Blaze

by Andrew Thorp King

  The pistol he carried, however, did not need to be hidden, as it was issued by Natanz, not the CIA. Natanz decided to arm all employees, even IT, after the debacle at Esfahan. This, he saw as a blessing, because he may very well need the pistol, and he wouldn’t have trusted his ability to successfully hide the gun had it been a gift of the CIA. Of course, he now had to wrestle with the fear of his gun-carrying colleagues, but he tried not to think about that.

  Shortly after Arash logged onto his computer and settled into his office chair, his office landline began ringing. It was his superior, Dabir.

  “Good morning Sir.” Arash did his best to hide his nervousness.

  “We’re on high alert still, Arash. I expect total vigilance from you. Are you keeping your eyes open? We can’t afford to be attacked like Esfahan.”

  Arash could here the contention and condescension in Dabir’s voice and he wondered where this was all coming from. It had been weeks since the attack occurred at Esfahan and Dabir had never taken such a tone with him like this. Have I aroused suspicion somehow? Had he sensed disloyalty in me in someway? Or was this just some sort of erratic and arbitrary paranoia that had randomly struck Dabir? Arash did not know.

  “I fully understand sir. I’m conscious of my surroundings and am fully on guard.”

  “Good. We can trust no one, and nothing, in times like these.”

  Arash didn’t like the potential inferences in Dabir’s last comment. Of course, Arash recognized his own unusual sensitivity in interpreting such comments, given his newfound covert activities.

  After hanging up the phone, Arash wiped a few drops of sweat off his brow. I need to really lose some weight, my fat sweats don’t go so well with my new life as a spy. He did his best to recall a verse from Psalm 25 to reinforce confidence within himself. His memory was rather good, as he did not have the luxury in his country of carrying around a Bible for quick retrieval of needed scripture. His Bible had to be carefully tucked away. The verse came to him. “Guard my life and rescue me; let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in You.” He felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost immediately upon recitation of the Psalm.

  For several hours that morning, Arash proceeded with his normal tasks. He had to finish a few reports, double check on some amended issues from the previous day, and run some routine security tests. All the while, he was waiting for an opportune moment to hack into the system and plant the Stuxnet worm 2.0.

  Throughout the early morning hours of his workday, various colleagues came in and out of his office in the usual way. Strangely, more than ever, it was talk of the Mahdi on the lips of many that morning. Praise and reference to the Mahdi was commonplace, but this particular morning it seemed more frequent and more intense. Arash wondered what the impetus for this might be. ‘He is coming soon!’ some said. Others uttered ‘I feel the Promised One might even now be upon us!’ And yet others proclaimed ‘Allah’s wrath be to the infidels! The beloved Mahdi is coming and the Caliphate will emerge!’

  It was not long ago that Arash had such religious thoughts stemming from a different source. He would have never guessed in a thousand lifetimes that instead of lifelong devotion to the Twelfth Imam, he would instead become a committed Christian and a spy against his Persian homeland. Life sure had a funny way of carving its on path, particularly once he put his life in the guiding hand of the Nazarene.

  As his colleagues and co-workers expressed their Messianic fervor throughout the day, Arash enthusiastically faked a perceived zeal for the coming of the Mahdi, while retaining a deep devotion to Jesus Christ in his heart.

  It was shortly after the whistle blew for the normal line workers that Arash sensed the perfect window to begin his daring task. He quietly closed his office door, even though his office was enclosed entirely by walls fully made of windows and all passerby could clearly see in. Nonetheless, he wanted to give the impression that he was hard at work concentrating and did not wish to be disturbed.

  He sipped from his cup of tea and began typing. He was indeed the proverbial fox with the key to the hen hound. His passwords gained him access as usual, and he began taking the necessary digital steps to cover his tracks as he embedded the well-tested and well-researched Stuxnet worm into Iran’s centrifuge-controlling computer systems.

  His heart slammed against the interior of his chest and the fat sweats were indeed now coming on strong once again. The moment in which he triggered the installation of the worm had felt entirely surreal.

  He could not believe he was risking his job, his life, and his family’s well being as a result of his newfound belief in Jesus as Messiah and his bizarre partnership with Israel and the CIA. My parents would shun me fiercely if they were alive to see and know about this. He knew deeply just how radical were the decisions that had brought him to this point; initiating a bold digital warfare attack on Iran’s beloved nuclear weapons program.

  The fix was in, but the job was not over. The worm would just now begin recording all operations of the plant while slowly tearing the program apart. The quickest the nerds at Negev were able to get the worm to begin to tear apart the program was estimated to be five to seven days. This was where the tough part began. Arash had to play it cool, and play stupid for a while until this cycled through. He prayed for the discernment, wisdom, and steadiness of mind to see it through.

  The rest of the day was uneventful, just as his friend Chuck Gallagher back at Langley had assured. Arash clocked out at the end of his shift as he did any other day, and went home to greet his wife and quietly pray to Jesus while kneeling to Allah; a duplicity that had become second nature to the burgeoning overweight spy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC

  It was time for their weekly Monday morning meeting with the President. Bob Sapp arrived just a step before Hank Mahoney. Bob smiled and extended his arm to motion Hank to enter the Oval Office first. Neither of the men had yet to shake the weekend off their minds. And they were each not ready to begin discussing the issues surrounding Israel and Iran.

  “Thanks Bob.” Hank said.

  Hank Mahoney, Fitz’s VP, never lost his cool. Never. He was the minty, calm and collected voice of reconciliation that managed to talk everyone off the ledge. This was not widely known about him in the press. From their standpoint, he was a curiously uninvolved and useless veep.

  But those inside the white house and close to POTUS knew Mahoney put out fires on a daily basis. This meeting would prove no exception to the utility and value of Hank Mahoney’s temperament. He would once again act as the firefighter.

  Had a drunken sailor been present, even he would have been offended. Bob Sapp, the president’s bulldog-like chief of staff, had no couth. Zilch. Zero. F-bombs were a breath of fresh air coming from his vulgar mouth compared to the litany of other more explicit obscenities that hurled from his lips. And this was the case before he even got angry. Once his anger was awakened, Lucifer himself would blush at the hellish vernacular that ensued.

  Sapp’s extreme character flaw never served to officially and fully alienate his colleagues. Sapp’s vulgarity was tolerated because, underneath the layers of linguistic slime, his insight was on the money. He was a truth teller.

  And for this Bob Sapp was one of the most valuable people surrounding the President. Even if it was quite possible he was slowly killing the President with second hand smoke all the while. Rush Limbaugh may not believe that second hand smoke has any power to kill, but President Fitz and his Democratic colleagues did—and their turning a blind eye to Sapp’s furious chain-smoking, anywhere and everywhere, was a noticeable anomaly.

  Amidst the smoke-filled Marlboro haze that choked the oxygen out of the oval office, Hank Mahoney sat pensively. The blasphemous language rang throughout the four walls. The topic of the Iranian nuclear threat was front and center. Hank was waiting for an appropriate moment to interj
ect his thoughts. This wasn’t quite the moment.

  “I don’t care what your damn religion is, what their damn religion is, or what the bastard Republicans think or don’t think. Truth is truth, and the truth here is that if those nutjobs in Iran get the bomb they’ll use it. They’ll use it against Israel and they’ll use it against us. This is horrible for everyone, future generations not excluded.” This was the first set of consecutive sentences shouted by Bob Sapp that weren’t laced with eye-bleeding obscenities. Mahoney thought this would be a softer moment to interject his thoughts on the debate. But he didn’t yet get his chance.

  Fitz threw up his hands in frustration. “Whose side are you on? You sound like one of them! Why don’t you go be chief of staff for a Republican! You might as well. You sound like a hate-filled warmonger, you might as well go work for one. I don’t pay you to act like a pissed-off paranoid conservative. I pay you to run my staff and advise me on my agenda, not your turncoat opinions. I don’t blame the Iranians for wanting the bomb. Everyone knows Israel has it. What’s to stop Israel from attacking Iran because of their support for the Palestinians? Pakistan has the bomb and we aren’t talking about going to war with them, are we?”

  “Gentleman…,” Mahoney finally found a spec of dead air. “…please. This isn’t about paranoia or taking sides on the Palestinian issue, or who’s a Republican or who’s a Democrat. This whole issue needs to be approached with common sense, balance, and a tread lightly attitude. Chuck Gallagher already has a covert CIA op in play with a top-notch team to help stunt the growth of the Iranian nuclear program, and potentially set it back to its inception. We must continue to carefully support and engage in the economic sanctions against Iran without being perceived as insensitive to the Palestinians, and more so, not be perceived as being inseparable on all levels from the Israelis. We don’t need to take Iran’s side, nor do we need to carpet bomb them at this moment either. Many multi-pronged efforts still need to play themselves out to effectively neutralize this problem.”

  Mahoney had done it again. He had parted the roaring red sea of the ongoing debates and disagreements between Sapp and Fitz. He was the third element in the dynamic that always brought the two together in a rational compromise and unified approach.

  Sapp looked at Fitz and exhaled a large cloud of cigarette smoke and began to chuckle. Fitz smiled and chuckled to himself. He walked over to Sapp and patted him on the back. “You know I always appreciate a vigorous debate, and damn it, with you I know I can always get one. Good thing we have Mahoney here to referee and bring us both back into reality each time.”

  “It’s a good thing. You and I can’t afford an endless knock down, drag out. We have too much on our plates and too many enemies, political and otherwise, that seek to destroy us, to be always fighting each other.”

  “You’re right about that. Okay, we’ll continue the covert ops and hold fast on the sanctions. We’ll treat this Iran thing in a way that doesn’t alienate the relationship I am building with Koslov and also doesn’t piss off the Muslim world too much by them thinking we’re nothing but pawns of Israel. We’ll straddle the line.” summarized President Fitz.

  “Gentleman, I’m glad you’ve come to an understanding.” Mahoney could barely proclaim this with a straight face and they didn’t receive it with a straight face either. They both patted Mahoney on the back and began to tease him for his never-ending even-keel, peacemaker approach.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  NATANZ, IRAN

  Arash’s nerves had calmed considerably since the bold day in which he deployed the Stuxnet 2.0 worm developed by the Israeli technicians at Negev. Work was, once again, just work. Even Dabir had been extremely civil, and even affirming towards him as of late. He had even commented on Arash’s excellent propensity towards efficiency in his work. Life at the Natanz nuclear facility seemed to be as normal, and as such, Arash’s guard was down.

  It had been two weeks since that nerve-racking pivotal day in which Arash pulled the trigger on the Stuxnet 2.0 attack and officially became a true hidden enemy of the Islamic Republic of Iran. The worm began immediately recording the data inside the centrifuge systems, but it took about a week before it began the process of systematically, and incrementally, destroying the program. That progress remained in motion and Arash was anticipating the resulting breakdowns and difficulties to begin emerging very soon. Likely, within a week or so.

  During the past two weeks, Arash had been occupied with feeding back info to Gallagher. He had prepared and transmitted dossiers to the CIA on all the key managers, supervisors and employees at Natanz. The dossiers included photos, family information, religious status, formal associations to various political and religious organizations, military history and/or status, and detailed descriptions of their daily and over-arching duties and responsibilities at Natanz. Additionally, Arash prepared updates to his original report on the production schedules within the plan, the daily flow of deliveries and employee movement. Since the Esfahan attack, much had changed, and he needed to revise his report so that Gallagher was up to speed on the new dynamic at Natanz.

  Arash had not experienced heartburn in quite some time and was very thankful for the peace his body now experienced. Life at home had seemed fine, despite the gnawing guilt he felt for living the double life of a spy and for being a covert convert to Christianity in a land where people were arrested and killed for such things. If his wife Atoosa was to discover any of this, he feared how she’d react.

  He loved her very much, and prayed for her daily, but she was deeply devoted to Islam and fiercely loyal to her country and her family. She was increasingly fervent about the coming of the Mahdi and had been increasing her prayers and Koran readings in recent days and weeks. Her memory of the Hadiths was impeccable and she was becoming quite scholarly with her faith—an unusual achievement for women in Iran. Only Arash could feel, and know, the growing distance between them. Atoosa had no clue that deep in his heart Arash had drifted far, far away from her as a direct result of the changes in his life.

  Arash was having a hard time focusing on his work, as he was overwhelmed with his thoughts. It seemed as if his life had changed so much so fast—a life that continued to radically change internally, even as the exterior of life remained unchanged and seemingly mundane. He was preparing some reports for Dabir at his desk and sipping tea when he peered through his office window and saw some police walking through the plant. They were being escorted while wearing hard hats and being directed to be careful around the heavy equipment that populated the plant. Arash wondered what was going on. Have they discovered what I have done? Do they know about Stuxnet? How did they track me? Had they somehow tapped my calls with Gallagher or Reza? Oh Lord, please protect me, rescue me from the adversary.

  His heart leapt as he gazed upon the entourage of law enforcement making its way up the steps of the plant towards the offices. He watched as the group of lawmen stopped and had, what appeared to be, a very serious conversation with Dabir.

  Dabir glanced towards Arash’s office. Arash could tell by the look on Dabir’s face that the fix was in. Why did I trust Gallagher? A simple operation, uh? Not so simple now. Have I simply been a pawn of the Americans and Israelis? What danger have they put me in? I’m so stupid. I should have trusted my fears and never ventured forth into this spy thing. Who do I think I am?

  There was nowhere to run, and running would only make things worse. Arash sat in his swivel chair and stewed with fear, rage, and horror as he watched the situation unravel slowly before his eyes. The minute or so that it took for the party of cops to reach his office seemed like thirty.

  Dabir ushered the police into Arash’s office and glared at Arash with a piercing look of utter disdain. The police marched in promptly and one held up a Bible in his hand. Arash was shocked at the sight of his personal Bible held before him like a hot murder weapon.

  The cops shouted and hurled accusatio
ns at Arash of being a traitor to Islam. Arash attempted to play ignorant.

  “What’s going on? What’s that?”

  “You know what it is. Don’t play stupid. We know what you’re hiding! You’ve joined the infidels!”

  Did they know everything I was hiding? Do they know about my spying and the Stuxnet worm? Or just my faith? Did Atoosa turn me in? Did she see me place the key to the cabinet—where I keep my Bible—under the chair cushion? Arash had no idea how deep he was in it for.

  A surge of testosterone and brazen defiance burst through Arash. He grabbed his Natanz-issued firearm and shot the cop directly in front of him right in the groin. The cop’s face clenched as he screamed in agony. He held his wounded crotch as he fell to the ground. A puddle of blood oozed from his pants. The other cops instantly pounced Arash, subdued him, and began beating him mercilessly. He didn’t scream, but he felt each hit with excruciating pain. The fists flailed like heavy rocks against his head and body. Nightsticks pounded against him at any open spot. He curled up fetus-style to try to blunt the impact, but was unsuccessful. The pain was penetrating, quick, repetitive and unrelenting. Arash struggled to absorb and endure. He still did not scream. He didn’t want to give them that pleasure.

  Arash had been viewed as a timid, harmless tech guy. No one expected such a violent, irrational reaction. Neither had he. He could not believe what he had just done. He felt defiant, strong.

  You can beat me, you can defile me, you can torture me to no end, but my faith in Christ remains. It will never die. Kill my body and I live on eternally with Christ… and the Stuxnet worm will churn on and shred your plans of death for the world limb from digital limb. From digital limb to failed digital limb.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE