Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2) by André Gallo (dark academia books to read .TXT) 📗

about to change his life. His mind was on his new mission, his first real mission for al Quds, to work on a secret project in Iran. There were two books on the passenger seat next to him, one on Rumi, the thirteenth century Persian poet and Sufi mystic, and the other on Darius, the founder of ancient Persia.

He had spent the previous day in Davis with his al Quds control, Nasrullah, a professor of Comparative Religion at the University of California. Nasrullah had convinced him to spend the next few months using his computer expertise for the greater glory of Persia. Nasrullah had mentioned “Iran’s Cyber Army” without being more specific. Firuz, a loner with a Master’s in Computer Sciences from the University of California at Berkeley and the co-founder of “Intrepid Computing,” already felt elated at joining a group whose mission would give more meaning to his life.

Firuz was tempted to get off Highway 101 at Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, curious to know if the alluring sound was from the M.S. Sonoma, the ferry whose destruction he had planned so meticulously.

He even had done several dry runs. It would have been easy. Take the bus to Larkspur, board the ferry to San Francisco, hide two Semtex bombs, one among life vests past an open door marked, NO ADMITTANCE—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY on the lower level and the other behind the water tank in a bathroom. After debarking in San Francisco, he would sit in back of Starbuck’s at a table overlooking the pier and watch the Friday afternoon commuter crowd onto the ship. Blowing up the ferry while sipping a latte would have been delicious irony.

He had agonized whether to discuss his idea with Nasrullah to get his authorization and the explosives. Could he damage the boat without killing the people? After all, the purpose was not to kill as many people as possible. It was to bring the world’s attention to the bullying ways of American policies in the Middle East.               What was the American Navy doing in the Persian Gulf anyway?

Could he carry out an operation against the United States, a country that had been kind to his family and had given him his education? He corrected himself; his education had been sold to him. In other countries, education would have been a right, not a privilege only for those who could afford it.

Firuz, born in Los Angeles after his family emigrated from Tehran following the Khomeini Revolution in 1979, had always been an outsider. He looked different and was not particularly interested in sports, an essential ingredient for popularity in American schools. He had always been a nerd with his sharp nose in a book, and later in a computer. His classmates always taunted him for his apparent arrogance and disdain.

Nasrullah’s proposition that Firuz go to Tehran had at first surprised him, but then he welcomed it. He had always been drawn to Persia’s military and cultural accomplishments and had learned that America had been only the last invader, less bloody than the Mongols but more pernicious. He was proud to be needed. But at the age of twenty-eight, what about his family and girlfriend Joy? During the drive down from Davis, he had rationalized his decision and looked forward to connecting with his roots. After all, Nasrullah had said his assignment to Iran would be only for six months, after which he would come back and be even more useful in the United States.

He had anticipated that Nasrullah would make him into a bomb-thrower. But this secret project already promised him a position more suited to his talents while participating in the renewal of Persia’s rightful place in the world. Nasrullah had hinted that Firuz might replace him as the West Coast al Quds chief when he came back.

His uncle Hashem Yazdi, whom Firuz had always admired, had stayed in Iran, giddy at the takeover of the American Embassy in ‘79, an unexpected success in which he had played a leading role. Infatuated with the idea of a once glorious and now maligned Persia, Firuz had begun to correspond with his uncle while in college. He now spoke to him on the phone regularly. Firuz didn’t know exactly what Hashem did; only that he had been a hero of the Iran-Iraq War and now was a senior official with the Islamic Revolutionary Guards. He assumed that his uncle was behind this sudden plan, another reason for agreeing so readily.

Although not particularly religious, Firuz began to attend the mosque as a means to be closer to his national roots. At a conference on Iran at Stanford University, he had met Nasrullah who completed Firuz’s indoctrination. Firuz was now an al Quds operative, an integral part of the IRGC, like his uncle.

As he drove, Firuz continued to plan his departure. What about his bonus? After all, it had been his technical expertise that had made the startup company successful. When creating firewalls and security software, it helped to have unrivaled hacking knowledge. He would convince corporate customers by first hacking into their computer systems. Dwayne, his Berkeley classmate and “Intrepid” co-founder, would then come in and sell their computer security package. Firuz accepted his role as the techie while Dwayne, more socially adept, closed the sale. The profit margins were high, but corporations felt they had little choice.

As Firuz drove toward the Golden Gate Bridge, the heavy white fog in back of the North Coastal Range looked like distant and threatening snow-clad peaks, like pictures of Iran’s Alborz Mountains.

He rolled his window up and kept on going. He had drawn back from his plan to sink the ferry. It was now time to be decisive.

He was done with California.

 

6. Langley, Virginia: CIA Headquarters

Her back to the large window overlooking the greenery of the CIA campus, Thérèse LaFont, shoulder length dark-blond hair, elegant but understated in a white silk blouse