by Eric Meyer
Brooks smiled. “Putting it like that, it does seem like a tall order. But you’ll be going in under deep cover.”
“What kind of cover?” Talley asked suspiciously.
Brooks grinned. “You’ll be with an archaeological group. They’re on a research project to uncover hidden qanats close to the Garden of Niavaran, about fifteen klicks from Tehran. They’re short of money, like these people always are, so we offered to help them with enough grant funding to pay for their research for an extra year. In return, they'll allow you to use their operation as a cover.” He grinned. “Be sure the Iranians don’t find out, those scientists would be pretty pissed.”
“Admiral, what the hell is a qanat? I’m no archaeologist. You know that. None of us are.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I had to read up on it too. A qanat is an underground tunnel, designed to carry water from the mountains to the towns and cities. The Persians built them three thousand years ago. Some of them are still in use today, but many have been lost, and archaeologists believe there’s a wealth of history hidden in some of the forgotten ones. Folks used them to hide valuables, documents, and so on during times of war.”
Talley nodded his understanding. “So how do we join this outfit?”
“The helos will take you in at night from our base in Iraq. You’ll land somewhere quiet out in the desert, and they’ll meet you, or you can walk in if the helos can get you close enough.”
“When do we go in?”
You have seven days to prepare, Lieutenant.” Brooks looked at the file on his desk again. “Today is Friday, so you can get straight down to Ramstein in Germany and meet up with your unit. They’ll arrive there early tomorrow, so they’ll be ahead of you. We’re flying Professor Wenstrom in too. He’s the director of the dig. We’ll bring him in from Iran to Ramstein for a quick visit to meet you guys. We found a pretext to get him away from the dig, something about needing to consult with experts and look at some research in Berlin University. So you’ll have a chance to get acquainted before you go in. The following Friday, we’ll transport you and your men to Balad Airbase in Iraq. The 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment will be waiting for you with a couple of their modified MH-60M Black Hawks. They’re the new silenced helos for launching SpecOps missions.”
“We’ve traveled in them before, Admiral. And the Night Stalkers, you don’t need to sell them to me. Those guys could snatch the devil from hell if you tasked them to do it.”
“They would at that,” he agreed. "They’re the best in the business.”
“But seven days, Admiral? It’s not a lot of time. It looks patched together to me. We’ll be going in on a wing and a prayer, with almost zero intel. It may not be time to locate and take out this guy. Sir, I respectfully suggest you delay the mission, at least for a few weeks until we can go in better prepared.”
Admiral Brooks stared at him for a moment. Then he sighed, “Yeah, I hear you, Lieutenant, but the truth is we don’t have time on our side. You see there’s something else that I haven’t mentioned yet. Under interrogation, Fard revealed some information that caught us unaware. You’re aware of the ongoing row over the Iranian nuclear program, of course.”
“It’s no secret. The whole world knows they want a nuke. Always have, always will.”
“That about sums it up, yeah. And they’re close, real close, but close isn’t good enough for some of them, and they still have a lot of ground to make up. Here’s the kicker; Iran borders onto Pakistan, and they have close ties to the Pakistanis. According to our tame imam, the Revolutionary Guard has made a deal with their allies in Pakistan. They plan to divert two live nuclear weapons and transport them across the border. Once the Iranians have them, they can clone the technology. It’ll be the final link they need to own their own nuclear arsenal in months, rather than years. Remember, this is not the regular Iranian military we’re talking about. It's much worse, the nutjobs in the Revolutionary Guard. We’re staring a nuclear holocaust in the face.”
Talley shook his head in disbelief. The nightmare scenario was hard to believe. “Are you sure this Imam Fard was telling the truth? Not just giving us stuff he thought we’d want to hear, to get a ‘get out of jail free’ card.
“We’re as certain as we can be. He knows there’s no going back to the way things were. We have him on tape, his confession, the photographs of his earlier transgressions, and pictures of the kid’s body on Caicos. He just wants to survive, and he’s walking a very thin tightrope right now. So yeah, we’re pretty certain. To put it bluntly, Lieutenant, what started as a straightforward raid to take out a bunch of drug traffickers opened a can of worms, or perhaps more accurately a nest of vipers, and one viper in particular, this guy at the top, Arash. You have to find him, and toast his ass, Talley. This craziness has to come to an end.”
Brooks glanced down at the file again, but Talley could see he wasn’t looking at the documents it contained.
“We can’t delay for a few weeks, not even a few days. You fly to Ramstein tomorrow to meet up with your men. In one week, you travel to Iraq and infiltrate Iran. You'll have a week in the country to complete the mission.”
Talley went to object again, but he held up his hand.
“You won’t be on your own. CIA has an attaché in the Tehran Embassy. He’s their Head of Station. His name is Miles Preston, and he’ll be your primary contact when you’re inside Iran. He’ll help you any way he can. As soon as you have a name and a face, you take him out. The critical path is the transfer of the nukes, and it’s due to take place two weeks from today. That’s your deadline, there’s no alternative. You have to make this work.”
“What you’re asking seems almost impossible, Admiral. There isn’t enough time.”
Brooks’ eyes drilled through him. “Nevertheless, Talley, those are your orders, or are you telling me your team is not up to it? I can always get someone else. Delta Six is between missions right now.”
Talley weighed up the odds.
If I turn the mission down, maybe the recently reformed Delta Six, under the command of that fiercely competitive Frenchman, Sous-Lieutenant Michel Dubois, will be sent in. No way! Echo Six is proven in a number of bloody engagements. Like the famous English general, the Duke of Wellington, my outfit has never lost a battle. This mission will be a hard and bitter fight, and we'll need every ounce of our skill and strength to win. Maybe it's stubborn pride. Maybe it's our duty. I can’t say which.
“We’ll do it, Sir.”
“Good. In that case, let’s get down to the details.”
They spent the next hour going over every scrap of intel that Brooks had to show him. Both men looked up when there was a knock at the door.
“Come!”
Sergeant Williams came into the office. “Sir, you have a meeting in twenty minutes with SACEUR.”
“Okay, Sarge, I’ll wrap this up.” He looked at Talley, “You’ll stay in Brussels overnight. Sergeant Williams has accommodation arranged for you. You can take the opportunity to meet one of the archaeologists. We invited Doctor Frost over here to discuss the details of the research grant. I understand you’re in the same hotel as the Doctor. It’ll save time if you get acquainted now.” He relaxed and smiled. “There’s just one thing I need to cover. You’re getting your promotion. When you return from this job, you’re moving up a grade to O-4, Lieutenant Commander, that’s NATO code OF-3. Between you and me, you’re fast-tracked for early promotion to O-5, the rank of Commander. Congratulations, you’ve earned it.”
Talley felt mixed emotions.
Commander Talley? It sure sounded good. Except…
“Sir, what about my unit, Echo Six?"
“All told, you’ll be in responsible for eight units, including Echo Six. Delta Six too, who I believe you worked with in the past.”
“So I lose my field command of Echo Six?”
“Yeah, your new rank will mean you’ll be more of an administrative position. You’ll be coordinating operations at tim
es, but you won’t actually be leading missions in the field. You’ll be too senior.”
“I see.”
Brooks stared at him. “There a problem with that?”
“I’m not happy about leaving active operations, Sir.”
“It happens to us all, Talley. Someone has to direct things behind the scenes.”
“What if I refuse the promotion, Sir?”
The Admiral’s face lost its smile. “Don’t do anything stupid, Son. You’ll go where you’re ordered. This isn’t the Boy Scouts.”
“No, Sir, I realize that.”
“Good. Believe me, working behind the scenes can be every bit as rewarding as being out in the field. A successful operation is just as satisfying, no matter what part you play in it.”
“I understand that, Sir.”
“Fine.” He stood up. “Good luck. I guess you’ll need it where you’re going.”
They shook hands, exchanged salutes, and Talley left.
Jesus Christ, they’re taking my unit from me! It’s not what I signed up for! How the hell can I stop it?
He waited while Williams called the hotel, speaking in fluent French, the lingua franca of Brussels. He ended the call and turned to Talley.
“It’s the Brussels Marriott Hotel, Lieutenant. Rue Auguste Orts, in the center of Brussels, just ask your driver. I’ll call for a pool car to take you out there. You’ll need to grab your case on the way out,” he reminded him.
“No Mercedes Benz this time, Sergeant?”
“I doubt it, Sir. They’re using mid-range Peugeot saloons; they’re a compact. Not as luxurious as the Mercedes, but it’ll get you there.”
“What about this Doctor Frost? How will I recognize him?”
“Good question. When I made the booking, I arranged for dinner at 2000 hours this evening. After you’ve gone, I’ll call them back and ask them to put you at the same table. You can talk over dinner.”
Talley nodded. “Sounds good to me. Except that I know nothing of archaeology, so I doubt the conversation will be exciting. What’s he like, this academic?”
“I haven’t met him, Sir, but I can well imagine.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be an interesting evening.”
Williams smiled and escorted him through the labyrinth of NATO Headquarters. He retrieved his case, and Williams said goodbye. Several minutes later, he was sitting in a compact car with his knees almost up to his chin, driving through the tortuous traffic of Brussels on his way to the Marriott, and the certainty of an awkward, long and boring evening with Doctor Frost.
He took the stairs down to the lobby. He felt like he needed exercise after the transatlantic flight and the briefing with Admiral Brooks. Maybe he’d checkout the hotel gym if there was time. He smiled wryly to himself.
Time is one thing I don’t have. Right now, it’s more precious than gold.
He barely noticed the room even though it was opulent compared to normal officers' quarters. The furnishings were plush, Euro-chic, and a fine wrought iron balcony overlooked the central courtyard. The building itself was a fine example of solid, traditional European architecture, set in downtown Brussels, but Talley had no eyes for its undeniable charm. His thoughts were on the operation that would take him and his unit into a country with one of the harshest regimes in the world. He reminded himself of that country’s harsh brutality if the worst came to the worst. Yet his fate was as nothing compared to what was at stake. If they failed, and the Iranians managed to produce nuclear weapons, it could mean the end of any safety and stability for the West. The threat posed by drug trafficking was minor, compared to the threat of an Iranian sponsored nuclear holocaust.
What was it Admiral Brooks described Ahmadinejad as? Full of piss and wind, yeah, maybe he is. But if he commands a nuclear arsenal, the fallout from his missiles will be carried by the winds to spread over a huge area as they impact the territory of Israel. Or any of his neighbors he feels like wiping off the face of the planet.
He reached the lobby and saw the restaurant in front of him. The maitre d' guarded the entrance, and he approached him.
“My name is Talley. I have a table booked with a Doctor Frost?”
The man inclined his head gravely. “Certainement, Monsieur Talley. If you would follow me, Doctor Frost has not arrived yet.”
Maybe the crusty old academic won’t show. Perhaps the lurid delights of Brussels were too much for him, and he’s gone out to get laid in one of the city’s many brothels. Maybe the academic life isn’t so bad after all.
He took his seat and studied the menu. After less than a minute, he looked up as a shadow loomed over him.
“Excuse me, is this table taken?”
He caught his breath as he stared at the vision standing before him, a girl, or more accurately a young woman. Her hair was medium length, dark brown and lustrous, and styled in waves that cascaded over one side of her forehead. He noticed she had a mannerism of continually pushing it back while she waited for him to reply. Her skin was mid-cream, hinting at some exotic bloodline in her ancestry. Her eyes were wide-set, thick-lashed and dark brown, the same rich color as her hair. She didn’t appear to be wearing makeup that he could see. Not that he was an expert, but her beauty was clearly a part of her, not painted on from a bottle. She had a hint of mystery about her, something dark, exotic. But the overwhelming effect was like physical jolt, and he felt a pang of regret that she wouldn’t be sharing his table.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but yeah, it’s taken. I’m waiting for a Doctor Frost.”
She looked at him for a few moments, weighing him up.
“I am Doctor Frost.”
Jesus Christ!
He scrambled to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am, I mean, Doctor. Please, take a seat. I’m Talley, Lieutenant Talley.”
She gave him a smile that enveloped him like a warm ray of sunshine.
“Please, call me Anika, Lieutenant.”
“I’m Abe. I was just trying to work out the menu. It’s all in French.”
She looked at him curiously. “Would you allow me to order?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
I’d allow you to anything, anything at all.
Her English accent seemed to make her more exotic, more interesting, and more desirable. She called a waiter and ordered the food and wine in what sounded to him like perfect, fluent French. They chatted, and he waited to ask her about the archaeological dig. It was all he could think of to say. He felt awkward and tongue tied, like a teenager on his first date. There was a silence for a few moments, and then they both spoke at once. He smiled. “Go ahead, you first.”
She grinned back at him. “I was curious about you, Abe.”
“Curious, in what way?” He took a sip from his wine.
“I’ve never been on a dig with a spy before. How do you get into that kind of work?”
He almost choked on his drink.
“I, er, well, I… What makes you think I’m a spy?”
She chuckled. It was a tinkling, musical sound that sent shivers through him.
“They’ve asked Professor Wenstrom to help a military unit stay out of sight of the authorities, so what else would it be? Or are you planning to assassinate Mahmoud Ahmadinejad?”
He laughed to hide his discomfort. “That’s crazy, of course we’re not planning to assassinate Ahmadinejad, or anyone else.”
“That’s good to know. My boss Professor Wenstrom isn’t happy about it. I spoke to him on the phone before I left London, and he’s mortified that the only way to extend his research is to help the military. I doubt he’d believe you about the President. He’s something of a conspiracy freak, especially about the military. If it weren’t for the money, he’d have refused outright. To be honest, he dislikes anything American.”
“But we’re NATO, not American.”
She smiled. “He doesn’t see much difference. He just needs the money.”
“Right. It always comes down to the money, doesn’t it?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “It sure does in the archaeology business.”
“We have budgets too, in the military, in NATO.”
“A bit bigger than ours,” she grinned.
“I guess. But look, we’ll be there to gather intelligence, that’s all. Not to kill President Ahmadinejad.”
She nodded. “That’s a shame. I’ve met the President on two occasions, and he’s a slimy little misogynist as well as an anti-Semite, who deserves to have his ass kicked. I loathe all racists, they’re a bunch of bottom-feeding parasites.” She suddenly smiled, “Forget it for now, I’m ranting on. You’ll be talking to Wenstrom before you go out there? I gather he’s traveling to Ramstein on a NATO flight.”
“That’s right. Tell me about yourself, Anika, and this project you’re working on. What’s it all about?”
He was fascinated by her and just wanted to keep her talking, and maybe something more.
No, I can’t get that lucky.
She looked surprised. “Me? What can I say? I finished my doctoral thesis two years ago. It’s about the impact of ancient cultures on art during the golden era of Persia. You’d probably find it boring.”
She could recite the Brussels tram timetables to me, and I’d find them interesting.
“Not at all. Tell me about this project at Niavaran.”
She launched into a long and detailed explanation. “You know about the qanats.”
“Not much, I’ve heard of them, that’s all.”
“Okay then, you know why they were built. In 400 BC, Prince Cyrus the Younger rebelled against his brother, King Ataxerxes. Cyrus was killed in battle, but it laid bare the weakness of the Persian Empire, which until then was considered impossible to conquer. And then Alexander invaded.”
He felt confused. “You mean THE Alexander?"
“Alexander the Great, exactly. During the invasion, many of the qanats were destroyed to deny fresh water to the invaders. In addition, they were a place the population could use to store their possessions; the time honored tradition of burying your valuables when soldiers march across your land. Our dig, at least in part, is to discover these long forgotten qanats, and try to excavate some of the lost artifacts from that period.”