Oath of Office

Ryan stopped abruptly while someone, likely the Russian, talked to him in the background. It was difficult to tell with the latent lag of the VoIP/satellite connection. He came back on a few seconds later.

“My friend on this end says he has a list of Iranian scientists with the potential to use as assets. A couple of them are in Mashhad.”

Ding said, “Russian assets won’t do us any good.”

“He says these guys are vulnerable,” Jack said. “It doesn’t sound like they have any love for the Russians — just a price. Won’t matter to them which way they turn.” Ryan paused, listening again. “One of them has a sick kid in desperate need of Western medicine.”

“That is promising,” Clark said, conceding that much. Leveraging a child’s illness was nasty business, but intelligence coups often hinged on just that sort of leverage.

“Then give me permission to go talk to him,” Ryan said. “We can be in Mashhad by sunrise.”

“I’m sure Iran has methods in place to deter the free flow of people across their border.”

“No doubt,” Ryan said. “But opium smuggling is big business here. According to Ysabel a large portion of the heroin going into Europe passes through Iran.”

Chavez was unconvinced. “That just means the Iranian dope cops will be putting more pressure on the border. Last I read they’ve increased patrols and are even using drones.”

“Shaheds,” Jack said. “Ysabel just told me. They’re basically knockoffs of our Predator. Her work for the UNODC gave her substantial insight into drug interdiction methods. So she knows the weaknesses.”

“And what would that be?” Chavez asked.

“The wind,” Ryan said. “And not just any wind. This is nasty, dusty stuff, but it’ll give us good cover. It blows here all summer, making border surveillance with UAVs problematic. It’s called ‘the wind of one hundred twenty days.’”

“Let’s get off this line,” Clark said. “Use your best judgment, but do me a favor and check in with me before you do anything rash. I don’t need to tell you what kind of a shit storm you will stir up if you’re caught in Iran without an entry stamp in your passport.”

“Roger that,” Ryan said. “Listen. I’m going to e-mail you a photo. It’s from our Russian friend.”

“All right,” Clark said. “I have something else, but it’s for your eyes only. Check your messages when you send the pic.”

“Roger that,” Ryan said. “Outa here.”

* * *

Ryan logged on to his encrypted e-mail when he ended the call, adding another layer of security to the anonymized virtual private network. He included the link to the photograph of General Alov and the protesters Dovzhenko had put on eBay. A new message arrived from Clark as he was typing. Ryan read it twice, then put it in a virtual burn bag. Information was never really gone, but it could be overwritten so many times as to render it useless — until someone came up with a new program, or the person who invented the original revealed a back door at some hacker conference.

Ryan disconnected the sat phone and looked at the clock on the computer. “Six minutes,” he said. “We should get on the road.”

“Let me guess,” Dovzhenko said. “Your people think I am a dangle and want to put me on the FLUTTER?”

Jack gave an amused nod. FLUTTER was the CIA code name for a polygraph. A dangle was an enemy intelligence officer who volunteered to work as an agent, but was, in reality, a double. All sides used them, so everyone was wary — which made for a tedious process when trying to discern if someone was truly going to switch sides or was merely being dangled by his own government to gauge intelligence capabilities and methods.

“They are wise to think so,” Dovzhenko continued. “I would not trust you if the circumstances were reversed. Believe me, I would be glad to take a polygraph test.”

“That’s exactly what they had planned,” Jack said. What he did not say, was the CIA, through Mary Pat Foley, had assigned Erik Dovzhenko the cryptonym — GP/VICAR. Ysabel was already on the books as SD/DRIVER. Each country had a two-letter digraph that changed periodically. At the moment, Russia’s digraph was GP. Iran’s was SD. These two-letter prefixes were attached to a code name, usually computer generated, and helped keep the individual cryptonyms categorized geographically. It did not matter that VICAR was helping Ryan on matters relating to Iran. He was Russian, so his cryptonym began with GP. It was a rare thing that an agent acting on behalf of the U.S. government ever knew his or her own cryptonym.

“So,” Dovzhenko said, “what did they direct you to do? Pull out my fingernails?”

“I told them you’d fought beside me,” Jack said. “If you wanted me dead, I think you could have let that happen already.”

“Perhaps I wanted to interrogate you first,” Dovzhenko pointed out. “And then kill you.”

“Do you?”

“No.”