CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE HAMPTON INN, SOMEWHERE NEAR FAIRTON, NEW JERSEY

Zack was eager to get back online and check his Twitter account. Lo and behold, his new Persian pal had left a mountain of messages. His new pal, simply known as Hamid, had even visited his manufactured Facebook page for his cover persona, Doug Schmidt.

After reading some Facebook messages in which Hamid praised the Nazi skinhead rhetoric that populated Zack’s Facebook page, Doug responded in kind with some lavish praise of Hamid for his devotion to the Aryan cause. The two of them finally decided to engage in a private instant message chat in which they arranged to share a common email account. To avoid being tracked or detected, they agreed to leave messages in draft folders for each other to read, but to never actually transmit any emails to each other through the account. The last thing Hamid wanted was his messages being intercepted by the infidel’s digital spying tools.

As much as Zack was on board with wanting to ensnare this guy and utilize his information and contacts to try to weave some disruptive inroads into Bushehr, he really resented the fact that he had to pose as a Nazi skinhead to get the job done. He had spent a good portion of his life trying to foster an anti-racist image of skinheads, and his current cover just reinforced the false view that skinheads were largely white supremacists. That said, who was he really interacting with? Just some nutjob extremists in Iran. No worries. He thought to himself. I’ll use any cover to try to stop those psychotic theocratic freaks.

Within a few hours, the conversation that had developed in the draft email folders was beginning to get somewhere. Doug had asked Hamid if he was planning on attending the upcoming World Without Zionism Conference in Tehran. This annual event of absurd anti-American and anti-Israeli rhetoric and hate had become a growing focal point for bigots and anti-Semites the world over. If David Duke was welcomed there while waving his KKK flag, then why not a little known Nazi skinhead named Doug Schmidt? Secret agent skinhead in effect, baby, here we go! The chorus to the song “Secret Agent S.K.I.N.” by the punk band Murphy’s Law was now churning in Zack’s head.

It didn’t take long for Zack to hear back from Hamid. He was indeed planning to attend the conference. Doug expressed how he had always wanted to go to the conference. As hoped for, Hamid said he would help get him access and assist in planning his itinerary. Bingo.

The email draft folders filled up with enthusiasm over the now planned meeting between the two new digital friends. Brazen anti-Semitic rhetoric and chest-thumping Aryan pride rants permeated all of their exchanges. Zack deliberately probed Hamid about the progress and status of Iran’s nuclear program. Doug voiced his opinion that Iran had every right to have the bomb, particularly since the “dirty Jews” had one.

Once again, Hamid took the bait. Hamid explained that he wasn’t sure exactly how far away they were from the bomb, but that they were close. He confessed that the Stuxnet worm and assassination of their scientists was setting them back, but not catastrophically. Of course, he had no idea that as he typed, the new and improved Stuxnet 2.0 had already been deployed at Natanz.

Hamid revealed that he had a cousin who worked at Bushehr and a brother-in-law who worked at Natanz. Doug inquired more about these relatives to get a good sense of Hamid’s inadvertent reach into the nuclear development world of the Iranians. Gallagher gave him the intel on Hamid’s cousin Azad at Bushehr, but he had no idea about the brother-in-law at Natanz. The useful info kept flowing and Zack was rapidly putting the pieces together in an attempt to flesh out a strategic plan of infiltration.

The exchanges began to taper off for the day, and Zack decided to shut down the nerd for a bit to assess all he had learned and analyze the situation and how to proceed. He had made tremendous progress in an amazingly short period of time. Just as he began expanding upon his notes and getting a mental grip on the trajectory of his cyber recon, his sat phone rang. It was Gallagher.

“So whaddya got so far you hooligan bastard? Don’t tell me you ain’t got nuthin’ or I’ll have you locked back up again in a heartbeat.” Ever the pleasant conversationalist, Chuck Gallagher laid on his usual charm from the conversational get-go.

“Nice to hear your voice, Chuck. I really missed your bulldog approach to human relationships in the short day or so since last we spoke.” Zack chuckled a bit.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did. This doesn’t mean we’re gonna be touchin’ tongues in the shower any time soon, hot shot. I don’t roll that way.”

“I don’t care who you swap spit with pal, as long as it ain’t me. Keep your tongue to yourself. Anyhow, yeah, some strong progress here. Real strong. Got Hamid on the hook via Twitter and we’ve now taken our chats to a whole new level with some email folder draft drops. Keepin’ it on the down low so he feels warm and fuzzy.”

“So what’s the logical next step?” To the point as usual, Gallagher wanted results.

“The World Without Zionism conference, that’s what. Get my credentials prepped asap boss, cuz I’m going to Tehren. Hate-a-plenty! Maybe I’ll get a chance to get my photo taken with David Duke. Who knows, maybe I can get an autographed Member’s Only jacket from A-jad to keep me warm too!”

“The World Without Zionism conference eh? Perfect excuse to get your ass over there to snoop around. I like it. Keep me posted as you draft the particulars. Good work, you no good criminal.” No compliment could ever go forth from Gallagher, unless paired with an effectively negating insult.

“That was my thinking. I was just reviewing my notes and trying to hone in my plans as you called. I’ll have more for you in the coming days.” Zack had been accustomed to ignoring Gallagher’s insults as they were flung. However, he often reflected upon them later and laughed out loud as he recalled each one.

“Good, while you’re working on that, you need to noodle the rest of the operation as well. Lot’s of shit going down. We got some trouble with Arash Jafari. The poor bastard went postal the other day when the mutawwa confronted him for having a copy of the good book in his home—and not Mohammed’s good book. His own wife, a devoted Twelver, turned him in for having a Bible. The mutawwa stormed into his office at Natanz and arrested him. He freaked out and shot a guard right in the stones. A new form of birth control I suppose. Anyhow, we’re very vulnerable right now with him in custody. He’s no doubt being tortured and interrogated Iranian style as we speak. A hot extraction is urgent. And you and your old pal Blaze are just the dynamic duo to pull it off.”

“Damn, Jafari is new at this too. It probably won’t take much for him to cave, right? And what the hell is the mutawwa?”

“Mutawwa is the Iranian religious police. And yes, Jafari is new, and him caving would be the prevailing opinion, except that his dossier makes it very clear how much he now despises the regime and sees their theology-driven apocalyptic agenda as utterly demonic. Being a converted Christian, his faith may actually be the mechanism to help him keep the secrets inside. We’ll see. Torture has its way of breaking down even the strongest of faith. Especially Iranian torture. We need to get him out before he cracks.”

“Okay, well, get me to Iran as soon as possible so Blaze and I can bust out Arash before I hob nob with A-Jad and David Duke at the conference.”

“I got everything set to go.” Gallagher assured.

“Anything else? Shall I single-handedly fight the North Koreans and conquer China before lunch as well?”

“Quit crying cream puff. You can handle it. If you couldn’t, you’d still be rotting in jail.”

“Your candidness never ceases to amaze me, Gallagher. You old, crumpled up artifact of a man. I love you too.”

Zack chuckled and Gallagher grumbled and the two men hung up and got back to work for the good of the country.