The last twenty minutes of his regimen was consumed by working the speed bag and heavy bag with a battering consistency. All the while his iPod ear buds blasted a mix of various tunes ranging from AC/DC to Everlast to Mastodon to Ted Nugent. Mastadon’s Leviathon album really summoned the guttural beast within—which helped to effectuate an intense and purposeful workout. The Nuge made him want to hunt down terrorists as if there was a forest somewhere that held every angry jihadist the world over, waiting to become his target. Uncle Ted provided the most appropriate soundtrack for such a sensibility. Everlast helped him find his groove on the speed bag and keep his head cool to plan his day. AC/DC did what AC/DC does; provide soul satisfying blues based rock ‘n’ roll in a way that none else ever have or will deliver.
After a quick shower, Blaze was dressed in a white V-neck undershirt, with a dog tag necklace dangling perfectly in the space left vacant by the V-cut, and a pair of camouflage shorts. He wasted no time before grabbing a cold water bottle and firing up his MacBook to bang out the report for Gallagher.
He described the prep work, the transportation details, the dialogues he heard and engaged in and every sequential detail contained within the scope of the whole mission. He was still not sure what tipped them off and made him a suspicious element prior to the point in which they discovered his obvious Farsi deficiencies. He hoped that the larger context of his report might somehow provide a clue to an analyst back at Langley as to what might have lead to the initial suspicion. Was it a flaw in my cosmetic job that transformed me from a Mick to a Persian? Was it my general demeanor? I thought I was pretty slick, believable, and unassuming. It couldn’t have been my lack of being familiar. We made sure we impersonated a delivery truck and company that constantly sent new guys as to not make them wonder. Blaze couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.
The real question, the one Gallagher would dwell on, is if they somehow knew ahead of time to be on the lookout. Had there been a damn leak? A fricken’ rat? Nothing got Blaze’s blood boiling more than a rat from the inside. A dirty traitor. Blaze would have to continue to give that mystery a good, hard think over the next few days. For now, he would have to put that question aside and finish his report in earnest.
Although he wished he could avoid it, Blaze confessed fully to his failure to get his Farsi in order as he should have. This was ultimately the main hiccup of the entire op. Had he had that dialed in, he may have overcome the enemies initial suspicions and avoided the capture, the car chase and the subsequent shenanigans in the alley way where he picked up the motorcycle. Blaze chuckled to himself thinking, but what the hell fun would that have been? The high speed chase and alleyway showdown was a blast in retrospect, but at the time that he had finally broke free of it all and was out of the woods, Blaze was a tad shaken up—even for an old spook who frequently boasted of maintaining nerves of steel. He was more than blessed to have come out of that snafu unscathed. It was Providence. For sure.
Blaze continued tapping the keys rhythmically for the duration of his report as he focused on the things that went right, including his improvisation and handling of things after they went wrong. What’s a good spy if he isn’t flexible? A plan ain’t nothing but a rough intended trajectory. The proof of a spook’s value comes in the ability to adapt to every unexpected twist and turn that inevitably plagues every op. And to that end, Blaze was successful. As usual.
Blaze wrapped up his report and promptly fired it off via a secure encrypted e-mail to Gallagher. It was about an hour or so before their scheduled call, so he shot him a quick secure text to let him know that the report had been sent. Blaze’s stomach was screaming for vengeance like an old Judas Priest album. It was time for lunch.
After devouring a barbeque chicken sandwich on a whole-wheat roll with a side of green beans, Blaze took a quick minute to mentally prepare for his videoconference with Gallagher. After a quick review of his report, he logged into the secure videoconference portal. It was proprietary software, but functioned pretty much identically to Skype. Blaze logged in and waited about a minute or so before seeing that Gallagher had logged in. Gallagher’s edgy, ugly mug popped up on the screen and his trademark intensity was instantly visible.
“McIntyre. I read that damn report of yours. As usual, your literary abilities serve to paint a rosy picture of what happened.”
“I paint the picture I see boss, and if you were there, you’d see the same damn picture.”
“Alright, alright, let’s cut to the chase. I’m glad you got your ass out of there alive and got the job done, but you clearly were playing hooky the day they taught Farsi. Don’t think I’m going to overlook that.” Gallagher knew nothing else other than to break balls, even in the best of circumstances, no compliment ever left his lips prior to a cascade of unrelenting, insensitive ball breaking.
“Boss, not sure how I would’ve carried on all this time had it not been for all of your gushing, dripping encouragement.”
“Screw you Blaze. It’s spooks like you that scare the hell out of directors like me. Criticism, failures, and shit hitting the fan rolls off your shoulders like soft raindrops and you keep rolling on, op after op, surviving and completing missions without even a minute of real self-analysis. I’m hard on you because I’m trying to teach you how to take inventory of your skills and habits. Your success rate is great, but your weaknesses still need to be isolated and neutralized. That ain’t gonna happen if you keep glossing over them so you can emphasize and feel good about your strengths. And I’m afraid that, one day, a tiny weakness will either kill you or put our nation in great danger, all because your ego won’t deflate for a damn millisecond.” For once, Gallagher got to the real heart of the matter. And although he was heated as usual, it was clear to Blaze that there was a truckload of genuine concern in his voice. Also clear to Blaze was that the man had a very good point and his wisdom was deep.
“Point taken Chuck. I’ll look for ways to deflate my ego in the future, unless of course I’m stuck sparring with you. Then the ego will be in full effect and I’ll whoop your ass like usual.” Blaze heard him loud and clear and wanted to move on to the next agenda item, but had to return a round of ball breaking to attempt to keep some semblance of an even score.
“Moving on to other important things. Our asset in Natanz got pinched. But we aren’t sure if it had anything at all to do with the actual operation. Apparently, he had converted from Islam to Christianity recently and his own wife found his Bible at his house and turned it in to the authorities. He went ballistic when they confronted him and shot one of the Iranian cops right in the crotch. Needless to say, he was thoroughly beaten and is currently locked up.”
“So where’s that leave us? We can’t leave such an asset in their hands to torture him. The Iranians have a strong history of squeezing every last bit of info out of a prisoner.” Blaze knew what was coming next.
“Stay posted Blazey boy, we’re working on some preliminary plans for a hot extraction as we speak and it looks like you and your old convict pal Zack will be the lucky action heroes for this little charade.”
“Been a while since I worked with Zack, and I’m about due for a new mid-life crisis adventure. Game on.” Blaze’s voice rose with excitement.
“I’ll get back to you soon on the details. Also, I might sprinkle in a few assassinations for you and Zack to keep things interesting. Scientists. We’ll probably due it Israeli style. Mossad isn’t beyond accepting some extra manpower on this stuff, and it’s important we fill in any gaps. We need to put as many nails as we can in the temporary coffin for this nuke problem. Iranians have a way of resurrecting pretty frequently.”
“So what you’re saying is I probably won’t see my wife and kids for at least another year?”
“I didn’t say anything of the sorts. You’re a professional. You’ll get these assignments wrapped up in no time at all and you’ll be in Diem’s arms before you know it. G
odspeed.”
“Roger that.”
Blaze pondered the implication of the escalation of Operation Persian Trinity and was wondering how it would all unravel. He was excited on a professional level to get some more opportunities to do what he did best, and there was no more worthwhile target of his deadly skills than the Iranian nuclear scientists and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. That said, he missed Diem and the boys more than ever, and was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his going back into the field. Maybe I should have just stuck it out with the drudgery of the suit and tie guy life. I didn’t need to know Farsi to get home alive every day when I was wearing wing tips. I’m no good to my family if I’m dead. It only took a few minutes for the reality of who Blaze truly was to creep back into his consciousness. I am definitely no good to my family dead. And dead is what I was when I wore wing tips. Now, I am fully alive and serving my country as God intended. Resolved in this affirmation, Blaze’s thoughts turned to Pastor McCardle, whom he was fixing to call.
It seemed like Liam was having a helluva time in Belfast. Blaze wondered if he’d ever make his way back to Detroit. If he didn’t, Blaze sure as hell couldn’t blame him. A city that had its streetlights repossessed wasn’t exactly a city that was on a path to retaining happy citizens. If it was struggling before, it was a veritable warzone now.
Blaze was more than happy to have a chat with Liam after the always-abrasive chat he just endured with Gallagher. He logged into the secure video conferencing portal and got connected with Pastor McCardle.
“Liam! How are you my friend? How’s Ireland treating you?” Blaze was genuinely thrilled to see Liam’s face on the computer screen. He had furnished Liam with access to the proprietary software for the videoconference after clearing with Langley. When you were a stranger in a strange land, acting as an imposter with ill intent, and doing strange things in dangerous places, a familiar and friendly face was a huge mood enhancer.
“Ireland is as magical as I remember it in my youth. Much has changed, but of course, much has also stayed the same. Many old faces, with many old stories, and quite a bit of love remains here. My mother won’t stop badgering me about staying here permanently. Although, I’ve told her that’s an absurd notion, I’m indeed going to stay here longer than originally planned. I’m really enjoying myself.”
“Well that’s fantastic. Any respite from Detroit is a good thing, but an extended trip to the land of your youth to visit with old family and friends is unbeatable. How’s the fill-in pastor managing with your flock back in the Motor City?” Blaze might have been right about Liam never returning to Detroit, from the sound of things.
“Oh, you know, the flock responds well to me, but ultimately it’s the Lord who steers their ways. I am sure they’re doing just fine with my substitute. More importantly, how’s your family doing while you’re in harm’s way poking it deliberately in the eye with a sharp stick?”
“Not totally sure, but okay from what I gather. I have a call with Diem after I get off the phone with you.”
“How’s your work treating you, Blaze?”
“I can’t say too much, but let’s just say I had few hiccups but still met my initial objective. One of those initial objectives is remaining alive.”
“Good to hear. I’ve been somewhat disconnected from things going on in the world since being here in Ireland visiting, but I’ve managed to pick up bits and pieces when I’m able. Good ol’ Koslov is not backing down with his blatant political interference on behalf of Samani at the U.N. Koslov has also increased his military presence on the Iranian border guarding the straights of Hormuz. It appears the knots that tie together the allied enemies of Israel, as detailed in the prophesies of Ezekiel 38 and 39, are growing stronger. I’m so thankful to know that you’re in a position to be instrumental in potentially thwarting these developments and alliances. God willing.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll be sure to recall such support next time I’m in the heat of it. Every ounce of positive encouragement helps fortify the spirit. So what’s the deal with you staying longer in Ireland?” Blaze had a feeling there was more to this newfound extended stay than just Liam’s desire to spend more time with his aging mother.
“Truth be told?”
“You’re a friggin’ Pastor, it better be the truth that you’re about to tell!”
“I became reunited with an old lady friend from years ago and it appears she is quickly becoming more than a friend.” Liam still felt strange actually uttering the truth of this reality. Even more so given the fact that he was still concealing a heavy part of the truth of this reality. A reality that was causing him to ache deeply with regret. He could not believe he slept with Erin. It was clearly outside of the context of marriage and he knew better. How many times have I preached on this topic? He felt like a traitor to God and to his late wife. His heart still ached for Kathy, but he knew he had to move on. And now was as good of a time as ever. Despite his whimsical sexual failure, he felt a purpose already with Erin, and he was pretty sure it was a purpose designed by the Almighty.
“Wow. God bless it. I’m happy to hear that. A fine lady might be a good thing for you at this point. It could take your mind off of your apocalyptic obsessions and nip away at your lust for the booze. You are staying off the booze, aren’t you?” Blaze didn’t want to ask, but he had to. Liam may be his Pastor, an assumed position of mentorship, but when it came to Liam’s weakness for the spirits, Blaze played the role of a makeshift AA sponsor.
“For the most part, I honestly have, other than one pint of beer. But I didn’t have a second pint, and I held fast against the whiskey, even though it was flowing freely all around me and my urges were stronger than a Tsunami.”
Liam had grown to become comfortable talking with Blaze about this topic. Blaze was almost the only one in the good reverend’s life who he let in to know about his struggle with the sauce. “Good to hear Liam. Damn good to hear. I was getting worried about you when you were popping the cork before noon on weekdays. That just can’t end well.”
“I know Blaze, God has been kind to me and is giving me strength.”
“Well, I gotta pop smoke here and get ready to get on a call with my beloved. I miss her dearly.” Blaze felt a twitch of sadness just mentioning Diem in a context of separation. Am I getting soft? What is wrong with me?
“Let me pray for us quickly before you go. Dear Father in heaven, bless my friend Blaze, a warrior for the global cause of good. Protect him with clusters of angels and the impenetrable strength of the Holy Ghost. Comfort him and encourage him and help him to trust You in the darkest of corners and the most threatening of circumstances. In the name of Christ, Almighty God, Amen.”
“Thanks Liam. Be good. Talk soon.”
“Godspeed, Blaze.”
Blaze felt refreshed after his brief conversation with Pastor McCardle. He had never felt particularly connected with any church before, and still had a hard time assimilating in such a setting, but he and Pastor McCardle had linked in a way that was clearly divinely appointed.
Liam’s warrior past in Northern Island as an anti-terrorist law enforcement member made him uniquely worthy of Blaze’s trust. Blaze respected his perspective and found his wisdom to be extremely valuable.
After a conversation with Liam, Blaze usually felt a renewed layer of God’s armor around him to help him push on to and through the next obstacle, the next horror, and the next mile marker on the highway of harm’s way.
Blaze sat at the leather swivel chair staring at his Macbook computer for a minute or so reflecting on the spiritual thrust that had been guiding his life. He felt an effervescent peace nestle deep within his being. It was time to call Diem.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE FOOT OF THE ALBORZ MOUNTAINS, IRAN
Above and fully surrounding them was the notably narrow expanse of the Alborz mountains. The mountain range w
as peppered with high peaks and colored with lush green forestry—full of inherent optic beauty and majestic structure. Below them were deep layers of thickened crust. The crust was heavy and formed the foundation that had upheld the mighty mountains for as long as can be known.
The busy pedestrians and floating human element of shoppers and dining enthusiasts of the Saadat Abad district of Evin had no clue, nor interest, in the two men who sat sipping tea in a high-brow teahouse at the foot of the Alborz. They sat inconspicuously on the upper deck terrace that protruded out from the establishment, which happened to offer an exquisite view of the mountains. Other, less obvious, and less exquisite sites were also within visual range from the terrace.
One of the two men had short-cropped hair that was slicked back tight to his head with a slight flip in the front. He looked like he had captured Sha-Na-Na’s barber from the fifties and transported him to the future through a time machine. His face and cheekbones showed deliberate definition and contours. His muscular makeup was so distinct that even the sight of his neck displayed taut and firm strength. He wore a black leather jacket, Levi’s Blue Jeans, and what appeared to be high-end hiking shoes. Oakley sunglasses adorned his face, as he sat conversing with his friend at the outdoor seating at the popular upscale teahouse. To most he likely appeared to be nothing more than a hiker on holiday from Europe.
The other of the two men looked a little more intimidating. He wore a crisp shaved head, an olive green bomber jacket, Levi’s blue Jeans, and black 10 hole Doc Martin combat boots. He caught a few curious looks, but none that lingered with any seriousness.
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