“Gentlemen, your thoughts?”
Ron Carter cleared his throat, looking up from the screen of his laptop. Lay had seldom seen the analyst look more rumpled, but he seemed to still be on top of his game. “I’ve sent the recording Richards made of the call over to Intel for voiceprint analysis. Once we confirm that it is the voice of the Ayatollah Isfahani, we’ll have more to go on.”
“How long might that take?”
“Anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour,” Carter replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
Kranemeyer shot him a pained look.“May I remind everyone that we’ve got a field team hanging out in the open? We need to either commit to this operation or exfil from the area ASAP.”
“There’s greater risk in moving too fast,” the analyst retorted. “Look what happened with Achmed Asefi.”
The DCS leaned forward, his eyes snapping like black coals of fire as he glared at Carter. “Running Asefi was a decision made by your old buddies at the Intelligence Directorate. My people did the best they could on the intel provided.”
“Intel they explicitly warned you was dated,” Carter shot back. “‘Proceed with caution’ was the directive, if I remember it correctly.”
“Gentlemen!” Lay brought his hands down on the table with a resounding thud. Having gotten their attention, he continued, “There was no way to predict that Asefi would choose an old-fashioned triple-cross as his best way out. That’s the human element of every op we’ve ever run. Put under fear and pressure, people react unpredictably. And can generally find a route of escape that you hadn’t even factored into the equation. Now, as Barney said, we’ve got a team in the field. Time to hold the ball, make the call. Let’s proceed under the assumption that we are dealing with the genuine item. Ron, give us the rundown. Pros and cons.”
Carter deflated, turning back to his laptop for a moment. “We need to remember above all that Yousef Mohaymen Isfahani is not a moderate by any stretch of the imagination. We didn’t try to assassinate him back in 2011 because we thought he was a fan of the West.”
“But compared to the current regime…” Deputy Director(I) Michael Shapiro interjected, adding his voice to the discussion for the first time.
“It’s the classic Overton window scenario,” Ron admitted with a shrug. “What was once radical now appears moderate. It’s a matter of perspective. With his past history, I question the wisdom of allowing him any measure of control over a field operation.”
“Control?” Kranemeyer asked skeptically. “I was in spec-ops back in the ‘90s and I can tell you first-hand that any perception of control over a field team is an illusion. I am confident in the abilities of my people to deceive the Ayatollah if necessary.”
“Even with this Major Hossein along?”
“Yes.”
“And if he’s deceiving us?”
“His story holds together thus far. We’ll have to play it by ear and monitor all communications as it goes. Right now we’re looking at very limited options. And he’s offering the best deal.”
Lay sighed. “Which brings us back to square one. Can we extract Isfahani and what are the benefits of doing so?”
“Can we? I believe it’s feasible. We have assets in Qom. As much of a paradox as it might seem, getting a high-level official like the Supreme Leader out of the country is actually easier than extracting your average rube,” Carter noted with just a trace of a smile. “Despite his fall from supreme power three years ago, he still commands enormous respect among the people of Iran, including many in governmental circles. My guess would be that he could probably fly out of the country, no questions asked.”
“And how is his defection advantageous to us?”
“If he’s willing to play ball, it could be huge. Someone of his stature publicly breaking with Shirazi…It has the potential to bring down the Iranian president.”
“Can we risk that?” The DCIA asked quietly. “Having Shirazi out of power is of obvious benefit, but the resultant power vacuum. The devil you know…”
Silence fell over the conference room as the work and bustle of the Agency continued outside its soundproofed doors.
At length, David Lay gathered his briefing folders together and closed them, rising to his feet as a signal that the meeting was closed. “Barney, contact the field team. I’ll brief the President.”
8:25 A.M. Local Time
Eight kilometers outside Jerusalem
Israel
The night was clear and cool, a light breeze stirring the blades of grass there on the Judean hillside. Harry zipped up his jacket against the chill, holding the TACSAT between ear and shoulder. Kranemeyer hadn’t finished talking.
“We’re going to bring them in, Harry. We don’t have another option.”
A long sigh escaped Harry’s lips and he looked back toward the darkened vehicle where he had left Hossein and Tex. “Yes, we do. Tex and I will handle the takedown.”
“It’s not enough. You need more people for overwatch, if nothing else. And the team is fresh. You and Richards are beat tired.”
There wasn’t much of a way to argue with that. No matter how much he might try to ignore his aching muscles. It would be good to have Hamid’s input, another pair of eyes on the situation. An opinion he trusted. Still…
“I trust it hasn’t escaped the analysis of your desk jockeys that we’ll be bringing in an agent who has likely been in contact with the very commander of the terrorist cell we’re trying to stop. Davood’s imam was photographed with al-Farouk.”
“It hasn’t. The decision has been made, Harry. Now, tell me what you need.”
“Give Hamid and the rest of the team in Crete the use of a Pave Low. Tactical load-outs for the full team. A Zodiac. I think that should be all for the moment.”
“You have a plan?”
“Working on one. You were spec-ops back in the day-what’s the easiest way to get in anywhere?”
“Water,” came the instinctive answer. “You go in by water.”
“Nothing’s changed. And, boss?”
Kranemeyer heard his agent’s voice change and stiffened, knowing what was coming. “Yes?”
“If you send Davood here, you know what’s going to happen.”
The DCS nodded as though he thought Harry could see him. “Yes, I do. Just don’t let it get in the way of your mission.”
“It won’t.” The phone clicked with the finality of death. A cell door closing.
“What did he mean?” Kranemeyer looked up to see Carol standing behind his workstation, a thick folder in her hand.
He reached into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it in blatant violation of the ‘No Smoking’ signs posted everywhere in the federal building.
Smoke curled upward from the tobacco as he looked into her eyes. “They’re going to kill him…”
8:41 P.M. Local Time
US Naval Support Activity
Souda Bay, Crete
Her eyes. The memories came flooding back and Thomas winced, looking down and away in an effort to shut them out.
“Does it hurt?” the nurse asked, a solicitous look coming into her dark eyes. So much like Estere. He shook his head as she finished changing his bandages. He had been lucky. Another inch and the slug would have broken a rib, rather than plowing a furrow in his flesh.
The door opened and Hamid poked his head in. “All finished up here?”
The nurse smiled. “Almost.”
“Could you give us a moment, please?” he responded, closing the door behind him. There was concern written on his face, a certain urgency that Thomas found himself at a loss to explain.
“Certainly.”
Hamid stepped to the side of the table as the nurse left the room. “How do you feel, Thomas?”