“Come, now, the night’s still young. I was about to introduce you to Secretary Irving. Plus, Senator Scarsdale is throwing an after party in his suite upstairs.”

  “I know. He already invited me.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Perhaps another time.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll fetch us an Uber back to Georgetown,” Brad said, and placed his arm gently around her shoulder.

  She stared at the extended arm with her cold blue eyes. The arm was immediately withdrawn. “Brad, why would I go to Georgetown when my house is in Arlington?”

  “The Uber was for us. I thought we’d go back to my place and get a nightcap.”

  “You know I have a husband?”

  “Jennifer, you have this all wrong. I just wanted to continue our conversation at my place over drinks. I can drive you back to Arlington whenever you like,” he said with a fake grin.

  “Brad dear, I’m not a drunk college girl for one thing. Second, there are plenty of bimbos here for you to take back to your Georgetown pad. Third, Janusz is an old-school motherfucker. Trust me when I say you don’t ever want him to hear that you tried to fuck his wife.” Her words wiped the shitty grin off his face as quickly as the spring rain wiped the pollen off the trees in Washington. He was finally at a loss for words.

  “Thanks again for the invitation, Brad. I’ll be leaving now by myself. Enjoy da rest of your evening.” She walked past him toward the lobby. She was comforted by the thought that her own husband could always be relied upon to do the right thing.

  41. Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo, Monaco

  October 25

  Wow, what the fuck happened last night? Janusz thought as he massaged his head. He moved the pillow under his neck before grabbing the watch on the nightstand. It was forty-five minutes past nine in the morning, and his head was spinning. Memories from an undergraduate keg party came to mind. Am I in college? He scanned the room. It was too nice to be a college dorm. He sat upright on the bed, studying his surroundings. He was wearing a tux without a bow tie. His shirt was open at the collar. He wore dress socks, no shoes. Janusz mustered enough strength to get out of bed. He wondered if a sledgehammer had slammed him on the head. Peering out the window did nothing to jog his memory. Pulling the curtains back only served to heighten the pain. He turned his head for the safety of the shade like a vampire. The floodgate of memories suddenly flew open. The shoot-out in Geneva, the fight with DGSI, the nutcracker in the chalet, and the drive to Monte Carlo, it was all a blur.

  Monte Carlo, fuck, Dr. Ahvazi!

  Janusz ran to wash his face with cold water in the bathroom. After that, he opened the minifridge for bottled water. Where the hell was Dr. Ahvazi? Maybe the Iranian scientist was back at the hotel spa. Or maybe he was taking a swim in the fancy indoor pool. The man was a menace.

  How much did that idiot Ahvazi lose at the tables last night? I’m too fucking tired to care!

  Janusz moaned as he grabbed the bathroom doorknob once more. A sharp stabbing pain emanated from his stomach. It was the pain from another flash of memory.

  Fuck Dr. Ahvazi! How much did I lose last night?

  Janusz stumbled back into the room. He perched himself on the velvet chair as his head spun uncontrollably from the thought.

  I lost it all! Goddamn it, I lost it all!

  He threw his head down in despair. The stabbing stomach pain turned into nausea. He ran into the bathroom, opened the faucet, and placed his face in the sink. He wondered now if he’d been poisoned. The churning in his stomach caused him to vomit three times before gaining full command of his body. The rush of cold water against his face was amazing. His stomach had not expelled much. It was his body that was in full rebellion.

  How could you lose everything? How the fuck could you lose everything, you stupid bastard?

  Janusz fell back on the velvet chair. The full weight of his actions finally dawned on him. He had signed away his life at the roulette table the night before. He stopped thinking about Dr. Ahvazi. It was fair to say that he no longer cared about the Iranian scientist, at least not at the moment. Certain things are more important to a man than even the security of his country. First among those is the security of his family. Janusz had violated the most sacred rule. How could this have happened? He had quit gambling months ago. More importantly, he’d promised his wife that he was through.

  There was a knock at the door. He tried to ignore it, but it did not stop.

  “Go away. I don’t need room service.”

  The knock continued.

  Maybe it was Dr. Ahvazi. He did not care.

  “Go away!”

  “Daro Vaz Kon,” the voice came back. Open the door. It was definitely not Dr. Ahvazi. Janusz stumbled to the door. He opened it and stared at the grinning man standing in front of him. The man was half a foot shorter with thinning hair. He wore rimmed glasses, and there was a tinge of devilishness in his eyes as if he’d done something he was not supposed to do.

  “Are you going to just stand there and stare like an imbecile, or are you going to let me in?” the man asked. Having never met the man before, Janusz was at a loss for words. How did this Iranian know him? How did he know what room he was in? Why was he even here, and why was he so rude? With his head still spinning and his mind still wrapped around his losses at the roulette table, Janusz no longer cared. He opened the door wide for the man to enter.

  “Befarma, Ghorban,” Janusz said, feeling deflated. Welcome, sir.

  The Iranian glanced around. “Quite a nice room you have here.”

  “You’re too kind,” Janusz said.

  The Iranian nodded and stood by the window. After several minutes of staring out into the blue waters of the Mediterranean, he walked over to the minibar, helping himself to a bottle of Perrier. Janusz had a belated epiphany about his guest.

  “Have you come to speak to me about Dr. Ahvazi?” Janusz asked.

  “We’ll get to him in a second, Mr. Impatient. I’m more interested in you at the moment.”

  His tone and choice of words indicated the Iranian felt in control. That stirred up an immense feeling of resentment in Janusz.

  “How can I help you?” Janusz said begrudgingly.

  “I think you’ve got the situation backward. I’m the one who’s here to help you.” The Iranian sat and spread his arms on the back of the chair. He was evidently relishing his position, literally and figuratively.

  “Do you know who I am?” the Iranian asked.

  Janusz took a moment to think. As much as he racked his brain, he could not recall this man. The only thing that was certain was his affiliation with Iranian intelligence, either MOIS or QF.

  “Here’s a hint. Does the name Morteza Karami mean anything to you?”

  As soon as the words entered his ear, Janusz was transported to the rooftop in Brazil. His arms were holding someone upside down. He then opened his hands and let the man drop. Morteza Karami, yes, of course! Janusz’s brow furrowed as he stared daggers at the intruder.

  “I can tell from your face that you’ve heard my name before,” Morteza said. “Perhaps it was Shahram Sabeti that mentioned me before you dropped him from the roof. Or perhaps it was Iman Vakili who blabbed before we were able to shut him up. Either way, it makes no difference now as long as we’re properly introduced.”

  Janusz moved to sit on the sofa, keeping an intense gaze on the man. It was all too much to digest in one morning. His hangover from the previous evening, his losses at the casino, the disappearance of Dr. Ahvazi, and now this.

  “Thanks for refreshing my memory. You’re with MOIS,” Janusz said.

  “Correct. I’m normally head of operations for Europe as you’ve probably heard. Currently, I’m serving as the head of counterintelligence for our virus project, under the direction of General Kalantari. My latest duty is cleaning up every fucking mess you’ve made for us.”

  “That’s strange. General Kalantari is the chief of the Qods Force. You are, after all, an MOIS officer, are you not?”

  “We’re not here to discuss my chain of command. You seem to have a big problem on your hands if I’m not mistaken?” Morteza said quickly, seemingly annoyed.

  “And what is my problem, Mr. Karami?”

  “If I recall correctly, you lost your life savings at the roulette table last night. And if that wasn’t enough, the man you’d taken so much trouble to kidnap has disappeared. Does that capture your predicament adequately?”

  It finally made sense to Janusz. He had been ensnared in an Iranian counterintelligence operation. They had dangled Dr. Ahvazi to draw him out into the open.

  “What gave me away?” Janusz said. He was no longer trying to be evasive.

  “We have our own sources and methods. If I gave away our secrets, the magic would not be as entertaining to watch. We had to pull a lot of strings to put on that show for you last night.”

  “I see. Let’s get on with it. What do you want?”

  “You’re looking at this all wrong, John. May I call you John? Or is that a name you only use to issue warnings to Iraqi virologists at fancy cocktail parties?”

  “If you say so.”

  “The way I see it, John, it’s the MOIS that can do something for you. You lost over a million dollars while gambling last night, including your house, your car, and your retirement savings. We can make you whole once again if you’re willing to work with us.”

  “You mean work for you?”

  “Those are semantics, John, but take it any way you like.”

  “Spare me. Get to the point.”

  “Very well, since you insist, we’d like to turn you into a double agent. We’ll give you the million dollars you need in exchange for feeding false information to your government and collecting information for us.”

  “Like what?”

  “Specifically, to inform your government that Dr. Ahvazi told you the project to weaponize the Marburg virus was a hoax. Roozbeh Navabi, Iman Vakili, and Dr. Ahvazi were all sent out just to fool the American government into thinking Iran is developing a Marburg weapon when in reality it is not.”

  “The US government is not run by fools,” Janusz said, trying to maintain a straight face. “They already know something important prompted you to kill Roozbeh and Iman while risking an international incident at the club in Geneva.”

  “Theatrics, dear John. Your government suspects that we don’t value human life to the same extent as you. Perhaps the murders were the cost of doing business to make all this seem believable. If that’s what you tell them, your people will believe it.”

  “And if I tell you to fuck yourself?”

  “Then you’ll have a lot to explain to your wife. Your problems with your government and with us will pale in comparison to what your wife will want to do to you. I know for a fact that the American legal system does not favor the males of our species.”

  As much as Janusz did not want to admit it, Morteza had a point. He also had the upper hand in this game. Janusz could not think of anything to regain the advantage at the moment. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Good, glad to see you’re coming to your senses. I’ll arrange for your payments, spread over several months, of course. In return, I expect to learn that America no longer suspects Iran has a Marburg weaponization program. I’ll be your handler going forward.”

  Morteza’s last sentence was a dagger in his heart. Janusz never expected to have a handler. For the first time in his life, someone was trying to turn him into a bitch. It was all he could do to not kill Morteza.

  “How will you pay me?” Janusz asked.

  “Cash. I’ll arrange for cash payments to be delivered in a duffel bag. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars over four meetings.”

  “I have to fly home now that Dr. Ahvazi is gone.”

  “Not to worry, we have assets in Washington for the payments. That’s how we knew about Dr. Simmons’s work.”

  “The murdered scientist in Virginia?” Janusz repeated to make sure.

  “Same exact wretched buffoon. Dr. Simmons participated in a panel about African diseases at one of the think tanks in Washington. He could not help mentioning that the US Army had given him a large grant to research the potential of Marburg virus as a biological weapon. Dr. Simmons was not aware that the CEO of this think tank, who shall remain nameless, was working for us. The Alavi Foundation in New York has been financing the work of this particular think tank for years. The CEO has been quite reliable tipping us off on a variety of topics.”

  “Lovely, it appears you’ve learned how things work in Washington. Money.”

  “Like you, we maintain a network of assets around the world. Now, what do you have to say about my offer?”

  “I need some time to think about it. I still have a headache from last night. I’ll use the day to rest and get back to you by tomorrow.”

  “Very well. My hotel is not too far from here. I’ll meet you for breakfast downstairs at eight tomorrow,” Morteza said before making his way toward the door.

  “Oh, and, John?”

  “Yes?”

  “Or should I call you Janusz Soltani?”

  Janusz’s lower jaw dropped as he felt his head spinning again.

  “I do hope you’re aware the Iranian nation appreciates your cooperation,” Morteza said before walking out. Janusz felt the knife twisting in his heart as the world collapsed around him.

  42. Zahedan Airport, Zahedan, Iran

  October 25

  “What’s the status of the patients at Vali-Asr Hospital?” Akbar Shadi yelled as he ascended the stairs to board.

  “Just one patient now, sir. His name is Mohsen Salehi. The other one was released with a clean bill of health,” came the loud reply from his assistant, Hamid, speaking over the roar of the engine.

  “And?”

  “It appears that Mohsen Salehi is in critical condition. We’re still not sure what he has.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “The QF won’t let our people into his room. They’ve denied our repeated requests to visit him.”

  “We’ll see about that. They must have forgotten that the Pasteur Institute and the RCERID belong to the Ministry of Health.”

  Akbar Shadi stood on top of the staircase. He reached for a handkerchief in his pant pocket. The unusual heat wave caused the sweat to pour down his forehead and over his nose. As he wiped his face, the deputy assistant health minister was grateful to be leaving Zahedan. The capital of the poverty-stricken Sistan va Baluchistan Province, Zahedan had some of the worst infrastructure in Iran. If that wasn’t bad enough, the city was plagued by an incessant crime wave. It was a reflection of the porous border that enabled a constant stream of drug smugglers to enter from neighboring Pakistan. The region was considered Iran’s “wild west.” As he stepped inside, a lone mechanic descended from a staircase adjacent to the plane’s rear engine. The mechanic, in his street clothes, stared at him before walking away. He felt goose bumps all over his body. He was not sure why.

  “Sir, please take your seat. We need to get going if we’re to make our next appointment,” Hamid warned from behind.

  “Actually, I want you to cancel our meeting at the ministry this afternoon. We’re going straight to the hospital.”

  “You want to go straight to Vali-Asr Hospital from the airport? They’re not expecting us, sir. That might not be a good idea.”

  “That’s the whole point. If there is nothing to hide about that patient they got up there, then they won’t mind our visit.”

  “What if this Mohsen Salehi really is infected with a deadly virus? Do you want to risk catching whatever he’s got?”

  “They won’t let us near him if he is contagious, which means they’ll have to come up with an excuse. Either way, I’ll catch that lying Ahvazi in the act. I’ve wanted to crush that little bug for years. I finally have him right where I want him,” the deputy assistant health minister said as he walked toward his seat.

  Inside the cabin, the Ministry of Defense had redesigned this Russian Tupolev Tu-154 for high-ranking cabinet officials. It was the only one of its kind still in service. The Iranian government used it to carry VIPs around the country. The endless rows of passenger chairs had been pulled out to make room for plush leather seats. An attractive female crew member, with proper hijab, directed the passengers. Mango and watermelon juice was handed out as the crew made final preparations for takeoff.

  “What’s his deal anyway?” Hamid wanted to know.

  “Who?”

  “Javad Ahvazi.”

  “He’s an egomaniac, the type that wants to take all credit for himself. We were classmates once at the University of Tehran,” Akbar Shadi said.

  “You never told me that, sir.”

  “It was the second year of our PhD program. A classmate of ours was conducting research on a type of genetically modified bacteria. It just so happened that this particular individual was also the top-ranked student in our class. He had the highest grade point average in the program. The man had a bright future ahead of him. Anyway, the poor fellow had borrowed the library’s only edition of a biology journal, I forget which, to conduct his research. This was before the days of internet access in our universities. A couple of weeks before his research paper was due, there was a break-in at his dorm. The only thing that was taken was the journal.”

  “And you think it was the work of Javad Ahvazi?”

  “Who else breaks into a college dorm room just to steal a biology journal? Without the journal, the poor fellow had to research another topic. It was too far into the semester for that, and he knew his grade point average would surely suffer. Being the perfectionist that he was, he could not handle the pressure. The night before his paper was due, the poor fellow committed suicide.”

  “My God! What a heartless act.”

  “We all suspected that devil Ahvazi, but we could never prove it. The university initiated an investigation, which never amounted to anything. I suspect that Ahvazi hired someone to do his dirty deed. Ironically, Ahvazi still came in second place that semester,” Akbar Shadi said with satisfaction in his voice.

 

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