The cold water left a metallic taste in Crocker’s mouth. “Not much in what sense?”
“Operationally, I’d say, they’re useless. They can help you get around, show you places, hide you, feed you, et cetera. But with the exception of maybe two individuals, I’m not sure they can even fire a gun.”
“Tell me about the composition of the group,” Crocker said.
“There are about ten core members. Four of them are women. All of them are college educated, modern people. They hate the religious repression and long for a more open, tolerant, European-style representative government. The leader is a man called Ramin Kian, who was a former engineer in the army. He’s the oldest; I’d say late thirties, maybe forty. Ramin’s an emotional guy, passionate, but something of a flake.”
“A flake in what sense?”
“What I mean is, when he gets excited about something, he can be highly engaged and effective. But he loses interest quickly. He’s also a coward.”
“Does he know anything about this operation?” Crocker asked.
“I communicated with him last night-I can’t reveal how. But I can tell you, he’s very pumped about it, which is a positive.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him the U.S. was interested in launching an attack against Quds Force headquarters or possibly some of its leaders. He said an attack on Quds Force HQ is impossible.”
“Did he explain why?”
“Why? Because the building is heavily fortified and the streets around it are barricaded and monitored twenty-four/seven.”
“There’s always a way,” Crocker said.
“I’m repeating what he told me. In his opinion, any assault on their HQ would require helicopters and at least two dozen heavily armed troops, so it’s out of the question.”
“In his opinion.”
“We’re relying on the intel he provides, so his opinion counts a ton, especially in the minds of Donaldson and other decision makers,” Smith said.
Crocker nodded. “I get it.”
Smith’s eyes followed a female golfer who was passing by the window. “Ramin had another suggestion,” he said.
The waitress arrived with Crocker’s food. As he bit into the sandwich, Smith asked, “You ever hear of Futsal?”
“Futsal. No.”
“It’s a variation of soccer that’s played indoors on a hard surface. Two teams of five players each, one of whom is the goalkeeper.”
“Yeah?”
“Apparently it’s a big sport in Iran, with professional leagues. It happens to be very popular in Ahvaz. Ramin has a close friend who owns a team and an arena. He says Farhed Alizadeh and General Suleimani are big fans of a team called Farsh Sari, in division two of the super league. They regularly attend games at this guy’s arena and sit together in specially reserved seats.”
Crocker stopped chewing and said, “Sounds promising.”
“I think so, too. Ramin thinks he can enlist his friend’s help, and maybe your team can ambush them as they’re arriving at or leaving a game.”
“What’s the name of Ramin’s friend?” Crocker asked.
“Adab Mashhad.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much. I’ve confirmed that he’s the owner of the Shohada Gaz Arena in Ahvaz. He also holds a prominent position in the national drilling company. Ramin says the two of them studied engineering together.”
“When is this Farsh Sari team playing next?” Crocker asked.
“Ramin’s looking into that now. I’m speaking to him again tonight.”
By ten that night Crocker had sketched out a plan and selected Akil, Mancini, and Ritchie to go with him. He had spoken to each man and told them they were going to be dropped inside Iran with orders to attack several high-priority targets. The likelihood of them being either captured or killed was high. All three volunteered.
If and when the op was approved by the president, the four men would travel with John Smith via CIA jet to Al Taqaddum Air Base outside Baghdad. From there they’d be ferried south by helicopter to Basrah, which was roughly a two-hour drive or twenty-minute helicopter ride to Ahvaz, just over the border in Iran. The details of their insertion were still being worked out by the CIA.
Crocker sat in Sutter’s office with Mancini and Sutter’s second in command, going over the PLO-patrol leader’s order-that was standard practice in all ST-6 missions. They discussed insertion, extraction, infiltration, actions at the objective, movement, emergency medical evacuation, communications, loss-of-comms plan, hand signals, concealment, covers, weather, clothing, supplies, specialized equipment, weapons, medical supplies, first-, second-, and third-line gear, and contingencies.
A few minutes before midnight, Sutter’s phone rang. It was Donaldson with the news that the president had okayed the mission. Crocker’s team was going in deep black, which meant they couldn’t carry anything that identified them in any way-no IDs, photos, dog tags, U.S. military weapons.
“What’s the timing?” Sutter asked into the speakerphone.
“The team Farsh Sari is playing in Ahvaz the night after tomorrow, so they have to launch now,” Donaldson answered.
“That’s the twenty-fifth, correct?”
“Affirmative.”
Sutter looked at Crocker, who nodded, barely able to contain his excitement. “You can tell the president they’re ready to go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
You armed me with strength for battle; you humbled my adversaries before me.
– Psalm 18:39
His team was waiting at the airport, but Crocker couldn’t leave without explaining to Holly what he was about to do, even though his orders forbade him from discussing his missions with anyone. He’d never broken that pledge in almost ten years of working with ST-6 and Black Cell. But tonight he was making an exception.
She was asleep when he got home. He woke her, sat facing her, and holding both her hands said, “I want you to know that I’m leaving tonight on a mission to go after Farhed Alizadeh in Iran. And I couldn’t be more excited.”
She looked at him and trembled, and in that moment seemed to fully understand the gravity of what he was telling her. “I can’t say I’m not pleased,” she said, “but I’m also scared. Thank you for telling me. And please, please, come back.”
“Don’t tell Jenny about the mission, but I want both of you to know that if something happens, I’m still the luckiest man alive. I’ve been blessed with a beautiful, intelligent daughter that I don’t deserve, and the most wonderful wife I could have ever imagined.”
“Tom, I love you so much…”
He kissed her, pulled away, and took one last glance at the room, Holly on the bed and on the wall their framed wedding picture in which a look of absolute joy showed on her face. He wanted to take those images with him, even to the other side of death.
Starting down the stairs, he realized there was one other thing he wanted to take with him. Stepping lightly and carefully, he entered Jenny’s room and planted a kiss on her sleeping head, taking a moment to record her delicate profile, which always gave him joy and reminded him of his first wife.
With both images stored deep inside, he descended the stairs to the office, where he grabbed one of the prepacked bags for undercover summer ops, with a couple of black T-shirts and pants, toothbrush, hunting knife, and black Nikes. He stopped in the kitchen, pulled two energy bars and a bottle of water out of the cabinet, then patted Brando’s head and told him to look after the girls until he got back before exiting into the night.