Chapter 2: Agent Zardooz

By any means necessary. I didn’t need to ask what that meant. It was fairly obvious the CIA would offer me as bait. I would seduce the suspect, become his lover and allow him to have repeated sexual relations with me. Once I was in his inner circle, perhaps I would overhear something. The play worked like a charm in Mexico and Europe for my last two cases. Men are fairly predictable creatures. Why not Saudi Arabia?

“Through our surveillance of the subject we’ve learned a very important meeting will take place in early February in Tehran where Agent Zardooz has extensive personal contacts. We need you at that meeting Agent Milani,” my Handler said.

Undercover in Tehran. I am in the big leagues now.

“Understood,” I said.

“Agent Zardooz is also a practicing Muslim and knows the spiritual terrain,” my Handler added.

“A Muslim? Really? That must make you popular over at the Bureau,” I said, teasing him.

Zardooz became deadly serious, once again not catching my humor. G-Men are such stiffs.

“Last time I checked, our Constitution grants me freedom of religion, Agent Milani,” Zardooz said.

“Yeah but couldn’t you pick a religion that’s a little less annoying, like everyone else?” I said.

“It is the faith of my Father and his Father before him,” Zardooz countered.

I realized it was inappropriate, but it was so much fun teasing the guy and so easy.

“I guess your Mother’s belief system didn’t enter into the equation,” I said.

“My family’s beliefs are none of your concern, Agent,” Zardooz said back, gruffly.

“Lighten up Big Guy. I’m just kidding,” I said.

My boss looked impatiently at us.

“If you two are quite finished may we continue the briefing?” my Handler said.

Zardooz and I gave each other sideways glances and nodded.

“Agent Zardooz has set up a safe house for our operation on the outskirts of Tehran. We’ve also rented an apartment with a clear view of our second suspect’s home. The apartment will be supplied with surveillance equipment for you, Agent Zardooz. Agent Milani will do the undercover work while you, Agent Zardooz, will be our eyes on the ground. Once you get the information we seek, Agent Zardooz will get you to the safe house and out of the country.”

After a pause my Handler gave me a concerned look.

“I have to warn you, this will be the most dangerous mission of your career, Agent Milani. Other than Agent Zardooz, you’ll be completely on your own over there. I have a bad feeling about this. We needed more time to properly plan this out and the operation has been thrown together in the last 12 hours. As your direct supervisor I advise you to reconsider this assignment, Agent Milani. I give you my word your decision will not adversely affect your career in any way,” my Handler said.

This was the once in a lifetime case I dreamed about. If I could pull this off, it could lead to a promotion within the agency, even to a Station Chief position. But more importantly, when I retired I would look back on this case as the crowning achievement of my intelligence career.

“Are you kidding? I’m not backing out now! I’m all in, boss. So, go on. What’s the play?” I asked.

My Handler nodded gravely and clicked on a file labeled, “Hellfire.” A photograph of an exceedingly well-dressed Saudi man appeared on the screen.

“Take a good long look at this man, Agent Milani. This is your target. Prince Khaled Al Khatani. If our information is accurate from the chatter the NSA has picked up, this man is secretly financing terrorist networks worldwide. We believe Khatani is actively pursuing a small nuclear weapon and intends to detonate it in the US. You’ll be getting to know this man quite well, Agent Milani,” my Handler said.

Prince Khaled Al Khatani.

As soon as I saw his clean shaven, handsome face, my heart started pumping. He looked more like the young CEO of an immensely successful Fortune 500 company, not some deluded fanatic hiding in a cave. Damn, why couldn’t he grow a disgusting rat’s tail of a beard like all the other terrorists? I suddenly felt a little dizzy and weak at the knees. I needed to sit down, but there was nowhere to sit. My Handler caught me staring a little too long at his picture.

“He’s a Prince?” I managed to say.

“Yes,” my Handler answered. “He’s been indoctrinated in radical Islam and he’s rich enough to purchase a suitcase bomb or finance the construction of one. We believe that Al Qaeda’s chief bomb-maker, Abdullah Al Juhani, also a Saudi, may have the ability to build one, if he had access to the fissile materials. As of yet, there’s been no recorded contact between Al Khatani and Al Juhani, however.”

I stared down at the picture of our suspect. I knew myself well enough by now that no matter how sinister he was purported to be, I was powerfully attracted to this Saudi Arabian man. Why was I so immediately attracted to him? I always had this image of a fantasy man I would picture to distract me when I was on a job, under the sweating fat body of a drug lord or sex trafficker. It was as if my fantasy had come to life on the computer screen. Khatani had a romantic, movie star quality about him, like Omar Sharif in Laurence of Arabia, only much sexier. He didn’t look like a terrorist at all, with his $1500 Armani suit, Rolex watch and charming smile. I felt a little moisture growing between my thighs and my hands trembled slightly, just from being shown his photograph. “Brittany, he’s a terrorist, a terrorist,” I said to myself as I tried to slow my pounding heart. Based on my visceral reaction, perhaps my Handler was correct in his assertion that I needed more time to decompress. Part of me wanted to ask to be reassigned to another case before this strikingly beautiful man got onto my personal 10 Most Wanted List. I angled my hips and sat down on the edge of the table before I became more light-headed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jefferson, could I trouble you for something to drink. A soda water perhaps?”

“Certainly Ms. Milani, I’ll have the bartender bring us all refreshment,” Mr. Jefferson said, sending a text on his phone.

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson,” my Handler said. “After we took out Osama Bin Laden on May 2, 2011, we cut the head off the snake, so to speak. Though we continue to closely watch the activities of Hezbollah, the Taliban, Hamas and Al-Qaeda, there has been no large scale terrorist attack on American soil since 9/11. We’ve been vigilant in preventing further Terrorist actions and significantly crippled the Al Qaeda Network by the Drone attacks ordered by President Obama over the last few years and the recent missile attacks against the ISIS. But somehow, Khaled Al Khatani flew completely under our radar. He might be forming an entirely new terrorist cell, a far more sophisticated and dangerous one that we’ve ever encountered.”

“What is Al Khatani’s actual connection to the terrorist networks you’ve mentioned?” Zardooz asked.

“We’re not exactly sure yet,” my Boss said. “If you recall, a former Russian defector claimed in the late 1980’s that 84 small tactical nuclear weapons went unaccounted for, each weighing under 100 pounds and capable of fitting into a backpack or a suitcase. He claimed the Russians planted them in secret locations in the US and Europe. But after an extensive search, none of the bombs were located. If even one of these miniaturized bombs were detonated in the right location, it is estimated to create a 150 foot crater and could easily kill 100,000 people in a concentrated population center. Like Chernobyl, the clean-up of the nuclear waste at the site would take years. It was rumored that Bin Laden had procured one or more of these deadly suitcase bombs from Chechnya, but of course it never materialized when his compound was raided, nor have any of the missing bombs ever been found. Though most experts believe the whole story was the delusion of the Russian defector seeking asylum in the US, what if it were true? These powerful portable weapons gaining access to American soil has been one of our government’s greatest fears…”

I had heard about the missing suitcase bombs before, but so far the case against Al Khatani seemed to be built on CIA paranoia and not hard evidence. Was I defending him in my mind already? He had such an attractive innocent face. How could he be a radical?

“If we’re not even sure whether Al Khatani is a terrorist, what makes you think he may be trying to acquire a suitcase bomb?” I asked.

“As I mentioned NSA recently picked up chatter from terrorist network phone lines and have detected the words, suitcase bomb, hellfire, equipment manager, Al Khatani as well as a known Iranian associate of Khatani in Tehran, a man named Amir Akbari,” my Handler said.

My Handler clicked the computer and the photograph of the cherubic face and wide open eyes of Akbari was revealed. He was a sweet-faced man with the innocent dreamy look of Dzhokhar Tsarnaez, in custody for the Boston Marathon Bombings. We heard a knock on the door and I shuddered slightly. My nerves were definitely on edge. Maybe I should’ve taken more time off between assignments. But it was too late to turn back now.

The bartender came in carrying a tray of frosted glasses and bottles of Perrier. He poured our drinks in silence and left the office. We took refreshment while my Handler continued the briefing.

“Following the money, Al Khatani has made wire transfers recently of large sums into Akbari’s account. Al Khatani and Akbari met while studying at UC Berkley and seem to be relatively comfortable in the West. They both graduated with degrees in Engineering and have business interests here. Especially Al Khatani, whose family owns luxury hotels in several major cities across the US. They have no criminal record here to speak of, not even a parking ticket. They were never on a Terrorist Watch List, but based on these intercepted phone transmissions, we got permission from the Saudis to bug Al Khatani’s home three weeks ago. Apparently, Al Khatani’s has some very clever people working for him. His security team discovered the hidden devices within 24 hours, even though they were planted by our best operators. We can’t track his cell phone usage, since he uses burner phones. But then CIA got a very interesting call from Mr. Jefferson that led us to his club this evening. Why don’t you let the agents in on the contents of your conversation with our suspect, Mr. Jefferson?”

“Certainly. The conversation lasted just under a minute. I happened to be at work this morning doing payroll and someone named Prince Al Khatani called, asking to rent one of the private rooms at Obsessions for tomorrow night from 9PM-11PM. We happened to have a last minute cancellation and I told him I could accommodate his request. I asked him to come at 8:30 so we could meet, arrange payment and discuss the basic rules of the club. He agreed, but had one favor to ask. For his own safety, he asked if his guards could do a security sweep of the premises and especially the room they were renting. He told me he was a Prince of a Middle-Eastern country. I told him sure, we cater to all fantasies here at Obsessions. He laughed pleasantly and hung up. I thought he was just another one of my usual crackpots, but just for fun I Googled his name and to my surprise discovered Prince Al Khatani actually was a distant relative of the Royal Family. Still, it seemed suspicious to me that he traveled with security personnel and wanted my club swept for surveillance devices. I thought perhaps he may have been involved in some illicit business, drugs perhaps. Why else would he be travelling with guards? So I decided to call the local authorities to alert them about it. I certainly didn’t want to create a situation that would endanger the patrons of my club. I waited but no one from the Chicago Police Department called me back. So I went over their heads and called the FBI’s Chicago Branch. They were more responsive. Because of the Middle-Eastern connection I suppose they referred me to the CIA. I left a message there and got a call back from you within the hour Sir,” Jefferson said.

“And due to your vigilance Mr. Jefferson, you may have played a role in helping to avert an act of terrorism on US soil. Now we have the perfect opportunity to get video and audio recordings of Al Khatani tomorrow night and gather crucial evidence against him. Agents, something’s about to go down with this guy. I can feel it in my bones.”

“With all due respect, I still don’t see how you can jump to that conclusion Sir,” I said.

Was I already protecting my Saudi Prince?

“Let me explain, Agent. During the 24 hours we had his home, phone and computer system under surveillance last month, we recorded him talking to his friend Akbari and making reservations for two round trip first class tickets from Riyadh to Tehran leaving the evening of February 1 and returning the following night on Feb. 2,” he said.

“February 2 falls on a Sunday next year,” Zardooz said, checking the calendar on his I-Phone.

“So Al Khatani made a plane reservation to visit his friend on the weekend. I still don’t see why -”

“Listen to this short exchange, Agents,” my Handler said, interrupting me.

He turned the volume up on the computer, tapped a key and two distinct voices were heard. My Handler said the first voice was Al Khatani and the second was Akbari.

“Be’man be’go. Aya hameh vasayel modir toyeh sakhteman hast?”

“Baleh, Allahu Akbar!”

All of us stood frozen behind the computer screen.

“What does that mean? What did they say?” Jefferson asked.

I translated.

“Al Khatani asks in Farsi, “Tell me. Is the equipment manager in the building?” And Akbari replies in Farsi and Arabic, “Yes. God is greatest.”

A period of silence passed between us.

“Allahu Akbar is what the terrorists were reported to have shouted before the suicide bombings in Paris,” I mentioned.

My Handler nodded his head.

“What also troubles me,” my boss said, “is these two men are from Saudi Arabia and Iran, countries fighting a proxy war against each other in Yemen. I’ve often worried about what would happen if terrorists from the Sunni and Shiite branches of Islam stopped fighting each other and pooled their resources to form an alliance against the West.”

“What do they mean by equipment manager?” Jefferson asked.

“We don’t know yet, but we intend to find out,” my Handler said. “It is my gut feeling that something is going down at that meeting. If we can’t get the information we need here Agent Milani, I want you on that plane sitting next to the Prince. I want you there in Tehran to find out who or what this “equipment manager” is. I need you to find out if the term “hellfire” refers to our drone missile strikes or if it means something else. And most importantly, get any information you can about their possession of a suitcase bomb. The play is this. Your name is Aisha Nayef. Your travel documents have all been prepared. Aisha was the Prophet Mohammed’s youngest and most beloved wife, so hopefully the name will help trigger his lust for you. You were born and raised in Chicago and now are completely on your own, mourning the loss of your parents in a recent car accident. You consider yourself a modest Muslim woman, but you wish to learn more about the religion. Perhaps this is your way in. It will stroke Al Khatani’s ego if you ask for his instruction on how to become a proper Muslim woman. I’ll let you take it from there. We need you to gather incriminating evidence against him if he is indeed masterminding a terrorist attack in America. It is of the utmost importance to the security of our country.”

“I see,” I said.

It sounded like a fairly standard play. I wish I had more time to study the subject’s tendencies, his likes and dislikes. But there was no time for extensive research on this case. We would have to wing it tomorrow. My Handler continued to prep me.

“You work as a waitress at Obsessions and have been assigned to serve drinks at Al Khatani’s private party. At first I thought you should wear a full burqa or niqab, but he might suspect he’s being set up. You should be dressed in whatever uniform a regular waitress wears.”

“I’ll have one of my other cocktail waitresses bring in an extra outfit for tomorrow night that matches what they wear, a short black mini skirt and a white tank top with the word Obsessions written above the breast,” Jefferson said.

“Perfect, that should work,” my Handler said. “I’m betting on the fact that Al Khatani is a typical guy and will fall hard for you,” my Handler said.

“Why should Agent Milani take on all the risk? What exact role am I playing in the operation?” Zardooz asked.

“I can’t have anyone see you tomorrow night. You will be in Mr. Jefferson’s office , recording and monitoring the conversations at the club. If we indeed go to Riyadh, I need you to be as close to Agent Milani as possible. Your name will be Omar Saliba, a commoner. I have your travel documents. They were created by our best people in Langley. You should have no problem traveling with them whatsoever. If in fact the Prince takes Agent Milani back with him to Riyadh I need you to get inside Al Khatani’s compound at Riyadh, Agent Zardooz. You’ll have to figure out how when you get there. Perhaps you can apply to work as one of Al Khatani’s gardeners, household staff, etcetera. Get a job in there, cleaning his toilets if you have to. Agent Milani is going into the deepest cover of her career. I need eyes on her. I need to know where she is at all times, who she meets and what she hears. I need you to be close by, but hidden in plain sight Agent Zardooz. And when the time comes, I need you to get her the hell out of Dodge. Do you understand your role, Agent?”

“I do Sir,” Zardooz said.

“For tomorrow evening we won’t risk planting bugs in the room Al Khatani rented, but all of us will be wearing wires, including you Agent Milani. You’ll be the one closest to him throughout the evening and we need to record every word he says. Mr. Jefferson and I will make rounds through the room every few minutes, while Agent Zardooz monitors the transmissions. We’ll all be able to communicate with each other through hidden ear pieces. If anyone hears the words “hellfire”, “equipment manager”, or anything incriminating that could tie Al Khatani to a terrorist plot, we’ll call the authorities and arrest his entire entourage tomorrow night. But if we can’t get the evidence we need here, I need you to get Al Khatani to take you back to the hotel with him tonight and hopefully on the plane to Riyadh with him on Sunday. Agent Zardooz, if you see Agent Milani get on the flight with Al Khatani, I want you on the same flight out of Chicago to rendezvous with our field director in Riyadh…”

My Handler took a deep breath and there was a period of silence in the room. We all took sips of our drinks.

“I know this play is full of holes and has been slapped together, but this may be our best chance to make a move on these guys. Unlike what happened prior to 9-11, both agencies of our government are working together this time, sharing information and talent. Of course, it all may lead nowhere, but if these two men have gotten a hold of a suitcase bomb, this may be our best shot to foil their terrorist plot. Are we all in agreement with the play?” my Handler asked.

All three of us nodded our head at once. My Handler glanced at me briefly and I avoided his eyes.

“Agent Milani, you’ve been abnormally quiet. Are you alright?”

It was true. The planning of the whole operation had a slapdash quality about it. I wished we could do a trial run in the safety of our Langley office, but there was no time for that. I knew the success or failure of the mission rested solely upon my shoulders. I began to feel uneasy.

“I’m fine. I think it’s a good play. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

“Does anyone have any questions?” my Handler said.

We collectively shook our heads no. My Handler handed Zardooz and I our travel documents. I looked mine over. They were expertly done, considering the short time Langley had to create them. I put the fake passport and ID of Aisha Nayef in my purse next to my lipstick.

“Very good then. We will meet here again at 5PM tomorrow evening to prepare for the operation.”

There was a knock on the door. One of Jefferson’s employees opened the door and spoke.

“Lucius Barrington and the two women have arrived, Sir.”

“Speak of the devil…” my Handler said, smiling ever so slightly.