Protect and defend by Vince Flynn

before taking in a short breath followed by two deeper ones. His heart was moving at a pretty good clip. Between his pounding heart and with the water in his ears it was difficult to hear anything. He hovered quietly, taking deeper and deeper breaths. His head was the only thing out of the water. His heart rate quickly recovered and he shook the water from his ears. He listened for any sign that Garret’s wife had woken up, but there was nothing. After another minute he gathered his swim bag from the anchor line and started for shore. With any luck, he’d be back in Washington by noon.
     

8
     
ISFAHAN, NUCLEAR FACILITY
     
    The bickering had gone on for the better part of the morning. For Ashani it was like being on a long car trip with his teenage daughters. Most men were easily intimidated by Imad Mukhtar. With his close ties to the hard-line zealots and his propensity for violence, it was wise to steer well clear of him. Farahani, due to either stupidity or conviction, had decided to concede nothing. While Mukhtar pointed out the facility’s shortcomings with the tact of a drill instructor, Farahani defended himself like an insulted artist. The two fed off each other, the rhetoric escalated, and Ashani found himself wishing desperately that his office would call with an emergency that needed his immediate attention.
    Ashani leaned against the wall of Farahani’s office watching Mukhtar tick off a list of files he wanted to review.
    Farahani, in the midst of lighting a cigarette, exhaled a cloud of smoke and shook his head. “I know that man very well. He would never betray the revolution.”
    Ashani had never seen Farahani so stubborn. Maybe after all these months he was finally sick of people making the trip from Tehran to second-guess his every move. Even so, Mukhtar was not some mindless bureaucrat trying to cover his backside. At the young age of fourteen the man had joined the Palestinian terrorist group Force 17. By the time he was twenty, he recognized Yasser Arafat for the corrupt megalomaniac that he was and broke from the PLO. He formed a little-known group called Islamic Jihad that eventually spun off another organization called Hezbollah. That next year he changed the landscape of the Middle East by successfully using car and truck bombs to level the U.S. Embassy, the marine barracks, and the French barracks in Beirut. After those three gruesome attacks, Mukhtar and his men went on a kidnapping spree that turned the international political landscape on its ear for the rest of the decade. Mukhtar was a man of action who did not shrink from violence. He did not hesitate to kill those who did not share his all-or-nothing vision of jihad. Even if they were fellow Muslims.
    “Three of your top scientists have been poisoned,” Mukhtar accused.
    “No traces of the poison were found anywhere in this facility,” Farahani shot back.
    “Who do you think poisoned them?”
    “I’m sure the Jewish pigs had something to do with it, but since it did not happen in this facility, the investigation is out of my hands.” Farahani turned to look at Ashani. “If you want to know who killed them, you should ask Azad.”
    “I know who killed them,” Mukhtar half shouted. “The point I am trying to get through your thick skull is that the Jews have spies in your country. They have been sniffing around for some time. They specifically targeted those three scientists because they were the backbone of your uranium enrichment program.”
    “Anyone can make that assumption. I am not arguing with you. Those men were poisoned at the university. Not here in this facility. There are no Jewish spies here. It is impossible.”
    “I want to talk to this man.” Mukhtar held up a personnel file.
    Farahani straightened his posture and said, “That man comes from a family whose reputation is beyond reproach.”
    Ashani watched as Mukhtar’s fists clenched and his nostrils flared. It now all fell into place for the man who ran