Armageddon Dawning: The Rise of Kharon

13:1-2

Prologue

Northern Israel, 1990

Ari was late as usual. Taking off his shoes, he stepped inside their home and called out for his wife, Fahima. Hearing no response, he shrugged and steeled himself for the silent stare that would likely be waiting for him in the kitchen. She hated having to keep their dinner warm.

Pausing to take a deep breath, he drew in the wonderful aromas that filled their modest two bedroom apartment. A blend of spices intertwined with fried vegetables, chicken and rice. She knew Maqluba was one of his favorites. The thought made Ari smile. For a medical doctor, even an angry one, Fahima was a pretty good cook.

Crossing the small living area, Ari threw his jacket over the back of one of the two upholstered chairs and walked through to the kitchen door, fully prepared to offer his normal excuse of having to work late. What he saw next made him gasp with a sense of extreme horror he had never before experienced. Lying on the floor was his wife, a pool of blood spreading out around her from the gaping slit in her throat.

Crying out in anguish, Ari raced to where she lay. Falling on his knees, he slid his hand under his wife’s head and lifted it up. Screaming out her name, he frantically pulled the bloody scarf from around her neck. With hands he could not keep from trembling, Ari pressed it against the horrifying wound. But he knew it was already too late. For her, and the unborn child. They had just found out she was pregnant. Tears flowed down his cheeks as Ari rocked back and forth, his wife’s head cradled in his arms. Convulsing spasms of nausea quickly followed sending him crashing even deeper into the dark, sad reality that he had been afraid was coming. Just like the life flowing from his Fahima’s body, he realized his fate too had now slipped forever beyond his control. There had been a time not long ago when he would have never dreamed it would end this way.

Dr. Ari Elazar had been hired by Genevitas, Inc. just a few years before. At the time, it had all seemed like a dream come true. With seemingly limitless resources, the privately owned, Swiss-based company was light years ahead of even Ari’s own highly advanced research. The recruiters had painted such a glorious picture of the future that he’d leapt at the opportunity. He wished he knew then what he knew now.

Before being hired by Genevitas, Ari had been happily occupied as the head of biogenetic research at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. It was there that he had met his physician wife. Well known for her medical studies on nutrition and the human condition in third world countries, Dr. Fahima Hawar had been invited to lecture at the famous university. Ari had been fascinated by her speech and at the reception that followed; Ari had literally tripped over his own feet trying to approach her. They would laugh about it later, but his clumsiness had served him well. At least it had gotten her attention.

Even with the awkward beginning, it hadn’t taken long for them to discover their mutual interests in the emerging types of science and research that could benefit mankind. After learning of Ari’s work, Fahima became excited by the prospects and they were soon collaborating on a project that they hoped would eventually produce a seed of hope for peace in the Middle East. And as improbable as it was for Ari as a Palestinian-born Jew, he had married a Muslim and the two had embarked on a journey that they truly believed would change the world.

While the science was complex, Ari’s dream had been straightforward: create plant mutations that would thrive in minimal amounts of water. To Ari’s astonishment, his research had made tremendous strides in understanding how to artificially manipulate genetic plant material. The result had been the production of so-called designer plant organisms that had portended a bright ray of hope for prosperity in the arid and desperate region. After his work was published, a few vocal critics decried his work as an attempt to play God, but those in the bio-engineering world had heralded him as an emerging star. It was then that he had caught the attention of one of the most powerful, yet quietly successful organizations in the field of biogenetics.

At Genevitas Ari soon found himself immersed in Project Omega. The company had made quantum leaps beyond his basic plant genomics and had discovered a way to fundamentally reengineer and control human genomes and their hereditary information. For Ari, the science promised a new world where humans could be born resistant to disease and realistically avert fetal deformities. The work hadn’t exactly matched Ari’s original vision, but the chance to advance the research without restriction or financial restraint had been more than compelling. At the time, it had never even occurred to him to ask about how they were funded or who was behind it all. All he’d cared about was his research. That was then. And now it was too late.

He took one last look at his dead wife, tears still streaming down his ashen face. Then a terrifying realization shook Ari to his very core. Jumping up, he turned and raced toward the bedroom. Ari jerked the door open and then stood still with his eyes wide open, frozen in terror. Before he could even think what to do, a sharp needle-like pain struck the side of his neck. His last moment of consciousness was a fading glimpse of the empty bedroom where his son should have been.

CHAPTER ONE

Beirut, Lebanon

Austin Murphy chuckled to himself as he caught bits and pieces of the broadcast on Al Jadeed, one of Beirut’s main television stations. The Hezbollah leader on TV was busily spouting off for the media. With few exceptions, people in the region were willing to swallow the story: Hezbollah had heroically captured and kidnapped CIA infiltrators. Austin stifled a grin. If the jerk only knew what American infiltration was really coming down.

Austin was at the Alcazar bar in the East Beirut neighborhood of Gemmayzeh. Although he was a Westerner, it wasn’t too difficult for him to blend in with the cosmopolitan setting. Even with all the surrounding violence, this part of town was still pretty hip and attracted an international crowd. Another six foot, brown-haired white guy wasn’t all that unusual.

It was just after 9:30 p.m. local time, and still too early for the typical evening crowd to swarm into the two-story restaurant and bar. The real partying wouldn’t get started until well after 11:00. Remembering, he shook his head. That didn’t used to be too late. He didn’t like the thought, but he had to be real. At thirty-nine, age was finally beginning to catch up with him.

The dark beer he was enjoying was an Almaza, a favorite local brew. He’d eaten here a few times before and he was looking forward to the food. It promised to be an extravagant meat and seafood affair along with plenty of tabbouleh and hummus. The dinner was an indulgent luxury, but he didn’t have any trouble rationalizing it. Once things moved into high gear, food wouldn’t be much of a priority. If it ever got into gear at all. This was not the first mission he’d been on since he’d been back, but it was proving to be one of the more difficult. So far, it hadn’t gone exactly as planned, which was not all that unusual. Risk of exposure was high and each time they thought they were getting close to locating their target, something went sideways. He wasn’t superstitious, but it was beginning to create a real chill in his gut.

As the steaming plate arrived, the small television at the corner of the bar switched to a shot of the local news anchor. Austin thought it was kind of amusing. No matter where you were, all the TV talking heads looked alike, and the Muslim ones were no exception. He knew enough Lebanese Arabic to understand what was being said, but he didn’t really bother to listen. There was little doubt what they were going on about. The fiery clerics and the accompanying sycophantic journalists were having a field day with Hezbollah’s courageous efforts against the American evil empire and its satanic CIA spies.

Austin had to admit, the Shiite militant group was getting good at creating explosive international headlines. Creating bullshit is more like it, he said to himself with amusement. Grabbing a wedge of the warm pita bread, he scooped up a big pile of hummus. Is it weird to be amused by the fact that you find your own internal conversation amusing? He was pretty sure the Agency’s shrinks would think so. Especially Dr. Richards.

The last psych evaluation with the good Dr. Richards had been more than a little intense. Standard procedure when you’re being re-indoctrinated into the Agency, they’d said. Richards had pushed all of Austin’s buttons. Anger management issues. Trouble taking responsibility for failure. Resistance to authority. Tendencies toward addictive-dependent behaviors, most notably with alcohol and women, particularly when dealing with post-traumatic stress. Okay, he told himself, Richards might have had a point with the last one. But overall, Austin still thought the entire characterization a little unfair. Of course he’d been pissed off about getting kicked out of the Agency. He’d taken the hit for a failed mission that had gone bad. Really bad.

More than two years earlier, he and his boss, Susan Wright, Director of the CIA’s Special Operations Group (SOG), operating under the agency’s National Clandestine Service had been tasked to undermine North Korea’s nuclear weapons program. They’d gone undercover as dirty weapons dealers and thought they’d found a willing and receptive audience. That had been before an incident with the secret police that had left more than a few North Koreans dead.

It had really all been a clumsy mistake by one of the communist country’s State Security cops that had led to the shoot out. A flowerpot crashing on the balcony floor outside of Austin’s hotel room had started it. Apparently one of the North Koreans had been a little too anxious to observe the bedroom activity. The sound of a breaking pottery against concrete caused untrained and trigger-happy fingers to unleash a barrage of gunfire aimed in Austin’s direction. He’d managed to return fire and was a lot better at gun fights in the dark that his attackers. Five North Koreans had died that night at the hotel. Countless more had been killed before the night was over. One of them in particular still haunted Austin’s dreams. She’d been in his bed. Dr. Richards always loved to bring that part up.

Their cover blown, Austin and Susan had managed to make it out of North Korea alive, even though it had taken a helicopter loaded with SEALs. Unfortunately for Austin, the diplomatic mess had caught the attention of too many powerful people in Washington. In the end, the Agency had no choice but to offer up a sacrificial lamb. He’d been unceremoniously dismissed.

The next two years had largely been lost to a foggy haze of Bombay gin and willing women. Somehow, and in spite of his hardy attempts to drown out reality, Austin had discovered that he had quite a knack for making money. He’d managed to make more of it in two years than a lifetime in the CIA would have provided. He turned out to be very good at option trading, which was little more than high-stakes, legalized gambling. And it had paid for his distractions.

But the Agency had come back to get him and in a way that only the Agency could with two beautiful women and a limo. And a needle in his neck. The next thing he’d remembered was waking up in the CIA infirmary to the cynical smirk of Dr. Dick Richards. He would have pinched the little prick’s head off if he could have stood up. The doctor alone was sufficient reason to refuse the offer, but Susan had eventually pulled the right emotional strings; she knew him that well. And now, he was definitely back.

Austin cut off a bite of garlic saturated lamb and thought about how the current mission had stalled. They had little to go on and Langley was apparently getting pressure from the White House for progress. At the moment, he didn’t have much to report.

Austin’s attention snapped back to the TV at an image of someone with a hood over his head. Supposedly a captured CIA operative. It really was bullshit, thought Austin. None of his assets had been caught. At least not recently. Or not yet. Austin drained his beer and ordered another. He’d risk one more.

The mission was authorized by the President under an Executive Order that the US would deny and disavow if anything went wrong. With the European Union voting unanimously to label Hezbollah’s militant wing a terrorist organization, President Stevenson had become even more emboldened in his desire to stop Hezbollah and the growing threat it represented. The matter of countless American deaths over the last 30 years was cause enough, but recent Intel regarding Hezbollah activity had made the situation an even more urgent matter.

Significant Hezbollah networks were known to be operating in the Americas under the direction of the Iranian Quds Force. Credible evidence had emerged indicating an imminent threat by a Hezbollah-Iran-Latin America nexus involving Venezuela and the notorious Mexican Los Zetas drug cartel. What was really frightening was that the growing relationship between Hezbollah and Los Zetas had expanded beyond drugs into the weapons trade. Iran’s funding of Hezbollah and Hezbollah’s involvement with Los Zetas had pushed things over the top. It was just a little too close for comfort and more than enough to get Austin’s special unit involved even if you bought the story that Iran wasn’t trying to pursue a nuclear weapons program. The National Security Agency (NSA) had intercepted traffic that indicated some impending moves by Hezbollah that would escalate the danger. Although Austin would rather be trying to cut off the head of the snake, which is exactly what he considered Iran to be, he figured taking out part of the snake’s body was a decent second option.

The President’s orders to CIA Director Paul Riggs had been clear. The kill or capture presidential black op authorization gave Austin and his team a great deal of latitude. The Commander-In-Chief was obviously firm in his convictions. Protect the United States from a position of strength, not from a kowtowed position, begging bad guys to be friends. Political consequences be damned. Austin liked the way the President thought. That’s the way it should be. Semper Fi. Now if we could only deliver.

At that moment, he felt his smartphone vibrate. It startled him. The connection went through the highly encrypted Langley IP network server and very few people had the number. His field team normally used their tactical comm units. Grabbing it out of his pocket, he saw it was a text from Susan. She obviously wanted to make sure it couldn’t be intercepted. Even with the high level of security, the message was cryptic and used language only he would understand.

Path to Joker ID’d. Persian rug company involved. Timeline critical. Get bat team to Gotham City tonite. Mind your 6.

Austin stared at it for another second before he deleted it. Susan has found a way to locate the Hezbollah leader. But there’s an Iranian involved? Had to be someone of high value. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have added the part at the end about covering his tail.

Finishing the last bite of lamb, Austin looked down at his cheap Casio G-shock watch. Time to put the team in play.

CHAPTER TWO

Beirut, Lebanon

Austin left the restaurant just as the trendy crowd began to filter in. He was always amazed at how sophisticated looking and diverse this part of Beirut and its people were. The media images typically splashed to western audiences portrayed the city as filled with burning cars and bombed-out or dilapidated buildings where Americans stood out like evil, white-faced targets. Beirut certainly had those areas, but not here. The city could not totally forget the worries surrounding the conflict in neighboring Syria, but most of the city was still beautiful and thriving in spite of the dark geopolitical currents. In any case, he appreciated the bubbling activity he found around him. It made operating without attracting attention a lot easier. And that was often life-and-death critical.

Taking a left, and subtly scanning for surveillance cameras or people following him, Austin headed west toward Sea Side Road. He was thankful that no one seemed to be paying him any interest. Austin smiled at himself. Just another tourist wandering around the ancient city.

Now that he thought about it, he realized how glad he was to be back in the Agency. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe. On the other hand, maybe he really was doing what was right. Sometimes the lines got a little blurred, but there was one thing he was sure of. Keeping the U.S. safe meant you had to have warriors, warriors who were willing to die for their country without recognition and glory. If we do it right.

Austin glanced at his watch and his reflection in a store window at the same time. The electric nightlife provided plenty of light and the quick counter surveillance check revealed nothing suspicious. He turned the corner onto the bustling Sea Side Road and headed toward the popular and stylish White Bar and Nightclub. Even though it was relatively easy to blend in with the flow of fashionably dressed sea of humanity, he was running a fairly elaborate SDR or Surveillance Detection Route. Several of his assets were observing his pre-determined route while subsequently hopscotching to locations ahead of him. All SOP. Standard operating procedure. Avoiding being marked by any number of potential enemies was increasingly critical at this stage of the operation.

Austin noticed David Saul a few feet ahead chatting up an attractive brunette at a table in a little outside café. The couple was seemingly intent on flirting their way to a long evening together. In reality, both were part of the SDR team tasked to discreetly check different approach angles. Saul took a sip of beer just as Austin walked by. Signal received. All clear.

Austin entered the White Bar along with a throng of scantily clad women sporting miniskirts with legs hiked up on spiked heels. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t have time to admire the view. Spotting Scott Benson leaning against the slick marble wall just inside, he smiled and moved in that direction. Austin had to admire the man. Although almost forty, Benson had the lean and muscular body of a twenty-year old athlete. At an inch or two over six foot, he stood out a little too much for covert work, but his skill and dedication more than made up for it. At least he let his hair grow out a little. Nothing screams U.S. military more than a white guy with a buzz cut.

A former Navy SEAL, Benson had led the team assigned to pull Austin’s ass out of the nasty situation in North Korea. And as fate and luck would have it, Austin had returned the favor after being re-indoctrinated to the Agency by rescuing Benson from the same little communist country. Ultimately, and together, they’d managed to successfully disrupt the North Korean nuclear weapons program a bit. The resulting comradeship along with the mutual respect had led Austin to recruit Benson to his current team. It had taken some doing. There’d been any number of assorted beers and whiskeys, but Austin along with Susan Wright had finally managed to convince Benson to come over to the dark side. Now, Scott Benson was part of Austin’s highly secret unit within the already secretive CIA Special Operations Group (SOG).

Benson launched his muscular frame away from the wall and shook Austin’s hand, acting as if this was a casual meet-up between friends.

Hey, dude, offered Austin. Ready for a big night?

The corners of Benson’s mouth curled up just enough to form a grin. All good here. Although I hate to drag you away from such a target rich environment.

Austin’s eyes darted over to the group of less than modestly dressed women hovering nearby. Got that right, he replied with one eyebrow rising slightly. Hate it when this happens.

Benson was married, but he had been around Austin enough to know that under any other circumstance, it would be game on for his boss. Austin was definitely not one to leave smiling ladies behind. But this was show time, and it left no room for playboy antics.

Austin gestured toward the door. Shall we?

A quick nod from Benson had them walking out of White bar, leaving behind a few disappointed spike-heeled ladies.

Several meandering cab rides brought them just a few blocks away from where they started. To the taxi drivers, they were two confused tourists that didn’t know where they wanted to go. Convinced they weren’t being followed, Austin and Benson had the taxi drop them off at the curving waterfront promenade on Sea Side Road. A pleasant sea breeze greeted them as they walked down the softly lit ramp toward the expensive mixture of motor and sailing yachts. Their blazers and open-necked shirts made them look the part.

The intelligence they’d received before arriving in country had given them plenty of reason to believe they would be able to locate Hassan Hashim in fairly short order. But the last thirty days trying to find and eliminate the Hezbollah leader had been a frustrating exercise in futility. Austin wasn’t sure if they’d been chasing red herrings or if the Hezbollah boys were just getting good at counter-surveillance. Either way, they just hadn’t been able to catch a break.

Until tonight.

CHAPTER THREE

Zaitunay Bay

Beirut, Lebanon

The two CIA operatives walked down a floating dock jutting out into Zaitunay Bay. Austin listened as the water lapped softly against hulls, occasionally punctuated by the metallic clank of hardware against empty mast poles. That almost melodic symphony was accented by scattered pockets of laughter and party noise bouncing across the bay. To Austin, the bay area seemed so very serene, yet at the same time, noticeably electric. The scene jarred a few memories, some good, some definitely not so good. It still amazed him that he was back at all.

In short order after first joining the Agency, Austin had become a little bit of a legend among the covert and clandestine ops community. With uncanny foreign language skills and an amazing ability to learn and excel in the killing arts, Austin’s superiors had taken note, and his career had risen quickly, taking him into the black ops side of the business. The success of several critical missions had managed to impress hardened operatives not normally known for being impressed. However, there had also been a few hall whisperers at Langley that painted him as being a little too much of a cowboy. They’d probably been right. In any case, that image certainly hadn’t helped when things went bad.

Although Austin did not know the details, he did know that Susan had played some risky cards to get him back. At the time, she’d been facing a very mysterious and serious loss of operatives in AsiaPac. As a result, she’d been up against some potentially career-ending walls herself. Not only had she managed to convince the CIA Director that bringing Austin back in from the cold was a good idea, but she’d somehow managed to get the President involved in his reinstatement. Even with Austin’s father, the famous Admiral Robert Ramrod Murphy (USN) being a personal friend of the President’s, it certainly wasn’t something that happened every day.

Another metallic clank against a mast pole brought Austin back to the present. Looking toward the end of the dock, Austin was glad to see David Saul and Yiskah Maslin, Saul’s girlfriend from the surveillance route at the Sea Road café, already in the skiff. The low onboard deck lighting was just enough for Austin to see their faces along with that of the boat’s pilot. It silhouetted them way too much for Austin’s liking. It made them an easy target. At the same time, their party-going cover would look a bit odd if everything had been blacked out. The fact that the team was already on board was a good thing. It meant they were in the clear.

Friendly hand waves, outstretched arms, and cheerful shouts of hi guys! greeted Austin and Benson as they got closer. Austin smiled. The scene was right on script and all but screamed, Let’s party! Perfect.

Hey, boss! David Saul said with an eager grasp of Austin’s hand before turning to give Benson a combined handshake and brotherly bear hug. He was the light-hearted one of the bunch, but Austin knew better than to underestimate the rock-solid character and heart beneath the sinewy body. A former Force Recon Marine, Austin hated to admit it, but damn, the Navy rarely messed up when they created a SEAL.

Yiskah Maslin was a tall, muscular woman with an air of dark sensuality. Austin figured it wasn’t much of a stretch for her to play the part of Saul’s opportunistic party girl. An Israeli by birth and the daughter of former Mossad commander, she’d applied for U.S. citizenship right after graduating from Yale. It hadn’t been long after that that she’d been approached by the Agency. Although not former military, she’d quickly proven herself and become known for her amazing mental and physical toughness. She stood up well even with the big boys.

As Austin moved forward, he gave Yiskah a quick hug while allowing himself a brief thought about how easy she was on the eyes. But that was as far as it went. He’d purposely stopped that particular train of thought several stations back. To Austin, Yiskah was just a member of the team – a cool, calculating, and very valuable killing-machine member of the team. And as far as Austin was concerned, a perfect package.

The center console, 26-foot boat with twin Honda outboards was piloted by Matt Holder, another former SEAL. He was also crewing on the super yacht that was currently holding their special package. Austin gave him a nod and a quick, Let’s go Chief.

Aye, aye, Matt replied as he fired up the twin engines.

While David Saul cast off the lines, Austin looked out at all the various forms of nightlife bobbing around in the fashionable Zaitunay Bay. Combined with the beautiful star-filled night, it was almost enough to mask the danger he knew surrounded them. The next 24 hours would likely see at least one person dead. His job was to make sure it was none of his own.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mediterranean Sea

Lebanon Coast

The Misty See was really more of a ship than a boat. With a crew of fifteen, the 280-foot Oceanco Sunray anchored just off Zaitunay Bay could easily accommodate sixteen guests and came complete with its own helipad and Sikorsky helicopter. With its luxury accommodations and gleaming teak decks, there was no mistaking the super yacht that belonged to Sabrina Chau, the reclusive Hong Kong billionaire heiress. The only thing was, there was no Sabrina Chau.

The ship actually belonged to a Hong Kong shell company that fronted for the CIA. The elaborate ruse was a carefully orchestrated cover that had been created with so many levels of phantom histories that even the best intelligence agencies and hackers would have a hard time discovering the truth. Commandeering the yacht from a former Hong Kong drug lord had proven to be a valuable move. The drug lord, who just happened to have a desperate need for a new life and identity in the U.S., had provided the perfect opportunity for the Agency.

With its retrofitted electronics and state-of-the-art surveillance equipment that could easily become concealed behind lavish panels, the vessel was essentially a floating Op Center for the CIA’s SOG. Tonight, it was going to be a little more than just a covert base for operatives.

#

Austin, it’s about time, exclaimed Susan Wright as the group climbed up to the main deck after docking the skiff.

Missed you too, responded Austin with a grin. Had a few other parties to attend first.

You are always so full of it, she sighed with a roll of her eyes. Why the hell did I ever bother to bring you back in?

The others waited to see if the SOG Director was actually pissed off or not. But David Saul, the ever-ready wise cracker was the first to break the code. Would you two go ahead and kiss and make up so we can get on with this party?

Susan cracked a smile and almost laughed. She’d been Austin’s friend long before she’d been his boss. David, you’ve definitely been hanging around this joker way too much. He’s rubbing off on you. With that, she actually did give Austin a quick smile and a squeeze on the arm before ushering the group inside.

You were supposed to be here an hour earlier, you know, Susan said softly to Austin with a side-glance.

We took a few extra turns on the SDR route just to be sure, he replied as they crossed through the sliding glass doors into the large, opulent main deck. Once I got your message about our package, I figured the threat meter got pegged up a couple of notches.

Susan squared up to Austin and looked at him. Her beautiful brown eyes had gone hard and serious. Your assessment would be right on target.

Hey, don’t you think it’s about time you two dial the rest of us in? piped in Benson. When you two start talking about pegging threat meters, you kinda get my attention.

Austin looked at Susan with a slight shrug, I haven’t told ‘em much.

Susan nodded before turning to Benson. Sorry Scott, don’t mean to keep you in the dark any longer than necessary. But let’s do this just once. Looking over at Chief Holder, she said, Matt, go get the rest of the guys.

The Chief disappeared below as Susan hit one of the switches on the bulkhead. Hidden blinds descended from the ceiling, covering the huge sliding glass doors facing aft. Looking around at the group, she grinned, Might as well make it a private party.

Yiskah and David took a seat on one of the couches while Benson grabbed a stool in front of a lavishly stocked bar. Austin was still standing as Matt returned with six other men. After a few quick hey guys and handshakes, the group settled in around the cabin with all eyes turning to Susan. She wasn’t actually part of the ops team. Instead, Susan was playing the cover role as the Hong Kong heiress. With her Chinese-American heritage and her stunning good looks, the cover wasn’t a stretch.

The SOG Director took a moment to scan the faces of the ten men and one woman. The team Austin had put together was top notch and she knew it. She also knew that they were swimming in some pretty dangerous waters. She cast the personal concerns aside. It was what they had all signed up for.

Okay, we caught a break today, Susan said with a deep exhale. "The guy’s an Iranian and looks to be a serious weapons connection between Tehran and Hezbollah. The NSA has been all over him for months, and when he showed up here today, he got sloppy with a cell call. We all know the bad luck we’ve had trying to track and follow leads, so I made the decision to pick him up. Figured we might get lucky. Washington wants results and this might give us chance to catch up with Hashim. Again, it’s capture or kill. I’d prefer capture. Either way, it would be nice to get some additional Intel about what Tehran is up to. So, that’s when the Chief here, she said indicating Matt, along with Donnie and Jack persuaded our friend to come out for a little visit. We’re hoping he’ll lead us to Hashim."

Susan quickly held her hand up to stop the barrage of questions that were about to start hitting her from every direction. No, he has not been interrogated yet, and no, other than being on a boat, he has no idea where he is and who we are. As far as he knows, we’re just as likely to be overzealous Hezbollah security folks as we are Mossad, CIA, or Russian FSB for that matter, but you can bet your ass he’s been demanding to know.

He’s pretty much quit demanding anything for the moment, boss, interrupted Donnie. I found a better use for that rag wrapped around his head. Turning it into a mouth-muffler might give him a clue we’re not on his side.

A low chorus of chuckles and appreciative smiles went around the cabin.

Matt obviously couldn’t resist adding to the story, Plus, the way we took him down, he’s gotta know we’re not Hezbollah. No way those towel-heads could’ve executed the bag and drag like we did. He said it with a grin that belied the fact that he was serious about the professional assessment. That and maybe we were just a tad less friendly than his terrorist ass-buddies might have been.

Stifling a smile, the Director continued, We have to figure that we don’t have much time to make use of our gift. Somebody’s going to be looking to hear from him sooner than later.

David Saul let out a low whistle as Scott Benson turned and looked at Austin. Some serious stuff, Batman, Benson said playing off an inside joke around Austin’s tendency to find himself in dark hero roles.