After filling up the tank, Juan climbed his very large arse back into the van and turned the key. He scanned the old radio to hear the news reports on his work. The first few reports he heard detailed the horrific nature of the attack being on an elementary school and described the unthinkable casualties that were wrought on the children and the moms. Some grandparents and a few dads too.
Witnesses from the scene described the overwhelming explosion and the scarring visuals of the event. One recalled, “There were flailing body parts everywhere…flying scraps of auto parts….death all around.” Another described, “Everything was airborne. Everything became like a weapon. Damage was everywhere—cars, people—everything.”
One dad from the scene who had been far in the back of the drop off line had made it out unscathed and gave, what the press had considered to be, the most useful description of the attack. This man had described, in about half detail, the mysterious motorcyclist that perpetrated the attack on the Toyota crossover vehicle that had shocked the town of Romeo, Michigan.
Juan grinned with pride as he listened to the man’s account of his work. This guy’s description won’t do jack. No one saw my face and no one saw me ditch the bike and the suit. I am untouchable. That thought was interrupted by two other news stories that came in quick succession of each other. One story was about a woman who woke up with her throat slit in Kansas City, MO. Her three children were found lying in their beds with bullet holes in their heads. The other story was about a woman in Provo, Utah. Her neighbors woke that morning to find this poor soul hanging from a tree in her own front yard, naked, with only her underwear hanging beside her on the branch.
What caught Juan’s attention was the analysis he heard of these stories. They were both somehow being linked to his attack. WTF? I was acting alone. What the hell do these two murders have to do with my attack? Their murders don’t even come close to comparing to what I did!
And then he heard it. The broad he blew up, the woman in KC, MO and the lady hanging from the rape tree in Utah all had one thing in common. They were all wives of men who worked for the CIA. Men who made great gains in the war against Islamic terror.
Juan began driving faster and faster as his adrenaline pumped with increasing ferocity. His mind was racing with a chaotic velocity. He tried desperately to assimilate what he just heard. I just killed the wife of a CIA agent. And her son. Holy shit!! This is better than I thought! I will be an instant legend now. Juan felt invincible at the moment, as if he was the most badass Tex-Mex outlaw that ever existed. He fantasized about a lifelong career as a hit man and an assassin. He also wondered who the other hit men were and why the cartel didn’t tell him that he was part of a larger operation. Need to know basis, I guess. Whatever.
What made no sense to him though, still, was why? Why did the cartel have him do this? If these CIA dudes were tracking down Islamic terrorists, what the hell did the cartel care? Maybe they were also giving heat to the cartel. Who knows. The job is done, and I kicked ass. Can’t wait for my next assignment. This sure beats drinking malt liquor all day and playing Grand Theft Auto.
CHAPTER FIFTY
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE THE PERIMETER OF EVIN PRISON, IRAN
The mountain air did not blow and the heat was intense. Two guards paced, with apparent boredom, back and forth outside the entrance doors at the Evin Detention Center. It was just another day for them, and their cigarettes smoked the same as they ever did. Sweat beads formed on their temples as any other hot day, and they alternately swore in Farsi and praised Allah with the same set of lips as they did any other day.
The perimeter of Evin University was littered with an elite team of private mercenaries from the Black Dog Group who were there on hire to support the mission of their respected team leaders, Blaze and Zack.
The Black Dog contingency had all been thoroughly briefed on the surrounding topography, the facility layout, the strategic plan, the back up plan, and the disaster contingencies. Most of the Black Dog group was comprised of highly trained and experienced ex-military professionals. The pack included the best of the best from the Special Forces alumni, Rangers, Navy Seals and Delta Force.
Many of them also worked for SCG International in-between missions, where they trained soldiers in pre-deployment and endeavored to pass their multitude of skills on to young aspiring warriors. They also worked security jobs for entertainers, world dignitaries and politicians, and did high-end security work for powerful CEO’s through SCG International.
Most became quite attracted to the plethora of private sector opportunities that awaited them in their post-military life. Danger never left their side, but at least they were flush with cash now for risking their lives day in and day out. A high paid warrior is indeed a happy warrior.
Blaze and Zack felt confident in the team and were impressed with their quick ability to grasp the mechanics of the mission. This was not going to be an easy mission, but it was in many ways a simple one. As long as things went relatively smooth. A hope that often times never panned out.
Blaze and Zack were positioned atop an elevated spot on the perimeter. About fifty feet above Evin. And about a quarter mile from the entrance of the facility. They were surrounded by trees. Cover was adequate.
“How you feelin’ Zack? We’ve been watchin’ these pretty boy guards now for hours. No surprises in sight. I think sniping time is soon upon us. Whaddya say?” Blaze was peering intently at the two guards with his binoculars, as he lay flat and camouflaged with utter stillness.
“I think you’re right old pal, but caution tells me we ought to give it a few more minutes until we pull the trigger. Confirm the team is ready for back up, and if so, let’s get this party rocking in five.” Zack was not known for being over cautious, but when one was in Iran, there was no such thing as being over cautious.
“Roger that. Get your Intervention ready.”
Both men simultaneously steadied their CheyTac M200 Intervention Sniper Rifles, complete with the necessary Opps Inc 50cal suppressor. Blaze waited to hear from every member of Black Dog that they were primed and ready for the mission. Within a few minutes each member confirmed their position and affirmed their readiness. Blaze also confirmed that the fellas flying the Osprey V-22 helicopters would be in place in time for the extraction. Once he got the affirmative on all operational fronts, he began counting down. And then both men sniped in precise unison.
It started as hoped for; uneventful, quick, and quiet. Both guards transitioned into eternity with only a little bit of blood spray emitting from their foreheads. They flopped to the ground lifelessly.
“I feel bad for the disappointment these boys are now feeling on account of the fact that there ain’t gonna be seventy virgins greeting them anywhere anytime soon. Ashes to ashes baby,” commented Zack. This brief interlude of stealth would soon be interrupted. The prison’s video surveillance signaled back to the Evin staff that there were two dead guards lying outside the front gate.
Game was officially on.
“Time to move.” Several seconds after Blaze gave the command, one of Black Dog’s finest shot a Simon door-buster from his M-16 Carbine. The Israeli invention was the perfect match for the heavy door that adorned the front gate of Evin. The door was breached perfectly. The collapse was clean. The explosion took the door right off its hinges. The passageway left was perfect. Time for the team to storm in and retrieve the package they had all come for.
Alarms sounded, guards emerged everywhere and all hell had broken loose from the centerpiece of hell on earth, Evin Prison. The unprepared guards were quickly met with formidable opponents. The entire team, accompanied by Blaze and Zack had entered the facility. Black Dog led the way clearing a path for Zack and Blaze as they set out to grab Jafari. Gunfire was everywhere. Smoke and fire filled every hallway, pathway and crevice of the initial labyrinth that followed the front gate’s threshold. So far, so good. The team was pl
owing through the opposition and making great gains into the facility.
Two Black Dog members shouted for Blaze and Zack to follow them as they headed down a hallway that would ostensibly lead to Jafari’s solitary cell. Blaze and Zack moved quickly behind them until one of the Black Dog members abruptly went down. The first shot hit his shoulder and the second went to the side of his head. His body fell quick and Blaze saw it rapidly unfold and, knowing he was already dead, made the instantaneous decision to leap over the now dead body and continue running onward. Time was of the essence.
The sole Black Dog merc that continued to lead them shouted and pointed violently to Jafari’s cell. Blaze and Zack hurried to reach it, with an entourage of Black Dog assets following behind them watching their backs and dropping guards like a teenager playing whack-a-mole at a Jersey shore boardwalk arcade.
Blaze yelled Jafari’s name, but heard nothing. He yelled louder and louder and finally heard a faint grunt. He couldn’t confirm it was Jafari yet. He yelled his name again and heard a more forceful grunt. Zack gave Blaze an affirmative nod and the team all stood far back from the door.
“Get back against the wall and cover your ears the best you can Arash. We’re getting you out of this hell hole.” Blaze shouted with what was left of his hoarse voice.
Once again, the Simon came to the rescue and successfully breached the door to Arash’s cell. The explosion rocked the cell. The door fell on part of Arash’s body, causing some more injury. Arash was disoriented. His hearing, damaged. But he was alive—battered, demoralized, emaciated, filthy, tortured and bloodier than hell—but alive.
Blaze picked up Arash and Zack quickly radioed the helicopter team for the extraction. All the while, Black Dog assets were wrecking prison guards by the dozens.
The team surrounded Blaze with a hedge of moving protection as they moved to exit the facility. The sound of M16’s shooting ahead and behind continued until the team was safely outside the facility and the Ospreys were in clear sight.
The firefights continued as they headed toward the Osprey’s rescue. Blaze felt the heat of the enemy’s fire whiz past his right ear as he charged hard. Zack crouched as he ran to avoid the heat. Black Dog mercs retaliated creating cover for Zack and Blaze to get to the bird first. Chaos swirled until the Osprey had gotten its primary package—Jafari—and the entire team. In short order, the bird lifted them out of harm’s way and over the Alborz Mountain area. Several minor aerial battles ensued on the way out, but before long the team was out of Iran and on their way to safety ala one of the only remaining US bases in Iraq.
Blaze was entirely spent and exhausted but satisfied. He looked out the helicopter window and took a deep breath with yearnings to see his family heavy on his heart.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENT HADI SAMANI, TEHRAN, IRAN
Hadi Samani sat by the phone eagerly awaiting a call from Samere, his trusted Messianic advisor and key man in all things related to the coordinated preparation for the coming of the Mahdi. Samani had heard all the news reports both in the West and on Al Jazeera, and he was ecstatic about the results of their recent operation. Samani was more than pleased with the increasing dividends being paid as a result of the ever-developing relationship between Hezbollah and the Mexican drug cartels. The assassination plots were only the tip of the iceberg.
The phone rang.
“Samere!” Samani could not contain his exuberance.
“President Samani.”
“It appears we’ve had great success with our mission?” Samani could feel the strength of the proverbial wind at his back.
“Indeed it was a huge success. All three infidel wives, and some children of our enemies, have been eliminated per our plan. Our message will be received loud and clear when the CIA receives our postcard, which by now, they probably already have received. However, it’s doubtful that they’ll reveal that they’ve received it. They’ll contain their newfound fear within the agency and likely not pass along that fear to their people. Our alliance with the cartels provokes great fear in them. Allah be praised.”
“Allah be praised indeed. What exactly was the message on the card sent to the CIA?” Samani was curious as to the exact language.
Samere explained, “Below the crescent moon it was written the names of the deceased infidels. It was then written on the card that Hezbollah takes full responsibility. They’ll get the message. Back off the sanctions, back off the drones, back off the support of Israel. They’ll also know from the crime scene patterns as to who we are working with. The rape tree in Utah clearly points to the involvement of the cartel. They know when they see women’s bras and underwear hanging from a tree after a murder rape, that the cartel has left their unique mark.”
Samani’s smile widened, “This is excellent news. Our source inside the CIA has made me extremely proud. He has served Allah and our Republic well. Have we transferred the wire to him yet through the Lebanese Canadian Bank?”
“Indeed, he has received his worthy compensation for his role. We hope to use him again if he doesn’t end up exposed. It was difficult circumventing the OFAC regulations with so many masked layers.” Samere had always pleased Samani with his swift and prompt execution of business matters.
“Good work Samere. I’m proud of your diligence on behalf of Allah and the Republic. Do keep me posted on all other issues pertaining to the coming of the Mahdi and our ongoing war against both the Big Satan, the Little Satan, and all their deceptive ways.”
“As is my pleasure, President Samani. A report will be forthcoming tomorrow.”
“Bye for now, Samere.”
“Goodbye President Samani.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
SOMEWHERE OVER IRAQI AIRSPACE
Amidst the incessant hum of the Osprey V-22 helicopter, Blaze glanced down and managed to notice that his secure sat phone was vibrating. His thoughts of his family receded as he took the call.
“Yeah?” Annoyed, Blaze answered.
“Blaze. It’s Gallagher.” There was a tone Blaze detected that he had heard before: hesitant and troubled. It was a tone that preceded terrible news.
“What is it Chuck? The mission went relatively well. We lost one merc, Arash is pretty banged up…but he’s alive, and they didn’t get anything out of him. What in the hell could be the matter?”
“It’s bad, Blaze. I can’t tell you over the phone. I’ll be at the base in Iraq when you land. We’ll talk then. Gotta go.”
Chuck hung up. A tough old bat like him was used to delivering bad news. But this time was going to be entirely different. When it came to informing Blaze McIntyre about the murder of his beloved, Chuck was not so tough. After ending the call, he found himself on his knees hugging a porcelain Kohler toilet bowl, puking furiously as if he was paranormally possessed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
THE KREMLIN, RUSSIA
Maksim Koslov was thoroughly annoyed. He had domestic annoyances, foreign policy concerns, and a series of personal ambitions that he felt were not being achieved nearly fast enough. On top of all of that, the international press was reviving an old story about an all female Russian punk rock band that was jailed for two years for voicing their political opinions. Putin had put an end to Pussy Riot with an iron fist, and now that the group was back playing their music throughout the motherland and speaking out against his regime, Koslov was considering turning Pussy Riot into a whimpering prison riot once again.
The icing on the cake of his aggravation was the series of setbacks and hiccups that plagued his ongoing relationship with Iran. He had heard all about the newer, improved Stuxnet-like computer worm that had recently wreaked havoc at Natanz, he was still getting pressure to expedite a cure to the disaster that occurred at Esfahan, and now he had Samani breathing down his neck about the timelines for work at Bushehr.
Maksim picked up the phone
and dialed Samani as scheduled.
“Hello Hadi, how are you?” Maksim’s tone made it clear the question was rhetorical.
“I’m doing well, our republic is doing well, and our Messiah is approaching his reemergence. The time is near.” Hadi Samani knew that Maksim Koslov was highly irritated with any religious references, let alone the blatant theatrics with which Samani routinely presented his faith. But Samani did not care at all, and his brazenness was growing daily as he truly felt the imminence of the Twelfth Imam.
“Moving on here President Samani, what business of ours do you wish to discuss?”
“First of all, I’m sure you’re aware of the unfortunate digital attack on Natanz and the immense setback it has caused to our production there. The Americans and the Jews are relentless with their cyber trickery and the fury of our Islamic revenge will scold them for it tenfold when Allah permits. But for now, we must deal with the issue and recoup as fast as we can. Part of this means that I insist on urgent expedition regarding the scheduled deliveries and production timelines at Bushehr. Are you able to move up the schedule of the scientists and technicians? This is imperative.”
“We’ve been meeting all of our promised obligations according to our agreements and all of our subsequent addendums. I’ll see what I can do about any increased cooperation.” Koslov was placating at best.
“Allah is on our side with or without Russia. This joint venture is an asset for your country, I’d imagine it would behoove you to find a way.”
“Iran needs us with or without Allah on your side. Don’t prod me on this. I said that I’d see what I can do.”
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