Smoke Reactivated

by Cherry Laska

  After Joe left, Jessica reflected on everything that was happening. Joe was the man she was meant to share her life with. She was sure of it. She needed to figure out how to be with him and make things right for her kids. She would. Just not right this minute.

  Jessica got out of bed to shower. When she opened the cap on Joe’s Polo Black shower gel she felt the rush of electricity remembering his every touch. Man, she really loved that smell.

  She dried off and put on one of Joe’s t-shirts. They had never gotten her bag out of his car. Their priorities had been right. She went to get a drink, taking in the ambiance around her, loving it. She was walking on air being in Joe’s house, wearing his shirt, feeling so close to him. The photos on his bookshelf caught her eye. In one, Joe posed with some men on a beautiful golf course. She was excited thinking of all the things in life that they would enjoy doing together. Another frame held a slightly faded picture of a much younger Jessica in the middle between Max and Joe. Their arms casually hung over her shoulders. Oh, Max, she thought. His death was something she and Joe would never get over. She needed Joe to show her all the evidence he’d collected investigating the Argentina mission, but it could wait a while longer. It had been almost nineteen years. For now, she wanted to enjoy how happy they were.

  She went to Joe’s study and picked out a book. He had many great titles to chose from. She got comfortable on the couch under a soft throw and waited for him to come home. Her mind occasionally wandered from the pages as she did a little hot daydreaming of her own.

  88

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  “GET IN. YOU’RE COMING WITH me,” DCI Henley said to Joe. If they had been on the golf course, Joe would have had a smartass comment about the old man’s social grace, but since they were at the curb in front of the CIA building, he did what he was told without question. Henley was looking over a file. They rode in silence. When they stopped at the entrance gate of the White House, Henley shut the file and said, “The President asked for you to join us for the debrief.” Joe wondered if the President was going to thank him for saving the day or hand him his ass for his part in turning Vegas into something similar to the set of a blockbuster action flick.

  They were processed in and escorted through the halls of the West Wing toward the Oval Office. It’d been many years since Joe had been to the White House. He didn’t think it had changed much other than there was a different elected man behind the desk. They were told to take a seat. Outwardly, Joe sat completely still. Inwardly, he had to admit he was excited. Even though he didn’t always agree with their policies or their refusal to let guys like him do things to get the job done, he had a lot of respect for anyone who would take on the responsibility and politics that came along with that job. Joe couldn’t help but feel the power of where he was. After about five minutes, Frank Hall, the Director of the FBI, approached. He greeted them cordially. This surprised Joe. Hall had never supported Joe’s team’s special mission or his team’s mandate to operate anywhere.

  A few minutes later they were shown into the Oval Office. President James Gilchrist was seated behind his desk. When they cleared the threshold, the President put down his pen and stood up.

  “Gentlemen,” he said extending his hand first to Joe, then Henley, and then Hall. “Please have a seat.” The President motioned to the sofas. “Vegas was quite a mess when your team got finished there, Joe. I am mad as hell that someone got that close to killing innocent Americans inside our borders, and I believe you owe the FBI a helicopter.” President Gilchrist was straight faced and leaned back silently.

  Shit, Joe thought and was starting to feel anger building. Doesn’t he know we did everything we could? Doesn’t he realize the sacrifices that were made? He was about to blow up his career and tell the President as politely as he could, which wouldn’t be considered very polite by most people’s standards, just how much worse it could have been when President Gilchrist smiled.

  He said, “Don’t worry about it, Joe. I am sure Director Hall will forget about it since you and your men—uh strike that. I understand you added a new member recently—since you and your team saved America from a horrific terrorist attack. I called you in because I wanted to thank you personally and on behalf of the nation for what you and your team did there. Please pass along to your team our sincere gratitude.”

  “We were just doing our duty, but thank you, Mr. President. I will.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet. I have something else I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t have to tell you that there are groups around the world that hate America and are plotting to hurt us any way they can. They don’t all look the same. They don’t all wear uniforms, and they aren’t located within certain borders. America is under attack, and these terrorists don’t play by the rules.” The President paused. They all knew this was the awful reality of today’s world. “It’s my charge to protect our country and to stop our enemies. I believe we must match their determination and cunning. In the days to come, I am going to be asking you and your team to do even more. We need more resources operating in what we could call gray areas considering the magnitude and diversity of the threats against us.”

  Joe glanced at Henley, then Hall. Neither seemed surprised by what the President was saying. They had obviously discussed this previously.

  The President continued. “Of course, this will come with certain risks to us all.There are some power hungry political hyenas in this town who would put their own interests over the interests of the country and use this against all of us. I can only guarantee that I will use my resources and power to assist and protect all of us to the best of my ability. Let me clarify this, Joe. I want us to be more proactive. I’m not giving you permission to do anything without authorization, and you need to know some missions you would be asked to undertake may be off-book and quite dangerous. And we all have to remember there are always hyenas sniffing around.”

  DCI Henley and Director Hall both watched Joe intently for his reaction. This president was clearing the way through bureaucratic BS and the restrictions placed on his team. Joe was all for taking the fight to the enemy. He was instantly a bigger fan of President Gilchrist.

  89

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY AFTERNOON A CLOUD OF sadness hung in the air. Joe, Jessica, Alejandro, and Marshall sat around the conference table for the official operation debrief. Mark’s absence was palpable. After the official Operation Black Diamond Report was completed, it would be placed in a sealed file, labeled in code, and locked away in a secure filing cabinet in a secret room in a guarded sub-floor basement. America would never know how the crazy, mixed up world of Iranian politics and one warped man’s determination for revenge had brought a chemical attack to their homeland. They would never realize if it had been deployed successfully, it would have been one of the greatest tragedies on domestic soil with the deaths of the several thousand young athletes and their families, plus possibly tens of thousands of other people attending various conventions.

  America would also never know the truth about how Wolf, Mark Dalton, a good ol’ boy from Alabama, a patriot through and through, gave his life to prevent this tragedy and save those many lives. Only a small group would celebrate him, but Mark wouldn’t have felt bad about this. He knew the organization he was a part of, and he unselfishly made the ultimate sacrifice without the need of praise.

  Jessica was so grateful for Mark’s actions. He’d saved the lives of her sons, Joe, and a lot of people she cared about. She’d do everything in her power to honor him. She made a mental note to look into the details of his personal life. Whether it was for his mother, a relative, or a charity he cared about, she wanted to do something in his name.

  Jessica looked over at Marshall. He had his leg propped up on a chair and looked miserable. She felt responsible. “Before we start is there anything I can get you, Marshall? Are you comfortable? I feel so bad.”

  “I’m okay, thanks, and I told you I know it could have been
so much worse. I analyzed all the data. You saved us from being a fireball.” She patted his shoulder.

  “Let’s get through this as quickly as we can,” Alejandro said. “I’ve got a nice woman waiting for me at Rumberos.” No one made any teasing comment or thought Alejandro was being insensitive. They knew the woman at the Latin club would help ease Alejandro’s pain. They all needed to jump back into the personal things in their lives that could do that for them, keep them connected to some sort of normalcy.

  The FBI had discovered the documents and pictures Zircone had left in his hotel room. They had filled in a lot of the blanks including Zircone’s identity and his motive. They also revealed his warped, unstable psyche. When they added this to everything else the team knew, it gave them an almost complete picture.

  The man they’d called Zircone was Iranian-born Reza Khatami, an active member of the IYRM, whose mission was to gain the basic civil rights necessary for improving the Iranian people’s quality of life. The IYRM was approached by two CIA operatives under an unsanctioned order from the MidEast Regional Director. They made an offer to advise and fund the group. When the operatives’ actions were discovered by SAVAK, the operatives evaded capture and barely made it out of Iran. They were unable to retrieve their intel and gear or cover their tracks. The intel the operatives had gathered on the IYRM was compromised. The U.S. denied all accusations of U.S. involvement and activity within Iran. The Iranians couldn’t bring it to the world court because of the violent actions they took in retaliation against the IYRM.

  Khatami had documented his timeline beginning with SAVAK moving in to imprison or execute anyone related to the group. He claimed the secret police assaulted their homes and a garage where they had gathered before he fled Iran. Archived satellite images indicated a fire occurred at the location of the garage on the date in question.

  Khatami wrote about fleeing Iran for his life. He described being distraught over losing his family and friends, his career, and his homeland. He claimed his primary objective had been to expose the cruelty and the abuse of power of the Iranian President Mahmoud Amiri and Ayatollah Zardooz, so the Iranian people would unite and, with the support of the world, overthrow Amiri.

  When his pleas for help went unanswered, Khatami went with a different plan to force the world to listen. He rambled on about having tried to provide proof of Iranian and U.S. treachery, but the governments of the world had all ignored him, but after the chemical attack the world would know the truth; Amiri and Zardooz, along with the U.S., wouldn’t be able to deny what they had done. Khatami went on to explain his intense hatred for his country’s leaders and the U.S. and elaborated on his belief that it was his duty to make them pay despite how he would be viewed by some.

  Khatami provided a disturbing tale of a young girl named Kimiya as one example of the Iranian government’s atrocities. Khatami credited Kimiya’s twin, Pasha, who was killed in front of him in the assault on the garage, and a group of men, radicals with possible ties to MEK, for the creation of the plan to strike America and Iranian President Amiri. Khatami claimed he righteously carried out the plan after the Americans betrayed them and caused the men’s horrific murders.

  The documents outlined selling the black diamonds in Paris to purchase the chemicals and finance everything needed to carry out the attack. The plan was to introduce sarin into the Las Vegas Convention Center to kill Amiri’s grandson, who was an entry in the International World Championship Wrestling Tournament and simultaneously strike down thousands of Americans. The mad writings declared that all other people who died alongside Amiri’s grandson were sinners and therefore acceptable casualties of war. Khatami claimed the casualties were small in number compared to the number of Iranians who had died at the hands of the corrupt government in power.

  He ranted about American greed, sin, and betrayal. He went on for pages about the actions of the evil U.S. being behind his friend’s death and the continued reign of terror of the Iranian government. His writings were bordering psychotic. The team was able to ascertain that the trauma of witnessing these deaths seemed to have caused Khatami to have a psychotic break.

  Khatami’s deranged justification for his terrorist actions made Jessica sick to her stomach. American government agencies have long been aware of how the Iranian leaders operated. The region would erupt into all-out war if the U.S. or anyone else got involved.

  They spent the next hour and twenty minutes reviewing, verifying, and recording the details of Operation Black Diamond from start to finish. They learned from the forensic report of the scene that the first bullet had hit Mark in the abdomen. The second bullet was the fatal shot; a contact wound that hit Mark’s heart and killed him instantly.

  An analysis of the sarin chemical breakdown and the delivery device intended to release it in vapor form into the main ventilation system indicated it was completely and correctly set up. The report validated what the team already knew. Mark was a hero. If Khatami had reached the device and opened the valve, the death toll would’ve been more than eight thousand. Mark sacrificed himself to delay the terrorist and give the agents enough time to get to the roof to stop Zarcone. “The CIA’s Annual Memorial Service is in two and a half weeks,” Marshall said, after looking up the date on his computer. “I think it would be nice if we were there together.” The Annual Memorial Service was the CIA’s ceremony for honoring their fallen heroes. There were stars carved into the stark white marble wall in the Agency’s entryway that represented these individuals. The stars stood together on the wall as a team. They were a reminder of the CIA’s mission and the ultimate price colleagues had paid in service to their nation. Last year, four stars were added, bringing the total number to one hundred and two. During the ceremony, roll was called from the Book of Heroes. Whether Mark’s name would be called aloud or be one of those kept secret remained to be seen.

  “Mark would’ve liked it if we toasted him with a beer,” Joe said. “Come to my house tomorrow, and we’ll have a poker game in Mark’s honor. We can invite some of his friends from the agency.” The surprised looks on the guys’ faces reflected that Joe had never had them over to his house before. Jessica was glad he was opening up to them. They needed each other. “I have his mother’s recipe for the apple cobbler Mark brought in last Fourth of July,” Joe said. “I’ll make it.” After a few snickers, he straightened up. “Very funny. So what? I like to cook.”

  “I’ll place an order from Georgia Brown’s. It was his favorite restaurant,” Marshall said. Georgia Brown’s served good Southern cooking in a nice atmosphere. Most of the congressman and senators from below the Mason-Dixon line dined there on a regular basis for a taste of home.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t be able to make it. My kids are going to the prom tomorrow night, and I promised to be there.” Jessica felt terrible for leaving, but she had to keep a balance.

  “Of course,” Alejandro said. “That’s a special event.”

  “Yeah. Totally,” Marshall agreed.

  “Thanks for understanding. I will be here on the eighth.”

  “I have something important I need to talk to you guys about.” Joe filled the team in on his meeting with the president. “That means adding more people to the team.”

  “As long as they are the right people, I’m in,” Alejandro said.

  “Me too,” Marshall agreed.

  “Definitely,” Jessica said.

  He stood. “You can all head home early. I’ve got to get Jessica to the airport. I’ll see you tomorrow at my house around four.”

  Jessica said goodbye to Marshall and Alejandro. On the way out she saw Mark’s favorite, beat-up, faded Alabama State baseball hat on one of the hooks near the door. She reached out and touched it. “Let that stay there.” Joe nodded.

  They rode the elevator down to the first floor and walked to his car in silence. When they had exited the property, Joe reached for Jessica’s hand. It was a beautiful drive on George Washington Memorial Parkway along the Potomac River.r />
  “Think the guys can tell I’m in love with the boss? They are an elite CIA clandestine team. I’m sure it won’t take them long to figure it out. Mark did. They might be worried about it compromising our decision-making in the field.”

  “Honestly, I was worried about that myself. You know I held back in the beginning, but I soon realized it would affect our professionalism and only compromise us more if we fought our feelings.” He flashed a smile. “Look, it’s something anyone has to consider and work through, but I know these guys well. Your actions saved lives. They trust you, they trust me, and that’s what matters to them. We won Mark over. For now, I think we’re in the clear. I think they know we’re close. They can see we have a strong bond, and they may even suspect we have feelings for each other, but we are crafty. Don’t forget, I have super skills. I’m the chief spy.”

  Joe kissed Jessica’s hand without taking his eyes off the road.

  “I know you do.” Her voice was low and sensual. “I so want you to show me more of those super skills.”

  He glanced at the time and then over at Jessica. The look in his eyes gave her butterflies. They were almost to Washington National when Joe abruptly cut from the left lane to make the entrance for Lady Bird Johnson Park. Jessica remained silent, feeling his intensity. He found a secluded spot and threw the car into park. Their lips met and the kiss that followed was the mother of all kisses. A warmth and tingling spread from her head to her toes.

  He smiled and said, “We can’t stay too long, but we have time for a little walk, and I needed you alone.” They got out of the car, held hands, and walked down the path. The view across the Potomac River to the Washington Monument with what looked like snow or gently falling feathers was very pretty. Joe was eager to get Jessica alone, but it was a gorgeous day with blue skies and chirping birds so there were quite a few joggers around. A little further down they came to a footbridge. Jessica watched the ducks swimming below. Joe stopped halfway out. He pulled her to him.