Operation Devil's Vengeance Read online

  Roozbeh observed as a technician, Peyman, carried the sedated rat for injection. No matter how many times they practiced this scenario, the risk remained high. A positive-pressure suit with a coiled air hose dangling from the ceiling would have reduced the risk considerably. Given a shortage of funding, their boss had repeatedly declined to purchase these suits.

  Everyone was ready. Iman’s breathing quickened while his chest moved rapidly. Roozbeh stared at the beads of sweat forming on Iman’s forehead. Peyman held the rat with both hands as Iman shakily maneuvered the syringe containing the deadly virus. Roozbeh wanted to delay the procedure. His colleague was bound to make a mistake. He decided not to diminish Iman’s authority in front of the others. Iman closed his eyes in an attempt to focus. Once his eyes were open, the young scientist pointed the tip of the needle toward the rat. As soon as the syringe made contact with the furry rodent, all hell broke loose. The rat came to life with a burst of energy. The events that followed flashed by at light speed.

  Before Roozbeh gathered his thoughts, the rat jumped away, dashing across the table. Iman continued to insert the syringe, straight into Peyman’s left hand. No longer concerned about the furry creature, all four men froze in place. The needle punctured Peyman’s glove as well as the skin. A small drop of blood was visible on the white glove. Peyman was likely infected with the deadliest pathogen in Iran.

  “Quick, get him to the sink and apply the disinfectant,” Roozbeh yelled as Iman stood frozen in place. There would be hell to pay with their boss, but that would come later.

  “Iman, don’t just stand there. Call for a helicopter to Vali-Asr Hospital. Peyman must be isolated immediately.”

  As they scurried about in panic, the rat disappeared under a table.

  “Find that rat at once. It’s the only living creature inoculated with our experimental vaccine. Without the rat, we won’t know if our vaccine works,” Roozbeh shouted at them.

  One of the assistants pressed the emergency alarm on the wall. The warning went out to the entire facility about the contamination. The siren pierced their eardrums as the strobe lights flashed on and off. During the ensuing commotion, a wall-mounted phone several meters away came to life. He walked over to read the caller ID. It was the director’s office.

  “What the hell is going on down there?” the director growled.

  “We’ve experienced an accidental infection in lab five. We’re following protocol.” It was a lie. Roozbeh could think of nothing else to say.

  “Never mind that. There’s a matter of utmost importance I need to discuss with you.”

  “But, sir, we’ve got a crisis down here. I need to—”

  “Roozbeh, are you listening to me? Stop wasting time and come to my office at once!”

  Roozbeh hung up. Without saying a word, he made a beeline to the steel door separating the lab from the anteroom. After going through the decontamination showers, he dried himself off and put on his clothes. Several minutes later, Roozbeh entered the office of his boss, Dr. Javad Ahvazi. The man had been appointed as director of RCERID two years earlier. During that time, he had managed to double the funding of the facility while firing most of those who’d worked there before his arrival. He was not a man to be crossed or disobeyed.

  “I got here as fast as I could. There was chaos at the lab. As I mentioned—”

  Dr. Ahvazi, already annoyed, cut him off with the wave of his hand. “Forget about the lab for now. We’ve been assigned a top secret project.”

  Roozbeh’s ears perked up. RCERID worked for the Pasteur Institute, which was part of the civilian Ministry of Health. There had never been a classified application for his research.

  “This particular project, ghoolp, is of special interest to the supreme leader. The man in charge is Major General Vahid Kalantari. Does that give you a hint of the importance of the project?”

  Dr. Ahvazi had a bad habit of making disruptive noises when he spoke. Roozbeh’s thoughts transitioned away from the debacle in lab 5. General Kalantari was chief of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Qods Force, known as QF. The QF was responsible for the external operations of the Revolutionary Guards. Its mandate included providing supplies to proxy militias, training foreign militaries, sabotage, and all forms of terrorism. There was little good that could come of this.

  “Sir, the QF is a military organization. What could they possibly want with us?” The rhetorical question was meant to show Roozbeh’s moral objection, not his lack of understanding.

  “Roozbeh, you know as well as I do, the QF is the most well-funded organization in this country. Times are tough with these economic sanctions. The QF has promised enough money to quadruple our funding, khhhh.” Dr. Ahvazi took a second to clear his throat before continuing. “This could mean complete independence from the home office in Tehran. We’ll become our own autonomous facility directly under the QF.” Sensing that Roozbeh was not convinced, Dr. Ahvazi elaborated.

  “We’ll still be able to research infectious diseases for civilians, except we’ll also have ‘special projects’ for our military sponsors as needed. This is a dream come true, don’t you agree?”

  For you, perhaps, Roozbeh thought before speaking up. “Dr. Ahvazi, what’s this project about anyway?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details as necessary. For now, we’re being asked to choose five scientists and ten technicians in addition to me. I’m putting you in charge of selection. Ask Iman to help you.”

  “What about the others?”

  “General Kalantari has asked us to let the others go. Sixteen remaining individuals will undergo stringent background investigations for a top secret clearance. As of this moment, our facility is dedicated solely to this task.”

  Roozbeh felt nauseated. “When do we start?”

  “That too is something I don’t know. We’re awaiting a team to procure a sample.”

  “A sample of what?” Roozbeh said incredulously, trying hard to hide his disdain.

  “That’ll be all, Roozbeh. Dismissed.”

  As Roozbeh left the room, he was plotting his next move.

  3. Arlington Memorial Hospital, Arlington, Virginia

  September 26

  He exited the elevator and walked down a long hallway. Around the corner was the reception desk. He showed his driver’s license and waited for the receptionist to make the call.

  “Your father’s in surgery. He requested that you wait for him on the third floor.”

  “Thank you,” Janusz Soltani said before walking back toward the elevators. Farhad Soltani was head of the oncology department and its best surgeon. The old man had graduated at the top of his class from the University of Virginia Medical School. Farhad had encouraged Janusz to follow in his footsteps, but Janusz chose a different path after the death of his brother in Italy. That single event continued to reverberate throughout his life. Recently, he had made a habit of visiting his father after work every Wednesday afternoon. They usually headed down to the cafeteria, where they chatted over food and coffee. On the third floor, Janusz took a detour through the snack room before entering the waiting area. He checked the messages on his phone as a young boy, around eleven, and his mother sat across from him.

  The mother was trying to calm her son about an upcoming surgery. Janusz tuned in and out. He had been to this hospital hundreds of times over the years. As far back as he could remember, there was always a shortage of staff. Patients constantly had to endure long waits before being called in to see a doctor. On top of that, there was the horrible food at the cafeteria. He contemplated bringing sandwiches from outside on his future visits.

  That’s when the shouting began. A man was screaming to see a doctor. The growing intensity of the sound indicated that the commotion was moving in Janusz’s direction. He tried to block out the distraction, to no avail. After several minutes, the shouting turned into obscenities and direct threats against the staff. Janusz wondered when security would put an end to the charade.

  Several minutes later, a nurse came by to take the mother and son to see the doctor. The screaming man was much closer now, standing in the hallway outside the waiting area. As mother and son got up to follow the nurse, all hell broke loose. The irate man grabbed another individual by the collar and threw him against the wall.

  “You fucking bastard, where is Dr. Stephens? He killed my wife,” the man screamed as froth trickled down the side of his mouth. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, short brown hair and a scruffy beard. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt with jeans and combat boots.

  “Sir, calm down. Dr. Stephens is out today. I’m his colleague here—” The doctor was cut off and pinned against the wall. Two assistants, most likely nurses, stared with trembling hands. Janusz whispered to one of them to call for security, but she could not move.

  “He killed my wife. Stephens killed my wife during that botched operation. I’m holding all of you personally responsible.”

  “Sir, let’s just sit down and talk about this calmly. Sometimes there is nothing we can do—”

  “I’m through talking with you people. I want blood. Someone has to pay for what happened to my wife.” As he said these words, the assailant reached into his bulging pant pocket to pull out a gun. He used the weapon to pistol-whip the doctor over the head several times, sending him crashing to the floor, blood running down the side of his face. The hate in the assailant’s eyes indicated he was not finished. Seconds later, he lunged forward to grab the boy standing with his mother only a few feet away. Like everyone else, they were frozen in place by the unfolding scene. The angry assailant pushed the protesting mother to the floor before pointing the gun at the boy’s head.

  “Now that I have your attention, someone get Dr. Stephens down here at once. I have som
e unfinished business I need to discuss with him.”

  At that exact moment, two security guards arrived. They immediately drew their weapons but seemed unsure how to proceed.

  “Drop your guns, or I’ll shoot the boy. I mean it. All I want is to speak with Dr. Stephens. I’ll let the boy go when he comes down to see me.”

  One wrong move and the boy would not live to see another day. The security guards were obviously out of their league.

  “I’m only going to say this once more. Back away, or I’ll spill his brains all over the carpet.” The way he handled the pistol, his haircut, and his self-assurance indicated that the assailant had military training. The situation called for extreme care.

  “It’s all right, brother. I think there’s a way to do this honorably,” Janusz broke in before the security guards had a chance to make a mistake.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Just a soldier like you who knows what it feels like not to be heard.”

  “Who told you I was a soldier?”

  “It takes one to know one, brother,” Janusz lied. He figured his service with the CIA was close enough. “You can take me if you let the boy go.” As Janusz spoke, the boy stared at him with pleading eyes. He desperately wanted out.

  “Who put you in charge? I determine who stays and goes around here.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. You’re doing this because you’ve been ignored and you want to speak with Dr. Stephens. What better way to prove your honorable intentions than to let the boy go?”

  “What do I get in return?”

  “You’ll still have me as a bargaining chip. No nonsense, I swear!”

  The man’s brow furrowed while he contemplated the proposition. Janusz motioned for the guards to move back. They obviously sensed his commanding presence and complied. The armed man surged forward with the boy before letting go to grab Janusz by the arm, placing the pistol against the back of his head.

  “Okay, what now, wise guy?” The assailant pushed Janusz’s head forward with the pistol.

  Janusz looked at the nurses in blue overalls. “Can someone get Dr. Stephens here at once?” he yelled as one of them made a call. Janusz took a furtive glance around in all directions. The boy was dragging his mother down the hall in the opposite direction. The pistol-whipped doctor was sitting against the wall, tending to his injured head with his hands. The doctor’s next move was a surprise.

  “Are you happy now, you bastard? You cut my head open. I hope you spend the rest of your life in jail!” This was not going to end well.

  “Shut up, shut the fuck up before I shoot you.”

  “Go ahead, shoot me. You think you’re such a tough guy, let’s see you shoot me.”

  Janusz was not happy with the needless display of bravado. Without warning, the assailant let go of Janusz and pointed the gun at the doctor. The injured man immediately crouched into the fetal position. That’s when instinct took over. Janusz grabbed the extended arm of the assailant at the wrist and in one motion, forced him to drop the pistol. He quickly kicked the weapon out of reach before being tackled from the back by the assailant. Janusz tightened his grip around the man’s arms, then ducked to lift him over his back and body-slam him against the floor. Not wanting to hurt a man who had already lost his wife, Janusz placed him in a choke hold and squeezed. Within seconds, the man passed out. Janusz stood vigilantly over him until the police arrived.

  ◆◆◆

  That evening Janusz came home and went straight to his study. He was in no mood to eat. He grabbed a book off the shelf and threw himself into the plush leather chair perched against a wall. He was in no mood to read either but needed a distraction. The book was about the fighting tactics of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps, known as IRGC. After twenty minutes, Janusz flipped the page to start a new chapter. As soon as he placed his feet on the ottoman, his eyelids grew heavy. His head snapped up as his wife cleared her throat. Drool trickled down the side of his mouth.

  “Hey, how long have you been standing there?” Janusz said groggily.

  “You were supposed to be home for dinner. Another long day at the office?”

  “Actually, I left early to spend the afternoon at the hospital.”

  “Oh, I forgot it was Wednesday. How’s your father?”

  “I didn’t get to speak to him much. There was an incident at the hospital.”

  “An incident?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What were you doing before you fell asleep?”

  “Reading a book about the IRGC’s fighting tactics. Didn’t realize how tired I was.”

  “You still can’t get enough of the fight, can ya?”

  “This is not the time for this conversation.”

  “All I’m saying is that you should write more and let others do the fighting.”

  Janusz closed the book and placed it on a nearby table. He motioned for her to come closer. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?”

  She stared at him coldly with her arms folded under her chest. “Oofta, what’s the point?” Her Minnesota accent always came through when she got excited.

  “Come on, out with it, let’s go.”

  “We just celebrated our first wedding anniversary. You’re still jumping from mission to mission. Don’tcha think you’ve done your part?”

  She was obviously upset. He didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with it now. “Nonsense, you know as well as I do how risk-averse our government has become. My work is more important than ever now.”

  “You can’t change the direction of our country no matter how much ya give. If you push too hard, you’ll go right over the edge. Excessive risk taking, that’s your outlet.”

  “Not fair,” Janusz said, raising his voice. “I went to therapy for gambling. I swear I’m cured!”

  “Your problem was never gambling. Your pain is much deeper. Ya need to figure oot what drives ya to push so hard. It’s only a matter of time before—”

  The ringing of his phone cut her off. Why is he calling now?

  “Tony, please tell me you drunk-dialed me?”

  “Good, you’re awake. Listen up, I need you at the office on the double. We got work to do.”

  “Can’t this wait till the morning?”

  “Actually, pack a bag while you’re at it. You’re going on a trip in the morning,” Tony said before hanging up.

  “What was that aboot?” Jennifer asked.

  “I don’t know. I gotta pack a bag and show up at the office.”

  “Ya see, this is exactly what I mean, you’re addicted to the fight. You need ta ask yourself why.”

  He stared at the floor in quiet contemplation. As he exited the study, she grabbed his arm.

  “Oh, and, Janusz.”

  “Yes?”

  “You have a wife now. You hafta make a change in order to keep her.”

  He peeled her arm away as he went upstairs to pack.

  ◆◆◆

  The meeting was informal. The only others in the room besides himself and Tony, the director of the Unit, were Stan Roth, Tony’s deputy, and Bill Turner, head of operations. Tony sat behind a desk, while the other two stood nearby.

  “You guys look like hell. You should get some sleep,” Janusz said.

  “Maybe later. We have a situation on our hands,” Tony said.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “There was a news conference earlier today in Brazil. An Iranian defector, Roozbeh Navabi, claimed his government is developing a new biological weapon,” Tony said.

  “The defector claimed to be a microbiologist,” Bill said.

  “What kind of biological weapon, and who is the target?” Janusz asked.

  “Both excellent questions. The defector didn’t address either one. That’s where we come in,” Tony said before continuing.

  “The news conference was a local affair in Brasília. No foreign journalists for some odd reason. Jason Osborne, chief of staff of the SSCI, speaks Portuguese. He saw the conference by chance during lunch before informing Senator Patrick, who then came to us,” Stan said.