Blaze (23 page)

“Truth be told?”

“You're a friggin' Pastor, it better be the truth that you're about to tell!”

“I became reunited with an old lady friend from years ago and it appears she is quickly becoming more than a friend.” Liam still felt strange actually uttering the truth of this reality. Even more so given the fact that he was still concealing a heavy part of the truth of this reality. A reality that was causing him to ache deeply with regret. He could not believe he slept with Erin. It was clearly outside of the context of marriage and he knew better.
How many times have I preached on this topic?
He felt like a traitor to God and to his late wife. His heart still ached for Kathy, but he knew he had to move on. And now was as good of a time as ever. Despite his whimsical sexual failure, he felt a purpose already with Erin, and he was pretty sure it was a purpose designed by the Almighty.

“Wow. God bless it. I'm happy to hear that. A fine lady might be a good thing for you at this point. It could take your mind off of your apocalyptic obsessions and nip away at your lust for the booze. You are staying off the booze,
aren't you
?” Blaze didn't want to ask, but he had to. Liam may be his Pastor, an assumed position of mentorship, but when it came to Liam's weakness for the spirits, Blaze played the role of a makeshift AA sponsor.

“For the most part, I honestly have, other than one pint of beer. But I didn't have a second pint, and I held fast against the whiskey, even though it was flowing freely all around me and my urges were stronger than a Tsunami.”

Liam had grown to become comfortable talking with Blaze about this topic. Blaze was almost the only one in the good reverend's life who he let in to know about his struggle with the sauce. “Good to hear Liam. Damn good to hear. I was getting worried about you when you were popping the cork before noon on weekdays. That just can't end well.”

“I know Blaze, God has been kind to me and is giving me strength.”

“Well, I gotta pop smoke here and get ready to get on a call with my beloved. I miss her dearly.” Blaze felt a twitch of sadness just mentioning Diem in a context of separation.
Am I getting soft? What is wrong with me?

“Let me pray for us quickly before you go.
Dear Father in heaven, bless my friend Blaze, a warrior for the global cause of good. Protect him with clusters of angels and the impenetrable strength of the Holy Ghost. Comfort him and encourage him and help him to trust You in the darkest of corners and the most threatening of circumstances. In the name of Christ, Almighty God, Amen.”

“Thanks Liam. Be good. Talk soon.”

“Godspeed, Blaze.”

Blaze felt refreshed after his brief conversation with Pastor McCardle. He had never felt particularly connected with any church before, and still had a hard time assimilating in such a setting, but he and Pastor McCardle had linked in a way that was clearly divinely appointed.

Liam's warrior past in Northern Island as an anti-terrorist law enforcement member made him uniquely worthy of Blaze's trust. Blaze respected his perspective and found his wisdom to be extremely valuable.

After a conversation with Liam, Blaze usually felt a renewed layer of God's armor around him to help him push on to and through the next obstacle, the next horror, and the next mile marker on the highway of harm's way.

Blaze sat at the leather swivel chair staring at his Macbook computer for a minute or so reflecting on the spiritual thrust that had been guiding his life. He felt an effervescent peace nestle deep within his being. It was time to call Diem.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THE FOOT OF THE ALBORZ MOUNTAINS, IRAN

A
bove and fully surrounding them was the notably narrow expanse of the Alborz mountains. The mountain range was peppered with high peaks and colored with lush green forestry—full of inherent optic beauty and majestic structure. Below them were deep layers of thickened crust. The crust was heavy and formed the foundation that had upheld the mighty mountains for as long as can be known.

The busy pedestrians and floating human element of shoppers and dining enthusiasts of the Saadat Abad district of Evin had no clue, nor interest, in the two men who sat sipping tea in a high-brow teahouse at the foot of the Alborz. They sat inconspicuously on the upper deck terrace that protruded out from the establishment, which happened to offer an exquisite view of the mountains. Other, less obvious, and less exquisite sites were also within visual range from the terrace.

One of the two men had short-cropped hair that was slicked back tight to his head with a slight flip in the front. He looked like he had captured Sha-Na-Na's barber from the fifties and transported him to the future through a time machine. His face and cheekbones showed deliberate definition and contours. His muscular makeup was so distinct that even the sight of his neck displayed taut and firm strength. He wore a black leather jacket, Levi's Blue Jeans, and what appeared to be high-end hiking shoes. Oakley sunglasses adorned his face, as he sat conversing with his friend at the outdoor seating at the popular upscale teahouse. To most he likely appeared to be nothing more than a hiker on holiday from Europe.

The other of the two men looked a little more intimidating. He wore a crisp shaved head, an olive green bomber jacket, Levi's blue Jeans, and black 10 hole Doc Martin combat boots. He caught a few curious looks, but none that lingered with any seriousness.

The two men let their eyes wander everywhere, except to the establishment that was adjacent to the teahouse. This was the one view from the terrace that most never saw because it wasn't obvious or visually attractive. If they did see it, they intentionally ignored it.

Zack Batt did manage a quick glimpse when he bent down to retrieve a scally cap from his backpack to keep his bald head warm from the cool mountain breeze. What Zack saw when he caught his glimpse was precisely as he expected—an extremely forgettable outhouse post with meager signage. It alerted anyone who might care to gaze upon it that it was the location of the ‘Evin House of Detention', known to many of its past and present inhabitants as ‘Evin University'.

Blaze and Zack were not interested in this outhouse for higher education earned abroad. They had other plans.

From the outside view, the facility did not look like much at all. An unsuspecting observer would not think much to inquire or stop and inspect. But the view from the road was certainly deceptive in its ability to reveal the huge complex of guard towers and cells that lie behind it. Over one hundred solitary cells and innumerable ordinary cells populated the grounds that could handle fifteen thousand prisoners.

Optics aside, the truth was Evin was full of horror. Inside Evin's fences and walls, the terror was large and menacing. Its most prominent inmates found themselves there for their political speech and intellectual thoughts, their perceived religious infractions, or their discovered religious objections—or as was the case for Arash Jafari and many like him, for their specific religious conversions away from Islam to Christianity.

In Evin, those who did not cooperate were tortured in what felt like perpetuity. Rape, as a method of torture and an inducement during interrogation, was an old tradition at Evin. Any universal notion of basic human rights was jettisoned instantly when one traversed the front gate at Evin. And those drinking tea and chatting in Farsi about their shopping finds at the teahouse next door didn't give a second thought to Evin on such a fine afternoon when the mountain air blew so benevolently.

Blaze McIntyre and Zack Batt's thoughts were fully and thoroughly burdened with Evin. And they were fixin' to do a little something about it.

“It's good to see you Zack. I've heard all about your illegal escapades and dumbass heroics in the past few years, but never thought I'd get the privilege of rocking a mission with you side by side again. In all seriousness, it's great to have you here.” Blaze let loose a huge smile as he shook Zack's hand and subsequently slapped him on the shoulder.

“It's been a helluva ride for sure Blaze. It's damn good to see you too. Your pretty boy haircut and Tom Cruise silly boy face is better than the musky walls of solitary confinement any day. Besides, who else would be better to hang with on a trip like this? We've got a ton of fun ahead of us on this one.”

“Well our employers are blessed to have us both back in the game, cuz its pretty clear there is a ton of game to be had at this point. Hot getting hotter with the clock a tickin'. Speaking of, how is progress on your portion of this shindig?” Zack was confused at first, and then nodded slightly as he realized Blaze was asking about his work to infiltrate the Neo Iranian Nazi Party and get intel on Bushehr.

“Oh, yeah, that. Well, let's just say the fishing is good, real good. I'm all lined up to hang out with an ocean full of fish after we're done crashing our party. Gonna be chillin' at the
World Without Zionism Conference
. Should be able to meet some friends and relatives of my contact who are employees at my portion of the trinity. Should be interesting.”

Blaze put his head down and folded both his hands over his forehead shaking his head in disbelief slightly. “I still can't believe such a conference actually exists, but whatever. This is the world we live in now I suppose.”

“By the way, the name is Schmidt. Doug Schmidt. And there isn't any Jewish blood in me. I am 100% German, and 200% Ayran. Got it?” Zack pointed his finger in Blaze's face and cracked a bit of a smile.

“Got it. Just be careful though, cuz I might go Churchill on your ass at any moment you no good skinhead thug.”

“Churchill? He was a Brit. Proper. You're a two-bit Mick with a grease ball hair cut. You ain't got the goods.”

The two men both began to laugh. Blaze's head naturally turned towards Evin as he laughed, but when his head pivoted back to Zack's sight, his laugh began to soften. The two warriors sensed the weight of their mission and the evil of the ‘University of Evin'.

Blaze's face got serious. Quickly. A determined look of purpose. Zack's face followed suit. The two men sensed each other's shift in mood and thought. They nodded their heads in unison.

Finally Blaze spoke. “While we laugh, he screams. Let's get this recon done.”

Zack barked back, “Roger that. We're gonna have to put all of our nuts, guts, and glory into this one.”

Blaze nodded. “Time to shamrock ‘n' roll.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ROMEO, MICHIGAN

D
iem McIntyre could still not believe that she actually had the meat of her day freed up. Her youngest and most-challenging son, Shane, had finally begun first grade—triggering the beginning of her new life. Kindergarten was half day at Shane's school, Crosspoint Elementary School in Romeo, Michigan. It had been a good transitional year to get Shane used to school and to allow Diem a foretaste of daylight freedom from children. But now that Shane was in school for a full day, Diem could finally indulge in some extended ‘me time' each day.

It was Shane's third day of first grade and he exhibited no hesitations whatsoever and was full of excitement and energy. He bounced around joyfully making noise in the back seat of the Toyota Venza crossover vehicle that Diem drove haphazardly towards Shane's school. Shane's older brother Dennis was already in homeroom, as his day started earlier than Shane's. Internally, Diem was also jumping for joy. She was excited, both for Shane and herself.

After years of enduring the laborious, anxiety-filled trials of childrearing, Diem was ready for a chance to catch her breath. All day. Every day. At least during the week.

With a husband who was, for the most part, effectively out of the home trenches and stuck in actual trenches of war, raising two rambunctious boys was very difficult. She was a tough woman and she carried her burden with grace, but over the years she faced extreme isolation, loneliness, and late-night fear. Her husband was not only rarely home, but was in dangerous lands doing dangerous things that she was unable to know about.

Instead, she was left to the extremities of her imagination. He rarely was able to contact her while on missions. On a rare occasion, she would get to actually see his face via a secure video conference.
Will he be coming home this time? What if he is caught? Or worse, tortured? What if he is exposed and ends up on the evening news and excoriated in the press by the pundits?
All of these questions teased her during daytime hours. At night, corresponding imaginative visions of worst-case scenario horrors haunted her dreams.

She got through those times in various ways. She leaned on her faith, her family, and her friends, new and old. Blaze's parents and sister stopped by often to help out and keep her company. People at church were always reaching out as well. But one of the mechanisms that really proved to help her, particularly in the solitude of the evening when the boys were in bed, was the friends she connected with via social networking who were all military wives scattered throughout the country. She belonged to several such groups and found immense comfort in the common experiences and perspectives expressed by other wives. Of course, she could never really identify herself and had to use a fictitious online persona. That drove her nuts.

Diem pulled up into the school drop off line. She waited her turn like every other soccer mom—and Mr. Mom. Kids walked with the aid of chaperones from their parents' cars with their backpacks weighing down their small, underdeveloped bodies. Diem tried to be patient. It was hard. She was already slightly disconnected from the mom routine just from the anticipation of another free day. Her thoughts bounced back and forth between a yearning desire to see Blaze and a sizzling exuberance to finally get on with her third day of freedom.

She was planning to do a bit of light shopping, meet a good friend for lunch, and maybe even take a quick power nap. She had hungered for this season in life for quite some time. It was really like a dream. And dream she did. Daydreaming, that is. While she struggled to patiently wait in the drop off line, she focused her eyes on the volunteer moms helping to receive the kids into school from the procession of minivans lined up before them, she continued to ruminate in the anticipation of her newfound freedom. Her daydream was abruptly interrupted by Shane's voice from the back seat.

“Mom! When will I see Dad again? He hasn't even heard me play the new songs I've learned on my guitar. I want him to hear the new Chili Peppers song I learned.” Shane's understood little as to the reason for his father's periodic absences.

“Daddy's working honey. You know Daddy does important work and has to be away for a while at times. He loves you very much and asks about you all the time. He was very excited that you're learning a Chili Peppers song when I told him. He remembers seeing them live at Lollapalooza in Scranton, Pennsylvania back in 1992!” Diem was doing her best to neutralize Shane's temporary estrangement.

“Dad saw the Chili Peppers live? Wow. I didn't know they were as old as Dad.” Shane gazed out the window pondering the implications of the probable age of both his father and that of Anthony Kiedis and Flea.

“Your Dad isn't that old, but the Chili Peppers are an old band. Get your book bag together. We're up next here honey.”

Diem glanced in the sideview mirror and saw a man on a motorcycle wearing a full leather riding suit slowly throttling a stealth looking sport bike about three car lengths behind her.
That's
strange. What's this guy doing?
He has no kid with him, and this is the land of endless minivans, not sport bikes
. She quickly pivoted her neck to check on Shane to make sure he was readying his book bag and preparing to get out of the car.

Diem contorted her head towards the back seat and gave Shane a kiss and a hug. While her head was turned, she missed the sight of the motorcyclist coming closer to her vehicle—although she did hear the volume of the engine sound getting increasingly closer.

A flapping, smacking sound emerged with a thud from the driver's side of her vehicle. Something, or someone, had hit or slapped her vehicle. She craned her neck to the left and peered out forward from the driver's side window. She caught a quick glance of the motorcyclist's rear-end. His ass was slightly hoisted above his seat as he sped away from the drop-off line. He left nothing but a nominal plume of exhaust smoke behind.

The vehicle ignited quickly. Diem felt the heat implode within the vehicle. Her skin caught fire and the flames engulfed her in an instant as she watched Shane become swallowed in the explosion. Diem saw it all thrust upon her. She screamed Shane's name and tried to brace the impact. It was no use. The explosion quickly rocked her crossover vehicle in a matter of seconds.

The reverberating sound of the explosion rocked the entire semi-circle drive of the elementary school child drop off line. The whipping, licking residual flames scorched the face of the building. Chunks of black asphalt, auto parts, and horrific airborne body parts of moms and children filled the chaotic air with a panoramic death-wind that was certifiably unfit for benevolent eyes.

The slightly hoisted backside of a random, murderous motorcyclist was one of the last sights seen by Diem McIntyre. One of the last sights after kissing her son. Her young, hope-filled son who perished almost instantaneously with his mother in the blink of an eye.

Elsewhere, a hardened warrior had no idea as to the agony and ocean of revenge he would soon be immersed in.