The Presence of Evil

by J. T. Patten

  Epilogue

  Four days later.

  At Tanf, Syria

  “Haji Qasem.” Soleimani’s guard jogged up to join him in the walk back to another heavily fortified building within the fence line and auspices of a Syrian construction site. A second armed guard caught up in silence behind them.

  “Sometimes a man just enjoys the solitude of the night even when the wolves are just beyond the gate.” Soleimani shoved his hands in his loose pant pockets.

  Within a matter of steps, Soleimani heard two near-simultaneous suppressed metal movements before his guard fell forward, and a muffled thud from behind told him he was now standing alone in the darkness.

  “The Man from Orange,” Soleimani said. “It wasn’t necessary for you to kill them. They were good men, Warren Woolf. Innocent men, with families.”

  “That’s a pretty great magic trick coming up with my name. And which of your men are you speaking of. I’ve killed many of them lately,” Woolf said in passable Persian and pressed his weapon into the general’s back. “Walk over there.” The gun moved and hit Soleimani’s right shoulder, guiding the man with the press to his left.

  “We tried to stop the attack. You killed our messengers.”

  “I killed illegal Iranian operatives on US soil. You should have sent a message instead.”

  “It was an unfortunate position. I don’t need to explain geopolitics to you.”

  “You don’t need to explain anything.”

  “I enjoyed my time with your brother. Of course, it wasn’t until recently that we discovered the relationship. It was brought to my attention that for years of tracing communications of one of our assets who continuously searched for a Warren Woolf, that it was the Modarris. Right from under our nose. We did not do a good enough job finding out who he truly was. Our Hezbollah resources are very good at capturing their own SIGINT from their networks. It was difficult to make the association since your brother was using a name given to him from the French Foreign Legion. Truly brilliant cover. But when another individual was in the same regions also searching for another man. The pieces came together nicely.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “I think it does. Did your brother not speak of our relationship?”

  “He said to ask you about North Carolina and then kill you. What are you supposed to tell me about the soldiers you killed at Bragg?”

  The IRGC general rose his hands and slowly started to turn around. “I won’t resist, but I want to tell you face to face.”

  “Works for me.”

  The small man turned and kept his hands up. His features were hollow, almost ghostlike with the deep-set cold predator eyes of a shark, and yet there was a very approachable aspect in his body language and how the general held his head. “There is a new threat in your Fort Bragg area. But it is no threat from our people. Nor is it from the ISOF soldiers and so-called Mohawks. Their actions against the soldiers’ children in Fayetteville was inexcusable. But this new finding of ours is a threat from your own.”

  “My own what?”

  “Your own kind, Mr. Woolf. Your own people are your greatest threat. You are a nation divided. A people with evil intentions. People who look for outside assistance to solve their problems in America.”

  “Lies. I’m supposed to believe the bullshit you’re spilling just to keep you alive? I’m in the fucking presence of evil.”

  “Presence of evil.” Soleimani laughed. “No matter your philosophy or belief, the existence of evil cannot be reconciled by the mind or the heart. No, Mr. Woolf. There is no evil in Iran, just as I cannot rationalize you as being spawn of the Satan in America. And yet, if I assess the battle damage in your city of Chicago, it is you, Mr. Woolf, who inflicted the greatest loss of lives and injury. You and you alone. Who is the evil one, Mr. Woolf? Who terrorized Chicago? Who violated the laws of your land and the rules of engagement?” Soleimani cocked his head, ending the Socratic lecture.

  Drake found no words with the truthful accusation and reality laid at his feet.

  “And I provided my leader with an attack, which appeased his appetite while not inflicting mass casualties, appeasing mine. While we have our own outward Cold War, we will comply with our arrangement and continue to feed your country intelligence as we have done for years. Just as your Israeli counterparts do. It keeps a balance in the Middle East. I had preferred to work through your brother, for obvious reasons. But now, it can be you. I will go through my channels to inform Thomas Mendle. He can work out the details.”

  Tom Mendle?

  “It is well past my bed hour. We will be in touch.” Soleimani slowly turned back around, his arms still raised. “And Mr. Woolf, please do not kill any more of my guards. My promise stands of your safe passage. How else could you have gotten in and so close to me?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Just as it is my job to know what rooftop you are on in refugee camps, and what electronic devices you leave behind in homes, and when you are electronically stealing my money from bank accounts your treacherous uncle guided you to. There are costs and prices to war. And someday I will expect your support in return.”

  Drake raised his pistol toward Qasem and put his finger on the trigger. “Fuck you.”

  A spotlight burst into the night. Then another. And another.

  Woolf fired four shots blindly at the commander. He waited for the thump of a dead man’s fall but heard nothing.

  Soleimani laughed somewhere off in the distance, but Woolf could see nothing in the blinding white of the high-intensity spotlights. “Safe passage, Birddog. Mr. Man from Orange.”

  Qasem Soleimani was gone. Drake Woolf was left with only a small nugget about a new terror threat to Pineland and a head full of voices with questions ravaging his mind about the next collision course he would embark upon.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  I hope my writing is improving. As you know, it takes a ton of time, research, edits, discussions with others, and sacrifices for many. Thanks to my wife and kids who are both encouraging and tolerant of my time at the computer terminal and my random thoughts on using something for a book idea.

  The panel of writing and story experts that I lean on, Josh Hood, Mark Greaney, and Joe Goldberg, similarly remain steadfast in their availability for discussions. Thanks for the lengthy chats and spit balling of ideas, guys. My old friend, Cal Pickup, was also a huge help with some of the air traffic vetting and linking me up with some other industry experts to explore the realm of possibilities in flight diversions. “Margarita Ken,” the man with his finger on the red button provided some of the radiological insights. He represents the nuclear engineer role in my neighborhood crew, and similarly didn’t divulge anything inappropriate but ensured I used correct concepts.

  And then there’s Bodo, who most thriller writers know as a community power reader and enthusiast. Throwing some draft pages his way are always helpful for mid-writing feedback. Similarly, Kat Herrin, is my ace in the hole for general tone and flow of the story and some great input on Tresa Halliday’s character.

  Thanks to those guys in Lawndale who came up to my car while I was nosing around their turf doing research. You didn’t shoot me, I didn’t shoot you, we’re good. No more Lawndale settings, I promise.

  To the men and women of CPD and Chicago FBI field office thanks for all you do and for allowing me to pull caricatures from some of your personalities, which I hold respectfully and endearing and have taken extreme liberties to fit the narrative. Especially one of you who is my liaison partner.

  Within the story is also some fancy gear. Thanks to Michael de Geus with Leatherback Gear who let me bang on a Civilian One bulletproof backpack that Drake used and that Mena should have worn as a hat. Sonitus Technologies was kind enough to let me reference and detail some of the commercial specs of their “Molar Mic” intro
-oral sensor platform for real-time wireless commo. Yep. It’s real stuff.

  To the book people: Thanks to my agent, John Talbot, and to my editor Gary Goldstein at Kensington. I also can’t thank Elizabeth May who will still respond to me when I have yet another small manuscript change or question. Lisa Gilliam, thanks for taking some extra time to discuss some of the edits and helping me understand what I can do better the next time. It was a pleasure working on this manuscript with you. And thanks in advance to Renee Rocco and the Lyrical Underground crew for putting the final touches on this work before it reached the hands and hearts of readers.

  Finally, thanks to the Publication Review Boards of the Department of Defense, Central Intelligence Agency, and National Security Agency for their time to review the material before any of you could, so it was appropriate to share as entertainment and a small glimpse of what may or may not be in the shadows.

  About the Author

  J.T. Patten worked for the government and military community in support of national defense and policy. He has a degree in Foreign Languages, a Masters in Strategic Intelligence, graduate studies in Counter Terrorism from the University of St. Andrews, and numerous expertise certifications in intelligence analysis, cyber forensics, mobile device tracing, and financial crime investigations. For more, visit jtpattenbooks.com or find him on Twitter @JTPattenbooks.