Blaze (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

CLIENT'S HOME, DETROIT MICHIGAN SUBURBS

“G
uys, I know we've been discussing these ideas for almost nine months now. I know you've done a lot of work and put a lot of time in, and I appreciate that. I'm still just not sure yet.”

Blaze and Bernie sat at Frank Barnes's kitchen table for what seemed like the tenth time, but was likely the third or fourth. They'd been stuck in neutral in their efforts to make Frank a client and at the onset of this meeting, their hopes had already been dealt a blow.

Frank Barnes was a doom and gloomer talk radio junkie. His voracious appetite for news and information caused him to constantly be absorbing media—particularly talk radio. Although conservatives dominated talk radio ten years prior, the airwaves were filled equally now with the ever-increasingly dominant views of the multi-layered progressives—left and right. Frank gave thanks for all of this to the former FCC associate general council Mark Loyd. As a result of his influence, the rules of the airwaves were now governed by regulations that made the fairness doctrine actually seem more fair than fraudulent in Frank's opinion. All the progressive voices on the airwaves gladly reiterated the severity of the financial crisis, Frank reckoned, because the fear it caused ultimately helped to advance their globalist agenda. The freedom-loving and libertarian voices on the airwaves spent hours exposing the crisis and, of course, blaming both Democrat and Republican progressives. Yet since freedom proponents had been so defeated in recent years by the machinery of soft tyranny, they had lost hope that anything would change anytime soon. This environment of perpetual financial fear made it very difficult for Blaze and Bernie to gain and retain clients.

Frank had been wildly successful running his textile factory and had amassed quite a fortune. Always the renegade with an independent spirit, Frank managed all his wealth by himself until now. It took the unending tumult of the last nine years to finally get him to the point of consulting with financial advisors and estate planning attorneys. Blaze and Bernie's firm was just one of many that Frank had been flirting with over the past twelve months. Blaze and Bernie had to continually go the extra persuasive mile to try to close this case.

Frank continued, “I know I'm going to sound completely out of my skull, and this is way outside the realm of the stuff we're here to discuss, but hear me out. After absorbing everything that has happened in the world over the past ten years, I increasingly get the sense that there's a high possibility that the United States as we currently know it, define it, and love it could very well be on its way to ceasing to exist.” The doom boomed and the gloom glimmered. Frank was off and running with another theory of death.

“What gives you that sense Frank?” asked Blaze, knowing full well what he was in for. This would not be the first time Frank embarked on a long political rant that was altogether tangential to everything Blaze and Bernie had met with him to discuss. Blaze didn't mind so much, but it drove Bernie nuts.

Frank began excitedly rubbing his chin and rocking slightly back and forth on the wobbly wooden chair. He was winding up for a verbal onslaught. “First off all, it's no secret that I was never a fan of Obama—not that I loved Bush or wanted McCain or Romney. You guys know that. Both Bush and Obama and many of the presidents before them have long been laying the incremental groundwork for globalism that has come to supersede our collective sense of nationalism as priority. Our current president, this Fitz guy, is not subtle about it. I personally think he's wet behind the ears. Obama was slick, but this guy? Buffoon with a capital B. He's blatantly accelerating my worst fears. The push for a global currency that faded with a whimper in 2009 is now back with full steam and it looks like, at the very least, we'll see a continental currency sometime this year. The government now runs banks, healthcare, the auto industry and they're damn near close to taking over housing and the trucking industry. This is increasingly not the country I love, although I undoubtedly still love it. Not to mention, the threat of radical Islam has steadily increased regardless of the ‘new tone' we've been naively promoting. ISIS, Al Qaeda, Boko Haram and Hamas are certainly not on the run. Dovish diplomacy hasn't made us safer one bit. Our enemies have been playing us the fool with more vigor, intent, and tenacity than ever before. And now we have this Fitz character …”

Frank's elbows were digging sharply into his kitchen table as he continued to pontificate, with charismatic hand gestures, on all the elements of the global political climate, and the specific trends in the US that clearly aggravated him and gave him pause to trust in any political party, leader or institution, financial or otherwise. His faith in the US currency, in the future sovereignty of the US and in future of his significant wealth was all clearly shaken.

Bernie, who was the poster boy for A.D.D. obnoxiousness, somehow always remained calm, patient, and rational in the midst of a business meeting. Having voted for both Obama and Jack Fitzsimmons, he disagreed with almost of all of Frank's worldview, but he would never allow Frank to know. Bernie responded, “I understand that all these uncertain global changes are huge. The things our government is putting on the table and taking seriously could be seen as unprecedented and downright scary to one of a conservative mindset. I get it. But what choices do we really have here? If what you fear will lead to an erosion of all that we know and trust, does it matter where your money is? Likely not. Even if you shove it under the mattress, in the culmination of all you fear, the dollar isn't worth much anyhow. And we've already discussed the gold idea which you've made clear is only going to remain a portion of your portfolio. So we can't reasonably plan on any such doomsday notion. That being the case, let's continue this proposal with trust that the tax laws will be the same as they've been for over one hundred and fifty years and that our plan will accomplish the ongoing tax deferral you so desperately need.”

Frank chuckled a bit. His diatribe was largely a way to vent all of his feelings and concerns. He knew that regardless of whether his fears were legitimate or not, it made sense to go forward with Blaze and Bernie's plan. After an hour and a half of end-of-the-world speculations, and an additional hour and a half of actually reviewing the merits of the financial recommendation, Frank finally inked the deal with Blaze and Bernie. The two said their goodbyes and expressed their gratitude to Frank and headed out to their cars for the usual post-meeting colleague banter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE ROOSEVELT ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC

“I
'm beginning to think that Mahoney and Sapp are onto us, Gabriella,” said President Jack Fitzsimmons, the 45
th
President of the United States.

“Jack, you need to relax. There's never been any suspicion as to why I'm here. All through the campaign, not once did we sense that we'd been discovered. Besides, you're the president. Who's going to speak up against you from your inner circle? It's not as if I'm in here flashing a thong like Monica. This is quite more serious. I'm only your therapist.” Gabriella Mancini was beginning to feel less like a shrink and more like a babysitter. Managing the emotions and whimsicalities of the President of the United States was beginning to become a larger chore than expected.

Fitz took a deep breath and leaned back in the soft brown leather chair as he shook his head in agreement with his shrink. “I know. I know. I'm just so damn overwhelmed with everything. I'm beginning to wish I called for a recount to see if by some divine chance I really wasn't meant to do this. Talk about being careful what you wish for. I was told by my predecessor what the pressures would be like once I became aware of all the briefings and intricacies of the office, but six months into it, I'm still feeling like I'm on my first day at the job and there's a proverbial stain on my collar.” Fitz knew he was veering off into complaint town simply by the look on Gabriella's face. She took the opportunity to change the subject.

“How's Emily, Jack? How's she adjusting?”

“You know her. She lives for change and hustle. She's always been one step ahead. If she wasn't such a piercing, nagging interference, I might actually take comfort in her ability to adjust. But she's been reinforcing my anxieties more than relieving them.” When it came to the dynamic between Jack and his wife Emily, it was clear to Gabriella that Jack not only did not wear the pants, he had no pants. This emperor had no clothes because his wife took them.

The first lady was more than a handful. She was all details and no heart. She was a type A go-getter who lacked any shred of emotional intelligence. As the president continued to vent to Dr. Gabriella Mancini, his shrink since the campaign began, she could not help but replay a multitude of scenes from the old television sitcom
Everybody Loves Raymond
in her mind. Emily Fitz's personality was much like Deborah on the show. Emily walked all over Jack when the camera was off and the door was shut. She treated him like a child. Too many times Dr. Mancini had to make valiant efforts to keep a serious countenance while listening to Fitz because inside she was laughing hysterically at the DVR playing inside her mind.

“We spoke last time about the idea of you focusing on your history of strengths, proven skills, and internal locus of control. When you speak like this about the extent to which you've allowed others to affect you, it's clear to me that your focus is off. I know you love Emily, and I know it's difficult for you to remove emotion from the effect she's having on you, but you need to.”

Jack interjected, “You're right Gabriella, I just get beaten down so much by her that it's hard to brush aside how she makes me feel.”

“The position you're in doesn't allow you to be weak in these areas. Ignoring your wife's behavior and refusing to allow it to effect you negatively doesn't mean you're any less devoted to or in love with her. It simply means you're independently strong and secure. This will obviously apply to many of the relationships you're beginning to develop with congress, world leaders, and the ever-intensifying relationships with your own staff.” Gabriella was suddenly feeling like she was grossly, and damn near criminally, underpaid.

“When I'm focused on God, and the destiny He's called me to embrace, I do feel that sense of internal strength that you speak of, but lately those moments are rare. I'll work to be more cognizant of my tendencies this week. I'll certainly need such an emotional shield given the pressure cooker I'm in.” Jack Fitzsimmons rarely revealed the fabric of his faith when speaking with Gabriella.

Gabriella was well aware of the brand of Christianity that the President espoused. She knew he was prominently associated with the emerging religious left. She thought of his faith as a combination of Carter-era feel-good Christianity blended with the contemporary sensibility of young Christians who harbored many socially conservative ideals but identified very strongly with the big government, social welfare driven compassion mantra of the “I am my brothers-keeper” doctrine typified by the post Obama age. All of this, she felt, was piggybacked by the uber-positive, gushingly empathetic sentiments of popular mega-preachers like Rick Warren and Joel Olsteen. She knew that Fitz, too, harbored many socially conservative ideals. He was personally not for gay marriage. He personally abhorred abortion. But when it came to policy and action, he clearly sided with his constituents on the left and publicly championed choice and gay rights. Gabriella understood that to Fitz, these issues were matters that largely would be settled beyond his humble judgment and be left to the intimacy between an individual and his or her Creator. At least, she suspected, that is what he rationalized in his own mind to mitigate the conflict that simmered within his heart over these issues.

Moreover, Gabriella observed that Fitz's core, driving beliefs and agenda aligned primarily with his vision for global equality and global synergy. He viewed borders as nothing but imaginary lines that sinful man had manufactured to create barriers and divisions. He very much was devoted to the “cult of multi-culti” as the right would mock. He intimated to her in sessions that he was actively lobbying and pushing for a global currency. Although he couldn't say it explicitly, she knew he truly envisioned a world in which all nations co-governed. He confessed to her that the idea of eradicating the sovereignty of the United States would be a tough sell. Because of this, he told her he could never reveal this desire publicly. Instead he detailed his belief that the incremental fusion of international infrastructure and commerce could bring about a virtually borderless and seamless world without any overt relinquishment of sovereignty. He knew that as such a plan progressed, over time, the idea of merging nations into wider continental unions would be naturally and effortlessly achieved. He often explained to her that this was his utmost passion as President.

“I have a meeting with Sapp and Mahoney in five minutes, Gabriella. I hate to cut this short, but duty calls. Time waits for no man.” Bob Sapp was Fitz's high-strung chief of staff, and Hank Mahoney was Fitz's vice president, the man who truly kept him from coming apart at the seams. His daily meetings with these two key staff members were the lifeblood of his productivity as a fairly green president.

“Understood. Remember—emotional shield, but not emotional insensitivity. Feed the internal locus of control.”

“Thanks Gabriella. See you next week.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

NATANZ, IRAN

A
rash Jafari sat at his desk sipping tea and clearing his head. He needed a break. He needed to gather his thoughts on the day. And on his life. He had been bouncing around troubleshooting all morning and he was exhausted. Typically, he found himself confined to the expanse of the underground structures of the Natanz nuclear facility, but today he was busy putting out a host of IT fires in the above ground area, particularly the centrifuge assembly plant. Every time Arash thought he had the system wired and bulletproof, another unintended consequence arose. Today was especially taxing since his boss was riding him to fix the glitches quickly. There was a lot on the test schedule as a result of a shipment that arrived that morning and contained a fresh batch of centrifuge components to be put to use for assembly and testing. The shipment was, in truth, many shipments that had arrived that day from a multitude of government-owned entities that had been feverishly producing the necessary centrifuge components to keep the Mullahs satisfied.

Arash had been experiencing volcanic heartburn lately. He was taking medicine for it, but he knew that it was a futile effort and really only helped as a psychological balm. The heartburn was psychosomatic.

Arash Jafari was constantly worried that he would be revealed, or worse yet, that as a result, his lovely wife and two daughters, eight and five, would be slaughtered as punishment to a traitor of the regime. Arash was indeed a traitor. He had been working with the Israelis via his work with the CIA. He had helped to refine a new strain of the Stuxnet computer worm intended to utterly and completely destroy the Iranian nuclear program, at least the tentacles of which they were aware. The first deployment of the worm in 2009 successfully harmed the program enough to retard its progress by wiping out a fifth of the program, but the final blow was still yet to be struck.

Like the computer malware, Arash Jafari himself was also a worm. He was a worm planting a worm. He was snugly nestled inside the personnel infrastructure of the Natanz nuclear facility and so far as he could ascertain, he had been undetected and unsuspected. But his belief that he'd gone undetected didn't assuage the persistent anxiety that plagued him. Nothing could assuage that. It was part circumstance and part the makeup of his nervous nature.

Arash's journey into espionage started oddly and dramatically with a vision. A religious vision. And not an Islamic religious vision.
Jesus
. Clear as could be. Strong, loud, and shock-inducing.

And with His appearance, Arash felt his flesh heat up as if he was locked in a dry sauna with the temperature kicked up to the max. Yet, he felt no pain or discomfort, as if he had been shrouded in a protective fire to which he himself was immune.

He later processed this experience by considering it an immersion in the supernatural fire of truth that manifested itself to him in a physical and real way.

The Nazarene spoke to him in direct terms about his then fanatical obsession with the imminent re-appearance of the Mahdi; the glorious Islamic Messiah—the eagerly anticipated Twelfth Imam—who was to rescue the world from chaos and establish a glorious Caliphate once and for all.

The Nazarene rebuked this fascination in Arash and scolded him for believing in and looking towards the coming of a false Messiah. Boldy, the Nazarene quoted scripture that referred to false Messiahs in the days of last things. He made it abundantly clear that the worship of Jesus, the great I Am, was the only pathway to paradise and peace. He gave Arash glimpses of the future war that would take place in conjunction with the claimed return of the Mahdi.

Arash became filled with poignant and vivid mind pictures of these future times and the chaos and confusion that would mark them. Arash fell prostrate and worshiped the Nazarene with a passion and fervor that far surpassed any of the feelings he had ever expressed for the figure of the Mahdi.

Arash had changed in an instant. He was now an outlaw Christian in the land of the devotees of the Mahdi.

It took Arash several weeks to come to grips with the experience and to even begin to feel comfortable in his new skin, and with his newly transformed soul.

He felt like a fraud and an imposter everywhere he went, particularly when with his wife. He continued to lay his prayer rug next to hers and pray with her daily at all the requisite intervals, only he was praying to who she would only recognize as the Mahdi's chief deputy, Jesus Christ. She had no clue what had transpired within him.

Arash had only confided in one person regarding his conversion. It was a person who he had known was critical of the Islamic doctrine surrounding the Twelfth Imam, and of radical Islam in general. It was his dear childhood friend Reza Kahlili, who at the time, served in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard, and unbeknownst to Arash at the time, was also a full-fledged spy for the CIA.

Arash told Reza of his conversion with great trepidation. Even though Arash trusted Reza intrinsically, he knew that he was revealing one of the most damning stories a man could tell in the Islamic Republic of Iran. What came out of Reza's mouth following Arash's confession was astounding. Arash would have never suspected that Reza was not only a secret follower of Jesus also, but was one of the CIA's top assets in Iran to boot.

Reza had penetrated deep into the guard and was funneling all he discovered back to the Americans, and by proxy, as needed, to the Israelis. The two men swore confidentiality to each other's secrets, and their bond and friendship grew stronger as a result.

Several months had gone by after that conversation and Arash had become more and more engrossed in his faith and had experienced many encounters with the Spirit.

He was both petrified and nervously excited by what he felt the Lord was telling him.
Me? How could I possibly be a spy? I'm afraid of noises in the house when I'm home alone, I don't think I could have the faith or ability to be a spy? I'm just not that slick. I'm a clumsy, over-weight middle-aged tech guy.
His doubts were huge and persistent. But so were the nudges he felt from the Almighty.

The Bible was replete with stories of great heroes, prophets, and messengers who felt wholly inadequate for the callings they had received. Arash supposed he was no different. He mustered the fortitude to speak with Reza about what he was feeling.

Within a week Reza had linked Arash with Chuck Gallagher and the wild journey into the lonely labyrinth of a spy's life had begun. Arash had been living each day entirely on purpose ever since. Eternal purpose.

Arash had met Chuck at a safe house in Iran per Reza's instructions. Arash recalled the conversation vividly, as if it was currently still occurring. Chuck Gallagher commanded a presence. Arash remembered the strength of his introductory handshake and his forthright way of getting straight to the point.

“We're calling it Operation Persian Trinity”, said Chuck Gallagher to his newly acquired high-tech Iranian asset.

“What's the meaning behind the name?” asked Arash.

“Natanz, Esfahan, and Bushehr. That's our trinity. They're our targets. We've been gathering a butt-load of MASINT on these disguised nuclear facilities since their inception, and we're ready to deploy our attacks very soon. Natanz is all yours my man. Do you wanna be called the Father, the Son, or the Holy Ghost?” Gallagher threw it all right at him.

Arash was now confused as well as overwhelmed. He remembered thinking
Am I really the guy for this job? Really, Lord? Me?
He knew he was wet behind the ears. It was unavoidable that he would have to ask questions that revealed just how wet. “What is MASINT?”, he asked Chuck.

“MASINT is the data we collect on industrial activities and weapons capabilities on our enemies, in this case, your country of birth. We get this data from our airborne IMINT and SIGINT gathering systems. We also utilize a lot of TELINT and ELINT to throw into the INT salad,” Gallagher replied to add to Arash's confusion. Gallagher smiled, knowing he was making Arash's head spin.

“Now you're really losing me.” Arash smiled sheepishly.

“Don't worry about it boss, I'll get you a handbook on our intelligence catalog to get you up to speed on the vernacular.” Gallagher gave Arash a strong pat on the back.

“Good, sounds like I'll need it.” Arash was moderately comforted.

Gallagher went on to explain in that early briefing with Arash exactly what type of attack they were planning. “Our pals the Israeli's have been cooking up this stew in the Negev Desert for quite some time now. We've been working with them on this joint effort via their nuclear facilities in Negev. You know, the one that doesn't exist. The big Snuffleupagus of the Middle East. They've replicated the centrifuges that your country possesses. Those damn centrifuges have been the most tested lab rats known to the history of man since in our hands. What're we testing? Stuxnet worm 2.0. That's what. And this one will have teeth. This is what we have on the docket for you and Natanz. The other facilities will have different attacks.”

“What is a Snuffleupagus?” Arash was confused.

“You don't know who the hell Snuffleupagus is? I guess you wouldn't unless they're airing old Sesame Street reruns in Farsi. Let's just say it means something that no one knows exists, but yet it exists anyhow.” Gallagher had just made things more perplexing for Jafari.

Arash shook his head and mumbled, “Okay, if you say so.”

Gallagher then continued to detail the history of the Stuxnet worm and their hope for its future. Arash confirmed that he could be of assistance as a consultant throughout the testing and development phase of the virus.

Arash's imagination was engaged and he was beginning to feel an excitement and sense of divine purpose percolate deep within him.

Gallagher continued to give Arash the lowdown on the history of Stuxnet.

The Stuxnet worm was originally discovered by a firm in Belarus. Its basic function was to infiltrate key, valuable infrastructure and record all its inner workings while simultaneously co-opting and maligning those programs with a wicked re-structuring. The Stuxnet worm was the quintessential cyberweapon that re-invented the practical applications of malware for war purposes. Stuxnet's ability to spy, infiltrate, and re-program was ambitious enough, but even more amazing was its ability to leave no traces of its work.

When the Stuxnet worm was first deployed in 2009, it was successful in wiping out approximately one fifth of Iran's nuclear program. This blow served to significantly stunt the program's development. This, in combination with some Israeli hits on targeted Iranian scientists, was a major victory for America and Israel. But the final victory was yet to come.

Since then, the Iranians had recovered and continued to press on with their nuclear goals. They managed to develop a significantly less bulky and temperamental centrifuge.

In Negev, Israel and America were busy with the preparations for their second attack. They had managed to keep up with the progress of the Iranians and were testing replicas of their upgraded centrifuges in real time.

Digital warfare was, in part, a patience game. The nerds at Negev were working diligently and thoroughly. They were determined to make the next one count, like killing a mosquito with a sledgehammer.

Gallagher explained the helpful role that the German company Siemens had on the back end. They, as it turned out, were the suppliers of key equipment that ended up being identified as part of the Iranian nuclear program. They worked with Idaho National Laboratory, a division of the Energy department, to discover hard-to-detect holes and vulnerabilities in their systems and equipment.

Siemens publicly claimed these tests to be routine Q and A. Privately, however, they were working with the Unites States government to pinpoint precise ways that their product could be crippled by Stuxnet to shut down the Iranians in their apocalyptic nuclear tracks. Stuxnet 2.0, like its predecessor, was the result of a sophisticated collaboration by a number of geniuses spread throughout a number of continents.

“So, where do I fit in Mr. Gallagher?” Arash was hungry for specifics.

“You? Where
don't
you fit in? …You're our eyes and ears inside Natanz. Along with your technical consulting, you'll keep us abreast of all upgrades made to the centrifuges, any hints of movement of product or materials, and any sense of possible new production or mobilization plans. You'll confirm facility layouts and construct detailed schematics. You'll begin feeding us well-crafted dossiers on everyone who plays any significant, or insignificant, role of regularity on a day-to-day basis inside that plant. You'll also be the human instrument, particularly given your IT role inside the plant, to install the worm inside the system. This worm will secretly record all the normal operations of the plant and feed those visuals back to us even as it simultaneously shreds their program limb from digital damn limb.”

“That's a tall order for a short man.” Arash had not yet learned that humor was pretty much foreign to Chuck Gallagher. The awkward stare and look of annoyance he received quickly brought this truth to light.

“Don't sell yourself short, Arash. We wouldn't be having this conversation right now if my colleagues and I weren't one hundred and ten frickin' percent sure you could handle this.”

“I only hope to be able to maintain such confidence.” Arash offered a genuine smile.

“You can go ahead and hope, and in the interim, I will simply see to it.”