Outsource: A Novel

By Gerald D. McLellan

When Israel and the United States decide that neither country can afford to destroy Iran's nuclear capability without starting a catastrophic war, they agree to outsource the job to two Columbia Law School students who work closely with the Mossad. Asher Levin, a well-trained, conscripted member of Israel's secret service befriends Ted Hurley, a fellow first year law student. Together they set out on an adventure which changes the political dynamic of the Middle East and all of Western Europe.
From the offices at King Saul Boulevard in Tel Aviv to the White House to Colonial Farms Road in Langley Virginia to beyte rahbani in Tehran the drama plays out as Hamas, Hezbollah and other forces are pitted against the indomitable will of two young men engaged in a mission that carries them from Columbia's Morningside Heights to Eglin Air Force Base, to Cape Town, to Bujumbura and eventually to Natanz, Iran.
The riveting story includes murder, stealth, intrigue and an insight into the power structure of Iran and the workings of the inner circle of the governments of Israel and the United States. The result is a page turner that is entertaining, timely and informative.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477112304

Gerald D. McLellan

Gerald D. McLellan is the author of several editions of the “Handbook of Massachusetts Family Law”, together with annual pocket parts. He has also written three legal thrillers: “Old City Hall”, “A Permanent Bond”, and “A Silent Cry”. Additionally he has written an international suspense thriller, “Outsource”. He is a former Massachusetts Trial Court Judge, a practicing attorney for over thirty-five years, former Fellow in the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers, former member of the adjunct faculty of WesternNewEngland Law School and a resident of Naples, Florida. See: geralddmclellan.com

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

PART THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

To

Jean

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Old friends, as before, have stepped up and offered to help edit this manuscript. Dick Mahoney, my fraternity brother, roommate and former CEO of Monsanto Corporation was a helpful critic. Carol Joyce, once again gave me her unfailing support and Ellen Zack my law partner, was as usual, extraordinarily helpful. George McGarrity a friend since 1947, gave generously of his time and talent to help straighten out some of the complications I got into with my story line.

There were others who gave their time and support to me over the two year period it took me to write the book: Attorney Leslie McLellan Brown, Attorney Jeffrey David McLellan and my Naples friend, Barry Brown.

My wife Jean, once again read and re-read the manuscript and was unstinting in her support and encouragement. Yet with all that effort there will be errors. I simply don’t pay enough attention to spelling and punctuation when I am writing the story.

And so, as before, I am self publishing my book. There is no professional editing. I don’t have the patience to send the manuscript to scores of agents and prospective publishers only to have them sit on it (those that would accept the manuscript in the first place) for months at a time only, more than likely, to ultimately reject it.

But I look forward, as in the past, to receiving your comments about the book. My E-mail address is: [e-mail]. Other books of mine and their descriptions can be found on my web site: geralddmclellan.com

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Amherst, Massachusetts, 2008

It was a cold February night, the first round of exams were over at the beginning of the second semester and most Amherst students were in a party mood this Friday evening. By 7 P.M. the downstairs dining room tables were re-arranged; eight tables, four on each side of the rectangular room, were surrounded by eight to ten fold-up chairs.

The original English Tudor house wasn’t built to be a fraternity but its design followed the traditional half-timbering which showed off a Medieval flavor so prominent in the 16th Century. Years ago the downstairs was remodeled to accommodate a rather large kitchen, and the rest was converted into an enormous dining area. It was here that by 8:15 P.M. the first keg was tapped and by 9 o’clock about 20 guests from Mount Holyoke College joined the Amherst co-eds already present, as they came through the front door without bothering to knock.

The returnees in the group led the crush into the vestibule and immediately entered the reception area, where they tossed their coats on the tables and chairs scattered around the room before making a dash down the narrow staircase joining the rowdy crowd, most of whom were already on their second beer. The rest of the group, following the leaders, came tripping down the stairs and settled with the others around the tables, evenly distributing themselves among the residents and guests. Pitchers of beer, three to each table, were passed around, glasses, steins and paper cups were soon filled, and the floor soon became wet, sticky and smelly with the overflow. A metal wash-basin filled with cider, ice and rum was placed on its own table adjacent to a stack of paper cups next to the bar, a long-handled ladle propped to one side.

The party began in earnest when a small group began to play familiar jazz riffs over the laughter and cries of delight of those sitting around the tables. Their presence at the party was unusual, notwithstanding they were all members of the fraternity, but the group having just been formed, was given permission to play… at their own peril. The band established themselves at the far end of the room opposite the bar but after only a few minutes, they gave up competing when the drinking games, beer pong and boat races, began.

The festivities followed a pattern: fast and heavy drinking at the beginning accompanied by the games, occasional shots of tequila and bawdy fraternity songs, easily drowning out the trio as the evening progressed. It wasn’t as if the three musicians minded…they were playing more for themselves than anyone else and besides, they had assumed the risk. Altogether, the scene was redolent of joy and the prerogatives of the very young to feel gay, even smug in the certainty of their immortality.

After about an hour and a half, the crowd began to thin out and the real action moved upstairs to the main floor where loud music was really cranking, coupled with some wild dancing by guys and girls who had hooked up. The vocals were by Dave Matthews and Phish and one could certainly not mistake the fact that some pot was being smoked in the side rooms.

Ted Hurley, one of those who remained downstairs, sprawled his six foot frame across two chairs. A senior and president of the fraternity, he was drinking beer and singing with the rest of the group, his light brown hair pushed back from his animated face, his blue eyes creased from the strain of hitting the high notes of one of the randy fraternity songs, when suddenly he was interrupted by a nudge from an elbow to his ribs.

Ted, have you heard yet from any law school for next year? The voice came from a classmate and Hurley’s roommate, Paul Signet.

Not yet, Hurley replied keeping his answer short and simple hoping to avoid a conversation.

Well the letters should be coming out shortly, Signet said downing the last of his beer and looking rather glassy-eyed.

What about Freddie Hoffman? I hear your friend has applied to law school also, Signet continued speaking slowly and with effort. I guess you’ll never get that kid off your back if you go to the same school, eh?

Freddie Hoffman was a person whom Hurley had taken under his wing since freshman year three years before and guided through their first year in the fraternity. Hurley had handled the hazing with ease during pledge week and for several weeks thereafter, but Freddie had a hard time. The question from Signet was a buzz-buster for Ted who was startled by Signet’s interruption and forced to turn his attention from drinking to his friend’s question, forced to remember Freddie Hoffman and Freddie’s vulnerability and his insecurity.

Freddie Hoffman, Ted recalled, also had a habit of doing that, interrupting a train of thought; he was nothing if not a walking non-sequitur, a person usually out if synch with the rest of whatever group he was part of. Ted noticed Freddie’s lack of confidence and needy personality freshman year when Ted and Freddie were part of the fraternity pledge class.

There were several rituals that had to be complied with by the incoming freshmen during hell week. For example, when ordered to assume the position a pledge would be required to bend over and grasp his ankles while an upper-classman would carefully place the end of his eighteen inch long paddle against the left heel of the pledge’s shoe and then move the paddle outward on the floor,45 degrees. The paddle was thus placed under the pledge’s rear-end, limited by the required angle and not far enough away to cause any serious damage. The paddle would then be brought up against the pledge’s rear with all the force the striker could manage. Sometimes the blow would be painful. Most times, however, the fraternity member would simply go through the motion and not cause any damage at all.

At the beginning of hell week, when the ritual was explained to Freddie, he was brought to tears from fright. During the entire week, Freddie simply refused to bend over. Miraculously, he got away with it, his tears either moving the toughest upper-classmen to compassion or turning them away in disgust. Of medium height, somewhat darkly complected, dark eyes and straight brown hair falling over his right eye, Freddie was thought by some as a cardboard cutout of a very young, timid, overly protected, rich, freshman preppie. Yet, the word around campus was that many girls thought Freddie was cute in a harmless sort of way and some seemed as though they wanted to protect him rather than have any real affection for him. They came to his defense when he became tongue-tied in front of a crowd when the guys in the crowd twitted him.

There was another ritual that Freddie simply couldn’t cope with. After being led bare-assed and blindfolded into a room that echoed the directions from the pledge master...the shower, each pledge was made to stand under freezing cold water which was suddenly and unexpectedly turned on. After leaving the shower the pledges were made to lie down on the floor, still naked and blindfolded and told to open their mouths. A fraternity member would kneel next to the pledge and loudly sniff through his nose, hack up phlegm and pretend to spit into the pledge’s open mouth. If the pledge refused to open his mouth one brother would hold his nose while another held his arms. Instead of spitting however, the pledge would receive a clam or an oyster from a nearby can. The pledge usually, immediately vomited or had the dry heaves before he was shown what actually was used. After a few moments pause in order for the pledge to catch his breath, he was allowed to re-enter the shower, this time with his blindfold off, in order to clean himself up.

Freddie did not take this whole operation well. He vomited profusely, and never really recovered from the ordeal for hours after. He was placed in one of the fraternity rooms upstairs and was covered with a warm blanket to keep him from shaking. The following day he went to the infirmary and was treated for hyper-tension and pneumonia from which he recovered after two weeks.

Ted Hurley felt sorry for Freddie and consoled him when the discussion between them turned to the subject of hazing. As a result, Freddie became Hurley’s shadow. It wasn’t too long before Freddie became dependant on Hurley’s company, sought his friendship and curried his favor.

One night, at the end of hell week there was one more ritual that had to be performed. When the entire house had assembled in the living room after dinner and before the weekly meeting, the lights were turned off and a panel of three brothers sat behind a makeshift table. A small lamp on the table provided the only source of light in the room, creating an eerie atmosphere, almost an unearthly dread, as the brothers gathered in silence. The pledges were confined to the downstairs dining area, each wondering what was happening upstairs but joking and laughing nervously.

Freddie was not laughing and joking with other pledges. He sat by himself overcome by a premonition that somehow the situation upstairs involved him.

Bring him in, said one of the panelists to the sergeant-at-arms who acted as the gatekeeper and the enforcer for the meeting. The guard immediately made his way downstairs and interrupted the pledges’ jittery frivolity as soon as his presence was observed. He had a serious look on his face as he glanced over the group, finally settling his eyes on Freddie. The pledges became deathly still.

Freddie, come with me. The panel has summoned you upstairs, the sergeant-at-arms said as he took Freddie by the shoulder and guided him away. Hurley would never forget the look of terror on Freddie’s face as he got up to leave.

CHAPTER TWO

Freddie was brought into the hushed living room and made to stand next to his big brother. Each senior was assigned a pledge called a little brother to help the pledge get through initiation. The pledge’s paddle, once the pledge was initiated into the brotherhood, would have printed on it: From big brother Dobbs to little brother Tom, for example.

Freddie’s big brother, Darrell Millane, the captain of the football team and one of the most popular members of the house, had better things to do than hold Freddie’s hand during hell week. In fact, he hardly knew the freshman at all. By default, the task of keeping Freddie sane fell, not to his big brother, but to Ted Hurley.

Fred Hoffman you are hereby charged with violating the pledge rituals of this fraternity, the middle member of the panel, obviously the chairman, said in a serious voice. What’s more, your big brother, Mr. Darrell Millane, has been charged with neglecting his sworn duties to you and to this house by not properly instructing you in following the formalities of obedience to the brotherhood. We are gathered here to vote on the consequences of such violations. Do you both understand the charges? The room was still.

Yes, answered Millane.

Umm, was all Hoffman could muster, he was so frightened. He could feel the Promethean presence of his big brother standing next to him, glaring alternately from Freddie to the tribunal, lines of tension nevertheless creasing his handsome countenance.

All right then. Is the house ready to hear the details of the charge against Mr. Millane?

Yes! came the reply from the assembled.

On five different occasions Pledge Hoffman refused to assume the position according to five recent sworn statements signed by five brothers of this house. Accordingly, Pledge Hoffman failed to observe the rules and, what’s more, we have to assume he was not properly instructed by his big brother, Mr. Darrell Millane. Hoffman was not made aware of the sacred rituals devolving upon each and every one of us to carry out the secret tenets of this fraternity. The silence in the room was palpable.

But there is more. Brother Darrell Millane also gave the secret handshake to Mr. Hoffman just last week.

What say you to the charge, Mr. Millane?

Well, what with football practice and all, I just didn’t have the time to coddle Pledge Hoffman, Millane replied. I just said ‘hello’ to him last week and shook his hand, Millane said, Ya know, just trying to be friendly.

After a pause during which he looked around at all the members, apparently a little nervous, but in reality to the brothers a poseur of the first water, he began again.

Pledge Hoffman should’ve taken the… Millane said, but he was cut off.

That’s enough! the chairman exclaimed. In a loud voice, directing his remarks to those assembled he said, What do you say should be the punishment for Mr. Millane? Freddie thought he sounded, for all the world, like Pilot asking the multitude whom they would like to save, Jesus or Barabbas. Standing there, listening to the proceedings, terrified, Freddie had no doubt whom the crowd would choose and, in this case, that some sort of punishment would be meted out.

In loud voices, the throng cried out in biblical sequence, He shall be expelled! He shall be expelled!

The room became still again.

You’ve heard the will of this assembly, Mr. Millane. You are hereby expelled as a member of this fraternity. Sergeant-at-arms, escort Mr. Millane from this house immediately. His belongings will be gathered and delivered to him without delay, the chairman instructed. The sergeant grabbed Millane by his arm and they both turned to the open doorway.

Well, fuck you all! Millane blurted out as he was led through the door.

Freddie Hoffman looked dumb-struck. He was actually on the verge of tears; his eyes were open wide, his mouth agape.

And you, Pledge Hoffman, you’re to blame for all this. You have refused to comply with the rules of the charter. What do you have to say for yourself?

Freddie stood silent for a few seconds without saying a word. He had a pitiful expression on his face, looking down at the floor. Finally, he raised his head, tears now running down his cheeks.

I…I quit! You can all go to hell! he exclaimed.

At that precise moment the room exploded in cheers. The membership surrounded Freddie, clapping him on the back, smiling and offering him their congratulations.

Way to go, Freddie!

Welcome aboard, Freddie!

Darrell Millane came back into the room and muscled his way through the crowd.

Nice going little brother! he said to Freddie, clapping him on the back. That’s the way to stick up for a brother whose ass was in a jam. Congratulations!

Over the next two weeks Freddie never fully recovered from the shame he felt during hell week. He was very bright at school majoring in Economics, somewhat of a nerd in fact, but he was always shy around the fraternity, never sure of himself, always thinking he was being made the butt of others’ jokes.

That February night as the fraternity party progressed, Ted was able to ignore Pail Signet as his thoughts turned to Freddie’s foibles. He joined the others in line for cider and rum as he tried to shake Freddie Hoffman out of his mind by getting just a little drunk. Not long after, he made his way to his upstairs bedroom and was lucky enough to find his bed empty of any of the revelers.

As Ted tried to shut out the noise from downstairs he tossed and turned in his cramped quarters lying fully awake. His thoughts were conflicted, mired in the guilt that had built up concerning Freddie over the past three years, yet tired of the demands Freddie placed on their friendship.

He couldn’t stop thinking of what happened during those weeks following Freddie’s hazing; when Freddie acted as though he was walking around in a daze. Ted had suggested that Freddie see the school psychiatrist one day when their discussion turned to Freddie’s feelings of anxiety, his feelings of inutile efforts in dealing with his class assignments and daily social encounters with other students. Ted felt the pressure of Freddie’s dependency but was unable to do anything or say anything other than to suggest Freddie get some medical help.

Freddie made the appointment and saw the school psychiatrist the very next day. Without much prompting, he told her the details of what he went through during hell week.

The psychiatrist wasted no time reporting what Freddie told her, with Freddie’s permission, to the Dean of Students. The Dean was outraged at what he heard and summoned the president of the fraternity to his office. At that meeting the Dean heard firsthand, what the fraternity had been doing during hell week for years.

The Dean brought the matter before the Student Senate and, after a raucous hearing at which there were shouts of unfair, freedom of speech and we have our rights from the assembled fraternity members, Freddie’s fraternity was suspended and put on probation for one year thanks to the votes of non-fraternity students.

Freddie never set foot in the fraternity after that but he made a point of remaining friendly with Ted Hurley. Ted became Freddie’s paladin. Freddie followed Ted into the library, into the classes which they shared and sat next to him at lunch every chance he had. Ted, unusual for a contemporary of the same age, had an enormous amount of patience with Freddie.

Now, as Ted tried to get some sleep, he forced himself to think of other things beside Freddie Hoffman; things like law school and what he was going to do with his future. With those thoughts in mind it wasn’t very long before he was in a deep sleep and the noise from downstairs didn’t interrupt his dreams.

At lunch the next day, Freddie suddenly appeared out of nowhere and took the one remaining place at the table in the crowded cafeteria where Ted was having lunch. Wassup, Freddie? Ted asked with a sigh, hoping his lunch would not be disturbed by Freddie’s endless questions.

Have you heard from any law school? You told me you applied to at least three. Have you heard from any of them? Freddie asked.

For crissakes, Freddie, can’t you see we’re eating and drinking here? What the fuck! Ted answered uncharacteristically losing patience.

A disappointed look crept over Hoffman’s face and he looked like a little boy who’d just been reprimanded by his parent.

Ted saw Freddie’s expression and, as he’d done a thousand times before, felt a sense of remorse.

I don’t know, Freddie, Hurley said, leaning over Hoffman’s shoulder so he could be heard above the din. I’ve been waiting for the reply from Boston University, Boston College and Columbia Law Schools and I haven’t made up my mind which one I’d go to if I was lucky enough to be accepted by them all. He paused and looked over Freddie’s shoulder. Where are your buddies?

They’re eating over there, Freddie replied pointing to a table where six other seniors were sprawled out on their chairs, some with their feet up on the empty chair next to them, casually eating and talking.

Freddie, for crissakes, go over there and join them! They seem to be having a good time. Have some lunch, relax, take a Valium.

Ted, c’mon, are you trying to get rid of me again? I’m only asking about law school not the definition of the gross domestic product.

No, no, I just want you to mix in with the others, Ted hastily replied, not wanting to hurt Freddie’s feelings again.

I wanted to apply to law school too y’know but my father says he has a place for me in his shipping business. I…I don’t think he thinks I can cut it to become a lawyer, Freddie said wistfully, leaning in so he could be heard.

Freddie you’ll do fine whatever you choose to do, don’t worry about it, Hurley answered, turning away and taking a bite from his sandwich.

Well, what the hell, who knows, Freddie said to the back of Ted’s head as he got up and joined his friends at the other table.

For the rest of the school year right up to graduation Ted didn’t see as much of Freddie as he had in the past. On the one hand it was a relief but, on the other hand, Ted missed the attention from his friend. It was as if Freddie suddenly grew up and came into his own, not needing Ted’s advice or his company--all within a period of only a little over three months.

CHAPTER THREE

In April, Columbia Law School sent out an acceptance letter to Edward Hurley who was ecstatic and very much relieved that his future for the next three years would be assured. On the day the letter came, he toasted the night away at the Lord Jeff Hotel in downtown Amherst, splurging on a dinner he couldn’t afford, complete with linen tablecloths, heavy flatware, and wine goblets appropriate for a Chardonnay and a Merlot, served by an attentive waiter. Later the next day Ted was pleased to tell Freddie his good news.

That’s great Ted, Freddie said as they sat together in the school cafeteria. I will be living in New York also and working with my father in his shipping company. I’m sure we’ll see each other.

Four months later, on the corner of 118th Street and Morningside Avenue just across from Morningside Park adjacent to the east campus of Columbia University, Ted was busy moving into his new digs. The weather was sultry and the sweat was soaking his T-shirt as he carted his personal belongings into the one bedroom apartment on the first floor.

To the west, through the trees in the park and a little south, Ted could see a glimpse of the law school’s Jerome L. Greene Annex situated next to the skylight of the main Jerome Greene Hall, a three story building housing a café on the upper-level. The café was usually filled with law students during the school term, Ted was told, and he could hardly wait to see if that was true.

He also couldn’t wait for classes to begin in five days. For four years in college, Ted felt that the courses he had to take were only fill-ins, subjects that really didn’t count in the grand scheme of things he’d carved out for himself since high school. He wanted to study law, plain and simple, not comparative economic systems or Spanish, for heaven’s sake. There were even times, when he felt depressed and bored with school, he would pull out his law school catalogues and leaf through them dreaming of the day when he would begin. Ted’s sister, Anne, he remembered, would tell him over and over, attempting to snap him out of his ennui during those times when they would talk on the phone and she could tell that her brother was in a funk, that he was wasting his precious college years; that he should get a life,