Asset Seven Read online

  Karim stood and stepped into the corner of the room he now found himself in. He tried to calm his heart rate in an attempt to silence the sound of the blood pounding in his ears but he was finding it difficult. The noises he could hear came from the widow Aria in the bed on the other side of the room. Deep, heavy breathing with the occasional gentle snore. Satisfied, Karim pushed the portion of wall back to its original position, giving a slight wince as it clicked into place. The widow Aria however, remained undisturbed. Karim could see more in this room due to the ambient moonlight filtering through the cheap curtains and saw that the floor was clear of any obstacles that might trip him. He made his way silently past the bed and eased himself out of the room and into the small hallway. Wasting no time, he strode along the small passage and entered the living room at the end. Dropping to his hands and knees again, he crawled until he was underneath the large window. Taking care not to expose himself, he pulled the curtain back a fraction and peered out, studying the street and buildings around him. Even though his heart was racing, Karim could feel his confidence growing. When he’d designed his exfiltration plan months before, he’d based it on his knowledge of how VAJA worked. He knew that if he was ever under suspicion he couldn’t hope to escape from his home, even at night. But he could escape from someone else’s.

  When he’d first moved to the apartment, Karim had made a big show to the neighbours about his general handyman skills. It hadn’t been long before the widow Aria had approached him and asked if could help with a few minor repairs in her own home. Karim, of course, had been only too happy to oblige and carried out those repairs and much more. Including building the escape door that led from his own apartment into hers. He’d had to wait until the old lady had gone on pilgrimage, but it hadn’t taken him long and the hatch had been complete and the wall looking as it always had, days before her return. And now Karim was under a window at the opposite end of the building that he lived in. He was relying on the laziness and predictability of the security team to only be observing the exits from Karim’s apartment. There was no real reason why they would be watching anywhere else however, a professional would have deployed an outer cordon of watchers, just in case Karim managed to elude the close-quarter teams.

  After watching the street for almost ten minutes he decided to make his move. He’d seen nothing to indicate there was any surveillance at this end of the building. Standing, he released the catches on the window and opened it wide, pulling the curtain over his head to give him clear access. Karim lowered himself out of the window until he was hanging full length, from his hands. With a final glance to ensure it was clear below, he pushed away from the wall, turning in mid-air as he dropped, and landed on the small patch of grass that masqueraded as a garden. He rolled several times until he came to a stop under some shrubs, where he lay for a moment, catching his breath and listening for any reaction. Keeping to the shadows, Karim stood and stalked his way along the side of the building, heading for the opposite entrance. He opened the door and closed it quickly behind him, striding down the corridor that would take him to the back entrance of the block. He knew that once past there, his odds of making it out of the village increased dramatically. A noise to his front startled him and a door opened as a tall man entered the corridor, closing the door slowly behind him. He turned just as Karim reached him and his mouth opened in a wide circle of astonishment.

  Even as Karim pulled his hand back for the strike, he saw the man recover enough of his wits to reach for the pistol that was concealed beneath his jacket. But he was too slow. Karim thrust the edge of his hand into the man’s throat and felt the crunching of the cartilage at the same instant the man’s head snapped forward. Stepping to one side to avoid the falling man clutching at his crushed trachea, Karim delivered a powerful punch to the man’s temple that slammed the man’s head against the wall. The dead body slid to the floor in an undignified heap and Karim reached into the jacket and pulled out a small leather wallet, opened it and studied the contents. The identity card showed the dead man was from the Ministry of Intelligence and Security; VAJA. Karim could smell oily food and traces of perfume on the man and assumed he had used his position and influence to persuade a woman to sleep with him, as he wasn’t from the area and wouldn’t have known anyone here. Karim shook his head at the thought of the man’s arrogance and abuse of power, shoved the wallet back into the jacket then withdrew the pistol and spare magazines. Tucking them into the pockets of his cargo-pants, he stooped and grabbed the body by the ankles, dragging it along the corridor until he reached the back entrance. Karim lowered the legs before opening the door and looking outside. Seeing nothing untoward, he grabbed the legs again and hauled his funereal load outside and into the area where the small trees and shrubs bordered the building. Dropping to his hands and knees, he shoved the body under the overhanging branches of a thick tree that was low to the ground. It would be discovered once the sun came up but by then Karim was hoping that he would be far away from here. With a final glance behind him, he turned and began running towards his next destination.

  Karim was breathing heavily as he approached the abandoned factory, the three kilometers he’d run from the village taking its toll through the adrenalin and nervous energy he was burning. He’d abandoned caution for speed, knowing for certain that they had not discovered his connection to this location. He slowed his run to a jog and then a walk as he caught his breath and navigated around the wall of the complex. Entering an open doorway near the rear of the building, he winced as his steps echoed around the walls of the cavernous space. He shook his head as he remembered that they didn’t know about this place, had no idea of his visits here over the last six months. When he approached the faded radiation-warning symbol on the wall beside another open doorway, Karim stopped. He’d placed the sign there himself to discourage anybody curious enough to be snooping around. There had never been any radiation in this factory, although it had been used at one time for the production of military-grade chemical weapons. But the sign would deter even the most curious of explorers.

  Karim entered the passage beyond and stooped, lifting a slab of tiling from the floor. Pushing it to one side, he drew back a thin sheet of wood and retrieved a small, metal box. He opened this and pulled out a set of keys before placing the box to one side and making his way further along the passage. He stopped outside a room where several roof joists had fallen against a heavy door. He dragged each one aside until the door was clear then pulled out the keys from his pocket and unlocked the two locks. The door opened with very little pressure as Karim pushed it, a legacy of his regular maintenance over these past months. He closed it behind him and walked forward to a large counter. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a flashlight, turning it on and wincing as the bright beam shocked his night-sensitive eyes for several seconds. Wasting no time, he primed and lit the lamp, the room now bathed in a warm, yellow glow. Karim stared at the motorbike for a moment and allowed himself a smile. Even though he’d been sure they hadn’t known about this place, he’d prepared for disappointment. But it was here. Exactly as he’d left it at his last maintenance visit. He walked over to the machine and ran a quick inventory to ensure it was packed and ready to go.

  It was a large bike by Iranian standards but he’d known that it was what he would need if this eventuality had ever arisen; a big off-roader built for the gruelling deserts and mountains and capable of carrying a decent load. And Karim had loaded it with as much as he believed he could take without degrading the bike’s capabilities. Extra fuel for the journey ensuring he had no need to stop and expose his position. Water, food, shelter, weapons, ammunition, all packed in a rucksack ready to be man-packed when he had to leave the bike. And infra-red lighting that he’d fitted to give him an added advantage in his escape. The skills that the Quds Force had trained him in over the years were now going to be the only thing to keep him alive and the equipment he was carrying on the bike was going to help with that. His exfiltration was not going to
be an easy one. He’d known that from the start. But he also knew what he was capable of and that he had to get his information out. Get it to where it could be used to stop the deaths of countless innocents.

  From another drawer he took out a mobile telephone and slipped it into his trouser pocket. Grabbing a heavy jacket that was hanging from the handlebars of the bike, Karim zipped the garment up as he took a look around the room. There was nothing here that would help them; everything was on the bike. Content with this, he pulled out his Night-Vision Goggles from one of the panniers and put them on, adjusting the clasps to secure them to his head. He opened the door wide then returned and took control of the bike, heeling the kickstand before rolling the laden vehicle out of the room and along the corridor. It was a heavy beast but he’d practiced with it fully laden and knew that once he was riding the bike, it would be fine. When he reached the ground outside the building, Karim gave a quick scan of the area before starting the engine. In the still of the night it sounded incredibly loud but he knew that it wouldn’t carry too far, certainly not as far as the town. He pulled in the clutch, put the bike into gear and took off towards the road, the land in front of him an eerie green in the glow of his goggles.

  The wind was cool on his face but his jacket and gloves kept the cold at bay as he rode along the empty road. After a couple of kilometers, Karim slowed the bike and stopped halfway over a bridge above a raging river. The sound of the river below was loud; a result of the melting snows higher up in the mountains. He peeled off a glove then reached into his pocket and withdrew the mobile telephone, powering up the device until the screen showed it was active. He stabbed out a short message on the keys and waited for conformation that the missive had been sent. The confirmatory tick symbol showed him that it had gone and with that, Karim tossed the phone over the guardrail and into the river below. There was a very good possibility that the electronic signature of his transmission had been registered and would be followed up on. But it had been unavoidable. He’d needed to send it. Needed to tell them that he was coming. That he’d begun his exfiltration. That they needed to be ready for him.

  As he put the bike into gear and headed off again, Karim thought about the message and the man he’d sent it to. Thought about how far he had to go and the odds on making it. Thought about how his watchers would now turn to hunters, eager to capture their prey. Thought about how he could never have imagined being in the position he was now in. Would never have believed that one day, he would be running from the very regime he had carried out some of the highest-level operations for. Never have imagined that he’d be hurtling along an empty road in the dead of night, a motorbike packed with weapons and equipment and a package of vital information he needed to get out. Could never have considered that, one day, Karim Ardavan, hero of the Quds Force Western Directorate, would be given another name, another role.

  Karim Ardavan, veteran of the Quds Force who had taken the fight to the Western enemies of the Republic, was now running towards those same enemies. Because he was no longer Karim Ardavan of the Quds Force: He was an Asset. An agent for the Central Intelligence Agency of the great shaitan himself; the USA. And he had sent his Handler the message to tell him that he was coming to them. That his exfiltration was in play. That they needed to be ready to get him out. That Karim was no more. He was now the Asset they’d designated him all those years before.

  Asset Seven

  2

  CAMP PALANG, NORTH-WEST IRAN

  It was his habit to rise early and gain a head start on the day. Had been since his fledgling days as a scared young officer, conscripted to fight the Iraqis in the long-running war. Dawn was giving way to daylight, the soft mauves of the mountain peaks now giving way to the blacks of the rock and white snow caps. Sipping his coffee, General Zana Shir-Del leaned forward on the rail of his balcony and took in the view in front of him. He’d always loved the mountains; the freshness of the air, the crisp, clean cold, and their utter neutrality for either side in a conflict. He’d come from a mountain village, and as a boy had become strong and confident as he’d learned to climb and ski before he’d learned to read. It had stood him in good stead when he’d been conscripted; many of the young officers he’d attended the Academy with had been dead within the first year of their service. Sacrificed as martyrs charging impenetrable positions. Leading mobs of terrified young men across mined approaches as the Iraqis mowed them down with machine-gun fire.

  But Zana’s prowess as a mountain man had been identified before he could suffer such a fate himself and he’d been seconded to the NOHED Brigade; the Airborne Special Forces of Iran. He’d used his background to lead covert infiltrations through high-mountain passes and take Iraqi targets by surprise. He found he had a real aptitude for unconventional warfare and the successes of his unit soon began to mount. These successes were given high-profile exposure and the young officer soon found himself rapidly gaining promotion, medals and, more importantly, influence. His transition to the Quds Force had been almost a formality given his status. He’d operated in many countries around the globe, participated in some of the Republic’s major successes. But as he looked at the peaks around him, Zana felt at home for the first time in many years. At fifty-nine, he was beyond running up the steep slopes with the trainees as they endured their selection course, but he was still strong enough to leave many of them bent double and gasping for air on the high-altitude marches as he strode past them.

  When he’d been tasked to set up a facility to train Quds Force operators for the most sensitive overseas missions, Zana had initially turned it down. When they’d told him that it would be based in the mountains and that it was a secret and separate entity that he would oversee directly, the offer had far more appeal. Truth was, he’d been getting a bit long in the tooth for the sabotage missions abroad; still strong but taking longer to recover from the physical exertions of infil and exfil on his aging body. So, designing and directing the training of the Republic’s most elite operators in a region that he loved, was now his role in keeping the Republic safe. He’d called his creation Camp Palang, after the majestic leopards that he would see from time to time when he was deep in the mountains. Elusive, solitary animals that lived and hunted in the most formidable environment in the world, rarely seen by man. It was a model that Zana felt a close affinity with and one he used as a metaphor when delivering his induction speech to the trainees. The thought of the trainees broke him from his reverie and he looked at his watch. It was still too early for anyone other than the overnight watch to be up and about but that would change in the next half hour as the food hall opened for breakfast. Taking the last mouthful of the coffee, Zana headed back inside and picked up his jacket and hat.

  Walking through the camp, Zana cast a critical eye over the ground and buildings looking for any signs of untidiness or disrepair. He took a deep pride in his facility and imbued this upon his staff and trainees alike, clamping down hard on any infringement of his expectations. His breath fogged in the chill morning air as he made his way to the administration building. Passing a huge bulldozer, he made note of the fact that the driver had left his jacket and helmet hanging on the shovel blade. Zana knew that most officers wouldn’t even have noticed this, let alone view it as an offence. But he had learned from experience how the little things that didn’t seem to matter, soon impacted upon each other to become bigger things that really mattered. He also knew that other officers wouldn’t have bothered with this because it was at the hands of the mining crew and not the Palang trainees.

  When Zana had begun designing Camp Palang, he’d convinced Tehran that the camp would require a cover story; something that would satisfy American satellites about what activity was being carried out in the remote region. So, every day, a small convoy of heavy equipment moved in and out of camp to dig into the sides of a nearby rock face and then process the rock they had retrieved. Small snippets of disinformation regarding a secret mining operation for cobalt in the mountains had been dis
creetly leaked around some government offices in Tehran, in the knowledge that this would eventually reach the ears of the CIA. And it seemed to be working. For the past two years the camp had been operating, there was nothing coming back to indicate it been compromised. Zana allowed himself a small nod of pride as this thought came to him and he pushed open the door of the administration building.

  Captain Turan Abed looked up as the door to the central office opened and the General strode in. Turan smiled as General Shir-Del stopped to take off his coat and hat and hang them on the rack. Although he knew that the General was in his late fifties, with his long, lean build and piercing blue eyes, he could pass for a man many years younger. The only nod to his age seemed to be the groomed white beard that followed the contours of his jawline. His physical presence and reputation reflecting his name; Shir-Del – the lion’s heart. Catching Turan’s eye, the General spoke.

  ‘Good morning Captain. Anything to report?’

  Turan shook his head. ‘Nothing Sir. All quiet.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get some coffee and go over the preparations for the final exercise before the others arrive. Just want to be certain everything is covered.’

  Turan picked up a series of maps and folders and placed them on a large table in the centre of the room. ‘This is all the details for the exercise Sir. Participating trainees, staff, scenarios, equipment required and mapping of all exercise areas.’