by Cherry Laska
Lieutenant Bentley picked up her flight bag to go. Joe stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
“Lieutenant Bentley, it is then. We didn’t get a chance to have that drink.”
“Sorry, Captain Romeo. Orders,” she said, referring to more than her hasty departure.
“Rain check,” he said in a way that was clear he was not asking.
“Thank you, sir. That’s really not necessary.”
Joe didn’t like this. If they weren’t standing in the middle of a galley full of sailors who weren’t cleared to hear what they’d be talking about, he wouldn’t let her get away before she answered his questions. He moved a step closer to her, letting his eyes and the tone of his voice reflect his refusal to accept no. “Oh, but it is. I insist.”
Lieutenant Bentley didn’t flinch. She held Joe’s intense stare. For a moment the noise of metal utensils scraping trays and numerous conversations faded away. He was completely focused on the mysterious officer standing before him. Her hazel eyes were more gold than green. Her complexion and hair were dark, but he could tell she wasn’t Italian like he was. She was a little taller than average, maybe five foot seven. Fit with nice curves.
“I look forward to it, sir. If you’ll excuse me, my crew is waiting for me on deck.” She stepped by him and walked out of the galley without looking back.
“Son of a bitch.” Joe promised himself he would collect on that rain check.
1
TEHRAN, IRAN
PRESENT DAY
AS SOON AS THE CIA agents came around the corner, they saw the police officers loading boxes into their vehicles that were clogging the street. The two men jerked back and flattened against the rough concrete wall. “Shit. We’re too late.”
The Iranian Intelligence had discovered where the Americans had been staying and had all the data that they had compiled over the past few months on the members of Iranian Youth Reform Movement (IYRM).
The younger agent said, “We need to let the group know and then get the hell out of here.”
“You’re half right. We’ve got to go now. If we try to warn those guys, we’ll go down with them. We can’t call or text them. SAVAK will have their numbers and may have ours. We don’t know where the IYRM are and can’t spend the time it’d take to find them.” Seeing the panicked and pained look in his partner’s eyes, the more seasoned agent added, “Look, the group is prepared to get bloody fighting for their country. There’s nothing you and I can do that will make this situation better, except for getting out of Iran while the U.S. still has a shred of deniability.”
The only man who knew about their “off-book” mission was Mid-East Regional Director Hugo Reese. In fact, he had orchestrated every bit of it, including bringing the two clandestine officers of Iranian descent under his control. One was nearing the end of his career and had grown frustrated with the lack of progress in the fight against terrorism. The other was young and idealistic with a driving force to make a difference. The weathered agent didn’t believe for a second that Reese would have their backs if they got caught. It was their asses on the line. Never mind Reese. He wasn’t about to go down. He pulled his phone from his bag and typed a short message to Reese. He took out the sim card, dropped his phone on the ground, and smashed it with his foot. He picked up the pieces and threw them in the trash. He grabbed his partner’s collar and pulled him forward. “We’re done here. Time to move.”
Reversing course, they crossed the next intersection and took a left. They headed away from the Swiss Embassy where the only U.S.diplomats inside the hostile country were located. They were on their own to get over the border.
2
REZA WATCHED HIS BEDROOM CURTAINS billowing in the breeze. He had been tossing and turning for the past several hours. Frustrated, he threw his covers to the side. As he stood to get a drink, he was startled by a loud crash. He heard the cacophony of yelling and the pounding of footsteps and knew it was the police there to take him into custody.
Reza grabbed his shoes and went for the window. The branches of the tall bush that grew beneath his window snapped and ripped at his skin but did very little to cushion his fall. He hit the pavement from the two story jump and felt an explosion of pain in his right ankle. Ignoring it all, he ran. After getting a couple of blocks away, he realized he’d be in trouble if anyone saw him running down the street barefoot. He slipped on his shoes and forced himself to slow down.
Reza ducked deep in the shadows of the entrance of an apartment building. He tried to listen for any sounds of the police but couldn’t hear anything over his own heavy breathing and the loud pounding of his heart that completely filled his ears. His head was pulsing. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He had to repeat this several times before he was calm enough to hear that the night was quiet. He knew the empty residential streets made him conspicuous. He needed to get to the busier streets and to the garage, but he was injured and the metro was closed. His only hope was to make it a few blocks over without being spotted and catch a taxi.
3
REZA HAD THE DRIVER DROP him off in front of an apartment building two blocks from his real destination. He started up the steps and fished in his pocket, pretending to search for his keys. When the cab disappeared in the distance, Reza turned around and walked toward the garage. He stopped short and watched from across the street for any signs of trouble. When he was sure it was safe, he went to the rear of the building as quickly as he could move.
He knocked three times, paused, and knocked quickly twice more. The door opened just wide enough for Reza to slip inside. Arash, the eldest son of Basir, the garage owner and leader of the IYRM, opened the door. Reza glanced around the room and was disappointed to see only six of the thirty-eight core members of the group.
“You are hurt. Lean on me.” Arash helped Reza to a chair and called to one of the men to bring the first aid kit. Arash opened the small bag of medical supplies and treated Reza’s cuts and began wrapping his ankle in a support bandage.
Reza, attempting to brush him off, said, “I’ll be fine. We should be concentrating on helping the others who aren’t here.”
“There is nothing that can be done,” Basir said, approaching. “If we deviate from the plan, we risk the group.” As he spoke, Arash’s increased roughness reflected that he disagreed with his father and caused Reza to wince.
“Baba, we can’t let the government get away with this. We must do something.” Basir shot him a dirty look. He did not like to be questioned, especially by his son. Normally, Arash would hang his head in shame, but today was not normal, so he pressed his issue. “Our men need— ”
Basir forcefully waved his arm in the air cutting off his son’s words. “Enough. It is clear the Americans betrayed us. The only reason we are not already in custody is because we were careful to hide this location from them. If we go out looking for the others, we risk capture and risk leading SAVAK back here. All hope for the movement to unite our people would be lost.” With a tone of finality Basir said, “We will follow the plan to get our message out.”
“Your father is right,” Pasha Tousi said, joining the discussion. He handed Reza a cup of water. “I understand your frustration, Arash, but the Ayatollah and the President have all the power, and they’ll do anything to silence us. We need foreign support to open the eyes of the world to what is going on in Iran, so we must do what we must to smuggle the evidence out.” Pasha put his hand on Arash’s shoulder. “The others are preparing our bags, and you are needed to get the passports. I will finish bandaging Reza’s wounds.”
Pasha had been Reza’s closest friend since childhood. After examining the damage Reza had sustained, Pasha said, “You will be fine to travel, but we will have to keep your wounds clean.” He looked at Reza seriously. “This will be a hard journey. Promise me you won’t quit. You must push yourself to keep going. Do this for everyone who has suffered. Do this for Kimiya.”
Pasha’s voic
e changed at the mention of his twin sister. She had gone missing when they were nine. Their mother had told them to stay together, but Pasha left his sister to play with his friends. On his walk home a luxurious car passed Pasha. They later learned the car belonged to the cousin of Ayatollah Zardooz. The cousin was a well-known, well-protected pedophile. Pasha’s father had pleaded with the police for help only to be beaten and left in the street. Kimiya was never seen after that day, and Pasha was never the same.
“I promise I’ll be strong, Pasha. I would ask the same of you.”
He nodded and looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I knew the Americans could not be trusted. They only care about what benefits them.” His eyes were black with hatred. “I’ve been working with some men since Eid-al-Adha. We have a plan to make Zardooz, Amiri, and the Americans pay.”
Reza was not happy his friend had kept such a secret. “What are you talking about? What men?”
“Men who will do what it takes. Connected men.” He sighed. “I met them at the home of my ibin khaal when we went to share our sacrifice. Do not worry. I will show you the plan when we are safely on our journey. It is very good. Our leaders will answer for their cruelties, and the Americans will pay for not stopping them. Now, hold my bag while I go help.”
Reza watched Arash pull a well-wrapped, liquid-proof container from the mucky oil drainage pit and contemplated his friend’s words, recognizing truth in them, but worrying about the dangers.
Two hours before dawn the group gathered to say goodbye. “Khoda hafez, and mo’afagh bashed,” Pasha said, opening the door for everyone to go. A loud crack split the air. Pasha’s head exploded, spraying a pink and gray mist of brain matter, bone fragments, and blood over Reza and the men standing closest to him.
4
BETHESDA, MARYLAND
SIX MONTHS LATER
“WHILE WE’RE YOUNG,” THE DIRECTOR of the Central Intelligence George Henley said, razzing his playing partner, Joe Romeo.
Joe smiled. He’d been purposely taking his time with his shot out of the bunker. They had twenty bucks on this hole, and he knew slow play bugged his boss. Joe focused. Smooth and follow through. His ball popped up with a spray of sand and landed on the manicured green. “Release,” Joe said to the ball. It rolled out, stopping three inches from the hole leaving him an easy tap in for birdie to win the skin. Joe walked to the cart, put his clubs away, and climbed into the passenger’s side of the cart all the while letting the barrage of insults bounce off him.
The DCI drove to the tenth tee on the Blue Course at Congressional Country Club in Bethesda, Maryland. Several U.S. Opens and PGA Championships had been held on the challenging, beautiful course, and it still was a stop on the PGA Tour. The exclusive club membership was limited to the most elite CEOs, presidents, and congressmen. Founded in 1924, the club is steeped in history with founding members that included Taft, Wilson, Harding, Coolidge, and Hoover. Many backdoor deals and secret conversations affecting the nation and big business have taken place on the rolling terrain, tree-lined fairways, and wide challenging greens. So, despite having known each other for more than fifteen years and having been golfing buddies for over half of them, Joe suspected Henley had an agenda for inviting him out to play. Joe concentrated on enjoying the prestigious course and left whatever the DCI needed to discuss for him to bring up.
Having won the last hole, Joe had the honors starting the back nine. He teed his ball low and took a practice swing with his four iron. He approached the ball and was mid-backswing when Henley abruptly spoke. “The shit going on in Iran is starting to bubble over.” He’d purposely chosen the precise moment Joe was fully committed and unable to stop his swing. Somehow the ball managed to carry the water, but he’d pushed it right, putting it in the front bunker. Henley chuckled and continued, “There’s chatter about a chemical attack with the strike happening inside the U.S.” He held up his hand for Joe to hold any questions. Henley went through his pre-shot routine before taking his tee-shot with his three hybrid. The ball landed seven feet right of the pin. What the old man had lost in flexibility and distance, he’d gained in accuracy. “Your team’s being tasked to run this down and eliminate the threat.”
Back at the cart, the DCI pulled a piece of paper out of his bag and handed it to Joe, who unfolded it, looked over the short list of names, and frowned. Henley had been pressuring him to add manpower to his team, but he’d been resisting. He didn’t want to add just anyone. Whoever it was, they needed to be an elite operator with a wide-range of expert skills. Someone willing to do things others wouldn’t on the most sensitive, difficult cases. Joe’s team operated in places and ways that were only legal under an ambiguous statute of the Patriot Act. Many of their actions would result in a public outcry if they became known.
“I agree we need someone to round us out, but this list is pathetic.”
The DCI commiserated with Joe. With all the global issues the CIA was dealing with, they were stretched thin. Joe threw out names of guys he knew, but Henley shot down each one. None of them were available for one reason or another. As they continued to play, Henley disclosed more of the details of the threat. Joe racked his brain to think of a suitable addition to his team. He lost focus and proceeded to go down three strokes over the next four holes. Then he thought of Jessica. They’d been teammates in a top-secret, black-ops military unit a long time ago. They’d been extremely close until things went sideways, and she’d put in her paperwork in favor of a normal life. Her status was inactive, but she’d been the best Joe had ever worked with and her skill set fit. He’d been keeping tabs on her and knew she’d be instantly effective, and most importantly, he could trust her completely. To get his way, he had to convince the DCI, and then he’d have to convince Jessica.
“I know who I want,”Joe said as he rotated back and unleashed a bomb. He drove the ball three hundred twenty yards right down the middle of the par five, sixteenth hole. Holding his pose, he said, “What do you think about bringing someone in from the outside?”
5
NAPLES, FLORIDA
THE SIGHT OF JOE THROUGH the glass inlay of her front door rocked Jessica. The last time she’d seen his face it had been covered with blood—hers and others’—and he had been desperately telling her to hold on. She shuddered involuntarily as so many conflicting memories and emotions flooded through her. She was overjoyed to see the man who had once been her closest friend, but seeing him also triggered flashes of everything bad that had happened in Argentina. She opened the door and smiled at him. Before she could say anything, he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in the biggest, tightest hug. They stood in the embrace silently. Finally, Joe held her at arm’s length to look at her. She suddenly felt self-conscious about how much older she was. When his eyes settled back on hers, all the time that had passed since they’d been together seemed inconsequential.
“Jessica Whitley, you look amazing. I’ve missed you more than you could possibly imagine.”
“Wow. Joe. Hi. What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “If you invite me in, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Come in. Please. Of course.” She blushed and stepped back. “I was just going to pour myself a glass of wine. Would you like one, or can I get you something else?”
“Wine sounds perfect.” Joe followed her in.
She called over her shoulder, “Sorry for the awkward greeting, but … wait …” She turned to face him. “How did you know where to find me?” She didn’t spend that much time at their beach house and had only arrived a few hours earlier.
Jessica scrutinized him. Joe didn’t flinch, but he did rethink his decision not to call first. In the end, he’d felt this was a conversation that had to take place in person.
She took his silence for what it was. She half-jokingly gave him the stink eye, causing him to laugh. “Uh-huh,” she said, smiling. She stole glances at him as she poured two glasses of a cab she’d decanted earlier. She could se
e he was still very fit. Joe Romeo was six foot two with black hair just as dark as hers and chocolate-brown eyes. His tan skin showed his Italian ancestry. He was still lean and muscular. She thought he was even more handsome now than he had been in his twenties. He’s aged well. Jessica had no idea if he was still in the Army or what he was doing. Is he married? Does he have children? She smiled at the thought of little girl and boy versions of Joe as she handed him his glass. She held hers up, and they gently touched their glasses together.
“Cheers,” Joe said. They both studied each other as they took a sip.
“Let’s sit out on the deck.” She grabbed the decanter and led the way. They stepped through the open slider. The clean, fragrant scent of the Gulf greeted them.
“This view is amazing,” Joe said, taking it all in.
“It’s one of my favorite places in the world. It’s so peaceful.” Looking out as the calm water gently lapped the shore, she couldn’t help but smile. The view mesmerized her. She breathed deeply. In less than an hour, the sky would be on fire with a brilliant mix of colors as the sun moved lower and lower on the horizon until it finally disappeared.
They settled on the wicker sectional. “It’s been a long time, Joe. I am so happy to see you. I really want to hear how you’ve been, and there’s so much for us to talk about, but seeing as how you tracked me down, and you’ve got the ‘Shark look,’ ” she said, making air quotes, “I get the feeling you’re here for a reason. Tell me what’s going on.”
Shark was Joe’s call sign. Just like a shark, Joe was never still but was always calm. He was constantly eating but never gained weight. He was a smart hunter who homed in on a target and was deadly when he attacked. She suspected there was more to the story of how he got the call sign, but he’d never come clean.
Joe took a sip of his wine as he watched Jessica’s every move. She knew he was trying to get a read on her. She gave him a light slap on his leg. “Spill it, Romeo.”