Blaze (27 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

BUSHEHR, IRAN

I
f one looked closely, the signs of long imprinted damage from wars gone by would be evident. The war with Iraq had left its stains on the city of Bushehr. Most living in the city and the surrounding fishing villages had cleared their minds of either their direct memories or the created impressions passed down by the stories of their elders, but physical signs still remained for those interested. Life in Bushehr and its surrounding villages did have its drudgery. The heat was tormenting and relentless. The brine hung in the air with an almost tangible quality as a constant reminder of the proximity to the ocean. Most spent their days minding their daily catch of fish and going about their business in Halileh, Bandargeh, and in and around Bushehr. Most also paid very little attention to the daily work that was being done at the Bushehr nuclear facility, the main focal point for the world outside of Iran when it came to their immediate geography.

Azad was feeling very important lately. His career had really reached its zenith and his work at Bushehr was exhilarating and wildly fulfilling. He was progressing by leaps and bounds towards his objectives, and more importantly, towards the goals of the regime. They actually were now calling him directly for status reports, to clarify technical issues, and to encourage him with his research. Azad's team had diligently been working overtime for the sake of the cause. They too were well aware of the historical and spiritual significance of their work, and the timely emphasis that was being placed on it by the mullahs. The Mahdi was here after all, and everyone was eagerly looking forward to the day that He was known to all and not just his main public conduit, President Samani.

Azad was only twenty-eight years old, but he knew he was living out his calling and serving Allah in the highest way possible. He was confident that the research he was spearheading would help to defeat the infidels. To demolish the cancer that was the west. To finally eliminate the Zionists and the Americans. His team felt the same way. They hated the Jews just as much as he did and were ready for not only a Caliphate, but one that was primarily guided by the superior Aryan blood of Persia.

Azad was still wearing his lab coat as he scanned his ID card and left the plant. It had been a long day, a twelve-hour race with very little time to eat or use the facilities. Azad was looking forward to retreating this evening to his cousin Hamid's house to meet with his brothers in the Neo Iranian Nazi Party.

He had joined the group, along with his cousin, when he was twenty-four years old after a period of intense study and introspection. It was around this time that Azad truly embraced his Aryan roots and the Aryan roots of his people. He also became more and more versed on the eschatology of Shia Islam, particularly those who embraced the anticipation of the great Twelfth Imam. The merging of his fully ignited religious fervor and his newfound deep commitment to preserving his racial heritage had proven to be a life force in Azad that was full of promise and ambition.

The meeting had already started but Azad had not missed too much. The group had begun with their ceremonial poetry readings about their ancestors and the power of their Aryan roots. They were now getting into the Quran readings before they began the evening's history lesson. Azad sat quietly smiling and drinking tea as he both learned new things and allowed known things to be reinforced. As the history lesson ended, the group broke out into a social hour of sorts and attendees broke into clusters of isolated conversations as they ate light finger food and drank tea.

Hamid walked over to talk with Azad and had a large smile on his face. Hamid was always extra happy at the weekly NINP meetings, and tonight was no exception. Azad barely noticed the white man walking arms length behind Hamid and acting as if he was there as Hamid's guest.

“Hamid! How are you my cousin! I'm so excited to tell you about the great work at Bushehr! We're almost there my friend, almost ready!” Azad could not contain his bubbling enthusiasm.

Hamid gave his cousin a firm hug and congratulated him on his work, “That's great news my cousin! I know you've worked so hard and so diligently and Allah has uniquely blessed you with talent! To think that it will be your research that leads the way to the ultimate annihilation of the Zionist and the Great Satan is beyond comprehension!”

“Hamid you have no idea the type of emotion that runs through me each day. I'm even speaking almost daily with members of the regime. They're proud of my work and encourage me daily. We're all excited for the coming of the Mahdi. The wait will be soon over. The time of the Caliphate is here, and Aryan dominance will be known throughout the new Islamic order.” Azad's eyes widened and his smile extended with a hazy, visionary glare of imaginative fanaticism.

Doug Schmidt
watched this exchange with particular interest and keen observation. Azad. The man he was looking for. This guy was the last step for the Bushehr plant to reach dangerous nuclear capacity. Azad confirmed that contrary to news reports, weapons-grade uranium was indeed being processed at Bushehr. This was the guy the regime was counting on.

“Azad, I almost forgot, this is my very good friend, Doug Schmidt, from America. He's strong in the Aryan cause and shares our goals. He attended the World Without Zionism conference with me and is our guest here tonight at the NINP meeting.”

“It's a great pleasure to meet you Azad!” Zack extended his hand out and squeezed Azad's hand like a man.

“It's always a pleasure to meet a fellow soldier in the worldwide Aryan cause! It's nice to see some new blood around here!” Azad's enthusiasm was still driving him and he had forgotten all he had said prior to shaking Zack's hand.

The three men talked vigorously for about an hour about the history of Iran, the historic relationship of Persia with Nazi Germany, the plague of Zionism, the overreaching nature of America and the West, the glory of the coming Iranian bomb, and the messianic deliverance forthcoming courtesy of the Twelfth Imam. They drank tea the entire time and were quite at ease. Many others from the meeting came by and weaved naturally in and out of the conversation. Azad had left his cell phone and car keys unguarded on an end table near the bathroom surrounded by keys and phones left there by other members as they entered Hamid's humble domicile. Zack had studied each person as they left their items on this table upon their entrance.

It only took three minutes for Zack to grab Azad's phone on his way to the bathroom, copy his SIM card as he urinated, and return the phone to its position on the end table without a Persian soul in the room knowing any different.

He would now know all he would need to know about Azad. And this would suffice in determining exactly how and where he would decide to kill him.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

SARTAL, IRAN

T
here was not a whole hell of a lot happening in Sartal, Iran. Pretty much ever. Zack Batt had learned this grueling fact in the past four weeks. Long nights of tedious recon and forced interest into the life of his subject had taught him the immovable truth that one must never yearn to spend time in the town of Sartal in the country of Iran.

Zack had observed Azad's daily routine now for four weeks and had seen very little deviation to give him any pause about the execution of his plan. Azad was indeed a faithful servant of his employers at the Bushehr nuclear plant and an equally faithful husband and father. Like many people, he went to work and he came home. Not much else. Zack sat in the agency provided white Iranian Khodro Samand LX peering out the driver's side window with his binoculars. It was 6:30 PM. Another fifteen minutes. He once again read the plaque that hung in Azad's family room beneath the large painting of the ancient Persian King Darius. The plaque read:

I am Darius, the great king, the king of kings

The king of many countries and many people

The king of this expansive land,

The son of Wishtaspa of Achaemenid,

Persian, the son of a Persian,

‘Aryan', from the Aryan race

This little ditty was all too familiar to Zack at this point. This was recited with glee in unison by all of the attendees of the NINP meeting where Zack met Azad. King Darius may have thrown Daniel in the lion's den in the days of old, but his chief psycho Aryan descendent was going to get his ass clipped.

Zack turned his binoculars and attention to watch Azad as he threw his young son up in the air and they both laughed as he caught him on the way down. It was the end of their dinnertime and it was pretty much the same every night. Zack had watched Azad's wife clean up after dinner as Azad played with his son on the living room floor for about fifteen minutes.

Then, he would see the bathroom light go on shortly after Azad's wife would take Azad's son in her arms and whisk him out of the room. Bath time.

Then, like clockwork, just as he had done every Thursday evening since Zack had been spying on him, at 6:45 PM, Azad walked out to the side of the house to take out the trash.

Zack quickly pondered the cold brutality of what he was about to do. He had done it many times before and the typical boundaries of normal human emotion and empathy had never hindered him. He knew his skills and he was at peace with the reasons for which he employed them. In typical circumstances, he did his best to isolate the target. This provided a very focused, narrow insight into the target's life and avoided the muddy waters of knowing the peripherals of the subject's life. He rarely considered the women or children of a subject, let alone watched them to the point of knowing the details of their daily lives. This made things easier.

Watching Azad with his family strangely penetrated Zack's now numb assassin's heart. His mind wasn't prone to second-guessing. But this time, his heart did temporarily bear a soft empathy. He felt a tug of pain for the pending loss that the mother and young child would soon experience to no fault of their own.

But Azad's wife and child would have to blame their father in the end, thought Zack. Azad was one of the crucial last steps to the acquisition of nuclear weapons by one of the most maniacal regimes in history. He was also a virulent anti-Semite and Aryan supremacist. Zack's emotions quickly began hardening once again as he reflected upon these realities.

Zack double-checked the silencer on his Glock 18 as he proceeded to roll up close to the target with a slow creep in the white Iranian made vehicle. He always insisted on eye contact if possible before the deed was to be done. It was Zack's way of owning the action.

Azad heard the slow, humming sound of the vehicle as it rolled up close to the curb. He casually lifted his head to view it with a disinterested glance as he lifted the lid off of the large rubber trash receptacle. His eyes met Zack's with no alarm, as it was too dark for Azad to distinguish his identity.

Azad placed the trash bag above the receptacle as he began to drop the garbage in. Before his hand could release the bag, a dime-size piece of brain matter left the back of his head and found its way to the fence that gated the entrance to his back yard. The trash bag managed to still fall perfectly into the trashcan. The only significant sound to be heard was the slight thud of Azad's body hitting the ground. Zack had completed his hit and Azad had still successfully completed his Thursday evening chore.

It was about twenty minutes later, with Azad's home about fifteen miles in Zack's rearview, that Zack picked up his sat phone and placed a call to Chuck Gallagher.

“The trinity is complete. I've had enough of this Islamic Aryan circus. Please get me the hell out of here, will ya?”

“You'll spend one night at the safe house and fly out in the morning. Stay out of trouble until then. Glad to hear you made out well on completing the trinity. Not that I ever had any doubts.”

Zack noticed that Gallagher was calmer than usual—probably because he was awakened out of bed to take the call. During daylight hours, one does not receive a calm Gallagher on the phone in any circumstances. “Roger that spookmaster general. I've got some road ahead of me before I get to the safe house. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Roger…smartass.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

BELFAST, IRELAND

T
he good Reverend Liam McCardle was plagued with pangs of lingering guilt as he sipped his steaming hot coffee while sitting on his mum's porch adoring the lush green landscapes of his beloved homeland. As his guilt merged with his ongoing sobriety efforts, the urge to pour a shot of Bushmills into his coffee grew strong. Liam decisively resisted that urge and instead prayed harder, asking the good Lord to forgive him—both for the urge to drink and for the wanton night of passion he spent with Erin. He had lost all control that evening and was swept away with the radiant beauty and glowing charisma of Ms. Erin McNeil. When the dancing was over and the night trotted on, there was no chance that his libido would tame. Liam fell short and succumbed to a blistering and passionate night of lovemaking, which he regretted deeply, yet cherished as an altogether enduring and fond memory.

Erin was a woman of faith, and she suffered from similar guilt as Liam did. They talked about the implications of their premature consecration and had both agreed to not let it happen again until they were married. They both knew it would be difficult, given how quickly and deeply they had fallen for each other, but they had managed to maintain their mutual promise thus far.

The wedding had already been set for the following fall, and the two had announced their engagement to a small gathering of Irish family and friends. Liam had yet to break the good news to his friend Blaze, mostly because of the bad news he knew plagued Blaze's life at the moment. It was this matter for which he began to pray as he read through his morning scripture discipline. He was expecting a call from Blaze shortly and he wanted to make sure that he was spiritually blessing the call in advance so that God could be demonstrably ‘in on the call' and dispersing his spirit throughout the conversation.

He reflected on some passages in Isaiah, and then meandered into some verses in Romans, before finally revisiting the constant magnet that the 38
th
and 39
th
chapters of Ezekiel had become. It was after a deep scan of those chapters that the call came in from Blaze to Liam's mobile. He put down his Bible and cup of joe and took the call on his mobile while shifting back and forth on the front porch rocking chair.

“Blaze! I'm so glad we can finally talk. You've been very much on my heart and mind. I pray for you daily.” Liam was truly happy to hear Blaze's voice, even though he did not expect such enthusiasm to be relayed in Blaze's tone, given the pain he was dealing with.

“Hey Liam. It's good to hear your voice too. Thanks for the emails and all your prayers. It's been brutal, and I'm not sure I will ever really recover, but I'm adapting and picking up the pieces quickly.” Blaze's tone was calm and somewhat distant.

“I understand Blaze. You don't have to hide your true state from me. We've always been open with each other.”

“I know, sorry it took a bit for me to call, I've had a lot to figure out. Every day I try to get back into as much of a normal routine as possible but I am constantly overwhelmed with memories of Diem and Shane. Nothing seems real or worthwhile. I keep thinking of how Diem was when I was away on missions, how she held fast at home and raised the kids so heroically. She rarely complained, and the kids always praised her. Even when Shane was at his most spoiled state, it was clear he loved and appreciated his Mom. I miss her, Liam. I miss her bad. And I miss my boy.”

Liam knew his friend was going through pain that had no foreseeable sunset. As a Pastor, it was his job to offer consoling words, but he found it hard to do. He struggled to come up with something fitting. “I know I can't relate Blaze. My son is all grown up and my wife passed in a much different manner and time in her life. But pain, anguish and grief are common to the human experience and I can hear the agony in your voice and I empathize.”

“Thanks Liam. It means a lot.”

“I also know who you are at the core of it all. We'll never understand the mind of God or why such horrific tragedies are permitted, but we can seek Him in these times and seek unseen ancillary purposes. In that spirit, I urge you to not abandon your recent reemergence into the field. You must find ways to utilize this pain to strengthen and motivate you to neutralize the enemies of freedom. I am convinced you're needed uniquely in these times. These times of Gog and Magog. These times of wars, rumors of wars, and pending all out wars. Harness God's calling for you in all of this. It will be your lifeblood.” Liam worried he may be pushing too hard on this point, but somehow he sensed his words were Spirit-driven.

“I know. I've been feeling the healing lately and the visions I've been getting confirm my path. I had another visit from Harry's ghost the other day. I woke up in cold sweats and I saw him hovering above my bed. He was quoting Ezekiel 38 and 39. Talking about the hook and the jaw, the mountains of Israel, and enemies advancing like a storm. He was loud and dramatic and flailed his arms as he spouted on about it. He described in detail the hailstone and torrents that God would send. He painted a vivid picture of all the fire and burning sulfur and crumbling mountains. It was theatrical and terrifying and yet I laid there mesmerized with a peculiar sense of peace.”

“What else did he say Blaze?”

“He told me Diem and Shane were safe and with the Lord. That they had immeasurable peace and that I shouldn't worry about them. He spoke of a strong future for Dennis. He told me that some people are watchman and some are warriors but that I need to be both. He said the Lord expects no less from me than to act as such. His appearance solidified what I already was feeling. The pain is still there and is strong, but my calling remains, and there is much more work for me to do.”

“I'm glad to hear that you can see the signs and sense Providence through this trial. You'll overcome Blaze. You will adapt.”

“Roger that, Liam. Zack has been a tremendous friend through all of this as well. I also met with an old spook named Hunter Davis that Gallagher sent me to. His story and his words to me also came as a much-needed comfort in this time. Well, enough about me and my dead friend showing up in the middle of the night—how are you and that Irish girlfriend of yours?” Blaze felt a quick need to lighten up the conversation and take the attention away from himself.

“Erin is magnificent. She's quite a lady, Blaze. She's beyond beautiful with her flowing red hair and glowing cheeks, not to mention the body God blessed her with. We've been inseparable since reuniting and I've come to quickly love her daughter McKinnis as well. It won't be long before she's my stepdaughter. Erin and I are engaged to be married next fall!”

Blaze's voice rose with excitement for the first time since tragedy had shattered his world. “Congrats! I'm so happy for you Liam! Make sure I get an invite. I'll bring Dennis to Ireland and we'll make a trip out of it. What are you going to do about the Church? I assume you're going to stay and live in Ireland?”

“Yes, we'll live here in Ireland. I'll finish out the year at the Church in Detroit and then begin a new job with a Baptist church here in Belfast that has graciously made me an offer. I'm very excited about what God is doing in my life.”

“Well, give her my regards. I have to sign off now and get to my workout. If I miss a beat, I'll get soft. That can't happen.”

“Godspeed, Blaze. Let's talk again soon.”

“You got it.”

A sparrow flew past Liam's field of vision as he hung up his mobile.
The birds have no worry for their needs.
It was beautiful and free and reminded Liam of the ever-present constancy of God's provision.