Her text message instructed her to deliver a prescribed quantity of a specific item. She knew the items to be illegal and extremely dangerous. The only solace she had was that the delivery system for this disease required complex mechanisms to create an efficient cascade effect, which required sophisticated dilution to weaponize as an aerosol. A hard combination to come by, she thought. Regardless, she just wanted her family safely back. She was going to obey.
* * *
The WHO in Copenhagen was celebrating an anniversary for which they had catered food and drinks to satisfy all manner of tastes, given the diversity of cultures employed at the facility. The place was bustling with vans bringing tables and chairs, flowers and table settings, as well as food and drinks. Everyone had to go through the main gate, for validation against a database of approved vendors and visitors. The building courtyard could accommodate over 500 people seated in a fully enclosed and climate-controlled outdoor/indoor structure. They assembled the kitchen and service areas, on the outside, next to the inner courtyard structure, within one of the star wedges. Stoves and freezers were set up. Generators were humming. That particular wedge area had never been so active.
One of the caterers provided Persian caviar. They were a local business with great relationships with an Iranian importer out of France, who specialized in Beluga, Osetra and Sevruga caviars. The Paris-based importer had their own facilities at the port of Anzali, in the Gilan province in northern Iran, from where they processed, packaged and shipped worldwide. The caterer dropped off 20 kilos, a variety of 250g tin cans, all on ice and ready to serve. Additionally, there was a small cooler containing five 500g containers of Beluga marked for delivery to Yasmin Akbari, with a congratulatory note mentioning her new role at the WHO.
* * *
There was a knock on Yasmin’s office door. A delivery person from the mailroom walked in with the package, handing it to her with a smile.
“I believe this was brought in for you. Congratulations, your very own caviar.”
Yasmin knew the time had arrived for her to do as instructed. She opened the cooler to inspect the interior. The thermometer was at the perfect range and the timer had 36 hours left on it. The package looked like a normal travel cooler from the outside, but the inside had two layers of sophisticated lining. The outer lining contained a filler material sufficient to pass the highest of International Safe Transit Association (ISTA) requirements. Coolant gel filled the inner lining, enough to last between twenty-four and forty-eight hours. Finally, a small battery-powered motor created suction for final vacuum sealing. These people were not amateurs. She took out the five Caviar tins, which were actually glass jars painted to look like the traditional tins. Each had integrated rubber rings on the lid with double snap locks. Everything was airtight. Each jar could hold three petri dishes. She had to fill all of them, according to the instructions.
* * *
The festivities finally started. Yasmin began her walk down to the gathering. Sometime during the evening, she would commit a major crime, with potentially devastating consequences, all to save her family. Once in the center courtyard, she grabbed a glass of champagne and a small plate of food, pretending to be part of the celebration. She was tightly holding both, but neither drinking nor eating. She was too nervous. She carried on with the small talk, intermixed with some details about her groups’ plans, and any other pleasantries she could manage with a growing knot in her stomach.
It was almost time, she thought.
Finally, everyone sat down for the presentations and speeches. She would commit the crime during this formal part of the event. She quietly slipped out, walking down a corridor off the main courtyard and towards the elevator to her office. From her office, she grabbed the cooler, heading back to the elevator and up to the bio-storage labs in the uppermost floor. At the main lab, she slid her card through the reader, and faced the biometric reader for a retinal scan. Lights turned green and the lock clanked open. She entered a small changing room where all the safety suits were stored and where a secondary door placed her into an airtight hallway. She dressed herself in a safety suit, pulling it over her fancy evening dress, and then pressed the entry code on the large keypad. The second door opened. She entered the glass hallway. Sensors checked the air. All was good. The third door opened.
She walked into freezer room C-25 and grabbed fifteen empty petri dishes from storage. She then proceeded to freezer room K-112, where she entered and removed fifteen Hemorrhagic Smallpox dishes. She peeled and switched the RFID tags on all petri dishes, then placed the empty dishes back in the place of the smallpox samples. She worked quickly but carefully. Her heart was beating super-fast, like a timpanist on speed. She felt every pulse all the way to the tips of her fingers. She opened the travel cooler, took out the five fake caviar glass jars, and placed three smallpox petri dishes in each. She closed the jars, placing them back in the cooler. She closed the cooler lid and pressed the vacuum seal button. The cooler was now sealed, airtight, and locked, hopefully. Unbeknownst to her, the embedded explosive was set as part of the sealing process. Should anyone open the box without the proper code, it would explode.
The package was ready for shipment. She nervously walked over to the entry and exit glass hallway. This would be the test. The sensors were so delicate they could detect the smallest microscopic trace of a stray biological, which would immediately trigger the alarms and lock her inside. Again, she keyed in her code on the opposite keypad and the doors slid open. She entered, holding the cooler tight against her body. The doors closed and sealed tight. The air was pressurized and the room was vacuum shut. Holding the container tight against her, she could feel the air circulating around her. All collected air samples would then run through the sensors, running through all the tests, but conducting a deeper test for items based on which freezers she opened. It was a much longer process then the entry test. It seemed like an eternity. Finally, the lights turned green, unlocking and opening the second door. She was hoping to trigger the alarm, so they would stop her. In the end, she was more worried about her family than the world. The quality of the cooler made her feel slightly better. It had passed all of the tests and it seemed safe for transport.
She walked back to the courtyard area, finding the caterers responsible for the caviar. She handed the container back to them.
“Thank you very much for this very nice and generous gift. However, we are not allowed to accept gifts of any kind. Please return this to the sender with my regrets.”
She walked away and back to the courtyard area. Finding her seat, she sat, picking up a glass of water with both hands shaking. She took a sip. A sip she could hardly swallow, as nervous and scared as she was.
The package was now on its way.
10 | The Minders
Bobby had been in custody for over a week. Other than the occasional treadmill walk, in the fully equipped gym, they kept him locked up. They served him three meals a day. The menu consisted of bread, cheese and tea for breakfast. For lunch, they served him rice and some koresht, a Persian meat or veggie stew, and more tea. Finally, they served a sandwich for dinner, with soda or juice. The food was excellent. How he loved Persian food. Yet, he was beginning to crave a simple burger or pizza, and a nice cold beer.
With the exception of his minder, no one else visited him. He still had no idea what the reasons were and when they would let him go. His minder, Hamid Parvaresh, visited daily for their chat session. Apparently, guests had a designated person who watched over them. They maintained the guest’s sanity, with deliberate and routine human interaction.
In Bobby’s case, it was a well-informed and well-educated minder, fluent in English with a slight Bostonian accent, who engaged him in conversation. Not the characteristics one would expect of a foreign jailer, nuanced in all things American. He had his favorite football teams and easily mentioned his favorite players and their stats. He was versed in most of the new sitcoms, their plot lines. It seemed as though he was li
ving in the U.S., and just arrived back that morning. It sometimes felt like two guys chin wagging at a bar, over some beers, after a long day at work.
Parvaresh took a liking to Bobby. His stays were becoming longer and the conversations directed at things Bobby and Parvaresh had in common, with less trivial fillers. They both loved Massive Multiplayer Online games and shared several in common, none of them playable from within Iran by normal means. Instead, all games were reachable via their Qatar or Turkey satellite offices and their servers, or via an ever-changing Virtual Private Network (VPN) list. Iran scoffed at such childish pastimes and, most importantly, video games. Most games violated sharia law. However, The Center and its need to access all things western and foreign had established several hard-lined offices in neighboring Turkey and Qatar. Piggybacking on the fiber optics lines the countries had built between themselves, a decade earlier, allowed for the ever-connected offices. The Qatar servers filled a Persian Art Gallery’s back office, while the Turkey servers filled the Iranian Bank Mellat branch storage rooms. The art gallery was a highly profitable business. However, the bank branch was but a shell of itself, after the U.S. imposed sanctions on Iranian banks. Because of its location and super security, that particular branch was to remain open no matter what.
The Center tech lab had finally hacked Bobby’s hard drive. It was much harder than the average traveler’s machine. It had a very strong password, which logged you in and decrypted the drive. It seems the conversations between Parvaresh and Bobby did come in handy. Special Artificial Intelligence (AI) software would take the recorded conversations, digitize them, and extract key words and constructs, to create a personalized dictionary. They extracted the password within days, a brute force method, but using an intelligent dictionary, another one of many programs designed and written by Iranians, while working at U.S. companies and organizations, who then shared with The Center. That particular program came by way of the National Security Agency (NSA), crudely titled Smart DIC.
* * *
“Good afternoon, Bobby.” Parvaresh entered the room carrying Bobby’s laptop.
“I’ve been instructed to allow usage of this laptop during our visits. Should you want to read old emails, look at pictures, or maybe work on projects you have going on.”
Bobby happily reached out, taking his laptop.
“And, just so you know, we’ve cleared the password, fully inspected all files and programs, and have even removed certain ones.”
“Is there any Wi-Fi?” Bobby asked with a smile.
“Not even a hint. Not even for us. Everything here is hard-lined. All outside windows are double paned with reflective gel fillers. They insulated all walls with aluminum-based material. And, every inch of the building has frequency masks,” Parvaresh proudly proclaimed, but with a hint of sadness. He missed checking his private messages during the day.
“So, no Wi-Fi, no cell service, and yet you have a cell phone hanging on your belt,” Bobby said as he opened his laptop.
Parvaresh took off his cell phone and confessed his love for all things Android. He had recently ordered the new Nexus phone from one of their U.K. based businesses, on which he flashed a custom operating system, a ROM. He placed it next to Bobby on the table. He was showing off.
Bobby found one of his favorite playlists and began playing the tunes on his laptop. He then took the phone and started casually looking at it. He felt the weight, the general feel, the screen and color resolution, the basics. He had one just like it at home. Handing it back to Parvaresh, he walked over to his bed and sat leaning against the back wall.
“That’s a great phone. I think I’ll order one if I ever get back home.”
“You can have mine. If they ever let you leave.” Parvaresh offered.
“You know, Mr. Parvaresh, I can help you with your phone. I’ve built an entire custom ROM for my last phone and still have all the code on my laptop. I have nothing better to do.”
Parvaresh perked up. Custom ROMs were phone operating systems with a cult following, typically fine-tuned to a particular taste. Some people liked their phones highly customizable, some liked their phones super-fast and light, while others liked it barebones with only the original software. Bobby could see that Parvaresh was a believer. Custom ROMs are like porn to some geeks.
“If you could make a wish list of features, what would you like to have on your ROM?” Bobby said, having felt the fish bite on the hook.
Bobby engaged Parvaresh in a multi-faceted conversation about Android. He just wanted to listen to his tunes for a bit longer and didn’t want Parvaresh to leave. They discussed all the features that phones should have, the things they could do with it, the look and feel modifications, and customizations that make it personal and unique. Clearly, Bobby had found a deep passion in Parvaresh, and the reason why he always carried his phone on his belt. They spoke for as long as the battery lasted on the laptop.
The tunes finally ended and Parvaresh excused himself while collecting the laptop. At the door, he stopped and agreed to a longer discussion on the subject, promising to bring the laptop charger next time.
11 | The County Office
Jason was in the Denver Marriott City Center hotel. Business travelers occupied most of the rooms, making it a great place to be anonymous. He was sitting in his room with a pot of coffee nearby, inspecting all the documents he had received from Mike. He was focusing on two critical clues in the pile of paperwork, the timing and the cavity. The timing and location strongly coincided with the upcoming Super Bowl, planned at the Super Dome that Mike’s company had built. Then there was the armrest cavity. It was bothersome, in that it could hide something. The game, the half-time live show, and global viewership all made perfect sense for a visible attack. He studied the new seat designs in detail, and imagined himself a terrorist.
What would I do?
The blue LED lights were an interesting addition, not to mention the self-contained battery and solar charging kits. Everything turned back to the timing and the cavity. Cavities, or hollow shaped pieces, were more expensive to build in the injection-molding business, but used less plastic. Solid plastic armrests would be cheaper, faster, and easier to manufacture, but used more plastic and were heavier.
The new hollow space requirement irked him greatly. He felt the space was useful, for something. He began to take detailed measurements of the space. It was slightly larger than a Churchill cigar. Room enough for a small amount of explosives. Between the limited explosive weight and hard plastic wrapping, it would be a minimal outward explosion. However, if each seat had a small amount, collectively it could be a powerful statement.
How do you make them all go off at the same time? Or, at all? He thought.
Security, the week of the game, was near perfect but not good enough for this plan. Bomb sniffing dogs would run the full course and sweep every seat, but were unlikely to find built-in explosives embedded inside a hard casing.
He decided to move forward with the assumption that it would be explosives, and the master plan was an attack during the upcoming Super Bowl. Now there were two major objectives, save Bobby and stop the attack. He called Mike and asked if he could have an engineer meet him near the county offices with all the plans, permits and paperwork.
* * *
That afternoon, the head engineer for the superdome construction project met Jason at a café several blocks from the county office. The engineer had with him the full packet and four CD disks. He also brought a laptop containing more of the project deliverables, a massive amount of paperwork, more easily searched in digital form. He wasn’t sure what Jason wanted or what he would be looking for, so he brought everything.
They sat, over coffee, discussing the permitting process for projects of that size. They focused on the approval process and all the differing signatories who would have the final say. The engineer fanned all the new permits across the table and described systematically how one goes about getting permission for every aspect of t
he project. They reviewed all of the old permits on the laptop, matching new to old, looking for clues. The debate eventually came down to several names, and only one was of Persian origin, Mehdi Karimi. Jason felt deep in his bones, this was his man.
Was he a good guy or one of the bad ones? Finishing their coffee, Jason thanked the engineer, walked to his car and began making calls.
Within the hour, Jason had a full background check sent to his phone, including credit, criminal and DMV records, as well as recent addresses and phone numbers. Additionally, he found details on his off the book activities, namely a gambling habit, which had placed a heavy burden on his credit cards, and a debt that recently zeroed out. He had paid it off in full. None of this was enough to accuse the man, but enough to force a conversation. To be more precise, a special visit.
Jason began his surveillance of Karimi at work and at the man’s apartment. The apartment search was detailed and complete. The man was single, with an appetite for cheap food and even cheaper liquor. For all the money he made, thanks to taxpayers, he still had cheap polyester suits, wash and wear shirts, and ties a decade old in style and width. Jason knew this guy worked only to feed his habits, gambling, booze, and all things in between. At least he had a job.
The second day of surveillance allowed for another visit to the apartment during which Jason planted his video equipment. With the advent of Wi-Fi, the internet of things, and the ever-connected home computer, surveillance had become so much easier and cheaper. Jason spent just ten minutes in Karimi’s home office. He created an open guest account on his Wi-Fi, then planted and connected several mini Wi-Fi cams, all streaming and recording to servers accessible by his cell phone.
It was now time for the personal visit, time and place TBD.
Having studied Karimi for days, Jason designed a meeting specifically for this man’s state of mind and fixations. He made several stops in preparation. He visited a veterinary supply store, a home improvement store, and a Halloween costume and gag store. From each, he purchased several items to complete the ingredients he would need for his plan. Jason truly enjoyed the special visits. He prided himself on spending time to understand people, to get inside their psyche, all in order to help better facilitate conversations. He loved this part, the game, the mind fucking.
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