10:21 (Tehran Time)
Monday, October 5, 2020
Intelligence Bureau Department
Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps Headquarters
Tehran, Islamic Republic of Iran
‘’Well done, Farah! You are getting pretty good at this.’’
Farah smiled with satisfaction at that compliment from her knife fighting instructor and walked forward to the painted wooden target panel she had been using to practice her knife-throwing technique. She was finishing to collect back her four small, razor-sharp throwing knives when none other than Mossein Fadoumi, the deputy director for operations of the Intelligence Bureau and also her superior, walked into the training room and came to her. Farah at once came to attention as Fadoumi approached her: on top of being her superior, Mossein Fadoumi was a man she highly respected. Himself a veteran of clandestine operations abroad, Fadoumi genuinely cared for his agents and never sacrificed them unless grave circumstances called for martyrdom. Like Farah, Fadoumi was also proud of his Persian blood and of the illustrious history of Persian civilization, which extended for over three millenniums in the past. Also like Farah, he was incorruptible, contrary to too many Iranian officials these days, even in the ranks of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps.
‘’Good morning, sir!’’
‘’And good morning to you, Farah.’’ said Fadoumi before eyeing briefly the target, whose center area was covered with blade marks. ‘’I see that you are turning into an expert knife thrower.’’
‘’I am improving, sir…slowly.’’
‘’Always modest, are you? I like that! Could you come with me to my office? We have to discuss some operational matter in private.’’
‘’Of course, sir!’’
Giving back her knives to her instructor, she then followed Fadoumi out of the training room and down the basement hallway. Her superior spoke to her as they were walking together.
‘’By the way, you will be pleased to learn that the cash money and gems you brought back from your last mission has now appreciably inflated the pension fund used to help the families of our martyred agents. I made sure that none of it was stolen by some other official.’’
Farah gave a cautious look at Fadoumi while continuing to walk.
‘’And are there still many such officials around, sir, if I may ask?’’
‘’You may, my good Farah and, unfortunately, the answer to that is ‘yes’. I am personally pained to say that too many senior officers of the IRGC have let the attraction of luxury and power corrupt them. Many of those same senior officers also are proving to be hypocrites and let their lust for women taint both their judgments and actions, all the while claiming to respect the ideals of our faith. Maybe more women in power would be a good thing inside the IRGC. Unfortunately, I am a realist and that is only a dream for the moment, although I still can personally do a few things about that.’’
They were mostly silent after that, until they arrived at Fadoumi’s office, situated on the third floor of the IRGC’s headquarters building. Inviting Farah to sit in one of the sofas furnishing his large office, Fadoumi then sat on the same sofa while keeping a prudish distance from her.
‘’Farah, while many in the Intelligence Bureau still think of you as inferior to them simply because you are a woman, know that I strongly disagree with them and highly value your services. You have successfully completed all your missions during the last five years and your mission in Spain in 2015, while called by some here a failure because the weapons you were escorting were destroyed by Israeli warplanes before we could reroute them towards our Hezbollah allies, was in reality a success in my opinion. Apart from preventing the delivery of those weapons to ISIS, you managed to shoot down three Israeli fighter-bombers and one heavy helicopter, using some of the portable surface-to-air missiles destined for ISIS. That exploit, plus your killing of the Saudi bastard who had arranged that arms deal with ISIS, rightfully earned you a promotion to the rank of captain at that time. Well, I can tell you now that, after pleading your case with higher authorities, your last mission in Bagdad earned you another promotion, this time to the rank of ‘major’, effective today.’’
Farah felt a wave of pride and joy on hearing that. However, before she could say something, Fadoumi raised a hand to keep her silent.
‘’However, I will not make the mistake of sticking you in some office, where you would simply direct other agents. You are too skilled and talented to be wasted on simple paperwork. You in fact belong in the field, especially in sophisticated foreign places where you can use your charms, culture and intelligence to the fullest. Consider yourself from now on to be my special agent for solo operations abroad, Major Qalibaf. While you will certainly have all the support that our services can provide to you while on a mission abroad, you will be expected to do most of the main work by yourself. That is mostly in order to increase plausible deniability in case your mission turns sour.’’
Farah nodded soberly her head at that, understanding the deeper meaning of Fadoumi’s declaration: she could not allow herself to be captured alive by some enemy of Iran and will have to prevent her actions from being directly connected to Iran. That would seem both harsh and unjust by many, but she could perfectly understand the need for that. Spy work was definitely not for angels and one had to be ready to pay the price in case of failure. In that aspect, Farah firmly believed that this made Iranian agents superior to most foreign clandestine agents, who too often let their soft sentimental values override their sense of duty and sacrifice.
‘’I understand, sir. Do you have a new mission for me, sir?’’
‘’I certainly do, my dear Farah.’’ said Fadoumi before getting up from the sofa and going to his work desk, where he picked up a large envelope before returning to the sofa and handing the envelope to Farah.
‘’You will find all the information and details you will need for your next mission inside this envelope, Farah. I can tell you right away that your mission will be of paramount importance and may involve the sheer survival of our country from a possible new threat. However, you will have to do your utmost to deflect the responsibility of the consequences of your actions away from Iran, ideally by making some enemy of ours look responsible for them. You will have access to any equipment or resources you would need which cannot be traced directly to Iran. Go back to your office and study this mission file carefully, then come and see me if you have any questions or requests about it. One last thing: don’t tell anybody else about it, even in this headquarter. Secrecy and discretion will be keys to your success in that mission.’’
‘’You can count on me, sir. I will succeed or die, anonymously.’’ replied Farah, making Fadoumi nod in approval.
‘’Well said, Farah. However, your name will always be remembered here, by me. Good luck in your mission, Major!’’
‘’Thank you, sir!’’
Farah then got up from the sofa, imitated by Fadoumi, and walked out of his office, the large envelope in her hands.
13:56 (Washington Time)
Wednesday, October 14, 2020
Underground pistol shooting range
CIA headquarters complex, Langley
Virginia, U.S.A.
The junior female agent was about to enter the underground pistol shooting range of the CIA headquarters to do some pistol practice with her 9mm Glock compact pistol when a loud detonation made her jump nervously.
‘’Was that a bomb?’’ she asked to her friend, another CIA junior agent.
‘’Sure sounds like one, Sylvia. However, the blast came from inside the range.’’
As Sylvia’s friend cautiously opened the entrance door to the pistol range, another tremendous blast shook the basement, making both women twitch. Walking in, they went to the rangemaster, who wore a pair of ear defenders while watching two men doing some practice shooting. Sylvia was about to ask him a question when another blast reverberated around.
BOOM
‘’What the hell is that, mister?’’
‘’That is Agent Dean Price practicing with his hand cannon, miss.’’ replied the rangemaster while making a grimace.
BOOM
‘’And what is he shooting with?’’
‘’A Smith & Wesson 500 revolver in caliber .500 S&W Magnum, miss. It is presently the most…
BOOM
‘’As I was saying, it is presently the most powerful handgun caliber in the World. If the blast from it would disturb your own shooting, then I would counsel you to come back at another time, miss.’’
‘’Uh, I think that I will…’’
BOOM
Giving up in disgust, Sylvia and her friend then left, leaving the rangemaster alone with the two shooters present on the firing line. The second shooter, a lean, bearded man, was thankfully firing a much more standard 9mm pistol. That bearded man suddenly tapped the shoulder of his partner to make him stop shooting when his cell phone rang. With only the muffled noise of the ventilation system now heard, the agent raised his phone to one ear and spoke calmly.
‘’Erik Johnson speaking!’’
Johnson then heard the voice of Julian Moore, the deputy director of operations for the CIA and the direct superior of both he and of his partner, Dean Price.
‘’Johnson, this is Julian Moore. I need you and Dean Price in my office, pronto! I just got some information that needs to be checked overseas.’’
‘’We are on our way, sir.’’ replied Johnson, who then cut the link and looked at Dean Price. ‘’Director Moore wants to see us, pronto! We will clean our handguns later. Just pack away your cannon and carry it with you in its case.’’
‘’Got it!’’
Collecting their guns and equipment and packing them in their transport cases, the two agents soon left the shooting range and took an elevator up to the executive floor of the main building, where Moore and the other deputy and assistant directors of the CIA had their offices. The pair didn’t speak during the trip, knowing from experience that it would be useless to speculate on what kind of mission they were going to get next. Presenting themselves to Moore’s secretary, they were promptly admitted into the DDO’s office. Julian Moore, a tall, pot-bellied and balding man in his fifties, was about to greet them when he sniffed the air and frowned.
‘’Hell, you two smell like you just fought a battle!’’
‘’We were punching holes in targets down at the pistol range, sir.’’ replied Erik Johnson, making Moore nod in understanding.
‘’Aah, that would explain the smell of gunpowder. Well, let’s make it short and sweet, gentlemen. Please sit down!’’
The two agents did so, putting down on the carpet their gun cases before Moore passed to them two identical files. Opening those files, the agents found inside photographs of two different men, along with a document stamped ‘Top Secret’, as Moore started to speak again.
‘’The pictures you are looking at are those of two Pakistani men, Doctor Afizullah Ghanef, a top flight nuclear physicist specializing in nuclear weapons design, and Major General Mohammed Khan. Khan is in charge of the Pakistani nuclear arsenal and is quite a powerful man in Pakistan. Both men arrived separately in Paris two days ago, each accompanied by a few men best described as bodyguards. Officially, they came to Paris as tourists, but you will understand that I have some problems swallowing that explanation. The French also seem to find that hard to believe and have put both men under discreet surveillance. However, we can’t and we won’t rely on the French to find out the true motives for the coming of those two Pakistani men to Paris. The fact that both are intimately linked to the Pakistani nuclear arsenal is enough by itself to make me wonder about the true goal of their visit in France.’’
‘’I agree with you, sir.’’ said Johnson. ‘’One such man coming to Paris could be simple tourism, but two…and on the same day? That’s too much of a coincidence. Are they scheduled to meet some senior French official? Could they be in Paris to discuss some kind of weapons deal with the French?’’
‘’That could effectively be a possibility, but why would Pakistan send men involved with nuclear weapons? Besides, no meetings with French officials are scheduled for them, as far as we know.’’
‘’Maybe they want to buy uranium from the French, Boss?’’ proposed Dean Price. Moore thought that over before shaking his head.
‘’I don’t think so. The Pakistani can buy uranium from the Chinese, who already provide Pakistan with all sorts of weapons and equipment. No! It has to be something else. Right now, our best way to discover what the Pakistanis are up to in France is to go inquire by ourselves. I am thus sending you two to Paris to find the truth about this.’’
‘’Aaah, Paris! The women! The food!’’ said dreamily Dean Price, attracting an amused smile on Moore’s face.
‘’I will concede that Paris is an excellent place to find both of those things, but please remember that you will be going there on business, Mister Price, not for pleasure, unless of course if you consider your work as pleasure.’’
‘’Of course, Boss!’’
‘’Good! Take those files with you and study them. Once you have a plan in mind about how to proceed in France, come back to see me and we will then finalize the outlines of your plan of action for this mission. Oh, one last thing: try not to decimate the French secret services while in Paris. They are after all supposed to be our allies.’’
That attracted a caustic smirk on Erik Johnson’s face.
‘’Well, the French are very good at being quite selfish themselves in their methods and goals, sir. They may well try first to play rough with us.’’
‘’Then, that would be a different case, Mister Johnson: you will always have my permission and benediction to defend yourself and other agents of the CIA, from whoever threatens you. Well, I will now let you go, so that you could study those files. However, do that quickly: we probably don’t have much time before those two Pakistanis conclude their business in Paris.’’
‘’Understood, sir!’’ said Erik.
‘’Got it, Boss!’’ added Dean in his customary, irreverent way.
Grabbing their gun cases before getting up from their chairs and leaving Moore’s office, Dean and Erik then returned to their work spaces, situated in what was called a secure contained information facility, or SCIF in short, a room specially built to block and prevent any electronic eavesdropping from the outside or electronic emission spill from the inside. There, normal cell phones and other portable electronic devices connected to exterior networks could not work, while computer network connections could only be made via specially-protected data lines. All that was so that one could view and work with highly classified information without risks of eavesdropping or leaks. Since Dean and Erik, like other CIA agents and analysts, routinely worked with highly classified information, their work desks had been installed inside such a SCIF room, along with the desks of a dozen other employees of the CIA. Together, their group formed a special analysis and intervention section under the direct command of DDO Julian Moore, tasked with the most delicate and risky missions of the CIA. More than ever lately, Erik Johnson was happy about that command arrangement, as the present Acting Director of the CIA was in his opinion nothing more than a political hack of the worst kind with zero experience in intelligence work and who had already put at risk a number of agents by his inept and haphazard leadership, on top of ignoring the information and advice from his own CIA analysts simply because he didn’t agree with them for purely political reasons. Erik couldn’t wait until the coming November presidential elections, so that some sanity could return soon to the American governmental machine.
Sitting back at their respective desks, which faced each other across a moveable partition, Dean and Erik studied carefully the documents contained in their mission files before looking at each other.
‘’We will definitely need some field support agents for this job.’’ said Erik. ‘’We simply can’t watch and trail two men just by ourselves without risking to lose them at one point.’’
‘’Agreed! We will have to enlist the help of some of our agents in place in France to conduct basic surveillance of those two Pakistanis. We also would need the help of someone able to understand conversations in Urdu{6}.’’
Both men looked as one at a strongly built, matron-like woman in her mid-thirties whose work desk was situated only a few paces away.
‘’Julie, how is your Urdu?’’ asked innocently Dean, making Julie Prost eye him critically from her desk.
‘’More than fair, actually, Dean. My Pashto and Dari are also quite good. Why do you ask?’’
‘’Because we are going to leave on a mission to investigate the true intentions of two important Pakistani men who recently arrived in Paris, supposedly as tourists, and we would need someone able to listen on to their conversations.’’
The CIA analyst and linguist, who could be described in many ways except as pretty, opened her eyes wide on hearing that.
‘’Paris?! Hell, count me in!’’
‘’Then, consider yourself as part of our mission team, Julie.’’
‘’Yes!’’ exclaimed the female analyst, pumping her right fist in the air. Erik Johnson smiled at that, then looked at another analyst who had his work desk inside the SCIF, a thin, unimpressive-looking young man who was the screaming image of a nerd.
‘’Hey, Ian, are you knowledgeable about nuclear weapons and their technologies?’’
Ian Dorset, a true genius hiding in the shell of a very unassuming young man, raised his nose up from the scientific journal he was reading and looked at Erik through his thick glasses.
‘’Uh, depends! I am not really competent in nuclear physics calculations but I know quite a lot about the triggering and command mechanisms of various nuclear weapons types.’’
‘’I’ll take that as a yes. Would you be ready to go to Paris for a mission with us?’’
‘’I always like to work with you and Dean. Will I get a chance to hack a few computers there?’’
‘’Most possibly!’’
‘’Then, count me in.’’
‘’Excellent! Roll your chair up to my desk, so that you can see what we have. YOU TOO, JULIE!’’
With the two analysts rolling their chairs close to his desk and that of Dean, Erik then showed them the mission file given to him by Julian Moore, explaining to them their mission parameters before letting them read the file. At the end of it, Erik looked soberly at his three CIA colleagues.
‘’Since the bulk of our mission will involve surveillance and trailing, we will need quite a lot of specialized equipment in order to do the job. Start thinking about the equipment you would like to have with you in Paris and make a list of it. We will then collate our lists and will arrange for the equipment to be delivered tomorrow to our embassy in Paris via diplomatic bag. Once that will be taken care of, I will start taking care of our false papers and travel documentation. Ideally, we should all be in Paris in two days at the most…’’