He left his meeting with Arya
Sharifi, traitor wannabe, with a grim look on his face. That look was
for Arya’s benefit, but inside, he couldn’t help but grin.
Christian Townsend was a “riddle
wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”—Ben Gold wrapped in Christian
Townsend inside Zacharia Zar. Who was he really? At this point, even he
didn’t know.
But he did know that the trap was
set for Arya and any co-conspirators. Why give Arya a full day to think
about his proposition of sparing his life in return for stopping work
with the Iranians? Because he knew that there would be a frantic
emergency meeting between Arya and anyone else involved in the
deception to figure out what they should do. That meeting would be in
person, because they would not trust digital means, and then Christian
and his allies would have them all in one room. One nice little
package, ready for either slicing and dicing or redirection. Christian,
in the guise of Zacharia, was hoping for the latter.
With Mossad assistance, Arya was
followed to an apartment on, ironically, Persia Avenue, right off
Mission. The conversation inside the apartment was monitored and its
intent was confirmed. With two agents standing guard out on the street,
Christian, armed with a handheld battering ram, forced his way into the
apartment to find Arya and his fellow Iranian-American, Ali Ghani,
seated around a table.
“Zacharia!” Arya yelled, mouth
agape. Ali, a big man, immediately turned to charge the Moroccan
businessman, whom he had met before and thought was a friend. Ali
shaped his body to pound a fist into Zacharia’s on-rushing face, but as
he was about to deliver the blow a kick to his throat knocked the wind
out of him and nearly flipped him on his face. Christian, dispensing
with his Moroccan identity, whipped the handgun from the small of his
back and tried stuffing it up Ali’s nose.
“Call me Christian, asshole,” he
said, settling the gun hard onto Ali’s forehead as Ali squirmed on the
floor. Christian stared meaningfully at Arya. “Have I ever mentioned
krav maga? Don’t think about moving,” Christian glared.
Two handcuffs were applied to two uncomfortable Iranian-Americans, and all of a sudden it was time for a chat.
“Gentlemen,” Christian said, “my
name is not Zacharia and I’m not from Morocco. My name is Christian,
and let’s just say I represent a country that is very interested in the
workings of Iran’s nuclear programs. Now we have a bunch of evidence” –
here Christian took out a small packet of photos from his hip pocket –
“of you both meeting with Sadegh Zahedi, the Iranian Undersecretary,
and we have several wires where he praises the information you’ve
handed over.” Christian poked the photos in each of their faces, enough
for them to realize that indeed the evidence was there.
“We set this meeting up to see if
there were any others in your group and, happily, there are not. So
what we have to do is make a deal. Your choice is stark, but it can end
in freedom.”
“I demand to know where you are from!” Ali bellowed, shifting his manacled wrists uncomfortably.
“Shut it!” Christian yelled. “Both
of you came with your families after the revolution, and what did you
get? You got freedom, a great education, understanding. And how have
you repaid that? By being traitors to your adopted land. As such, you
will rot away in prison for the rest of your lives. Unless…. I have an
ultimatum to offer, and I think you will see it’s damn attractive.
“Here’s the deal. We let you go and
you hook up with your handler the Undersecretary. Tell him you both
have been talking and have decided you want to do what he has been
suggesting for some time – go to Iran. Once there, you will be admitted
into the nuclear complex, because that’s your value to them. You will
each be given a simple thumb drive that we ask you to download onto the
F drive of any computer in the complex. The download will take all of
15 seconds, no more. The downloaded material will do the rest on its
own, and it will be devastating. Once your mission is accomplished, we
will extract you and bring you back to the US, where a new identity
will be waiting.
“So do you boys understand? I’m
offering you a stark choice: life in prison or freedom, but only after
you perform a 15-second job for us. One more thing: Double-cross us
after leaving here, and you and your family are toast. Now, feel free
to discuss this amongst yourselves.”
Christian wandered over to the
window and waived down at Uri, watching from below. Both Mossad men had
been wired in all the while, so they knew what was happening, but a nod
from Christian confirmed it. Arya and Ali meanwhile were mumbling to
one another, and Arya seemed to be half-crying, but their conversation
was over in a minute.
“Take these handcuffs off and we have a deal,” Ali said.
The Mossad backup team came in and
went over some further details with the Iranians. Christian, however,
was ready to deal with a matter much closer to his heart.
He dialed Kim’s number and, after a
few rings, Shay surprisingly answered. “Christian,” he said, “you have
some explaining to do.”
Momentarily taken aback, Christian
regrouped. He figured he would explain what happened and go from there.
“Shay, have you received the package I left with my note, the one with
the dead man’s papers and a few guns?”
“Yeah, I got it. It says you were
only defending yourself, and that this guy Kyle was after you because
he thought you were messing with Bethany. We are going to do a check on
those guns, and if they can be traced back to Kyle then your story will
have some meat to it. I can also say that I have confirmed with Bethany
that Kyle was a violent and jealous drunk. So that part of your story
is holding up. What I don’t get is why run, and why run even from Kim?”
“I can’t explain myself without
further clearance. I know that makes no sense, but that’s the truth.
But let me add one thing, and maybe you can draw your own conclusions:
I was actually calling to tell Kim that I want to take her to Tel
Aviv’s Center for Proton Therapy. They have something there called a
superconducting synchrocyclotron, the best in the world, and early
results on renal cell carcinoma have been stunning. Proton therapy, on
a less advanced machine in the US, would cost hundreds of thousands of
dollars. Israel’s national health insurance coupled with my service to
the state means that the therapy would be free and clear, if Kim will
come.”
“Service to the state?” Shay asked.
“That’s all I’m saying,” Christian said. “Now, can I speak with Kim?”
Out at the dump site the attendant
finally wandered over to see what had been dumped in the hole. Poking
around a bit with his foot he found nothing, just an old backpack.
Shit, he thought, nothing but a bunch of crap. Picking his nose
absentmindedly, he realized the game will start soon. “I better get
back,” he mumbled to no one but the wind and the waste.
