Blaze (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC

I
t 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 interject 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

A
rash'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 accusations 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

THE HAMPTON INN, SOMEWHERE NEAR FAIRTON, NEW JERSEY

Z
ack was eager to get back online and check his Twitter account. Lo and behold, his new Persian pal had left a mountain of messages. His new pal, simply known as Hamid, had even visited his manufactured Facebook page for his cover persona,
Doug Schmidt
.

After reading some Facebook messages in which Hamid praised the Nazi skinhead rhetoric that populated Zack's Facebook page,
Doug
responded in kind with some lavish praise of Hamid for his devotion to the Aryan cause. The two of them finally decided to engage in a private instant message chat in which they arranged to share a common email account. To avoid being tracked or detected, they agreed to leave messages in draft folders for each other to read, but to never actually transmit any emails to each other through the account. The last thing Hamid wanted was his messages being intercepted by the infidel's digital spying tools.

As much as Zack was on board with wanting to ensnare this guy and utilize his information and contacts to try to weave some disruptive inroads into Bushehr, he really resented the fact that he had to pose as a Nazi skinhead to get the job done. He had spent a good portion of his life trying to foster an anti-racist image of skinheads, and his current cover just reinforced the false view that skinheads were largely white supremacists. That said, who was he really interacting with? Just some nutjob extremists in Iran.
No worries.
He thought to himself.
I'll use any cover to try to stop those psychotic theocratic freaks.

Within a few hours, the conversation that had developed in the draft email folders was beginning to get somewhere.
Doug
had asked Hamid if he was planning on attending the upcoming
World Without Zionism Conference
in Tehran. This annual event of absurd anti-American and anti-Israeli rhetoric and hate had become a growing focal point for bigots and anti-Semites the world over. If David Duke was welcomed there while waving his KKK flag, then why not a little known Nazi skinhead named Doug Schmidt?
Secret agent skinhead in effect, baby, here we go!
The chorus to the song “Secret Agent S.K.I.N.” by the punk band Murphy's Law was now churning in Zack's head.

It didn't take long for Zack to hear back from Hamid. He was indeed planning to attend the conference.
Doug
expressed how he had always wanted to go to the conference. As hoped for, Hamid said he would help get him access and assist in planning his itinerary. Bingo.

The email draft folders filled up with enthusiasm over the now planned meeting between the two new digital friends. Brazen anti-Semitic rhetoric and chest-thumping Aryan pride rants permeated all of their exchanges. Zack deliberately probed Hamid about the progress and status of Iran's nuclear program.
Doug
voiced his opinion that Iran had every right to have the bomb, particularly since the “dirty Jews” had one.

Once again, Hamid took the bait. Hamid explained that he wasn't sure exactly how far away they were from the bomb, but that they were close. He confessed that the Stuxnet worm and assassination of their scientists was setting them back, but not catastrophically. Of course, he had no idea that as he typed, the new and improved Stuxnet 2.0 had already been deployed at Natanz.

Hamid revealed that he had a cousin who worked at Bushehr and a brother-in-law who worked at Natanz.
Doug
inquired more about these relatives to get a good sense of Hamid's inadvertent reach into the nuclear development world of the Iranians. Gallagher gave him the intel on Hamid's cousin Azad at Bushehr, but he had no idea about the brother-in-law at Natanz. The useful info kept flowing and Zack was rapidly putting the pieces together in an attempt to flesh out a strategic plan of infiltration.

The exchanges began to taper off for the day, and Zack decided to shut down the nerd for a bit to assess all he had learned and analyze the situation and how to proceed. He had made tremendous progress in an amazingly short period of time. Just as he began expanding upon his notes and getting a mental grip on the trajectory of his cyber recon, his sat phone rang. It was Gallagher.

“So whaddya got so far you hooligan bastard? Don't tell me you ain't got nuthin' or I'll have you locked back up again in a heartbeat.” Ever the pleasant conversationalist, Chuck Gallagher laid on his usual charm from the conversational get-go.

“Nice to hear your voice, Chuck. I really missed your bulldog approach to human relationships in the short day or so since last we spoke.” Zack chuckled a bit.

“Yeah, I'll bet you did. This doesn't mean we're gonna be touchin' tongues in the shower any time soon, hot shot. I don't roll that way.”

“I don't care who you swap spit with pal, as long as it ain't me. Keep your tongue to yourself. Anyhow, yeah, some strong progress here. Real strong. Got Hamid on the hook via Twitter and we've now taken our chats to a whole new level with some email folder draft drops. Keepin' it on the down low so he feels warm and fuzzy.”

“So what's the logical next step?” To the point as usual, Gallagher wanted results.

“The
World Without Zionism
conference, that's what. Get my credentials prepped asap boss, cuz I'm going to Tehren. Hate-a-plenty! Maybe I'll get a chance to get my photo taken with David Duke. Who knows, maybe I can get an autographed Member's Only jacket from A-jad to keep me warm too!”

“The World Without Zionism conference eh? Perfect excuse to get your ass over there to snoop around. I like it. Keep me posted as you draft the particulars. Good work, you no good criminal.” No compliment could ever go forth from Gallagher, unless paired with an effectively negating insult.

“That was my thinking. I was just reviewing my notes and trying to hone in my plans as you called. I'll have more for you in the coming days.” Zack had been accustomed to ignoring Gallagher's insults as they were flung. However, he often reflected upon them later and laughed out loud as he recalled each one.

“Good, while you're working on that, you need to noodle the rest of the operation as well. Lot's of shit going down. We got some trouble with Arash Jafari. The poor bastard went postal the other day when the
mutawwa
confronted him for having a copy of the good book in his home—and not Mohammed's good book. His own wife, a devoted Twelver, turned him in for having a Bible. The
mutawwa
stormed into his office at Natanz and arrested him. He freaked out and shot a guard right in the stones. A new form of birth control I suppose. Anyhow, we're very vulnerable right now with him in custody. He's no doubt being tortured and interrogated Iranian style as we speak. A hot extraction is urgent. And you and your old pal Blaze are just the dynamic duo to pull it off.”

“Damn, Jafari is new at this too. It probably won't take much for him to cave, right? And what the hell is the mutawwa?”

“Mutawwa is the Iranian religious police. And yes, Jafari is new, and him caving would be the prevailing opinion, except that his dossier makes it very clear how much he now despises the regime and sees their theology-driven apocalyptic agenda as utterly demonic. Being a converted Christian, his faith may actually be the mechanism to help him keep the secrets inside. We'll see. Torture has its way of breaking down even the strongest of faith. Especially Iranian torture. We need to get him out before he cracks.”

“Okay, well, get me to Iran as soon as possible so Blaze and I can bust out Arash before I hob nob with A-Jad and David Duke at the conference.”

“I got everything set to go.” Gallagher assured.

“Anything else? Shall I single-handedly fight the North Koreans and conquer China before lunch as well?”

“Quit crying cream puff. You can handle it. If you couldn't, you'd still be rotting in jail.”

“Your candidness never ceases to amaze me, Gallagher. You old, crumpled up artifact of a man. I love you too.”

Zack chuckled and Gallagher grumbled and the two men hung up and got back to work for the good of the country.