're with me," she said.
The lead naval officer said, "Ma'am, you're the only one with base clearance."
Stamper and the SWAT Team leader took a seat and settled down to await Meyerstein's return. She moved on with the new escort to an elevator. Then up to a suite of offices on the top floor.
Daniel Frostrop, the base commander, sat behind his desk in the large corner office. He wore a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and tightly knotted brown tie.
Meyerstein's gaze wandered round the room. It was decked out in dark woods, walls lined with military books, and photos of Frostrop with everyone from Presidents Clinton and Bush to Kofi Annan.
Frostrop leaned over and shook his head. "Take a seat, Meyerstein."
The naval officer shut the door and Meyerstein sat down.
A moment later there was a knock on the door and a tall man in his fifties, wearing a navy suit, entered the room. Frostrop got up from his seat, "Brigadier Andrew T. Belmont, Homeland Security, counter terrorism expert and adviser to the President on national security issues. This is FBI Assistant Director Meyerstein."
Meyerstein turned and nodded but said nothing as Belmont took a seat at the back of the room.
Frostrop sat down and leaned back in his seat. "You're probably wondering why we have Reznick here."
Meyerstein said, "I'll be interested in your explanation."
Frostrop grimaced. "You see . . . I was just speaking to Brigadier Belmont here and we both agree that this is the best place for Reznick until further notice."
Meyerstein shifted in her seat. "Under whose authority?"
Frostrop nodded in the direction of Belmont. The Brigadier held up a letter showing the Presidential seal. "This gives me carte blanche to decide what we do with Reznick."
"Do you know anything about Jon Reznick?"
"I'm well aware of his record," Belmont said. "And I'm well aware that he is now used by the FBI on a freelance basis."
Meyerstein said nothing.
Belmont said, "Look, Meyerstein, just to clarify. I'm not here to cause you problems. Or the FBI. The FBI is the lead agency. But Jon Reznick . . . he's my concern."
"He's also my concern."
"And I respect that."
Meyerstein studied Belmont's clean-cut features. She thought there was a coldness around his eyes. "Has anyone interviewed him?"
Belmont shook his head. "Not yet. Only know what the SWAT guys relayed to us."
"Which was?"
"Sniper downed the two young would-be bombers."
"And what does that tell you?"
"We got a problem, that's what it tells me."
Meyerstein said, "What else do I need to know?"
Belmont cleared his throat. "Within the last few minutes, shortly before you arrived, we got news on Rain, the other Delta operator."
Meyerstein shrugged. "And?"
"And it's not good. Rain's body has been found. Washed up on a remote shore of Lake Champlain, Burlington, Vermont."
Meyerstein took a long hard look at Belmont.
"That is why we're keeping Reznick out of sight. We can't take any more chances."
"You want my take on this?"
Belmont shrugged. "Sure, go right ahead."
"They'll only be after one thing."
"Reznick."
"Precisely."
"And that's why we've brought him here. No one needs to know a thing."
"There is a flaw in that logic, Brigadier."
Belmont shifted in his seat. "And what precisely is that?"
"They will check the nearest secure facilities. The nearest military bases."
Belmont ran a hand through his short hair. "Do you think they've got the capabilities to penetrate this base's security?"
"I wouldn't put anything past Quds Force."
"You can't be serious . . . I mean, for Iran to contemplate such a move, would be near suicide. We operate in the shadows. That's the rules."
Meyerstein got up from her chair and paced the room. "They've picked off each of these ex-Delta operators, one at a time. It wouldn't make any sense to keep one or two alive. They've been instructed to find them and kill them all. Simple."
The base commander Frostrop shrugged. "This is an easy decision, Meyerstein. Reznick can hide out here until the coast is clear."
"You're not listening. Besides, what if he doesn't want to?"
Frostrop sighed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you think Reznick, from what we know about him, is the type of guy who is content to just hide out? Do you?"
Frostrop said nothing as Belmont shrugged.
Meyerstein faced the two men. "I know Reznick quite well. We might be missing a way to deal with this."
Belmont scratched the tip of his nose. "What are we missing?"
"There
are risks involved, I have to warn you."
"I don't like risks."
Meyerstein smiled. "Depends what sort of hand you're dealt."
"What are you proposing?"
"I want to speak to Reznick. Face to face. Now."
Belmont pressed back the cuticles on his fingernails. "Why?"
"I want to see if we can use Reznick to get closer to them."
Brigadier Belmont accompanied Meyerstein deeper into the bowels of the base. They headed down a series of corridors until they reached a basement tunnel that led to a separate building. She felt disorientated as they approached a screened-off area, armed guards blocking the entrance.
IDs were checked and they were buzzed through. She peered through a small window into what looked like an interview room with one table, two chairs and a handcuffed Jon Reznick pacing the room. Two cameras were placed high up in the room.
Meyerstein turned to Belmont. "I need to speak to him alone."
Belmont said, "No."
"I do this on my own or forget it. And I want the handcuffs off."
Belmont said, "Why?"
"He's no threat to me."
A long pause. "Very well, but I'll be watching through the window."
Belmond handed Meyerstein the keys for the cuffs. She entered the room, the door locking automatically behind them.
Meyerstein sensed Reznick was wired. "How are you?"
Reznick glanced up at one of the cameras and shook his head. He turned to face her. "You mind explaining what the hell I'm doing in this shithole?"
"It's just temporary."
He stared at Meyerstein. "You mind uncuffing me?"
Meyerstein stepped forward and uncuffed Reznick. He turned to face her. They were standing so close to each other that Meyerstsein could feel his warm breath.
Reznick stood in silence, searching her face for answers.
Meyerstein took a step back. "This is payback, Tehran-style."
"If you dish it out, you've got to be able to take it."
"Pity you can't share that sentiment with Tiny, Dorfman, Vincenza and Rain."
"What do you mean?"
"They took out Vincenza at the restaurant. Long-range. Just been told Rain's body was washed up on Lake Champlain, Vermont. I'm sorry."
Reznick sat down in the chair and said nothing. Face as impassive as ever. Eyes clear, almost unfathomable.
"What was Albert like?"
"Albert was the quietest of the crew. Content to just be there. Dorfman was the one doing the wise-cracking." He shook his head. "I remember Albert showed me a picture of his newly-born daughter which had been emailed by his wife in Vermont as he was hunkered down in an informant's house in Fallujah."
Meyerstein felt her throat tighten.
"The pride in his eyes was something any father would understand. He didn't tell anyone else, only me. I sometimes wondered why that was. Maybe it was because the rest of the guys pulled his leg about him being a cracker, having grown up in the backwoods of Georgia. Ain't she something, Jon? he would say."
Meyerstein let out a long sigh.
"Tell me more about how they got Blaine?"
"Vincenza was gunned down as I spoke to him in that fancy Malibu restaurant."
Reznick stared at her for what seemed an eternity.
"You were right. They were watching us, Jon."
Reznick bowed his head. "What about the two who planted the bomb?"
"Jon, you must have inadvertently got in between the two students on the bike and the shadow."
"Yup."
"What was the triggerman who took out the two on the motorbike driving?"
"No idea. Too far from me."
Meyerstein paced the room for a few moments. "I've got a proposition for you, Jon."
Reznick said nothing.
"I need your help."
"First, get me out of this place."
"Jon, that might be a problem, but there's someone here who can make that problem go away." Meyerstein stared at the mirror through which she knew Belmont would be watching and signaled for him to join them.
Reznick said, "Listen, I don't want to hear some horseshit story about we can't do this and we can't do that. They've just killed my Delta buddies. And I'm not going to sit here with my thumb up my ass."
"Jon, listen to me, you need to realize . . ."
"Get me out of here or . . ."
Belmont entered the room.
Reznick said, "Who the fuck are you?"
"The National Security Council."
Reznick stared at him but said nothing.
"The name's Belmont. This is complicated Jon. The Iranians want to take you out. But we're not going to allow it."
Meyerstein interjected. "I want to see if we can't come to some sort of arrangement."
Reznick said, "You talking about a deal?"
Meyerstein pointed to the door. "You want out of here?"
Reznick nodded.
"There are risks involved in taking you out of here. Risks for all of us. Firstly, do we all agree that we want to track down these sonofabitches?"
Reznick and Belmont both nodded.
Meyerstein sighed. "What if I said Jon that I want to use you?"
"In what way?"
"As bait for the Iranians."
Reznick stared at her. "You want me to lure them? I'm the honey, right?"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that."
"I'll do it. On one condition . . ."
Meyerstein's cellphone rang interrupting the conversation. "Goddamn," she said, picking up her cellphone from the table. She didn't recognize the number. "Meyerstein."
A silence opened up for a few moments. "You really need to get new encryption for your phone, Assistant Director." A man's voice she didn't know.
Meyerstein froze for a second and stared at Belmont and Reznick. "Who's this?"
A long sigh. "You've got something we want, Meyerstein."
"Who is this? What do you want?"
"Don't play games. You Americans are very fond of games. Well, guess what? So am I."
Meyerstein said, "I think you've got the wrong number."
"Oh, we've got the right number, Assistant Director Martha Meyerstein of the Federal Bureau of Investigations."
"What the hell do you want?"
"We want Reznick."
Meyerstein heart skipped a beat. She said nothing as thoughts careered through her head. This was the Iranians. Speaking to her on her phone.
"In thirty minutes, we will call you back on this number. We will have more details of how this is going to work."
TWENTY NINE
The specter of the growing and pressing threat galvanized Meyerstein. She hooked up an emergency videoconference with the National Security Council in Washington, sitting alongside Belmont, as they started to get a handle on what and who they were dealing with. She scribbled notes as the faces of the President's most senior military and intelligence advisers stared down from the big screens in a secure conference room on the Californian naval base.
Meyerstein listened as the arguments raged back and forth amongst the experts. She ordered her thoughts and plan of action before she made her first input. "I'd like to know what's the latest from the NSA on tracking this call."
Mitch Chivers an NSA senior analyst said, "Ma'am, this should be easy for us, but in this case, it's not."
Meyerstein said, "What do you mean?"
Chivers glanced at his laptop. "I'm just checking the latest from my team as we speak. We believe the call originated from California, specifically the Santa Monica area. We just can't narrow it down any further. They must be using more advanced encryption."
"How's that possible? Never mind. What's the latest on this cell?"
Counter terrorism expert Ronald McMaster put up his hand. "If I can jump in here Martha. My best analysts have been working on this. I'm afraid we don't yet have verifiable intel . . ."
Meyerstein sighed. "Jesus! What do we know?"
"We are certain these are Iranian Quds Force operatives. And they seem prepared to up the ante. Tehran knows the ramifications if they conduct any terrorist acts on our soil."
Meyerstein said, "I want names and the modus operandi of these Iranians. Is that clear?"
McMaster leaned forward and tapped a few keys on his laptop. Simultaneously images of five Quds Force operatives appeared on the middle split-screen. "We believe these are our guys. Still checking the voice analysis. The guy in the middle is the leader. Mohsen Sazegara. He's here to avenge the death of his brother."
"His brother?"
"Ali Sazegara, a nuclear fusion scientist who was blown up in Tehran six years ago."
Meyerstein leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "So, it's personal . . ." She turned and looked at Belmont. "You wanna jump in, Brigadier?"
Belmont sighed. "It is personal, Martha. Ali Sazegara was killed just yards from his home in a Tehran suburb. Reznick led that part of the mission. He was the trigger man."
Meyerstein stood up and paced the room. "And when the hell were you going to tell me this?"
Belmont cleared his throat and looked up at the screens. "I'm sure you understand, gentlemen. It's always on a need-to-know basis. And that's how it is."
Meyerstein turned and faced him. "Bullshit. You put my team and me at risk. Not to mention Reznick and his Delta crew."
Belmont sighed. "You need to get the right perspective on this, Martha."
Meyerstein ignored Belmont. She sat back down. "Ronald, do you think taking out Reznick is the most important hit?"
McMaster said, "Yeah. All that Shi-ite blood brother stuff. It's personal and it's bad for Reznick. But it's very worrying for America."
Meyerstein looked at her watch. "Fifteen minutes until they call back. How do we get on the front foot?"
McMaster said, "I think we should get Reznick out of here. Take him to the other side of the country."
Meyerstein said, "You clearly don't know Jon Reznick. He will not want to hide from these guys."
"What do you propose?"
"We don't know what their next move is going to be. It's not the usual Iranian modus operandi to want to enter into discussions."
McMaster said, "I've got to agree with Meyerstein on this. I fear there may be something bigger here. The Joint Chiefs of Staff will be briefed. They'll call for some action against Tehran. Maybe a missile strike."
