Kill Them Wherever You Find Them (39 page)

Rachael's argument against sending somebody
in his place was absolutely logical, certainly there was no time to
train somebody else in everything that was needed; especially
psychological preparation for time travel. Jeff had over a year of
preparation before
landing
in the Civil War. Such training
and preparation couldn't be condensed into mere days.

Hearing of his ongoing concerns and desire to
be replaced Moshe also told him that the device for the
Einstein-Rosen bridge used on his end was encoded specifically to
his physiology. There wasn't time to reconfigure a device for an
alternate traveler.

A song from an opera he didn't recognize
arose from the beautiful old phonograph cabinet built with Edison
Cement in the lobby. At first he thought it was an elegant statue
until music coming from a large seashell behind a human figure
alerted him to the fact that this was a vintage, no – only about 20
years old in this time frame – phonograph made in the first decade
of the 20th century.

Part of his training was to not think of
items as vintage or antique while on a mission. Clearly that had
not sunk in. Both in Virginia and here, everywhere he looked
everything seemed vintage, even the people who were, in his mind,
long dead and largely forgotten.

As was so often happening now, sleep eluded
him. Hunger, too, seemed unwilling or unable to allow his rumbling
stomach to rest. He arose from the bed, put his hat, tie and vest
back on, returning to the lobby downstairs.

"Can you tell me the name of a good
restaurant?" A genuinely hungry Jeff was eager to fuel his
body.

"Certainly, do you prefer American food or
local?"

"When in Rome."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. I would like to try local
cuisine."

"Very well, one block up you will find an
outdoor café with some of the more popular food of our city to
select."

"Mamnoon." Saying "thank you" in formal Farsi
brought a wide smile to the young woman's face.

"Kha'a hesh mekonam!" Farsi is such a
beautiful language, even her "you're welcome" response just sounded
beautiful. Jeff resolved to learn Farsi when he returned. Maybe
not, depending on how things went. The words may just do nothing
more than dredge up bad memories best left in the farthest recesses
of one's mind.

"You should know something before you try to
do business here."

"Yes, what's that?"

"We generally say 'merci' for thank you. If
you are too formal people will think you're trying too hard to
impress and it will go against your interests."

"Oh,
merci!
" Jeff already knew this.
He decided to be formal as a way to break in. He knew that the
local employees would be curious to know about the American in the
hotel. He didn't want to appear too practiced. An American salesman
would want to keep a lower profile, just high enough to meet the
wealthy who could afford his products but low enough to not bring
undue attention to his presence in the city.

Jeff had never before had Persian food aside
from authentic meals prepared for him in the facility during his
training. It was delicious. Starting with a large helping of Akbar
Jujdeh, a delicious chicken over rice with pomegranate sauce he
found both his palate and stomach completely satisfied by the end
of the meal. As soon as he was finished a plate of Shekarpareh of
Khorasan was laid before him, a type of sugar cookie. After a few
pieces Jeff was too full to eat another bite. Paying his bill and
taking one more cookie to eat later, he enjoyed more of the sights
and sounds of this delightful time and place.

In a few hours night would descend in Persia,
the street lamps illuminated. Jeff decided now was the time to walk
around the neighborhood, get acquainted with streets and alleys,
buildings and homes, more importantly the shady places rarely
visited by the residents and kept from the view of visitors and
guests. Before putting the first step of his operation in place,
Jeff needed to know every point of access and egress, should the
need arise.

Upon returning to the hotel he evaluated the
layout of all three floors, deciding this would be his residence
while in Persia, his base of operations. Jeff would make sure both
day and night staff were familiar with his face, and he their
faces. He would tip generously though not so much so as to appear
to be an American eager to flaunt his money and status to the
locals.

Jeff wasn't sure about how he should behave
with women. In the Iran of his day he would largely ignore them to
be in step with acceptable behavior for a man, especially a
non-resident. In this time and place he would have to carefully
observe how men interacted with women to make sure his approach
wasn't considered too forward or inappropriate in any way. The last
thing he needed was to have a man think Jeff was flirting with his
wife when all he meant was a kind remark or gesture. Checking
hands, it was rare to see what might be considered a wedding ring
on either the right or left hand of the women here. Many did wear
rings as jewelry but very few remotely resembled wedding rings.
Best to interact with women as little as was possible beyond a
simple
merci
as the situation may require.

Nearly every inner city of every age showed
the problems of a population huddled together. Tehran of the 1930's
may or may not have been any different but this northern, mostly
residential, suburb of Tehran was beautifully maintained. Trees and
flowers lined the roadways and beautified the houses. In his own
time this north-western suburb of Iran was still one of the more
affluent areas, with the people a little more liberal thinking,
secular, and slightly more moderate in their clothing.

Without all of the high rise buildings the
mountains, just a distance off, reminded Jeff more of being in
Denver, with the valley's snow-capped mountains in easy view.
Hearing the language of the culturally and socially amazing
Persians reminded him of his first few days as a young missionary
in Brazil, confounded by the language and enraptured by the vistas,
sounds, and smells of Brazilian foods being sold on the streets of
Rio. Jeff now longed for that more carefree time when his only
mission and desire was to teach people the "Plan of Happiness" for
all of God's children. Now back to the present mission at hand, a
mission forced by those who would instead condemn the world to
misery, a mission where
happiness
never would be an
adjective.

A genial people, Jeff received nods and
smiles as he walked the streets casually. All signs and billboards,
except for brands such as Coca-Cola, were in Farsi. Trying to learn
the names of the streets, let alone memorize them, was well beyond
Jeff's capability. Making do with landmarks would have to suffice.
He also mentally cataloged the number of standard length steps from
one landmark to the next, moving in concentric circles ever farther
away from the hotel as he went.

Of particular interest to him was the
location of the police station and identification of patrols,
routes, and schedules. In a week's time he would have all of these
filed safely in his memory. Committing them to paper, something
that could be used against him were he captured and jailed for any
reason, was a risk Jeff never took in any of his clandestine
operations. He had no reason to believe the police would take note
of his presence, let alone find him suspicious in any way, but
unnecessary risks were just that: unnecessary.

Jeff loved this era and these people. He
could have happily settled into a place and time such as this once
the language barrier had been overcome. Speaking more than a few
languages already, he felt certain that Farsi would pose little
problem for him.

Homesickness rarely settled in this early in
a mission. Seeing the happy children with their parents induced
this oddly named sickness in Jeff now. How nice it would be to be
home with Lynn and their children. Should this mission not work,
here and in Egypt, he understood that there may not be a Lynn and
children to whom he could return.

He felt it best to not even tell Lynn about
his current whereabouts. Besides not having a security clearance
for the details about
The Project
, just explaining the
how
and
why
would have required more than Jeff was
emotionally capable of sharing. The old saying – Jeff loved old
sayings – of "what you don't know won't hurt you" really was
applicable here.

In just a few weeks, hopefully less, he would
be able to return to the facility. Then he'd have plenty of time to
be with his family, provided all went well. If it didn't . . . best
to not even think of that.

The next few days and nights Jeff walked
around town, getting to know the lay of the land as well as he knew
his own neighborhood back in Colorado. He carried his satchel to
maintain the appearance of a salesman. At various pharmacies and
medical establishments Jeff left a business card, with the name of
the hotel written below his name. An adept businessman, he made
several sales, telling the purchasers that he'd relay their orders
to New York City and they would receive them in about a month.

During this time Jeff was also introduced to
the wealthier class of people who could afford his exotic elixirs
including Ghasem's great-grandparents, seeing his grandfather as a
child for the first time in person. A knot formed in his stomach on
viewing this sweet, innocent child. Sitting in their parlor, eating
a piece of cake with a brew of aromatic herbal mint tea, the only
kind of tea his mother could drink due to stomach pains, the little
boy was eager to show Jeff the toy he got for his birthday.

Jeff gave his mother, complimentary, a small
bottle of the antacid he used himself. In his own time the pills
were removed from the modern plastic container and put into a small
apothecary bottle that would have been in common use in the 1930's.
She was grateful for anything that might help, both she and her
husband protesting when he refused any kind of payment.

"Please, please, consider this a small show
of my gratitude for your generous hospitality! Besides, the cake
was so delicious that it more than serves as payment!"

"Are you married Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then let me write the recipe for the cake so
your wife can make it for you."

"That is very kind but I really must be on my
way. I'm late already for an appointment. I would like to come back
in a few days to see how well the medicine is working for you. May
I call on your family in a few days?"

"Without question." The husband replied. "You
are welcome here at any time."

"I will have the recipe written with a note
for your wife when you return!"

"Thank you. I really must be on my way
now."

Returning at a leisurely pace to his hotel
Jeff thought about this kind family, so open and warm. Their son,
so eager to demonstrate his new toy as he hopped, skipped, running
about in the excitement of his unfolding life – barely contained
energy.

How could Jeff do harm to this boy's future,
a child who had done nothing wrong, who loved life? Seeing the
little boy run around, hopping and skipping, in constant movement,
he knew that were he to learn that his manipulation of time were to
have ultimately damaged this little boy, he would never be able to
look at himself in the mirror again.

There had to be an acceptable way, but what?
He was already spending too much time here. Time spent in this era
was diametrically time ticking away in his own. Jeff couldn't
afford to wait much longer.

Table of Contents

31. Conspirator
Betrayal

"You can fool all
the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the
time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time."
-
Abraham Lincoln

Tehran, Iran

Abd wasn't fooled by
Ghasem's pretense of a
partnership. Even from the very beginning, years ago when they
acquired the two strain samples from the lab in Russia, Ghasem was
barely able to hide his disdain for Abd and the Arabs who would
work with them in the years to follow.

By now Ghasem and his pathetic little group
of sycophants in the safe house were dead; their ignominious demise
administered by the very genetically-engineered strain of Anthrax
they worked so diligently to develop.

Abd left a small glass ampoule of Anthrax on
the floor, just in front of Ghasem's favorite chair. The chair
facing a solid wood table, nobody would see the ampoule until it
had been crushed. Within minutes everybody in the house would be
dead, soon after all living things that breathed air around the
house would also be dead, covering his tracks, leaving no evidence,
no witnesses who could describe his face.

The ultra-modern bio hazard labs they used to
modify and mass produce the deadly strains were funded in large
part by the crude oil fattened bank account of Ghasem's uncle. His
part in this was necessary for the financial aspect. There was no
doubt that he was a talented planner, organizer, and motivator; but
Ghasem's part ended as soon as Abd had the codes entered into the
pages of the designated websites.

Unknown to Ghasem, he had sleeper agents,
Arabs all, loyal to him in Tehran and other strategic cities
throughout Iran with political and military targets assigned to
each. The religious leaders of the government, the military
chain-of-command, and the nuclear scientists would all die, drowned
in their own body fluids. Iran would lose any hope of supremacy in
the new world order that Abd and his own group would oversee.

Reaching his rented apartment in the city,
Abd planted the codes in the websites, to be uploaded within the
hour. The first coded message was planted in the website his agents
in Iran were monitoring, giving them a precise time to strike to
guarantee the downfall of Iran before the rest of the world was
brought to its knees.