Whiplash

38

Breanna was just securing her gear in her office on the CIA campus when the small communications cube on the corner of her desk sounded a tone.

“Clear,” she told the computer, allowing the communication. The secure nature of the building, as well as her small staff and the late hour, meant that there was no one nearby to hear what she was saying. But Room 4 wouldn’t have been Room 4 without a high-tech guarantee of security protecting even the most casual conversation. Inaudible waves of energy vibrating from the walls — more nanotechnology — killed all sounds five feet from her desk, making it impossible for anyone outside of the room to hear.

“This is Danny.”

“What’s going on?”

“The tag marker we put on Tarid was diluted because of the rain. We want to tag him again.”

“Do it. You don’t need to hear from me.”

“The problem is, he’s on his way to Iran. We want to follow him.”

Ordinarily, Breanna would have said “Go” right away, but what she heard about the visit made her pause.

For all of a half second.

“All right. How are you getting there?”

“That’s why I called. We’ve tracked his flight schedule and have a pretty good idea of what his planes are. It’s too late to get on the flight with him,” Danny added. “And besides, if we take a commercial flight, there’s always a chance someone will find something in our gear.”

The Iranian secret police and intelligence agencies also made it a habit to follow westerners in the country. While they could get around that, Danny wanted to avoid the hassle.

“So what were you thinking?”

“We want to fly into Baku, Azerbaijan. There’s a flight to Egypt from Khartoum in about an hour and a half that goes up to Cairo. If you can get a plane there and get us up to Baku, we’ll make it just in time. But we need help renting some boats and getting gear together. I can’t take anything on the first leg.”

“Baku?”

“I was there during the Iraq War.”

Zen had been there, too, flying a still classified mission he never talked about.

“All right, Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“You may want to get a pen. The list is kinda long.”

Reid had already gone to bed when Breanna called him.

“Don’t you have a family to go home to?” he asked tartly, pulling on his glasses and sitting up in bed. “And don’t you get any sleep?”

“Don’t worry about my family,” said Breanna. “Our subject is on his way to Iran.”

“Yes?”

“Danny, Nuri, and two other Whiplash people are following him.”

“Into Iran?”

“That’s where he’s going.”

“Why do we need to go to Iran?” Reid asked.

“Because the marker is going to fail and we won’t be able to follow him soon. I talked to Ray Rubeo. His people think we’ll lose the signal in another three or four days. The computer estimates about a week. Either way, that’s going to be too short.”

“Maybe not.”

“There’s no way we can risk losing him now. They have a plan that will get them to the airport in Tehran before he lands. Tagging him there should be easy. If not, they’ll follow along until they can get close.”

“Losing the political agreement with Iran is a much bigger risk,” said Reid. “If this blows up, the trip is sure to be scuttled.”

“What good is the agreement if they’re cheating?” said Breanna.

Reid reminded her that the consensus of the analysts who followed Iran was that the operation to refine the weapons grade material was being conducted by a splinter group of some sort, not the government itself. There were serious doubts about how effective or lasting such a program could be.

“You’re getting pressure from Edmund,” said Breanna. “Is that why you want to hang back?”

He had, in fact, been getting pressure — a phone call from the deputy director of operations as well as the big boss, both of whom implied that he was going over to the other side — that being defined as any entity not under their full control. But Reid didn’t think he was responding to the pressure at all.

“I’m merely saying there’s no need for haste or too much risk,” he countered.

“So you don’t think they should go to Iran?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” said Breanna. “They’re going to need some supplies and logistical help.”

Reid put his elbows on his knees for a moment, thinking. Late night phone calls were one of the reasons he had turned down the DDO’s job. Not the major reason, but still one of them.

“If things go wrong, Breanna, they’re going to have our heads,” he said finally.

“Isn’t that always the case?”

“Yes, of course it is.” Reid sighed. He knew they should go — the trail would undoubtedly lead back there at some point anyway. “Let me get dressed and make some coffee. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”