Mercury rising, p.24
Mercury Rising, page 24
A handful of tears trickled down Grace’s face. She scooted toward him, turning so her back was to him and gave his leg a squeeze. In the moment, it wasn’t as awkward as it looked.
“Then let’s stop this bastard, whatever it takes,” Grace said, spinning back around to look Barrett in the eye.
He nodded assuredly. “That’s what we intend to do.”
“So, got a Plan C?” Stone asked.
Barrett felt the zip tie binding his wrists, testing its flexibility.
Through the van’s rear window, he could see the city lights of Tehran growing closer as the vehicle roared down the highway.
He nodded. “And a Plan D,” he said quietly.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Stone said.
“That’s right,” Barrett said before turning to Vasquez. “Doc, you said you had some friends in high places here, that you knew General Abdul, right?”
She nodded.
“You weren’t bullshitting us, were you?”
“That’s not what I do,” she said. “I know him.”
Barrett smiled. “How well?”
CHAPTER 32
TEHRAN, IRAN
The transport truck brakes squeaked as it finally came to a stop with a lurch. Barrett rolled toward the back of the cab wall, stopping when his shoulder drove hard against it. He looked back toward the door, the sound of boots marching toward them, the city lights shining bright against a darkened sky.
Seconds later, he heard the sound of a key inserted into the truck’s back double doors, groaning as it opened. A mix of Revolutionary Guard soldiers rushed inside along with police officers, pairing up to drag out Barrett and his colleagues. Stone fell limp, forcing his escorts to work hard to get him into the police station. Barrett opted to be a little more amenable to their demands, hoping it might curry him the favor necessary to get his audacious ask granted.
Two officers led Barrett to an interview room and traded his zip ties for a pair of handcuffs, which was anchored to the table in front of him. He rocked back the faded green metal chair, balancing it on two legs and waited for someone to speak to him. The two officers checked all of Barrett’s bindings before giving way to a man who introduced himself as Detective Ali.
Ali wore a tightly-cropped goatee and his hair glistened, worn slicked back with what seemed like a half bottle of oil. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips as he put on a pair of reading glasses and studied a file folder. Ashes fell haphazardly drifting onto the sheet of paper. Turning the folder upside down, he shook off the ashes and resumed reading.
Barrett glanced at the clock on the wall behind Ali and compared it to his watch.
Twenty-five minutes until President Hassan takes the stage in Azadi Square.
The second hand ticked by, each one feeling like a bell tolling for a funeral. Hassan’s funeral. The world’s funeral. Barrett couldn’t help but shake the feeling that in just a few minutes, an event was about to take place that would re-shape the history of the world, much like the bombing of Pearl Harbor or the toppling of the Twin Towers on 9/11. And he could potentially stop it if he wasn’t locked up in a police precinct in Tehran.
Barrett wanted to plead his case, share what he knew, explain that he’d been sent to thwart an attack on President Hassan. But he doubted anyone would believe him.
“Mr.—” Ali said as he returned to the first page in the folder, searching for a name, “—uh—Jackson.”
He dropped his cigarette onto the tile floor and ground it out then looked over the top of his glasses at Barrett.
“Is that what you’re calling yourself this time, Mr. Barrett? Bill Jackson? You couldn’t get anymore creative than that?”
Barrett mustered a ghost of a smile. “Better than Bill Smith.”
“I guess you’re not entirely lazy,” Ali said without looking up.
He closed the file folder and tossed it onto the table. After removing his glasses, he folded and pocketed them. He leaned forward and pinched the pleats on the front of his pants, hiking them up a few inches as he settled into the chair across from Barrett.
“Why are we here, Detective?” Barrett asked, cocking his head to one side and staring deeply at the man as if they were about to debate the meaning of life.
“I was hoping you could answer that question for me,” Ali said, indicating the file folder, “because it’s certainly not to help the measles outbreak in Farajabad.”
“Mission already accomplished,” Barrett said as he glanced at the clock.
Ali noticed Barrett’s preoccupation with the clock. “Do you have to be somewhere?”
“I wouldn’t mind being at the airport so I could catch the red-eye flight to London.”
“I bet you would. You’d like to commit the espionage equivalent of—what do you Americans call it?—dash and dine? You want to grab your information and run without paying for it. But, Mr. Barrett, this is Iran. Unlike America, nothing is free here. Not even information.”
“I didn’t come to get information,” Barrett said, his mind churning as he tried to think of a way to speed the conversation along to its natural end, one that didn’t finish with him in a prison cell.
“I beg to differ. Seems like you were trying to find out where our missile launch facility is located.”
“You mean the one your president claims doesn’t exist?”
Ali smiled and pointed at Barrett. “There’s no need pretending with you. What you lack in creativity, you make up with intelligence.”
“I’m not a spy—and I didn’t come to learn the location of your missile launch site.”
“Then, Mr. Barrett, why are you here?”
A kernel of an idea formed in Barrett’s head. He thought for a moment, considering how to craft his next few responses.
“Protection,” he finally said.
“Protection? For whom?”
“Dr. Vasquez,” Barrett said. “She asked me to provide protection for her during this humanitarian trip. And I agreed.”
“And why would she need protection?”
“Perhaps that’s something you should ask her—and ask her quickly because you might regret what you’re doing right now.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Ali said. “In fact, I’m very much enjoying it.”
“Well, unless you enjoy wasting time, I suggest you speak with Dr. Vasquez immediately. She’s the one who holds all the answers to what’s happening here.”
“Interesting,” Ali said as he stood. “Let’s bring her in here. But let me warn you, Mr. Barrett, that if you are toying with me—”
Ali stared at his bulging forearms as he rolled up the sleeves to his white oxford shirt.
“—I will equally enjoy extracting pain from you,” Ali said with a grin before locking eyes with Barrett. “Am I making myself clear?”
“Of course,” Barrett said.
Ali opened the door and whispered something in the ear of one of the men outside. He hustled away and returned shortly with Dr. Vasquez. She stumbled into the room, thanks to a rather violent shove from the guard. When she regained her balance, she walked up to the edge of the table, her chin tipped up, defiance written all over her face.
“Did you want to see me?” she said with a hint of pretentiousness.
“Have a seat, Doctor,” Ali said.
Barrett glanced up at the clock. Three more minutes had passed and he wondered if he was going to be here when the clock ran out. The only saving grace about that was it would be difficult to pin the assassination on him if he was sitting in an interview room with an Iranian detective at the moment the shot was fired. But that would be an insignificant footnote if he wasn’t able to accomplish his mission.
“I’d rather stand,” Vasquez said.
Ali glowered. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. Sit.”
She didn’t move. “You’re the one who this is going to be difficult for when I get my phone call.”
“Your phone call?” Ali asked chuckling and shaking her head. “Your phone call? This is Iran, not Law and Order. We don’t operate under those same rules.”
Vasquez didn’t flinch. “I need to speak to General Abdul right now. And I won’t say another word until I do.”
“General Abdul? Is he a close personal friend of yours?” Ali chided.
Vasquez held fast to her word, her lips tightening and forming a straight line.
“Do you know his number?” Ali asked, removing a cell phone from his pocket and placing it on the table in front of her. “Because I don’t know the Revolutionary Guard General’s cell number.”
“I do,” Vasquez said before rattling off the digits.
Ali shrugged and then punched them into the phone, placing it on speaker mode once it started ringing. A few seconds later, General Abdul answered.
“Who is this?” Abdul asked in Farsi.
“Eleanor,” she said, her tone informal and very familiar.
“Oh, Eleanor. It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you back in the country?”
“I am,” she said. “And I’d like to see you soon. But first I need your help with Detective Ali, who is refusing to release me and my friends.”
“What is this detective doing to you? Why has he detained you?” Abdul asked.
“I don’t know, but they seem to think the people who are with me are spies. But that’s all lies. However, we have learned something, something that you need to know and act upon immediately or else we might all die.”
“We might all die?” Abdul asked, concern thick in his voice.
Barrett looked at Vasquez and nodded, coaxing her to continue after he explained to her what he needed to say to the general.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, well, the people who are with me learned that there is a threat on President Hassan’s life. We were rushing back to Tehran from Farajabad and may have tried to elude a roadblock in order to reach Azadi Square in time to warn the authorities. But they caught us and now no one will listen to us.”
“That’s outrageous,” Abdul said. “Is that Detective Ali with you now?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “Give him the phone right now so I may speak to him.”
Ali nodded at her and picked up the phone, turning off the speaker function. “Hello, General, this is Detective Ali. I’m sorry to trouble you about this, but just let me know what you want me to do.”
He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him to carry on his conversation in the hallway.
Barrett checked the clock again and then looked at Vasquez. “You did great. That’s all you can do. And you’re sure that the general will see to it that we’re safe?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t call it an affair. More like an occasional fling. But whenever I’m in the country and he’s free—”
She let her words hang, the implication clear.
A few seconds later, Ali ended his phone call and returned to the room. “Good news. The general has ordered your full and unconditional release effective almost immediately.”
“Almost?” Barrett asked.
“He’s asked me to transport you to Azadi Square so you can discuss your findings with the authorities on site,” Ali said.
Barrett’s eyes widened. “It might be too late by then. You need to let them know right now.”
“Of course,” Ali said. “We will do that, but the general thought it might help if you assist law enforcement and guards on site by telling them what you know.”
Barrett nodded. “Sure, but it may not matter if we—”
“You’ll have a police escort,” Ali said, glancing at his watch. “You’ll get there about five minutes before President Hassan takes the stage to speak. And you’ll get to witness the event in person.”
Ten minutes later, the entire team was riding unfettered in an SUV as it raced through the busy streets of Tehran toward Azadi Square. Once they reached the square, several guards directed them into the lobby of a building across the street.
“Where are we going again?” Barrett asked Ali, who’d accompanied the guards.
“It’s essentially the central nervous system of our security coverage,” Ali said. “You should be able to help officers on the ground find suspicious individuals who might potentially attempt to assassinate the president.”
Ali led them into an elevator. Barrett along with his four companions were packed tightly in the elevator with three armed guards and Ali. The carriage seemed to groan as it carried them to the fifth floor.
Barrett checked his watch and then looked at Stone.
“We’re going to be cutting it close,” Stone said.
“I’ll be looking immediately,” Watts said.
“Can I help?” Grace asked.
Barrett shrugged. “Search for people who look like they might be carrying something suspicious. Can you do that?”
“Not a problem,” Grace said.
“And me?” Vasquez said.
“You can sit in the corner and get a foot massage for all I care,” Barrett said. “We’re free because of you.”
The doors slid open and they walked down the hall. Ali gestured for them to enter a large room. It looked like a conference room with a long table with a dozen chairs ringing it. A tablecloth was draped across it with a glass pitcher of water in the center. Barrett scowled when he didn’t see anyone inside.
He spun toward Ali. “I thought you said—”
But Ali was gone. So were the guards. Then Barrett heard the sickening click of a deadbolt lock sliding into place.
He cursed and punched the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Vasquez asked.
“Your general friend set us up,” Barrett said.
“He—what—he would never do that,” the doctor countered.
“Well, he just did because we’re trapped in here to watch the whole thing.”
Stone nodded. “General Abdul was in on it.”
“He’s a war hawk,” Watts said. “Any excuse to go to war is a good enough excuse for Abdul.”
Barrett rubbed his face with both hands and groaned. “Shit. Not only is a war going to start, but they’re going to try to pin it on us. This is not what I had in mind for Plan C.”
A minute later, President Hassan strode to the podium amid a loud roar from the crowd of nearly a hundred thousand people who’d gathered to make his big announcement.
“Today is a momentous day,” Hassan said, speaking in his native tongue, loud and clear enough to be heard through the large plate glass window. “Today is the day that Iran surrenders its entire nuclear armament, not because we want to surrender the ability we have to protect ourselves, but because we want to bring peace to this part of the world and the stability that comes with it in order to ensure a prosperous future for this nation.”
Another roar went up.
Barrett felt his stomach drop. “What the hell—he’s announcing nuclear disarmament.”
“Which makes the assassination even more devastating,” Watts said grimly. “They’re killing a peacemaker.”
Hassan waved to the crowd as chants of “Iran for Peace” erupted from the gathering. A smile was plastered to his face when a bullet tore through Hassan’s chest, knocking him to the floor and turning the entire gathering into sheer chaos.
Barrett watched in horror as the crowd scattered in panic. Through the window, he could see security forces already moving, their choreographed response suggesting this had been planned down to the minute.
“We failed,” Stone said quietly.
“No,” Barrett said, his jaw tightening as he processed what had just happened. “Think about it. When Doc gave the phone back to Ali, this is what Abdul told him to do with us. And the sick irony is that we came here to stop an assassination and suddenly became a convenient way for the Echo Syndicate to use us.”
“He would never betray me,” Vasquez said, still struggling to believe what had happened.
“Then why are we here?” Barrett asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Ali is the bad one.”
Vasquez stared out the window at the chaos below, watching security forces move with practiced efficiency around Hassan’s fallen body. Her shoulders sagged as the reality sank in.
“The timing,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “Abdul knew exactly when Hassan would be speaking. He positioned us here at the perfect moment to...” She trailed off, her hand pressed against the glass.
“To be witnesses,” Barrett finished. “And scapegoats.”
Vasquez closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “He used me. He used my feelings for him to...” She opened her eyes, and when she looked at Barrett, the hurt had hardened into resolve.
She turned away from the window and moved toward the conference table. “What do you need me to do?”
He turned to Watts. “How long do we have before the launch window opens?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two hours, if Simpson’s intelligence is to be believed. But who knows how long we’ll have once we actually get there.”
Barrett scanned the room for something to help them escape. “Everyone give me a hand, will you?”
“What are we going to do now?” Grace asked.
Barrett stared at the window and then back at her and the rest of the team. His mind raced through the implications—Hassan’s peace announcement would make his assassination look like America silencing a reformer, giving Iran’s hardliners the perfect excuse to retaliate.
“We’re going to break out of here and get to that missile site,” he said, grabbing a chair. “Hassan just announced nuclear disarmament—his death makes this look like America assassinating a peacemaker. They’ll launch within the hour, and when they do, there won’t be a way back from World War Three.”
