by Eric Meyer
Talley shook his head. “Listen, buddy, you’d better believe it, no Echo Six operative was involved in anything like that. Jesus Christ, it’s disgusting just to talk about it.”
“We know you’re in the clear,” the older man said quickly. “In fact, we already know who assaulted and murdered the kid. We just wanted to talk to you and confirm a few details.”
“So who was it?”
“It’s no secret. That imam, Rashid Fard, he brought the boy with him from Iran. Maybe he offered to give him a free vacation, or some kind of religious instruction. He sure gave him some instruction, but it wasn’t anything religious.”
Talley was almost sick as he digested what they’d said.
“So you’re going to send him back for the Turks and Caicos to prosecute him?”
Both men shook their heads and smiled. Suddenly it all came clear to him. They’d spirited him away, imposed a veil of secrecy. “You’re going to turn him.”
“It’s a possibility,” the older one replied with a smile. “What matters to you is what we’ve pieced together already. It’s likely to become the basis of your next operation.”
“Since when does CIA direct a NATO unit?” he snapped, beginning to feel serious anger with their ‘we know more than you’ line of questioning. But their smiles only widened. “Oh, we won’t direct anything,” the older agent countered. “We just pass on information. Other people make up their own minds about these things.”
Yeah, right. That’ll be a first.
“As it happens, it dovetails nicely with the opinion of your boss in NATO,” he continued. “And yes, Lieutenant, I do know where to find Boulevard Leopold III in Brussels. I’ve been there more than a few times. They’ve asked you to head back there. They need to brief you ASAP.”
“About what?”
“About an operation inside Iran. We know they’re mounting a strike against the West, a hit that could upset the balance of power in the Mideast. They want you to find the guy behind it and deal with him.”
So that was it. Arash. Had to be him. The Archer?
“What kind of a strike?”
“We’re not sure, but the name Arash isn’t new to us. They’ve been searching for a line on his operation for a long time, and then along comes Imam Rashid Fard. The plan is to use pretty boy to get to him.”
“And if Arash is someone senior in their government? Even Ahmadinejad?"
They both shrugged. The younger man said, “If he fits the bill, he goes down, buddy. It’s that simple.”
Talley nodded. So he was going back to Iran, the most brutal regime in the Mideast. The home of religious lunatics, tyranny, the executions of women hung from cranes in public squares, and despite their oil wealth, a population that was sliding into poverty and despair since the coming of the Islamic Revolution, and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
Is it possible he is Arash the Archer?
* * *
The flight over the Atlantic was long and boring. He’d been called back to Belgium by the next available flight. He’d got the short straw; the rest of Echo Six were allowed a few days R&R in the California sunshine. But it wasn’t as an uncomfortable journey as it could have been. Shortly after takeoff, the Air France cabin attendant, a chic, twenty-something Parisienne, “my name is Nicole”, offered him an upgrade to first class. Okay, she was hitting on him, but he was more than happy to go with it, and it meant he’d have something good to look at through the mind-numbing transatlantic flight. The inflight movie rated a poor second to her trim body, attired in a fitted uniform that clung to every curve, and her pretty, red-lipped smile every time she went past him was enough to get any man hot under the collar. And elsewhere. When she leaned over him to retrieve a glass from the passenger in the next seat, he smelled her perfume. Expensive, very expensive, and it seemed to blend with the natural female scent of her body, so that he realized he was getting aroused. He hastily put his book on his lap to cover up his crotch, but she was no stranger to the powerful effect she had on men.
“Is there anything troubling you, Sir?” she smoldered.
“No, Ma’am, I’m just fine.”
Her eyes met his own. They were huge, dark and moist, with more than a hint of female mystery in their dark depths, and a lot of promise.
“Good,” she breathed. “If there is anything I can get you, just ring the bell. I’d be more than pleased to,” she hesitated for a second or two, “serve you.”
He couldn’t speak, just nodded his thanks. She glided away in a cloud of fragrance and musk, and he managed to settle down and relax. Eventually, he got some sleep in the comfortable first class seat. When they landed at Brussels, he felt better. As he walked to the forward exit, Nicole was waiting to see her passengers off the aircraft. Her smile widened when she saw him.
“Mr. Talley, I trust you enjoyed your flight?”
“Thank you, it sure was pleasant.”
“Good. If you are at a loose end while you are in Brussels, give me a call.” She pressed a small card into his hand. He looked at it, Nicole Rochat and a cellphone number.
He nodded his thanks, “Maybe I’ll just do that.” And he meant it. He walked down the steps and found his way into the busy terminal, forcing himself not to look back. He realized he was shaking.
Jesus!
When he’d gone through immigration and collected his case from the carousel, he spotted a soldier, wearing sergeant’s chevrons and holding up a card that read, Lieutenant Talley.
“I’m Talley.”
“Could I see some id, Sir?” His nametag said Williams, and his accent was British.
At least we'll understand each other. Some of the NATO personnel are not as fluent in English as they’d like to think.
“Sure.” He showed his passport and NATO id.
“Thank you, Sir. Please follow me.”
The guy took his case and went at a fast pace through the door. Out in the car park, he led them to a Mercedes saloon. Talley noted it was an S430, the luxurious corporate model, although the olive paintwork did little for its aesthetic appeal.
Nothing but the best for NATO personnel, except junior lieutenants don’t normally warrant this kind of treatment, he reflected. The soldier put his case in the trunk and opened the rear door. Talley shook his head.
“I’ll ride up front.”
“You sure, Sir?”
“I’m sure. I’m no Admiral, Sergeant, and never will be.”
The man smiled, and his formality relaxed a little. They purred out the car park, the powerful engine almost inaudible, and cut into the Brussels traffic to drive the short distance along the A201 to the gray office block that stood in its own grounds off the Boulevard Leopold III. As they pulled up, Talley smiled at the rows of flagpoles bearing national flags of the member countries, as if proclaiming to the world their unity.
Tell that to the French!
The Sergeant climbed out and retrieved his case. Talley went to grab it but he held on.
“I’ll leave this with reception, Lieutenant. They’ll have it sent on to your quarters.”
“I don’t have any quarters, Sergeant.”
“You do now, Sir. It’s all organized. Follow me, please.”
He followed the man into an elevator and got completely lost in a maze of corridors, bustling with legions of men and women, many wearing the uniforms of a dozen different nations. He’d been there before when he joined NATFOR, and several times since, but he’d never got the hang of the layout. They entered another elevator. The Sergeant used a keycard to operate it, and they descended several floors, emerging into a windowless corridor. They walked past several more offices until they came to a closed door. The Sergeant knocked.
“Come.”
They walked in, and Talley stiffened to attention. The man sitting behind the desk wore the uniform of the US Navy, with the insignia of a Vice Admiral. He saluted, and the man waved his hand by way of a return. The Sergeant backed out of the room and closed the door. He stare
d at the Admiral. The officer was black, a well-muscled man with a trim, fit body. He had a sculpted face almost like a Roman god, with close-cropped black hair, and the overall effect was of a man accustomed to wielding a great deal of power. Right then, his demeanor was hard to decipher. The man’s eyes bored into him, curious, almost intense, and his expression was flat, neutral. Talley waited, Brooks had a reputation that preceded him. He was a professional, a veteran of countless engagements, and a man who meant business.
“Sit down, Lieutenant. I guess you’re wondering what gives?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Brooks handed Talley a sheaf of documents.
“Those are your orders, Lieutenant, with the new chain of command. First off, I’d better explain who I am,” he grinned. “My name is Vice Admiral Carl Brooks, and I’ve taken overall command of NATFOR.” He waited while Talley absorbed the new information. “As you know, Admiral Alexander only sat in this chair while they were looking for a replacement, following the debacle with his predecessor.”
Talley grimaced. ‘Debacle’ was a delicate way of putting it.
Talley had been the man who’d arrested Colonel Hakim, the previous NATFOR supremo who’d sold out to a group of Islamic terrorists holding his family hostage.
“I remember, Sir.”
How the hell could I ever forget that nightmare? It cost the lives of many innocent people, including some of my men.
“I’ll bet you do, Son. Poor bastard, that Brit colonel, he was torn between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
“He went with the devil, Admiral. He should have chosen the deep blue sea and jumped in.”
“You don’t have any sympathy with him?”
“He caused a lot of deaths, some of them men in my unit. No, I don’t have any sympathy.”
The black man nodded. “I hear you. Okay, that’s history. Moving forward, that raid of yours on Caicos Island, it sure stirred up a hornets' nest.”
“You mean with the Iranian connection?”
“Exactly that. I gather that CIA told you part of the story. With this Iranian imam onside, it means we can go right in and take out the man at the top, this so-called Arash. At a stroke, it’ll put an end to a helluva lot of trouble they’re causing us in the NATO member countries. America, of course, but Europe is feeling it too. He’s already begun a systematic program of bombings and assassinations, financed with the drug money from the Caicos operation.”
Talley recalled what the CIA men at MacDill told him, and felt cold. They’d hinted that Arash was high level. He could even be the President of the Islamic Republic.
Jesus Christ!
“Surely, you can’t think it’s Ahmadinejad? I mean, Admiral, he’s the President! We’re soldiers, not assassins.”
“Yeah, tell that to the Iranians,” Admiral Brooks muttered. He took a breath. “We don’t know for sure who it is, but I don’t think it’s Ahmadinejad. He’s just a bag of piss and wind. He says what he wants people to hear, but behind it all, he’s another politician on the make, doing what’s best for himself and fuck what his people really need or want. Forget him for now. This name, Arash, it’s almost an honorary title, designed to appeal to Iranian sympathizers. I gather you hadn’t heard it before?”
“No, Sir.”
He nodded, lifted a paper off his desk, and quickly scanned it.
“Arash is a character from Persian mythology. After a long war between the Persians and their enemies, they agreed to decide the future national boundaries by means of archers, one from each side, who would fire an arrow. Wherever the arrow landed, that was the new boundary, and as you can imagine, Arash fired his arrow one hell of a long way. He became a national hero. In modern times, there was a poem about Arash the Archer. It’s based on ancient Persian myth and depicts Arash’s heroic sacrifice to liberate his country from foreign domination. Whichever way you look at it, the name is intended to whip up the Iranians to a heap of trouble. I guess the theory is this modern Arash will fire his symbolic arrow and enable Iran to dominate the Mideast. The problem is which country he’ll aim at first.”
“Israel.”
Brooks nodded. “Yeah, it’s possible. It’s the obvious one. But whichever way you look at it, the Mideast is about to become a powder keg, and this Arash is sitting on the keg with a lighted match stuck in his ass.” Talley smiled at his choice of words. “Arash is your target. I want you to uncover his identity, locate his whereabouts, and take him down. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir. How do we find out who he is?”
“Imam Rashid Fard, that’s how. He’ll help us. He knows the alternative.”
Brooks sat back and leafed through another folder on his desk. He looked thoughtful.
“We’re pretty certain the guy at the top is not a politician, so you can almost certainly forget Ahmadinejad. Quite the opposite, we think that Ahmadinejad will be one of the first casualties when their organization becomes strong enough to make a play for power. The Fard interrogation points in another direction.”
“It has to be someone wealthy, and with business ties, I guess,” Talley nodded. “He’d need a bundle of money just to get started in the drug trafficking business."
“Normally, I’d agree with you, except that this is Iran. Everything in that country is upside down. Who do you think controls every move the oil industry makes?”
“The military, I’d guess. No, wait. It would be the militia. The Revolutionary Guard?”
Brooks nodded. “Yep, the militia, the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution, the Revolutionary Guard. Right now, they have a hundred and twenty-five thousand troops, comprised of ground, air force, and navy. They also control the Basij militia, which has about ninety thousand troops. What many people don’t know is that they’ve become a multibillion-dollar business empire, the third-wealthiest outfit in Iran.”
Talley whistled. “So they’re not just the bunch of heavily armed religious nuts people see them as.”
“Not at all, Lieutenant. Their leaders, the Revolutionary Guard generals, have a very tightly defined agenda with a precise set of targets. Israel first, and when they’ve sewn up the Mideast, the NATO countries will be picked off one by one. ”
Talley nodded. “You think this Arash could be a general?”
“Maybe, but it could just as easily be a wealthy sponsor of the Guard. We’re hoping that Fard will lead us to him. Either way, the Revolutionary Guard will protect this guy with their lives, and they’re not all patsies. The Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei, has given huge powers to the Guard, and their leaders are some of the most feared and brutal men in Iran. Arash could well be a religious leader, an Ayatollah. It’s a scenario we’ve considered.”
Talley stared at him. “Admiral, this just gets worse.”
Brooks smiled. “It does that, but it’s the reason we put together NATFOR. No other SpecOps unit could even consider going in there to undertake this kind of job. You were a Seal, so you know we have people like DEVGRU who could do the job.”
Talley nodded. The United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group was also known as DEVGRU. Their Seal Team Six had come to the notice of the public after their spectacular raid, Operation Neptune Spear, when they’d finally turned Osama bin Laden into fish food. Talley nodded as Brooks continued.
“We can’t use them for this one. We have to have the consensus of all of the NATO nations for a job like this with so many different countries involved. That’s why it’s in your lap.”
“I see. Who else knows about the plan?”
Brooks was thoughtful for a few moments. “You mean have we consulted with our NATO partners? The answer is no. SACEUR has been kept informed, of course, but in the strictest secrecy.”
The Supreme Allied Commander Europe, SACEUR, was the head of Allied Command Operations. He was responsible for the conduct of all NATO military operations.
“What about those CIA guys at MacDill? They knew we were mounting an operation.”
“Wel
l, yeah, they had to know what we were looking for, so they could extract the right information out of Fard. By the way, we’re letting him go home.”
“You what!”
“I know, it sounds crazy. But his ass is ours, now that we have evidence of his predilection for abusing and murdering young boys. Turns out it’s nothing new to the CIA. They have quite a file on him, including photos. Once they showed it all to him, he was more than willing to help us. He’ll be your contact in Tehran, and we hope he’ll lead you to the man at the top.”
Talley thought about that. “I find it hard to believe he doesn’t know the identity of this man. Especially, as he was part of the Caicos operation.”
“He says he was never told. Either it’s the truth, or he’s too frightened to come clean. We think it’s genuine. The head honcho is very, very careful to hide his identity. Even so, we’re confident that Fard knows enough to lead you to him.”
Talley nodded, his mind whirling as he calculated the chances for the operation to succeed. They weren’t good. He stared at Admiral Brooks.
“Sir, to be clear on this, you want Echo Six to infiltrate Iran, make contact with Imam Fard, a pervert and murderer, and he’ll help us identify an unknown man at the top of a supposed terrorist organization. Then we locate him and take him out. Don’t you think the Iranians will have something to say about it? They’ll be after us from the moment we arrive in country."