Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Dwyer had seen the man before but couldn’t place him. “Excuse me a moment, Olivia.” Dwyer pulled out his cell phone and aimed the camera at the frog.

The Mayflower was a good place to people watch. And surreptitiously take pictures of them.

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

JULY 16 5:30 P.M. EDT

Garin ascended the stairs to the master bedroom of the house that Dwyer contended he wasn’t in. In his right hand was a flash drive he had retrieved from the pocket of the athletic Iranian as he lay on the highway on the Eastern Shore.

Garin had conducted a quick sweep of the Severn after leaving the scene of the accident. He had retrieved his SIG but had found nothing else of note. In fact, it appeared to Garin that the Iranians had concluded their stay. The refrigerator contained just two bottles of water and a plastic container with the remains of some kind of meat. The closets were empty. He found no weapons of any kind. The keys to a Ford Explorer parked outside the cabin were on the kitchen counter.

After checking the Iranians’ SUV for any obvious booby traps and surveillance, he wiped down the Fusion and left it at Terrapin Estates in favor of the Explorer. Since he couldn’t be certain the Explorer didn’t have any hidden tracking devices, he parked the vehicle several blocks from the safe house and would abandon the vehicle as soon as he could secure another one.

The flash drive might yield a wealth of information about what the Iranians were up to or it might reveal nothing. Garin was skeptical that it would be of much use. Over the last few days, questions seemed to multiply in inverse proportion to answers. All he knew was that for some reason, someone wanted Garin and his team dead, and that someone had somehow motivated actors as disparate as the FBI and Iranian operators to get the job done.

Garin settled into a cushioned swivel chair before the laptop in the master bedroom. He paused before inserting the flash drive into the portal and examined the innocuous-looking device. Not long ago he had assisted a team that had used such a device to set back the Iranian nuclear program by at least two years. The device had contained a worm that had wreaked havoc on the computers controlling, among other things, the centrifuges that had processed uranium.

The Iranians hadn’t been careful. Garin would be. He thought about what he’d seen in Pakistan. He’d survived scores of operations by being prepared. Caution dictated that he take an additional step before examining the contents of the flash drive. He picked up a secure cell phone and called Dan Dwyer.

CHALUS, IRAN

JULY 17 2:00 A.M. IRDT

The blood on his face was noticeably warm, a thought Chernin found somewhat odd given the circumstances. He also thought it strange that his heart rate was stable and his mind was calm and focused. Although this wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone, it was the first since the Afghan war almost three decades ago, and then his target had been hundreds of feet away, not seated next to him in a cramped Subaru.

After leaving Mansur’s apartment, Park and Chernin had returned to their waiting automobile. Chernin knew immediately that something was amiss when he saw that the Quds Force driver wasn’t alone. Seated next to him was a stocky, bearded man Chernin didn’t recognize but who had the familiar sneering look of another secret police thug. The man must have entered the vehicle while Park and Chernin had been in Mansur’s apartment.

Chernin’s suspicions had increased when Park approached the vehicle without so much as a hitch in his stride or a glance at Chernin. The presence of a second man in the vehicle hadn’t seemed to faze the hypercautious North Korean in the least.

No Russian, however, would take the unexpected appearance of the second man as anything other than a bad sign. Over the last century untold thousands of disappearances had been preceded by something seemingly innocuous but slightly out of the ordinary: the sudden appearance of an old friend; the Lada idling across the street. Some Russians made preparations for the fateful day; others thought preparation a wasted effort. The result, after all, was almost always the same.

Nonetheless, Chernin believed in preparation, however futile. And he wasn’t in Russia. In the two dozen or so steps from the entrance to Mansur’s apartment building to the waiting vehicle, Chernin had resolved to act without hesitation upon the slightest confirmation of his suspicions. Any window of opportunity, if there was one at all, would close in an instant. He wouldn’t have the luxury of deliberation.

All doubt that something was amiss was erased when he and Park had climbed into the backseat of the car. Before he had even closed the door, Park had begun speaking.

“He told Mansur everything about…”

Whatever else Park was going to say was cut off by a bullet to his temple from Chernin’s Tokarev. It was followed by two bullets to the back of the driver’s head and two more to the face of the second Quds Force thug, who had turned toward the backseat when Chernin began firing.

The three men now slumped in various poses, their blood spattered across the interior of the Subaru. Chernin, unsure of the source of the blood trickling down his left cheek, absently wiped it with his free hand as he scanned the three bodies for signs of life. Seeing none, he replaced the Tokarev in his waistband and covered it with his shirt.

Although no lights had come on in any of the low-rise apartment buildings lining the street, Chernin was certain that the blasts from his pistol had awakened many, if not most, of the residents. Some were probably peering through the blinds while standing in their dark apartments to avoid detection. Mansur must have heard the shots too.

Chernin needed to move quickly, before the authorities arrived. He performed a cursory check of the corpses’ pockets and he ripped open Park’s shirt to see if he was wearing a recorder or transmitter. He wore neither. A quick glance in the glove box and under the seats revealed nothing.

Chernin gave momentary consideration to moving the car but concluded doing so would accomplish nothing. The bloody vehicle would be found soon enough. The police would be the first to arrive, perhaps within minutes. VEVAK wouldn’t be far behind. Clearly, security at the project, whether Iranian or Russian, had concerns about Chernin’s friendship with Mansur. To test Chernin, they had Park act the fairly convincing role of a potential defector. Throughout, Chernin had remained uncertain how much of Park’s professed desire to get out of North Korea was genuine. Even someone of Park’s rank couldn’t help but want out of that lunatic country. But the intensity in Park’s voice when the two shared a smoke earlier in the day seemed forced, artificial. And Park’s offer to Mansur of a hundred thousand American dollars did nothing to allay Chernin’s suspicions. A North Korean scientist, regardless of his importance, was unlikely to have access to such a sum.

Ultimately, Dmitri Chernin had not been fooled. Despite the fact that they had formed a friendship over the last several months, Chernin thought it unlikely that someone in Park’s position would’ve confided in another person so readily. The North Korean would know that the slightest sign of disloyalty could mean death. He would probe his intended accomplice for any sign of possible betrayal, any inclination toward reporting him. Such a probe would be a long, incessant effort. In this case, though the dance had lasted several months, it hadn’t been long enough.