Blaze Read Free

up desk that had become his trademark workstation. His colleagues chalked him up as a glutton for self-punishment. To Chuck, the tenacious director of the clandestine services, the stand up desk was a symbol of diligence. It reminded him that literally and figuratively it was his job to never sit down. It was his job to stand and be counted. To stand and fight. To remain steadfast.
    Chuck’s heart rate was up. He had just finished his morning calisthenics. He felt particularly energized from the vigorous jumping jacks he had performed. As he stood at his work desk, he felt a twitch in his right calf—his muscles were still reeling from his exercises. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his right forearm. He lifted the cup of steaming black coffee to his mouth from his left hand. The black liquid warmed his throat and the caffeine shot quickly into his system. His synapses were firing. He had a lot on his mind.
    In a nutshell, it was Iran. The same old unnamed head of the snake since 1979. Their defiant, messianic-driven obsession with obtaining nuclear weapons—and a viable missile system to deliver them—kept Gallagher up at night and angry in the morning. The details of his recent briefings were swimming in his head. He began scratching notes on his yellow notepad. Stuxnet 2.0 —it was almost ready. The Israeli scientists were working around the clock in the Negev desert for the sequel to the ongoing cyber weapon franchise. Neo Iranian Nazi Party —another puzzle piece. This group was on the rise. They co-opted uber-Persian Aryan nationalism and married it with cultish Twelver Shia Islamic eschatology. Arash Jafari —a new recruit who was a friend of the CIA’s best Iranian spy asset, Reza Kahlili. Reza introduced Arash to Chuck and recommended him for recruitment. This op would be a perfect fit for Arash since he was an IT guy at the Natanz nuclear plant. Yet another likely piece of the puzzle. Esfahan, Busheher, and Natanz —the nuke plants. The targets. The objective was to find a way to neutralize these three Iranian nuclear sites as much as possible to buy time and delay the production trajectory. But how? Gallagher wasn’t yet sure. He needed to assemble all the intel pieces, find the right agents, and get a plan solidified.
    He scratched his head and then tapped his coffee mug with his pencil several times as if he was trying to force an insight. The right team. He shook his head in frustration. These young agents don’t have the instinct. They have the training, the technology, but they’re soft. Anaesthetised by modern life. Pampered with misguided politically correct training. Gallagher was always fighting an uphill battle with the powers that be over the protocol for the agency’s new recruit training. He wished he had his top dog back. Blaze McIntyre. There would be no hesitation to place an operative like Blaze on a mission like this. He wasn’t as seasoned as Gallagher, but his spirit was that of the old school agent. He used his training, but he succeeded because of his heart. His track record made him the rock star of the agency. Until he left. A day Gallagher still wished never existed. Gallagher took the last sip of his coffee as he stared at his notes. The last note he wrote was written in all caps, circled and trailed by several exclamation marks—BLAZE!!!
    I have to get him back in the game. Gallagher fantasized—no, he strategized—about a way to persuade Blaze to come back to the agency. He had kept in regular contact with Blaze since he left. Mostly phone calls, but periodic visits as well. They usually went to a shooting range in the Detroit area, fired off some rounds, and then went to a pub and grabbed a pint while shooting the breeze. Sometimes they went to Blaze’s boxing gym, O’Conners. Chuck had always jokingly begged Blaze to come back, but never with any serious pleading. That was about to change.
    I’ll have to