Targets of Opportunity Read Free

prospect of a major offensive being planned, right here in Tehran, without his knowledge. Seyed had repeatedly asked him, “How can it be so?” It worried them both that neither had an answer.
    It was also apparent that Jaber, although he voiced no criticism, was upset Seyed had visited his home to deliver this information. Seyed was certain that he had taken the necessary precautions, that he had arrived and departed from their meeting undetected, but he recognized that Jaber was not convinced. It was up to Seyed, then, to prove himself. He was determined to learn what he could and report back.
    Seyed turned off the service road and drove to the end of a long, dark street, guiding his car around a squat structure. He parked in the rear lot and took the stairs to the second floor.
    Hurrying up the two flights, he reached the warren of offices they used for their meetings, strode through the unfurnished vestibule, and entered the inner room. As soon as he walked in he saw that Jaber had been right, his betrayal had been discovered. There was nothing tangible, just a feeling, an intuition about danger he had developed over the years, an instinct that up to now had kept him alive. Tonight he saw that his fate had been written. He saw it in the face of the Asian, and in the fact that only this stranger from the East and the three South Americans were present.
    “Where are the others?” Seyed asked.
    The Asian was standing beside a large drafting table they used for their meetings. He stepped forward as two of the others moved behind Seyed and barred the door.
    “We need to talk,” the Asian said simply. His Arabic was rough, but understandable.
    “Of course.”
    “I trust you will be professional, so this does not have to become unpleasant.”
    Seyed blinked.
    “You have gone outside our circle, contrary to all instructions. We need to know how much you have revealed, how much damage has been done.”
    Seyed held on to the fleeting hope that this was only a bluff, a test. Perhaps they were not sure. He said, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    As he uttered the final word of that denial he felt the crushing blow of a metal pipe across the backs of his knees, dropping him to the floor. Before he could catch his breath he was struck a second time, the heavy iron rod now brought crashing down on his right shoulder, the sickening sound of breaking bone followed by his cry of pain.
    The Asian stared down at him. Then, without speaking, he gave a slight nod, and another blow was inflicted from behind, this time just below the left side of Seyed’s neck. The young Iranian crumpled face-first onto the cracked tiles.
    “I asked you to tell us the truth, and was hoping to conduct this inquiry in a civil manner,” the Asian said. “The offer will not be made again.”
    Seyed twisted his head slightly, excruciating pain searing through his neck and shoulders as he struggled to look up. The Asian waited, but all Seyed Asghari muttered was “Allahu Akbar.” He already knew he was a dead man.
    ————

    Ahmad Jaber had not survived these many years in his violent profession by taking chances or relying on the competence of others. When Seyed came to his home and revealed what he knew about this mission, Jaber realized that his own life had taken an inexorable turn.
    There was no way that a major assault was being planned by the IRGC without Jaber taking part, not unless his own people had turned against him. This left only two possibilities.
    The less probable scenario was that the IRGC was indeed involved and that Jaber had been betrayed for reasons he did not know. The more likely alternative was that outside forces had initiated this scheme and decided to exclude him. In either event, Seyed Asghari would not have been permitted to roam the streets of Tehran without surveillance, or perhaps an escort—Jaber had to weigh the possibility that Seyed was being used to set him up.
    Whichever of these was true,