FATAL eMPULSE (10 page)

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Okay, Jason. Tell me about Atash Hassan and his connection to our boy Martin.”

After glaring at Shakeela, Attmire turned toward Jack. “Okay, here’s what I’m cleared to share. Atash Hassan is this side of an animal. We don’t know how much blood this man has spilled over the years, but his ruthlessness earned him a significant place inside Iran’s Ministry of Intelligence and National Security. We’ve been trying to determine his operational duties. He is believed to run an international terrorist network made up of sleeper cells located throughout a number of the Western countries, including the United States.”

Jack struggled to connect what Hassan’s and Martin’s roles might be. “You think Martin is part of Hassan’s network?”

“We don’t know,” Attmire said, “but this relationship concerns us. So far, Hassan seems bent on attacking Israeli targets. Most recently we believe Hassan’s network attempted to assassinate the Israeli ambassador to Azerbaijan, as well as other political hits. He maintains close ties to such terrorist groups as Hezbollah and Hamas, using these connections to achieve Iran’s political and military goals.”

“So he’s a nasty character. What’s his tie to Martin?”

Attmire shrugged. “Until Shakeela spotted him during surveillance, he never showed up on our radar. Now tell us about Martin.”

“Before I do,” Jack said, “is there anything about Martin I should know about?”

Shakeela shot a glance at Attmire, who looked down at his hands, tight-lipped. The jerk was still holding back.

“Colonel,” Shakeela said, “we don’t have much on him. He runs some kind of business here in the States, lobbying and consulting I believe. Beyond that, we have had no reason to suspect of him of any wrongdoing.”

“Until he showed up in Europe to meet with an Iranian terrorist.” Jack barely concealed his sarcasm. “Let’s just say he doesn’t represent Kansas wheat growers or the national bean growers association. He handles…what? Military hardware? Satellite communications? Weapons-grade plutonium? My people are still searching his background and business interests.”

Attmire raised his head. “We’re looking into that as we speak.”

Now came the moment of decision. How much should he share? And who was standing outside listening to this conversation? He leaned back and looked at Attmire—little weasel. This desk jockey probably never spent a day in the field. A political cog in a big wheel, playing by the rules of in-house power brokers. Jack bet his next paycheck Attmire’s agenda was entirely different than Shakeela’s, one he followed to gain whatever favors he might be able to curry from those higher up in the food chain.

Someone who might be in bed with the likes of Stuart Martin.

Why hadn’t Martin surfaced on the CIA’s game board? A well-entrenched D.C. lobbyist doesn’t jump on a plane one day and agree to meet with an international terrorist on foreign soil. This brought him back to the dilemma at hand. How much should he divulge?

“Truth be known, we hardly know anything about him. After several of our people were attacked—”

“Gerrit?” Shakeela looked at him anxiously. “Is he okay?”

So there was something between the two of them. “He’s fine. What we don’t know is what the connection might be between Martin and those responsible for trying to kill Gerrit, including the bombing deaths of his parents a few years ago. Less than a week ago, he and others were nearly killed leaving a hospital in Seattle.”

Attmire’s interest seemed piqued. “Where did you get this information?”

“More important,” Jack said, studying the man closely, “what part did Martin play in these murder attempts? And why is he meeting with a terrorist?” Jack leaned forward and glared at Attmire. “Why are you so concerned with how I got my information, Jason?”

“Well…I’m just wondering about the validity of your intel. We can’t properly validate our intelligence if we don’t know the credibility of the source.”

“Let’s just say my information is solid and leave it at that.” Jack rubbed his jaw. “I came here thinking you would be able to provide more information about Martin. So far, I seem to know more about this guy than you do.”

“We gave you Atash Hassan and his meeting with Martin.”

“True,” Jack nodded, “after Shakeela divulged it. It appears to me you wanted her to withhold it.” He leaned forward on the desk, clenching his fists. “And another thing bothers me, Jason. It appears to me that you pulled this young lady back from some kind of covert operation. You don’t jeopardize your undercover operative by pulling her out…for a meeting. Even a trip back to the States might raise suspicions. Help me understand this.”

The man moved his rear end on the chair as if he suddenly was sitting on hot coals. “Colonel, we do not need to explain our choices to you. Trust me, we are not going to unduly expose Agent Vaziri.”

The look on Shakeela’s face told him otherwise. They had exposed her operation, and she looked like she wanted to spit nails. There was tension between these two, and Jack was not the cause.

He stood. “Frankly, Jason, I don’t trust you. And if you are willing to endanger your own people like this, I can only imagine what you’d do to mine. I think we’re done here.”

“We aren’t through, Colonel.” Attmire rose from his chair. “And I don’t want to have to call SECNAV and tell him you’ve been uncooperative.”

Jack put both fists on the table and leaned forward. “Listen here, you little pissant. Pick up the phone and call whomever you want. I’m leaving—with or without your permission. Are we clear?”

Attmire glared back for a moment and then raised his hands, palms up. “Hey, I don’t want us to leave here thinking we’re not on the same team. We want to identify these threats to our country. We can agree on that, right?”

Jack wheeled around and strode toward the door. “Agent Vaziri, would you do me the honor of showing me how to get out of this…pit?” He hoped she might provide more information out of earshot of her supervisor.

She gave him a smile. “Certainly, Colonel.”

Attmire’s shoulders lowered, and he walked over and extended his right hand. “No hard feelings?”

Jack wanted to grab that hand and twist it until he could get this guy to tell him the truth. Instead, he ignored Attmire and grabbed the door handle. Still locked. His gaze drilled a hole into Jason.

Attmire look up at the ceiling and nodded. A second later Jack heard the door click.

February 23

J
ason waited until Shakeela and Colonel Thompson reached the elevators, then he emerged from the conference room and hurried down the hall to another locked facility. He used a key card to open the door and entered the security command center.

“That did not go well, Attmire.” A man stood in the semidarkness, images from the various monitors illuminating his features. He stood about six feet, slim and well built, his face chiseled by age and the stress of the job.

“Sir, I didn’t want to give Thompson any more information than we absolutely needed to.”

“I expected you to play a better hand. The colonel trumped you.”

“I don’t know how he figured out about our operation in Europe. Shakeela must have let it slip.”

“One thing I detest is people who cast blame on others. Your face gave it away. That, and the fact you pulled Agent Vaziri all the way from France for this meeting unnecessarily. A really bad call, wouldn’t you say?”

Jason forced his face to convey acquiescence, but inside he seethed. He still did not understand how Thompson guessed about their operation—and the location. Right now, he must try to make himself look better. The man in front of him was not someone he wanted as an enemy.

“Where do you want me to take this, sir?” He waited for a reply from a man they called The Handler, the moniker earned from the way the guy managed assets, agents, and the Agency through years of conflict with the enemy—inside and outside the organization. Jason knew little of the man, other than the fear and respect he garnered. Agents and supervisors who disappointed The Handler found themselves drummed out of the Agency or serving at outposts only the devil frequented.

“I want you to do your job, Attmire. Try to get Shakeela back inside and focus on Hassan. He is our primary target. We need to know who he sees, where he goes, everything you can give us on this man. Don’t lose him. Understood?”

Jason nodded. “And Stuart Martin?”

“Leave him to me. He is not your concern.”

“Agent Vaziri already linked the two together. She will want to know more about this target and his connection to Hassan.”

“Handle it, Jason. Tell her Martin is no longer her concern. Is that clear?”

Again, Jason nodded. So Stuart Martin would be handled by others in the Agency. Or was there more about this guy he didn’t know? Was Martin one of them? Puzzled, Jason backed out of the room while The Handler closely followed Thompson and Shakeela on the surveillance monitors as the two left the building.

Jason had spent his whole career in the dark, trying to figure out connections he could never quite tie together. Now he guessed there was a connection between Martin and the man he just left in that dark room.

Not knowing made him nervous. It was the unknown that might blow up in his face some day. He must try to find out more, in spite of the orders he’d just been given. He must protect himself.

The Handler waited until Attmire left the room before dialing a number on an encrypted phone. “They just got through meeting with Jack Thompson. The colonel was less than forthcoming.”

“Did he give up anything?”

“Nothing that we didn’t already know. I’m not sure how much he knows. Maybe nothing…but I can’t be sure.”

“We must be certain.”

“I’ve started a tail on Thompson the moment he got off the plane. We’ll stay on him and the others. I don’t think our mission is in jeopardy, but I want to make sure.” He paused. “I’m thinking we might need them. Thompson and his people.”

“Your call. Report back to me anything you find out. We are at a critical stage. We can’t afford any screwups with so much at stake. Israel is counting on us.”

“Agreed. I’ll keep you apprised.” He cut the connection and returned his attention to the screen. “So what are you up to, Jack?”

He watched Thompson and Visiri in deep conversation. “Jack, you’ve always been a pain in my butt. How many times have I protected you and the others—and you never knew. While I admire what you’re doing, I might not always be around to save your bacon next time. Watch your back, Jack.”

February 23

T
ime to step out on that ledge and take a chance
.

Shakeela’s boss might crucify her, but she knew that Jack Thompson had Gerrit’s back. She could trust him.

Shakeela decided to escort the colonel all the way back to his car in spite of all the eyes focused on her this very minute. As they cleared the lobby, he turned toward her. “I can take it from here, Agent Vaziri.”

“Call me Shakeela, please, Colonel. And I am sorry about what happened back there.”

“Hey, my tail feathers are still attached. And call me Jack.”

She tried to smile, but inside she was so tense, it probably looked like a pained grimace. “I really need to talk to you, but let’s wait until we’re farther from the building.”

A darkening sky gave the place an eerie feeling, as if the secrets here attracted gloom and darkness. Lies upon lies. Grimly, she recalled the inscription on the wall inside from the book of John: “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

What a joke! Danger existed in this place because of all the lies she had been told—

or been forced to live. Something was afoot, something more sinister than she had ever confronted. Trying to get at the truth became frustrating and hazardous. Maybe Jack and Gerrit would be her salvation.

As they walked away from the building, Shakeela reached out and touched the colonel’s arm. “Hold up a minute, Jack. Before we get in earshot of your driver.”

Jack turned, waiting.

“I have to talk to someone I can trust. I know Gerrit trusts you.” She paused, trying to control her feelings. “First, Gerrit’s all right?”

Jack grinned. “That man seems to be indestructible. If he were a cat, I think he’d be working on his tenth life.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Why did Gerrit still linger in her thoughts after all these years? “I’m thankful. He’s one of the good guys.”

“Can’t argue that point. Now, what’s troubling you?”

She glanced around, knowing others might be electronically surveilling them—including her boss. It didn’t matter. By the looks Attmire gave her, she already invited trouble—so she might as well dive in.

“You guessed right, Jack. The Agency selected me to head up efforts in Europe to make contact with certain Iranian dissidents. Due to my Iranian heritage, the CIA thought I’d be more approachable—even if I
am
a woman.” She tried to make that last comment into a joke, but it fell flat.

She resented the gender issue within her own organization. There was still the Good Ole Boy’s network in place, and she faced two strikes against her—her heritage and gender—when it came to rising within the CIA’s subculture.

“How has that worked for you?”

“Very slow going until recently. I’ve been running this cover operation for almost two years, gaining the trust of certain dissidents. Once I broke down those barriers, they started to point out to me those in their community who didn’t seem to fit. I made contact with two specific groups: MEK—People’s Mujahadin of Iran—and the larger body of NCRI—National Council of Resistance of Iran. MEK provided irrefutable evidence of Iran’s nuclear-arms program way back in 2002 that made us realize how advanced Iran had become toward nuclear proliferation.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I thought they branded MEK a terrorist group.”

She shrugged. “Yesterday’s terrorists are today’s patriots. Anyway, they claim to have mended their ways. I’ve been using these contacts in France—through their network in Iraq, where they were given protection—to narrow my scope to those Iranian who may have been set in place by Hassan and his agency, MOIS.”