“I don’t care. They should … wait the last guy in that building is leaving... about time fuckers.” Henry was eager and ready.
“O.k., let’s go,” Jason said, stepping out of the car, with Henry right behind.
They briskly walked to the building, quickly picking the lock and getting inside. Henry had already done a walkabout and knew the building security not to be connected. He had called in for repairs to be sure. The building had no contracts with any security company. Before they moved another foot, they scanned for other devices. It was all clear. Henry was responsible for planting surveillance devices, while Jason was to collect hard data.
Jason worked his way to the office looking through the desk and drawers. It was empty. This was definitely a shell company. He could not find a single invoice, contract, bill, receipt, or any other clues that real business occurred at this spot.
Having taken pictures of everything in the office, he walked over to an open area where a series of computers were still on. There was a 3D printer in the corner, and a large conference table with electronics, brass tubes, and blueprints. He lifted one of the electronic boards, took several dozen pictures, front and back. He placed a quarter next to the tubes and took several more pictures from every angle. He then walked over to the 3D printer to check on the filler materials, taking some samples.
“How’s it going, Henry?” he whispered loudly.
“Don’t rush me, fucker! I need another thirty minutes.”
Jason walked to the opposite side of the warehouse. There was a walled off section with a door. He reached for the door, finding it locked. He scanned the door for electronics. There was none, so he picked the lock open. Five seconds inside the door, it hit him instantly. They were not working on explosives, but something much more dangerous. He counted two DuPont Level 4 hazmat suits, cages filled with mice and rabbits, and a gloved testing chamber. Without taking a step closer, and while standing in the doorframe, he took a bunch of super high definition pictures from every angle. He then softly and quickly stepped out, gently closing the door.
“Henry, we have to leave right now!” he said firmly as he reached for him, pulling on his shirt. This was a biohazard zone and we have to leave ASAP. They left without a trace of having been there and drove back to the motel.
At the motel, Henry and Jason both took off their clothes, throwing them into a black trash bag. Duct taping the bag shut, Henry jumped in the shower, washing himself vigorously, demanding Jason do the same.
“Come on in, I’m not going to fuck you this time,” Henry babbled through the shower of water.
Jason was not too worried about the biohazards. If it was airborne, it was too late for him. Happily, he never got close nor did he touch anything. Nonetheless, he decided to wash down as quickly as he could too. He jumped in the shower, shoving Henry to the side. The other two were deep in sleep when woken up by Henry’s yelling. It was early but not so early. One of them got up, got dressed. Shaking his head as he saw the two grown men in the shower together, he left to get coffee and donuts.
Within thirty minutes, they were dressed and waiting for the food to arrive. They had a great deal to discuss and analyze. The more time passed, the hungrier they all got. It was an adrenaline-induced hunger. The food finally arrived.
* * *
An hour into it, the food and coffee were all gone. There was nothing but crumbs left of what were four dozen donuts and bear claws. They were now on hotel coffee, the kind with which you shine your boots. The kind that tasted like bitter caffeinated cow dung warmed over. They loaded the pictures onto a laptop and all started analyzing the details. Jason also brought up the blueprint photos for Mike’s new handicapped seats. The puzzle pieces began to fit together. The dimensions of the chair cavity, the size of the brass tubing, the attached spray nozzles, and the biologicals all pointed to a mass attack. It was going to be a bio attack at the Super Bowl. The only puzzling part was the tiny electronic board and who would trigger the bio release, and how. Henry loaded up those photos, studying them for a while before he smiled.
“I know what these are,” Henry said, as he squished all the remaining donut crumbs into a small ball of calories.
They were Arduino Boards, but much smaller. They were tiny controller boards used for almost anything you can imagine. They were cheap and easy to program. They came with built in Wi-Fi and ZigBee communication chips, for a much smarter networking capability.
“These fuckers are going to connect all the tubes into a smart network. Man these guys are good.” Henry sat back down, smiling, and still hungry, but very satisfied with his expertise.
The other three men were looking at each other, as though Henry just sang the most shockingly difficult opera aria like a dazzling pro, then busted into deep and heavy laughter.
“Not bad Henry, for a redneck. Who would have thought you knew this shit,” one of Henry’s friends blurted out.
“I read, fuckers. You should try it too!” Henry glared back at his friend.
They continued to analyze every single picture from the lab. They counted the petri dishes visible through the glass door of the freezer. They identified as many of the visible equipment, and any other useful items. From the office, they found only one name. Yasmin Akbari. The name was on a congratulatory note. A note dropped back into the travel cooler by Yasmin in her rush to get the package back to the sender. The note was on the desk and in one of the pictures.
A quick background check on Yasmin yielded the source of the biologicals and its location. The puzzle was coming together. They needed to figure out what and how much Yasmin gave away and why, and to whom else other than these guys in California.
What part did she have in all of this? Who else in and outside of America was part of this plan? Jason had to find out.
This was the most sophisticated plan since 9/11. All the people involved were highly placed, professional, well educated, and socially accepted. Not the typical poor, angry, uneducated recluse one associated with acts of terror. Not the Islamists you heard about, having visited strip joints in Florida, or who had a DUI or two on their records, all jobless, hanging around some local mosque.
Jason told Henry about Bobby, asking Henry and his friends to keep a very close eye on this group. Should they make any efforts to move anything, they should do whatever it took to stop them. In the meantime, Jason needed time. He needed to get Bobby out of Iran. Henry promised to keep this all quiet and to give him all the time he needed.
Jason called his wife for a brief chat, and then booked a flight from San Francisco to Copenhagen.
* * *
Before getting on his flight, Jason sent secured emails to Mike, with a simple update, and one for Warren, detailing all of his findings. He told Warren he was on his way to Europe to follow some leads and asked for more background checks. He wanted details on Yasmin Akbari and the whereabouts of some assets with whom he had worked in the past. He had the U.S. covered, but needed people for Europe and beyond.
* * *
The flight to Europe gave Jason plenty of time to start putting together a plan. He needed to assemble some missing pieces. He needed to finalize the timing, other locations, and magnitude of the attack. He then poured over the names he had gotten from Warren. Trying to think which ones might be best equipped to help in any part of the plan. While on the plane, he drafted several emails and some text messages. He wanted them off as soon as he landed.
SAS Flight #935 finally landed in Copenhagen. Jason got through customs quickly and received his three-month short-stay visa stamped right into the passport.
“Welcome to Denmark, Mr. Jones,” the customs agent said, closing the passport, handing it back to Jason.
He was off the grid, yet knew that Warren would try to follow him and his actions. He did not want them to encroach, at least not yet. He stopped at a Tele-Denmark Communications store and bought a local SIM card and cell plan. He loaded it up, turned off the airplane mode, and then connec
ted to his secure VPN service. The emails and text messages all went off immediately. He then walked over to the rental car kiosk, inserted his credit card, and got his car model and space number. A short bus ride later, he was in the car, and checking out at the security gate. A guard scrutinized his passport, visa credit card, then finally scanned the barcode on the windshield and raised the arm.
Jason was on his way to the World Health Organization (WHO), housed in the newly built UN City.
* * *
Given that every asset had a local minder, he decided to visit Yasmin at work. He was not sure if Yasmin was a player, a pawn like Mike, or a patsy like the county clerk. The detailed dossier he received indicated nothing out of the ordinary on Yasmin. But then again, the minders too had spotless profiles. He was not going to take any chances. He was even prepared to kill Yasmin, if necessary, a step with which he was comfortable, ready and willing.
On the way to the WHO, he stopped at a local men’s store to purchase a suit and tie. He then made some calls in advance of his visit. He needed to set the stage before his visit. Without a proper invite, he could never get an appointment. He was sitting in a café, looking very much business like, when he got an email indicating he had an appointment, thirty minutes only, standing in for a representative of a U.S. pharmaceutical company. He was only twenty minutes away.
On Kalkbrænderihavnsgade Street, a star shaped skewed building housed the main European offices for the WHO. He eventually got to the main gate, where he showed his passport and received parking directions. He parked, straightened his tie, put on his suit jacket and walked to the building where he was to meet Yasmin. The place was brimming with all nationalities. In the lobby he heard so many languages, he felt as though he was at the United Nations. He was at the United Nations building, the European one. He waited no more than ten minutes before a young woman approached him.
“Mr. Jones. Yah? Would you follow me please?”
* * *
He walked up to an elevator for a ride to the second floor. It was a short walk to a very large office overlooking the deep blue waters of the Øresund.
“Hello Mr. Jones.” Yasmin walked from behind the desk to shake his hand.
“I’m Yasmin Akbari. Please have a seat.” She directed him to a conference table. She closed the office door and followed to sit across from him.
“I was told by my superiors that you were here on a short visit and needed to meet urgently. How may I be of help?” she said looking at her watch.
Jason started on his cover story. Telling her about the project for which he was responsible, what they were interested in proposing, and their imminent deadlines. She was very professional, Jason thought. She seemed relatively calm, not too nervous, not too scared, but definitely preoccupied, looking away from Jason and out through the windows, several times, for brief but revealing gazes. She either was hiding something, terribly scared, or riddled with guilt. She was clearly preoccupied with something other than work.
Jason decided to go all in. He got up, sat next to her. He wanted to hit her with some facts. To see how she reacted. He wanted to be close enough to eliminate her if needed. Once seated, he leaned closer and spoke to her in Farsi, a shock to her in and of itself, given that he was acting as an American pharmaceutical executive just a second earlier.
“They’ve kidnapped my godson and are holding him in Iran. What do they have on you?”
She just simply broke down and started crying, as though a floodgate erupted. She walked over to her desk and grabbed a fist full of tissues to blow her nose and wipe her face dry. Jason followed. She then stood in front of her office window, looking out, wiping her tears. Jason kept a close eye on her and stood close enough to react. That moment was a critical decision making time for her, fight or flight. She could not stop the tears. She sat back at the conference table, trying to compose herself.
“They have kidnapped my daughter and husband, and I’ve done a terrible thing,” she said, so burdened with fear and guilt. She told Jason everything.
She didn’t care anymore about what might happen to her. She just wanted her family back and the biologicals destroyed. I would pay for this by going to jail forever she offered. Thirty minutes were almost up, when her secretary opened the door.
“Madam Akbari, your next appointment is waiting.”
Wiping her tears away, she instructed the secretary to cancel all her remaining appointments.
“Is something wrong?” the secretary asked.
Jason stood up, telling the secretary that Ms. Akbari received a call just a few minutes ago about a death in the family and was trying to compose herself. He then led the secretary gently and politely out, closing the door.
He began asking her for more details, sharing nothing with her. She gave him all the details about the biologicals, the quantity and genetic strands that she gave them, and discussed theoretical means to weaponize and disperse the biologicals. She gave him details about her husband and daughter, and their family in Iran. She spent an additional hour jotting down everything she knew on paper. She cared not who Jason was and just wanted it over with. The guilt and fear were eating her up.
“What’s going to happen to my family? What’s going to happen to me? What am I going to do Mr. Jones?”
Jason told her a little more about the minders. Any move divergent from expectations could put her and her family at risk. He told her to stay put, act normal, and he would get back to her when he found out more. She was to talk to no one.
“By the way, do you have any nicknames for your family that only you would know?” Jason asked. To which she curiously responded with two names.
Jason thanked her and left.
He had to get to Germany, where he was to meet an old friend for help.
20 | The Punishment
Parvaresh and Bobby were eating lunch. The lunchtime conversation on that day was about video game designs and improvements made over time. Suddenly the door opened and two massive men entered, lifting Bobby right off of his chair, placing a cover over his head and dragging him out. Parvaresh sat there, mouth open, staring at the extraction process. Clearly, he was not in the loop. He tried to follow, but was rebuffed by a strong hand hitting his chest, with orders to back off.
* * *
Bobby, with his head covered, was sitting in a room tied to a chair. Bright lights were shinning right on him. He could feel the heat. A long time passed before others walked into the room. They removed his head cover. He had been in that room before. Two men made of brick were on each side. Several nicely dressed men were standing in front, speaking in English to each other. There was a video camera aimed at him, with the red record light glowing brightly. One of the nicely dressed men began speaking behind the camera, to Bobby’s dad, while the men of brick began beating Bobby.
“Mr. Shams. Let this be a lesson. Do not interfere with our plans and do as you’re told. Should you talk to anyone, ever again, your boy will be killed, slowly.”
The beating then continued for another ten minutes. They recorded the entire beating, every punch, every kick and every sound.
* * *
Later that day, Bobby found himself in a bed with bandages covering his face. His upper torso wrapped tightly. He tried to turn. His whole body was in pain. He tried to call out but every breath hurt. Breathing very slowly and shallow was the only way to endure the pain of broken ribs. He had an IV tube in one arm, monitors beeping and flashing numbers above his head. At least he was alive. He gently lifted his head, seeing several other beds in the room. In the far end of the room lay another man, in what seemed to be a similar physical state. He was motionless, looking straight at the ceiling.
* * *
Back in Denver, Mike was going through his day. Work was a great distraction during rough times. He was but half way through the day when he got a text message, from a different unknown local number. The text contained a new link to follow. The link took him to a ten-minute video of his son be
ing severely beaten. Behind the scene, you could hear a voice warning Mike to do as instructed. Mike was shattered beyond words.
* * *
Yasmin was back home after a quick workout at the gym, feeling a little stronger and better to have shared her secret with someone who might be able to help. She took a nice long refreshing shower, got into her evening home attire, and was about to serve herself some tea. She was waiting for the water to boil as she looked at a framed picture of her family. She missed them so much. She started to pour some hot water over her tea bag, when her cell phone beeped with a text message. She placed the tea on the table and checked her message. She too had a link to follow. Her video showed her husband violently beaten.
At the end, she could hear. “We are always watching. Do as you were instructed. Your daughter will be next.”
She was not sure if it was the visit by Jason or that something else had happened. She was not going to speak to anyone. She was going to obey. Fear and depression conquered her once more.
What have I done? She cried.
* * *
The Center was taking a strong stand, across all relevant assets, making their presence and power felt and well understood.
21 | The Smuggler
It was a four and a half hour drive, with one ferry ride, from Copenhagen to Hamburg. Jason called the car rental agency, extending his time and drop off point. He needed to meet some Turks he knew who were now living in Germany, people with whom he had worked before. He chose a longer drive instead of a short and quick flight. Time was critical, but a drive from Copenhagen would allow him to study his tail, to catch any who followed, be they minders or Warren’s men. The drive was indeed long, with the ferry ride the riskiest. No one was following him. No one knew where he was or where he was going. He felt safe enough to focus on planning and sending emails out to others in Europe, people who might be able to help. He wanted to have backup plans should no one be able to help.
The Minders Page 12