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gone to school, and so on. I learned about the product and the cover job, of course. When this is over, we should take a trip up there together. It’s a beautiful area – nature in its raw state, but just the opposite of your Sahara.”

Acting bored, Kella replied, “Really?” She took a sip of her coffee. “Did you bring the paper in?”

Steve went to get the paper from the driveway and put it on the kitchen table. “If Washington ever gets too boring for you, we can always move to St. John’s. O’Reagan, my cover boss, former Army Ranger, offered me a job whenever I wanted. He’s now in green energy, the wave of the future.”

“Me? Bored? Ha! Who’s running off to Iran looking for excitement?” Last night’s argument was about to re-ignite, and Steve suddenly got busy pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“You should practice your alias now,” Kella said, changing tone. “It will keep you from making a mistake later. That’s what I teach, anyway.”

Steve hesitated. How far should he go? “My name, my alias, will be Christopher Breton.”

Kella looked at the newspaper headlines for an instant and then turned toward Steve.

“Have you thought about what you’re doing? What about us? You avoided following in your father’s CIA footsteps but you accept every dangerous mission they give you. Why don’t you just join the CIA and get it over with? They made the offer often enough. If you go to Iran, you probably won’t come back. Whether you do or not, I’m leaving for France tomorrow. I told you my grandfather is ill. You do understand that you’re making a life choice?”

Steve came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not very good at life choices. I can’t keep you from your grandfather and don’t want to. Going to Iran was not my first choice, but LaFont told me that the Pentagon is reviewing its war plans on a daily basis. The available information–intercepts, imagery, our own and from other Intel services–tells us that their nuclear program is very advanced. But we have no agent information on Iranian intentions. I shouldn’t tell you this, but my father Marshall recruited a senior IRGC official. He knew him when he was there during the Revolution. The CIA needs a case officer to handle him and get his information. Only temporarily, a month at the most.”

Kella stood to face him. “You’re telling me this is a new asset, untested in other words. How do we know he’s not a double? Bait to capture a CIA officer, a spy of the Great Satan? This is worse than I thought.”

Steve took her hands. “I spoke with my father and he’s convinced this guy is real. He has family here and wants to defect and sort of retire and see his grandchildren grow up here.”

“Well, why doesn’t he?”

“Because, if he works for the CIA for a while he’ll get help with his citizenship and a sizeable stipend.

“LaFont said this may be the last chance and I believe her,” Steve said holding Kella’s gaze with his eyes. “Without solid information to the contrary, everything so far says that Iran will use its atomic weapon, either against Israel or against an American installation, or explode a nuclear device in the U.S., with disastrous consequences for everyone. LaFont said that the information from this operation could stop our government from making a terrible mistake, from carrying out a pre-emptive military action for example.”

“Well I agree with her on one point,” Kella said. “Making worst-case assumptions hasn’t worked so far.” She turned away from him, took her coffee cup from the table, and looked out the window. “I can’t handle your death-wish compulsion. I want you to leave the CIA and make a life with me.”

“I’m not with the CIA. But this is important, maybe crucial for this country and for the entire Middle East.” He paused willing her to turn around and face him. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to discuss something with you. Are you going to turn around?”

“What would that be?” she asked as she turned toward him casually. “What would you think if we opened up a sports store focusing only on SCUBA gear, parasailing, and sport parachuting? And we could run extreme-sports trips. After Iran.”

“Where did that come from?” she asked raising her voice and shaking her head. “I don’t see you as a shopkeeper. But you’re showing progress, maybe you can get over this CIA thing.” She looked into his eyes searching for commitment.

“Christopher,” she said using his alias, “I think you’re going to need my help in Tehran. It will be hard to change my work plans, but I think that I can take enough vacation to keep you alive over there.”

“What are you saying?” Steve shook his head and raised his arms. “Now you’re the one who’s nuts. You’re not going to Iran.”

“You can’t go alone. Since your vaunted CIA can’t send any one with you, who’s going to watch your back? Tell me, would you be here today if I hadn’t been with you in Israel? “

He knew that she was referring to a hand-to-hand fight in the darkness of Israel’s secret underground weapon-of-last-resort complex against the terrorists that had captured it. While he was on the ground, a knife blade slicing into the palm of his hand while he tried to deflect the weapon from his throat. Kella had shot his adversary.

Kella put her coffee down. “You’re right,” she said taking him by the hand and leading him toward the bedroom, “You’re not good at this type of decision. Christopher. Canadian men turn me on. Come on.”

Steve was at a loss for words.

 

10. Langley: Office of the Director

Walter Deuel pointed his cigar at Marshall Church. “What do you think of having your son go to Tehran on

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