Blaze (24 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

EVIN PRISON, IRAN

T
he horrid smell of the drill bit merging violently with the vulnerable and helpless flesh of Arash Jafari's right hand still hung in the misty air of his damnable Evin prison cell. It lingered as a constant reminder of a thousand unimaginable hells. His hand trembled as he examined one of the wounds. He knew the bit had pierced his hand completely and he was surprised he couldn't see through it. The hole was now filled with a pulpy mass. He struggled to clench his fist regardless. He winced as the blood dripped from the hole.

This was just one of the unthinkable punishments Arash had been enduring for his crime of being an “anti-government activist”—a catch-all phrase used by the Iranian regime to imprison anyone for almost any perceived offense. In Arash's case, that offense was the possession of the Holy Bible. In Iran, Bibles don't go over too well.

The dementia had kicked in something fierce at this point and Arash had somehow managed to access what was left of his dilapidated soul to reach out to the Almighty. The hallucinations merged with his fragmented prayers and his flesh burned with pain at heightened intervals when he would attempt to cry out to God. His vocal chords projected no sound but his body spasms mimicked a man who appeared to be howling at the moon in agony.

Lord, I curse the day I was born as Job did, yet I believe in the day I will be delivered. I don't know Your plans for me, but I trust that they are plans to prosper. If this is the end, I accept it, but I do not believe You brought me this far only for the purpose of a tortured death in Evin. You giveth, You taketh away….but You also restoreth, replenish, and re-claim. Re-claim me. Rescue me…. Rescue me, Lord of Lords, King of Kings.

A sliver of sunlight crept through a pinprick of a hole that existed in the corner of Arash's seemingly Godforsaken cell. At the moment Arash uttered his prayer, the light began to illuminate and crystallize in his right eye with a beaming intensity. It was so powerful that it drew him into a bit of a trance and he sat there gazing into it with an elated sense of relief, as if God was illustrating His power to penetrate and make the light of His presence known in even the most hidden and darkest caverns of evil.

As the light seared his countenance, Arash was able to push away the culmination of his physical torture, his emotional agony, and his spiritual isolation. He felt God's presence. And although he had mistaken feelings for promptings in the past, he was pretty certain that this was an affirmation of his prayers. His hope for deliverance was buoyed. His belief that he would be rescued was encouraged and his unflinching faith in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was cemented eternally.

A large rat scurried past his bare feet and Arash did not move and the rat did not inspect him. Arash sat naked, sweating, bloody, and exhausted. But he sat in a newfound peace that transcended the horrors of his circumstances. It was a miraculous state of spirit, as if he sensed that as was done for Moses during the Red Sea miracle, a proverbial road would be made in the ocean of Arash's circumstances.

His tolerance for pain was suddenly increased to a maniacal threshold. He gazed upon the multiple drill holes in his hands and felt a kinship with his Lord and the suffering wrought upon Him on the cross by the nails that pierced His skin.

After countless sleepless nights, Arash Jafari finally found rest in his solitary cell in Evin. His naked body collapsed peacefully against the cell wall. The toxic cocktail of urine, blood, and rodent droppings that he sat in did not prevent his rest. All current hells were assuaged, and by the hand of God, rest was temporarily granted.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

SOMEWHERE ON I-75 SOUTH LEAVING DETROIT, MICHIGAN

“H
ave you delivered the groceries?” asked the stern, no-nonsense voice on the other end of Juan Herrara's cell phone.

“Hell yes, meat, veggies, and even desert. All delivered, baby. Done deal.” Juan was too young to appreciate the importance of silly code language, but he played the game nonetheless. He was extremely proud of himself and was eager for affirmation from his anonymous cartel contact.

“Good. Follow the plan. Keep moving. We'll deal with the rest.” The cartel ghost hung up the phone. No atta-boy, no ‘good job'. All business.

Juan was temporarily deflated. He expected at least some sort of appreciation from his invisible boss. Some sort of expression of gratitude or hint of a job well done. He got nothing. Straight up nothing.

Screw it. If the cartel wants to treat me this way, fine. I still kicked ass on this mission and I'll get mad respect from the fellas in the neighborhood. It's my barrio now. My legend has just begun to be written.

Juan couldn't wait to exercise his bragging rights to his friends and enemies on both sides of the border. He'd make sure that he left out no detail every time he told the story. He'd detail all the recon work he did, scoping out the woman's daily routine for days before he popped the bomb on that vehicle. He watched her patterns with the kids and shopping. All that crap. He knew her like he was Google fuckin' earth. He even saw a vague silhouette of her getting undressed one evening with his binoculars. That part would be one he'd have to embellish for sure.
What a body.
He'd describe every inch of her as if he knew it first hand. He'd get a holler out of his boys for sure on that.

Juan had a huge grin on his face and a snide chuckle under his breath as he pulled the white, fifteen-passenger econo-van up to the BP gas station. He had already ditched the sport bike miles back behind a beaten up abandoned old barn in the middle of a cornfield somewhere.

Juan got out, after parking, and strolled into the convenience store. One chili cheese dog, some beef jerky, and a large fountain soda. Road fuel. Lots of miles left. He took off his flannel shirt as he walked back to the van, wearing nothing but a white wife beater tee shirt. His arms were big, strong, but still layered with baby fat. Scattered randomly all over his arms were dark blue tattoos done jailhouse style.

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

T
he 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 plowing 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.