‘Habib Nassour, Jehangir Miri, Babak Vahdat and Salar Tehari.’ Beth brought up four photographs on her screen and showed it to the Agency operatives.
Eight am in the charity’s building, in a closed office that had been swept for bugs and surveillance devices. The eight of them in a meeting after the successful garrison attack in the night. Beth and Meghan, bright-eyed and in charge of the proceedings, as usual. The younger sister taking the lead for the briefing, using a laser pointer and a remote to flick through slides.
‘All of them are majors and are Mostofi’s closest aides. They have all been in the field. They have carried out operations in Syria, Libya, Turkey, Iraq, all the usual hotspots in the Middle East. If anyone knows his routine and calendar it will be them.’
Zeb laced his hands behind his head and tilted his chair on its rear legs. To take out Mostofi, they had to know where he would be in the coming weeks, to plan for it. Which meant they had to know his upcoming engagements.
He works from multiple offices which are often outside Tehran. Only those aides know where he will be on any given day.
‘You’ve tried hacking into his network?’ Bwana asked.
Bear sighed. Chloe rolled her eyes.
It wasn’t that their friend was intellectually challenged in any way. Heck, Zeb mused, Bwana and Bear are Mensa members. None of them are dumb. Chloe spoke at science conferences. Roger read philosophy in his spare time. The slow-witted act some of them put on was just that, a show. Bwana liked getting a rise out of the twins, who in turn knew what the operative was doing, but went along because it was all in good faith.
‘We did try,’ Beth replied patiently. ‘NSA, CIA, every one tried, heck Mossad attempted too. We haven’t succeeded. Any other smart questions?’
‘I had to ask,’ Bwana asked mildly.
‘And I answered.’
Zeb stifled a grin at the exchange and listened as Beth resumed her briefing, going through the men’s personal profiles.
Nassour and Vahdat were married and had kids. However, their families weren’t with them. They were in distant parts of the country. The other two were single, like their boss.
Mostofi. Zeb recalled the meeting in Clare’s office a few months ago. They had been discussing the Iranian when the door had opened abruptly and Secret Service agents had entered, followed by President Morgan. He had shaken hands with all of them, had said he had a meeting with Clare and would wait for them to finish. He had listened quietly as they talked about the mission, had spoken just once.
‘Make it obvious that no enemy of ours is unreachable.’
Zeb understood.
Mostofi had to be taken down in public in a symbolic gesture.
‘We need to split up, follow these men, find a way to get access to their laptops.’ Beth continued. ‘They’ll have Mostofi’s calendar.’
Zeb landed his chair abruptly.
‘What? Zeb?’
He didn’t reply.
‘He’s spaced out,’ Meghan smirked. ‘He’s doing that more often.’
‘Age,’ Chloe nodded her head wisely. ‘He’s getting old.’
‘I have an idea,’ Zeb ignored their ribbing.
‘He has an idea,’ Roger whispered dramatically.
‘Why don’t we check out how tight the security around Mostofi is? If we think we can get through, then we don’t need to shadow his aides.’
‘How do you propose to do that, smartass?’ Meghan challenged.
‘He should be meeting the Supreme Leader sometime today. Why don’t we go meet him?’