Strike Inside: David Fleming

By David Thomas

David Fleming and a group of Delta Force Commandoes are racing ahead of assassins to protect an Iranian Scientist and his family seeking asylum in the United States. They have proof that traitors within the U.S. Government have conspired with the Iranian military to smuggle nuclear weapons into the country to conduct an attack that will bring America to its knees. Now, it's a race against time to find the weapons and stop them from going off.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Thomas
• Release date: Sep 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781370693245

David Thomas

I retired from the U.S. Army after 26 years as a Chaplain Assistant and Infantryman with multiple deployments to Iraq and Bosnia-Herzegovina. I am married to my wife Carol Ann and we live on a small farm in Adams Center, New York. I work as a Security Guard on Fort Drum, home of the 10th Mountain Division.

Book preview

Strike Inside

By

David N. Thomas II

Strike Inside

Published by David N. Thomas II at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 David N. Thomas II

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage others to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

Thank you for your support.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Authors Note

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

About David Thomas

Other Books by David Thomas

Author’s Note

I had the plot idea for STRIKE INSIDE for several years before I started writing it. I had several ideas centering on an attack in Washington DC as depicted here as the centerpiece for an idea but could never really think of a decent backstory that would lead to such a devastating attack.

The last decades of foreign policy failures in the Middle East, nuclear negotiations between the US and Iran and the rise of ISIS and their supporters around the globe finally gave me a plausible backstory that was more believable, and I began to do my research.

Even as Iran and Saudi Arabia fight to become the dominant force in the Middle East, the continued radicalization of young people here in the United States and around the world is becoming more common. The fight against international terrorism is becoming a struggle to keep from being an abject failure. How do you defeat a group who believes in their cause so much that they will literally blow themselves or their loved one up because they believe it will ultimately bring about victory?

The answer is you really can’t.

No words or actions can affectively counter that kind of dedication and belief, all we can really do is try to influence the actions of those states who sponsor such groups: countries such as Iran, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, who harbor, support and train such groups even while some of them mask themselves as our allies.

Acknowledgements

While writing and publishing my stories has always been a lifelong dream, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a lot of people during my military service and while working for a short time in the security field who have inspired some of the characters in my stories and this story is no exception.

I’d like to thank the following people who have supported and encouraged me to continue my writing:

My Mother, Janice Thomas, who has always encouraged me to write and paint. She is a retired Art Teacher from Dallas, which explains a lot about where my creativity comes from.

Carol Thomas, my wife who put up with my deployments to Bosnia and Iraq, then volunteered to go to Iraq as a civilian for six months to see why I had come back a changed man. There are few wives I know who would travel to a war zone to understand what we go through, and it is one of the many reasons I love her so much.

Lieutenant Colonel Larry Woods, one of the smartest Chaplain’s I served with and became a friend at the same time. He has been one of my biggest mentors and has helped shape my writing and encouraged me to continue.

Bobby MacDonald, a close friend and fellow writer and great poet in his own right, who looked over this manuscript.

My fellow Soldiers and members of the 2nd Battalion, 22nd Infantry, 10th Mountain Division up in Fort Drum, especially Chris Tuccio, Donald Cannon, Dave McConnell, Aaron Volkert, Jon Morgan, Jim Klein and too many others I have far too little space to name here. You are all in here somewhere, you’ll just have to figure out where. Deeds not Words.

Finally, to the men and women of our Armed Forces, both past and present for their unwavering dedication to our nation. I was blessed with 26 years of service, of which I regret not a day, and would go back in a heartbeat.

Prologue

New York City

2045 hours, 10 August 2014

The man walked down the plush black and gold carpet towards his room, muttering oaths under his breath as he searched his soaked overcoat for his rooms access card. It had been another exercise in futility and he was beginning to doubt the orders he’d been given.

From his point of view, his assignment was already a failure. He’d been there two days and his contact had failed to show up as expected and now, after sitting at a small cafe, the mother of all cloud bursts had erupted as he walked the 3 blocks through it back to his hotel. He was thoroughly soaked from his walk and extremely pissed off. 

He couldn’t control the weather, he conceded, but he could at least try to salvage something from this evening. A few stiff drinks down at the Hotel’s bar would be a good start then maybe some female companionship for the rest of the evening after a long, hot shower.

He stopped in front of the door and finally located the key card. He shook the rain from his jacket before taking it off and draped it across his arm. He slid the card into its slot, nudged the door open with his hip and stepped inside, then turned to be sure the door closed behind him before tossing the sodden jacket onto the floor near the rooms’ leather sofa. He turned to face the room again and froze, his eyes taking in the stranger standing before him or specifically, the large stiletto in his hand slicing through the air towards his throat.

The blade sliced left to right through the flesh of his throat, severing the carotid artery and opening up his trachea, spraying crimson blood across the room. He stumbled backwards, his hands reaching desperately for his throat to stop the fatal spray. The assassin moved around and kicked the him forward onto the carpet. 

Dropping down and straddling the dying man, the assassin stabbed the writhing man again through the back of the neck and savagely jerked the knife sideways to sever the spine and the man went completely limp. He waited a few seconds before he withdrew the knife, wiped it clean on the man’s jacket and stood. He took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart before he opened the room door slightly, peering cautiously out to see if they’d attracted any attention.

When he was satisfied, he closed the door.

He stepped around the corpse and walked into the suite’s bathroom.  He stripped naked, carefully placing his clothes in the shower and soaking them before taking a shower and thoroughly cleaning himself. He used a small scrub brush to clean under his fingernails and washed himself one more time, leaving no trace of DNA in case the unthinkable happened and he was caught. He walked out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. Tall, olive skinned, with a shaved head, and a well-muscled, lean body that was a product of years of training.

He walked into the bedroom, pulled the dead man’s briefcase out from under the desk and placed it on the desk to examine it. He used a security code he’d been provided to open the locks and opened it. Inside sat a folder with papers, as well as a sealed tube and a tiny remote control which he removed from the case before closing it again. He opened the folder and examined the contents before nodding and closed the case once more.

Everything promised was in there and a rare smile appeared on his face as he stood. He walked to the rooms’ closet and found a perfectly tailored Grey Armani suit and silk shirt waiting for him along with a pair of black patent leather loafers. He smiled as he changed into the suit, enjoying the feel of silk against his skin and knew he’d be buying more of these in the future.

He took his time to check the room once more for anything that would indicate his presence here, knowing that to rush would result in mistakes. Besides, he thought, he had more than enough time to catch his plane out of the country. He knew a team would come and clean it up and remove any trace of the body but he didn’t trust the Americans despite their efficiency in this whole operation. They did many things very well, but inspiring trust was not one of them. The fallout of what he’d just done and what he now had in his possession would have global ramifications if the connection was made.

Ten minutes later, the assassin was walking down the hallway, metal briefcase and soft sided overnight bag in hand, into the luxurious hotel’s lobby and walked up to the reception desk to order an airport limousine before heading into the bar for a drink. The suite had been reserved for three more days, so nobody would have any reason to go in prior to the cleanup crew’s arrival.

He took a seat at the smoky glass bar and smiled at the bartender, a blonde woman he judged to be in her early thirties, wearing a white tuxedo shirt and black skirt. He ordered a Long Island Iced Tea and glanced casually at his Rolex watch. As he waited, he slipped a phone from his pocket, sent a text message, then slipped it back into his pocket.

His senses were on high alert now when he was the most vulnerable and he used the mirror behind the bar to watch behind him for signs of danger. Would they go back on their word and come after him? Was all this a setup? He could detect nobody taking notice of him, and he slowly calmed his breathing as the bartender brought him his drink in a large, frosted goldfish bowl shaped glass. He paid for the drink, tipping her a twenty as he took a drink.

He was most of the way through the drink when a porter approached and informed him that his shuttle had arrived. After tipping the man, he headed for the double doors leading to the street. A doorman held the door open to a black limousine shuttle for him and he smiled as he dropped in, leaving the man a nice tip, but not one that would draw attention if asked later.

Kennedy International, please, he told the driver when asked, his English accent thick and he relaxed, feeling the alcohol calming him. Take your time, I’m in no rush.

The limousine entered traffic and he reflected on the assignment for a moment, thinking about the implications, both good and bad, of what he had in his possession. He had to admit that the Americans could be such blundering idiots at times, but they could be deadly efficient when needed. Still, he thought, this was one hell of a risk they were all taking.

There was only one way this would end, and he wasn’t particularly concerned about the ramifications.

PART ONE: PAWN WORK

CHAPTER ONE

Tehran, Iran

1130 hours (Local), June 15, 2016

The flight into Tehran had already been a long one and now it had been prolonged by arguments between the United Nations pilot and the Iranian Air Traffic Controller on the ground as to whether they had permission to land. Finally, the call had been made to the Iranian foreign ministry and they were finally granted permission to land after being forced into a holding pattern for nearly two hours. The group of Inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency were not in a pleasant mood: having travelled nearly 10 hours from New York and their security detail was also itching to get off the plane, more to get away from their charges incessant complaining and debating than anything else.

When the plane finally reached its designated parking area, a dozen black Bentley limousines were waiting for them. A company of Iranian Soldiers cordoned off the area around the plane while an additional platoon of soldiers waited in armed jeeps to escort them to their hotel. The contingent of inspectors were men and women from various countries: all were highly respected scientists, most of whom had served as inspectors in the past before the latest round of nuclear negotiations. From what they had heard from the Iranians prior to departing New York City, this round of inspections was expected to be no different and they could expect the usual resistance and delays. 

Citing complications with security on prior inspections the Iranian government had, to everyone’s surprise, agreed to let the inspectors bring an additional security detail of their own. The team accompanying them consisted of a mixed group of US Delta Force Operators and British Special Air Service Troopers, all of whom had had extensive bodyguard, language and customs training to prepare for the six-month assignment. Most of them had been to Iran as part of previous operations or assignments and knew the area intimately.

As they disembarked the plane, the high desert heat and densely polluted air nearly suffocated them as they waited at the bottom of the stairs for another truck pulled up next to the 767s cargo hold to receive luggage. They knew their luggage would arrive after an extensive inspection and expected surveillance devices to be already been placed in their hotel rooms so Iranian Intelligence officials could listen in on their conversations. They accepted it as a certainty which was why nobody had bothered to hide anything in their luggage.

A group of customs officials greeted them at the bottom of the stairs and checked their passports and UN identification cards before letting them proceed to the air-conditioned limos. Satisfied that all was in order the group were soon in their cars watching as the first of their bags was unloaded from the aircraft before they were whisked away towards downtown Tehran.

One of the Americans, in overall command of the security detail timed the trip for later reference. He was a Sergeant First Class named David Fleming, who was about to retire at the end of a 20-year career. He was an inch under six feet tall with broad shoulders, a trim waist and powerful legs that still could consistently get him around at a six-minute per mile pace. He had dark brown hair cut into a flattop with dark leathery skin that had seen lots of sun and piercing grey eyes that missed nothing. He had a loose smile that hid a deadly serious manner and intensity when necessary.

So, when are you going to request that we conduct an inspection of their Arkadan plant, Dr. Ramirez? he asked, It is the one area that your Agency has not looked at in the last two inspections.

Sergeant Major Fleming, the woman facing him started in exaggerated exhaustion.

Sergeant First Class, actually, Doc, he corrected her, intentionally annoying her with the doc abbreviation.

Whatever, she said angrily. We’ve gone over this before. The Arkadan facility was never completed and no more construction is planned there. The project has been scrapped.

Uh huh, he said, and you know this how? Because the satellite photos are NEVER wrong, and the Iranians would never lie about such a thing, correct? I know you have multiple doctorates in sciences LIGHT YEARS beyond my comprehension, but please don’t tell me you are naive enough to believe any of that horse shit.

They had been going rounds for hours on the plane over. Fleming and his team had all gotten an intelligence briefing from the directors of both British Intelligence’s MI-6 and the Central Intelligence Agency that something had been in the works at the Arkadan Nuclear Research Facility, three hours east of Tehran that nobody could put a finger on. Whatever was going on had the full backing of the Ayatollah and involved the Head of the Iranian Atomic Energy Research Agency. They had also seen at least two of the top scientists in their suspected nuclear weapons program at the location, usually entering and exiting during the cover of darkness.

However, even confronted with these suspicions, Doctor Amelia Ramirez, the usually composed and amiable director of the UN Inspection Team was still stubbornly unwilling to veer from the carefully planned schedule of inspections that the Iranian government dictated to them. In her mind, following the schedule and not pushing the issue of compliance with the Iranians was more important than asking about facilities that were no longer in use. She felt lucky to have any kind of cooperation from the Iranians in the first place and didn’t want to jeopardize that.

Well, it has been nearly two years since your teams have looked at the site. I still think it is worth checking out even though they say it has been scrapped. There are a lot of people out there that could get into a site like that and find something dangerous enough to steal. Of course, Fleming added, I doubt anyone would get far with anything, I know security is very tight here, I’d hate to tangle with the Iranians over metal piping or something less important just to prove a point.

Well, Sergeant Fleming, she said with a sigh, turning to look at him. I’m the one making the decisions and you are simply here to make sure nobody shoots me or any of my people. I’d prefer if you kept your comments and your attention to THAT subject, if you don’t mind?

Fleming flashed a lopsided smile. Well, I suppose I’ve had worse assignments than guarding an attractive scientist for a couple of months, he said with a shrug, and looked out the window at the mountains that rose beyond the high-rises of Tehran as her jaw dropped in surprise.

Amelia Ramirez was in her late 40s, but looked to be in her early 30s, with a trim hour glass figure, tan skin and perfect makeup at all times. Her normally salt and pepper hair was colored jet black and pulled back severely into a pony tail that stretched halfway down her back, and her Puerto Rican heritage formed perfect high cheek bones and narrow jawline and sported a wide smile of perfect teeth. She loved swimming and running, and had been a fitness fanatic all her life and looked more like a model than a Nuclear Scientist with multiple doctorates.

Ten minutes later, they pulled into an underground parking lot and were dropped off one car at a time. They were ushered into a large, plush lounge where a long marble table was piled high with food and a variety of fruit juices, teas and coffees. They were invited to eat and drink as the rest of their group assembled and enjoyed their share of the lavish buffet. Fleming helped himself to several shots of strong Turkish coffee, after which he could feel his arm hairs starting to stand on end and moved around the buffet, discreetly keeping Ramirez within a few arm lengths of him.

After about half an hour of snacking and looking around, Fleming had each camera spotted and what he guessed were maybe three places a listening device was most likely located. There was, Fleming realized, nowhere in this room that was not covered at some angle by a camera. Their hosts: a dozen scientists and their assistants walked into the room and joined them, mingling with them and talking in a surprisingly laid back manner. Fleming knew from past experience that most of them knew each other but because of political differences were usually forbidden to mingle and converse with each other socially except in a controlled environment such as this.

The other security team members were also eyeing the Iranians and trying to detect a plant but to Fleming they all seemed genuine. He decided to leave Ramirez and move closer to the nearest pair, a elderly man and younger woman who seemed to be his assistant and kept a few steps behind him. As in most Muslim countries, the younger woman was covered and wore a white Burkha that removed any hint of her body and a veil that distorted her face.

A conversation struck up between the Iranian and a Swedish professor on their team consisted of a heated debate about levels of enriched plutonium and its potential for producing weapons of any kind. The conversation, boring as it was to Fleming, convinced him that the Iranian was genuine and he stepped away, taking a chance and brushed the woman slightly.

I apologize, Ma’am, he said using a fake Texas accent that came out slightly exaggerated. Conversation back there is a little boring for me, wasn’t paying attention.

The woman he judged to be in her early thirties, giggled slightly and nodded. I know the feeling. Mr. ...

Fleming held his breath. 

Muslim women were forbidden to talk to a man not related to them, and one was asking for his name? A plant? He couldn't be sure, but years of field experience was telling him to proceed with caution.

My name is David Fleming, he answered after a second of hesitation. I know it is forbidden to speak to a woman not related...

Yes, that is a Muslim requirement, just as this is, she said in a reassuring voice and indicated the veil. I hate wearing it. It is okay for you to speak to me here, Mister Fleming. I am not Muslim but I must follow their rules in public because of my father’s position.

He let out an audible sigh and chuckled a bit.

So, what is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?

My name is Priya Khobari, she answered politely. That man is my father, Jamal Khobari.

The name clicked in Fleming’s mind from their intel briefings. Jamal Khobari was one of their top research scientists, suspected of pioneering their weapons research in more unconventional directions. His mind sharpened quickly and his suspicions rose quickly.

Well, it is certainly an unexpected pleasure meeting you, Miss Khobari, he said with a relaxed smile. I wasn't expecting to find someone to talk to while I was here. I assume that you work with your father then?

I help with some of his research, she admitted shyly, looking away. Are you here as someone’s bodyguard? You don’t seem the scientific type.

Fleming laughed in spite of himself, finding it quite amusing and unexpected.

So what do you do? she pressed, laughing at his reaction. Am I correct?

Yes, I’m part of the security team, he admitted with a nod and shrugged. Your military already has people to watch out for our inspectors but we wanted to be extra careful in case something unfortunate happened. With the negotiations going on at the same time there is a lot more at stake this time. It would prove disastrous if something were to happen to them for everyone involved. I’m sure you understand.

In this country, Mr. Fleming, security is something I understand all too well. Here, even the toilets have ears and probably eyes, Priya answered with a shrug. It is an accepted part of life in Tehran.

You don’t seem too pleased to be here, he observed.

My father has special status here, even though he is not Muslim, she explained. We are protected. We have our own home with gardens and security forces so nobody can harm us.

Sounds more like you are trapped than protected because of his status, he pointed out, and she looked at him for a moment. He thought he saw a touch of sadness in her veiled eyes and she turned away.

May I ask where you are from? Priya asked him and David was about to answer when a loud voice beckoned for their attention.

They all turned towards the entrance where a tall man stood with a small wireless microphone in his hand. Fleming looked him over as best he could from across the room, noticed the rank and accouterments for the Iranian Special Forces unit on his chest: the Commanding Officer.

On behalf of my government and our holy leader, the Grand Ayatollah, I want to personally welcome all of you to Tehran. My name is Colonel Hamid Mahmoud and your safety is my sole purpose while you are in our Great Islamic Republic. If you have any security concerns, please address any of my men and they will pass them along to me and I will explain anything and answer any questions you may have. If you wish to make changes in your schedule, these requests need to be presented to me at least 48 hours in advance with a justifiable explanation.

My men have brought your bags to your rooms so you may go up at your leisure. There is nothing more planned for today until dinner tonight at 1900 in the main ballroom. There you will meet our Holy Leader and President in person, he said in a clipped English accent. He set the microphone down in on a table and walked out of the room without another word.

David watched him leave silently and turned to Priya who seemed frozen with fear. Miss Khobari? Are you okay? he asked, not wanting to breach protocol by touching her. 

She awakened a few seconds later.

Yes? Yes, I’m fine.

Who was that? he asked innocently. He’d already received a full briefing on the Iranian Colonel before they’d left the United States.

He is a powerful man in the military, Mr. Fleming, she said in a cold voice and turned to him. I hope to see you again, Mr. Fleming, perhaps during the inspections?

I certainly hope so, Miss Khobari. He noted her detachment and detected...fear? in her voice. I will definitely be here. Maybe you can explain to me some of what we are looking at.

She turned and moved quickly away to catch up to her father and he watched her, wondering briefly about their conversation. David made his way leisurely around the room back to Dr. Ramirez who was talking pleasantly with another Iranian scientist. He selected a few slices of melon and some fruit juice, taking in everything while he ate. Eventually Priya and her father made their way to Ramirez to talk but she wouldn’t acknowledge him other than a brief nod when introduced.

Fleming thought about her situation for a moment. He understood her fear in this kind of society where, if caught, she’d be subjected to Sharia law that endorsed public beatings or even honor killing for a woman who spoke with a man who was not a member of her family. He never understood or agreed with the law or the thought process behind it except to enslave someone. Well, he thought, I’ll see her a lot more if her father is going to be hand in hand with Ramirez.

Eventually the group broke up and headed up to their rooms. Fleming escorted Ramirez to her room, which was connected to his own by an inner door as requested before they had arrived. He entered the room carefully and scanned the main room. The living room was spacious, with a curved window that covered an entire wall facing the craggy peaks of the Alborz mountains to the north of the city that even now had a few snow-tipped peaks. A plush leather couch set formed a U around a grey marble coffee table and faced the eighty-inch flat screen television that was mounted on the wall opposite them. A modern metal and glass desk was situated at one end of the room to the left of the front door, and a well-stocked mini bar completed the layout.

He walked around slowly, carefully searched behind the couches, bar and table but found no threats. He allowed Ramirez into the room and made sure she closed the door behind her. He pushed open the double doors to her bedroom and moved to one side, peering carefully inside and checking for anyone within view. He crossed the threshold quickly and quietly, and took three steps backwards as he faced the blind spots behind the doors but found no one. He scanned the room carefully, taking in the plush king size bed, the walk-in closets and the set of ornate wooden dressers that occupied one wall of the room. A doorway covered by beads led to the bathroom about ten feet from him. 

He moved around the bed, noting that her two suitcases were standing neatly to the side of the closet and entered the bathroom. The tiled floor was black and white marble and he stepped carefully, the soft rubber of his boots gripping it easily. The bathroom was large and containing a large round, jetted bathtub, a walk-in shower, a counter with two sinks and a toilet in its own separate room. He walked out of the room and back into the living room. He looked out the window, found the controls to close the automatic blinds and turned on the overhead lights.

The blinds began to close around the huge window.

Why did you close those? Amelia asked, That view was beautiful.

If you can see out then a sniper can see in, Dr. Ramirez. We’re in Iran, not the United States and we are the enemy here, regardless of what you and your scientist friends want to believe, David said. And, even though we are here at the invitation of the Iranian government, they cannot, despite all their rhetoric, guarantee your safety. There are plenty of anti-government organizations who would love nothing more than to embarrass the government by assassinating prominent UN Scientists investigating their nuclear weapons program.

Aren’t you being just a tad bit paranoid? she asked and reached for the controls.

His hand closed over hers to stop her. His hand felt warm against hers and she looked at him, surprised at his firm touch. 

Maybe, but it has kept me alive so far, he said with a smile. Please trust me Dr. Ramirez, I’ve been doing this for a few years now, and I don’t plan on having anything happen to you because I didn’t take all the precautions. All you have to do is trust me. If I need to step in for any reason, please just do as I say and trust that I will explain it to you later.

She opened her mouth to protest then stopped and her features softened. She sighed and nodded. You are right, Sergeant, and I do appreciate you reminding me of the reality here, she said, looking into his eyes.

Please, call me David, or Mr. Fleming, he asked her, and she smiled. No mention of rank, please.

As long as you will call me Amelia when we’re not out there too, she replied with a nod.

David nodded silently, removed his hand and looked into her eyes for a moment. Please keep the connecting door unlocked so that I can get in here in an emergency, okay? You don’t need to keep it open, just unlocked. If you need me or suspect something is wrong just come get me or shout and I will be in here in a heartbeat, okay?

She nodded. 

I don’t think there’s a need to worry about anything: if they can get past all the Iranian soldiers outside our doors, there isn’t much more you can do to stop them anyway, she said with a laugh and turned to head back to her bedroom.

He opened the connecting door and didn’t bother checking his room. He walked through the entire suite, shrugging off his sports coat and draping across the back of one of the couches then flopped down on the huge king-size bed with a sigh. He glanced at his watch and set it for local time. Plenty of time before they headed down for dinner. Nap or shower first, he wondered idly for a few moments.

David sat up and swung out of bed: deciding to get a much-needed shower before he made any further decisions and quickly stripped down before heading into the bathroom. He walked into the shower, turning the water on as hot as he could stand it and stepped out, looking around for towels that were hanging on a rod next to a plush white robe on a wall between the round tub and the shower. He turned and stepped back into the shower as it began to steam up the bathroom.

David soaked his body for nearly two minutes, the nearly scalding water taking his breath away and causing him to grit his teeth against the burn. He then turned it as cold as he could stand it and soaked again, his skin flaring and tingling with the extremes. He did this twice more, before setting the water to a comfortable setting and reached for a pump full of soap that was sitting on shelf built into the wall.

David slipped on his tuxedo jacket, a form fitting black silk jacket that was snug at the waist but a little loose around the shoulders, where his Sig Sauer .40 calibre pistol sat in a rip away holster. He entered Amelia’s room after a knock and caught her as she was walking out of her bedroom, already dressed in a black pleated skirt, with a simple white blouse and black jacket. She wore a string of pearls around her graceful neck and simple silver bracelets on both wrists. She was more concerned, he knew, about impressing people with her work rather than her looks and dress and made a conscious effort to play down them.

Wow, he said with a grin. Beautiful and on time? Never met THAT combination before.

Amelia laughed, flashed him the finger and picked up a simple black leather purse hanging on a braided gold chain strap, slipping it over her shoulder. Anything I should know before we go down? Anything I should look for or be concerned about?

Nothing for you to be concerned about, no, he answered. I will do the worrying. Ignore me unless something goes down. I will be close at all times but without interfering in anything you are doing.

Ready? she asked with a smile, and he nodded, stepping out the door three steps ahead of her and making a quick but thorough scan of the hallway to either side of them.

He saw two of the other scientists and their own bodyguards were already in the hallway but there was no sign of their Iranian escorts. Fleming stared at the elevator doors for a second, then led Ramirez towards the nearest stairway instead. 

Care for a walk? he offered. I don’t do elevators, too easily trapped if someone wants to have you killed.

I suppose, we’re only what, on the sixth floor? Amelia replied sarcastically, I draw the line at the seventh floor.

At least we’re not going up, he pointed out and she laughed.

David glanced carefully up and down the staircase, hearing and sensing no movement and they moved in and headed downstairs. Out of habit, he slipped the Sig pistol into his hand and held it against his side ready to fire. They took their time and finally arrived at the ground floor, where he holstered it before they stepped out of the stairwell and into the large marble and gold lobby. They walked around the central elevator towers towards the huge conference room where they would be dining.

Before they reached the Ball room Fleming stopped her for a moment, moving towards one of the walls. Is it possible for you to sit with this Dr. Khobari tonight? he asked her. He is one of the scientists we were alerted about during the intel brief we received before we joined you.

It just so happens, I’m already sitting with him, as we are both the leaders of our respective teams, she answered. As for your suspicions, I also received a similar briefing a few months back about who to pay close attention to as well. Don’t worry, I am always on my toes.

David chuckled. 

Let’s go get some chow.

Huh?

Dinner, Doc, let’s get some dinner, he said, shaking his head and escorted her into the dining room, where the rest of the UN Team and their escorts were already assembled and talking with their Iranian counterparts.

Fleming looked around the large room that was half filled with large round tables covered with assorted hors d’oeuvres and large crystal carafes of juice and water. He made eye contact with each of his men, getting reassuring nods and noticed only a handful of Iranian security team members in attendance, placed in pairs at each entrance to the room. He didn’t like the security arrangements but admitted that he wasn’t in control and shifted nervously. He looked around before sitting down at a table near where Ramirez was talking with a group of scientists from her team.

Mr. Fleming, it is good to meet you again, a pleasant voice greeted him a few minutes later as he was drinking a glass of very strong, Turkish coffee. 

David looked up to see Priya Khobari, accompanied by her father, standing beside him. He smiled broadly and set the coffee down before he stood. He stood a good six inches above her, and was nearly a foot taller than her father.

This is indeed a pleasant surprise, Miss Khobari, he answered.

May I present my father, Jamal, Priya said, and her father bowed slightly.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir, David said and offered his hand. Jamal’s hand was leathery and his handshake firm. And a pleasure to meet you again, Miss. Khobari.

He paused, unsure how to address her after the morning. He studied her, but noted she seemed much more at ease than when she’d left earlier that afternoon. She saw his hesitation and smiled warmly.

Tonight, she wore a calf-length light blue gown with gold floral designs that emphasized a voluptuous body he hadn’t noticed before. The black rimmed glasses she’d worn before were now replaced by some more elegant brown and gold turtle shell glasses that enhanced a smooth, round face that was surrounded by black hair that flowed gracefully down to the small of her back. The effect was stunning, and he found it difficult to take his eyes off her until her father’s voice brought him around.

My Daughter tells me that you are a member of the security team. I certainly hope that you will not need to use your skills while you are in our country. I realize it must seem imposing to people who are not from here.

He was a small, delicate man in his sixties with a few wisps of white hair left on his virtually bald head who wore thick, gold rimmed glasses. His olive skin was leathery and wrinkled with age and he clutched a wooden walking stick with a white-knuckled grip and wore a black tuxedo with a white turban. His accent reminded Fleming of India rather than Iran.

Jamal noticed his strange look.

Well, with all the negotiations going on, it would be a monumental setback if something were to happen to any of the inspectors. Not just for Iran, but for the entire world, David replied with a nod Jamal nodded sadly. I didn’t realize it until now, but you’re not Iranian, Doctor Khobari. My guess is that you’re Indian.

That is correct, I am from Delhi, Jamal said with a laugh. You are a very perceptive man. I am sure that makes you very good at your job.

David laughed.

Well, the turban also helped, he replied, and Jamal joined him with a chuckle. Sir, I realize that you are a very important person in the scientific community, but how on earth did you end up in Iran? Forgive me for asking, I find it very curious because when I spoke with your daughter, I detected no hint of an Indian accent.

Yes, well, my lovely Priya was born and raised here in Tehran, it is all she has ever known, Jamal answered. We are Sikh’s but we must adhere to Sharia law and dress code while out in public. Priya is granted a bit of freedom in her dress tonight because this is a private event. She will not be...how do you say...disciplined, for not conforming to their laws.

Sharia law is inherent in everything here in Iran and the religious police will arrest you for not conforming, regardless of your religious beliefs. So, we must appease them: going to an Iranian prison is not a particularly pleasant idea. I imagine you were not sure whether to speak to Priya in public like you did this afternoon.

Yes, that was awkward until she assured me it was okay, David answered with a nod and a relieved chuckle.

You seem to be more accustomed and informed than most Americans I’ve met. You have been to the Middle East before.

I have indeed. Several times in fact with the US Army, he said