PROLOGUE

Early October

Isfahan, Iran


For more than a decade, he’d been simply referred to as Agent L, short for Lightning. His true identity had exploded along with the Ford Explorer he’d been driving as several pursuit vehicles chased him out of Algeria following the assassination of a Libyan target. Those in pursuit reported seeing the fireball, together with the driver’s side door sailing through the air until it crashed into a storefront forty feet away. The oily black cloud of smoke spewed out of the carcass of the Explorer, the flames hungrily devouring anything flammable.

The pursuers reveled in their victory as they verily confirmed that the famed Mossad agent had been forever dispatched to the Gates of Hell. Israel privately mourned the loss of its prized operative, who’d led a team with no name designation on many operations on behalf of the Jerusalem government. Their own satellite reconnaissance confirmed no one could have survived the blast.

There was no memorial service for Agent L. His code name was retired forever, along with his moniker—Lightning. He was presumed dead by everyone.

Yet here he was leaning against a stucco wall on the streets of Isfahan, a city of two million, located in central Iran. Isfahan, a word meaning half the world, was the cultural center of Iran. Its elaborate mosques, adorned with ancient mosaic tiles and remarkably well-preserved calligraphy, added to the beautiful hardscapes found throughout the city.

Isfahan was also the location of the Islamic Republic’s largest nuclear assembly and production plant. Over Israel’s continued objections, appeasement policies from Western governments resulted in Iran’s nuclear weapons program proliferating. That, coupled with technological assistance from Russia and North Korea, resulted in the rogue nation pulling even with their sworn enemy to the west—Israel.

Israel had made it known for decades that Iran was approaching a red line, a line in the sand that couldn’t be crossed. Now, Iran, with its ninety nuclear warheads, was on par with the Israelis. At the United Nations, the Israeli prime minister made his feelings on the burgeoning Iranian nuclear arsenal loud and clear. Enough was enough.

That was three weeks ago. Agent L, who lived in a Greek villa overlooking the Mediterranean, had received a packet of materials and an offer. A lucrative offer. Payable in an incredible amount of untraceable bitcoin. His employers never revealed their true identity. But for a seasoned intelligence operative like himself, all indicators pointed in a single direction. A nation he’d done work for in the past. One whose offers bore a marked resemblance to this one.

Only, this was the largest compensation package he’d ever been presented. The task was a difficult one, to be sure, but not beyond his capabilities. He would have to go it alone, which was his preference. The result when, not if, he was successful would be a tremendous ancillary benefit to the nation he loved.

A throng of pedestrians shuffled their way along the sidewalks of a small road that led to the nuclear enrichment facility on the outskirts of the city. Nearby, an annual arts fair had commenced that morning, complete with musicians vying for patrons’ attention and vendors who were hawking everything from balloons for the kids to delectable treats for adults.

The afternoon was blustery and warm for early October. A balmy breeze that swept down the dirt-covered streets of the ancient city reminded him of Tel Aviv, where he was born. He shielded his eyes from the sun to watch the tops of the decrepit palms rustling as though they were applauding the performers nearby.

Agent L glanced over his shoulder as a flatbed loaded with crates bound by heavy-duty straps lumbered along the rough road toward him. The driver, who was partially blinded by the sun, seemed to be having a rough time choosing the appropriate gear as he prepared to leave the city limits. He revved the engine, and the truck’s exhaust spewed out a black trail of diesel as it trundled past him.

Just ahead, by prearrangement, a cart led by the most stubborn donkey in Isfahan awaited the truck’s approach. Just a moment before the truck’s arrival, a man led the cart into the roadway. The driver blared his horn in anger and swerved to the left, careening onto the sidewalk. Several pedestrians stepped back from the truck’s path in time to avoid being run down.

“Moron!” the driver exclaimed through his open window. “Move that ass. And yours, too!”

Agent L didn’t hesitate. He rushed across the street during the chaos and easily closed on the rear bumper of the truck within seconds. While all eyes, including the driver’s, were on the braying donkey, Agent L deftly climbed up the back of the truck, hurled himself over the steel gate, and rolled between the crates until he was hidden.

Now he would hold his breath until the driver arrived at his appointed destination—the Isfahan Nuclear Technology Center, or INTC.

Built with Chinese assistance and opened in 1984, the facility at Isfahan was Iran’s largest nuclear research complex, employing nearly three thousand scientists. In the past year, United States and Israeli intelligence had confirmed that the INTC had become the center of Iran’s secret nuclear weapons program. It operated three Chinese-made nuclear reactors. Its conversion facility, fuel production plant, and zirconium cladding plants were state of the art. The Chinese, through their proxy North Korea, had spared no expense in helping Iran become a nuclear powerhouse once the U.S.-imposed sanctions had been lifted years ago.

Agent L had been hired to deal the program a setback.

The security detail manning the walled perimeter of the complex was heavily armed. They wore light windbreakers to ward off the pelting sand stirred up by the October winds, customary for that time of year.

In addition to the perimeter guards, several other armed personnel could be seen wandering through the inner compound. These men were assigned to the top-level scientists who operated the facility. They were members of the Ministry of Intelligence and were not to be trifled with. Agent L had lost a partner to their assassins years ago.

The truck pulled into the loading dock area surrounded by a simple chain-link fence. If the intelligence he was given was correct, and it always was from this particular employer, the driver would park the truck and leave it for others to unload the next day. One crate on the flatbed truck would be specially identified for Agent L to view its markings with his night-vision optics. Everything he needed was contained inside.

He trusted this employer, as they’d never let him down. Naturally, he was uneasy when he learned he’d have to enter the INTC compound with nothing more than two sidearms, a knife and several Japanese shurikens, also known as throwing stars. With these minimal weapons, he could clandestinely manage to eliminate a single target or two. However, he couldn’t fight an army of security personnel when it came time to extract. An extraction that he considered near impossible, making him wonder if it was by design.

As darkness set in, he continued to surveil his surroundings. The addition of the personal bodyguards accompanying the scientists around the compound resulted in complications for the former MOSSAD operative.

Once complete darkness had set in, he located the specially marked crate and quietly pried it open with his knife. As promised, the interior contained a Galil rifle, the Israeli version of the AK-47. Weighing just over eight pounds, this battle rifle was capable of firing six hundred fifty 5.56-millimeter rounds per minute. He was provided six fifty-round magazines to complement the two hundred rounds of ammunition for his sidearm.

Agent L quickly checked the rifle and then donned the black combat vest found in the crate. The loadout would be heavy, but necessary. He secured the additional magazines in the pouches and took another few minutes to look around the compound before he moved on to the next phase of the operation.

Every light in the compound’s main entrance glowed bright, the expansive grounds fully illuminated and designed to eliminate potential hiding places. The utility yard where he was located was dimly lit by comparison, yet bright enough for him to be observed by the perimeter guards at the two towers near that side of the complex.

He tried to locate and count as many hostiles manning the fenced area as possible. His intelligence did not indicate what time the shift would change, so he had to be mindful of that plus the time for his attack. The number of armed personnel were a testament to the importance of the work being performed at Isfahan. The ten-foot-high walls surrounding the complex added to the sense of invulnerability to outside observers.

Invulnerable to most, except Agent L.

Comfortable that he wouldn’t be disturbed, he turned his attention back to the contents of the crate. Again using his night-vision optics, he undertook the arduous task of assembling a complex piece of machinery, a technological wonder that combined artificial intelligence with a deadly weapon.

While constantly checking his surroundings, Agent L assembled the components of the weapon, carefully checking his progress against the plans written in his native Hebrew. Methodically, he pieced the weapon together. He constantly checked his watch to ensure he wasn’t approaching go time. The instruction materials he’d received were adamant that he meet his employer’s timetable. There were certain preparations that had to be made, and there was no margin for error once he’d placed the weapon in position.

Once it was fully assembled, Agent L shook his head from side to side in wonderment. The weapon reminded him of something out of an American big-screen movie. He’d often said if a moviemaker could imagine it, then it could be done.

He hoisted the device onto his shoulder and stealthily climbed over the steel gate at the back of the truck. Once he was on the ground, he raced across the utility yard with the seventy-pound device weighing heavily on his back.

Agent L slid in between the dumpsters until he had a clear view of the compound’s entrance and the lush area of grass surrounded by beautifully maintained plant material. The oasis created for visitors and workers alike stood in stark contrast to the dirt-covered surroundings.

Using a small bolt cutter supplied in the crate, he cut a hole in the chain-link fence, moving slowly to avoid attracting attention. He prepared the weapon according to the instructions provided, and then he flipped down the cover of a small control panel located on the mount. He powered on the display in dark mode and entered the code provided in his materials. Then he held his breath and squinted as he watched the display for instructions. His handlers responded with a message on the screen, requesting adjustments, which he promptly complied with. Then a green light illuminated.

Check. Now he was on his own.

Agent L glanced at his watch. It was approaching the time for Salaat Fajr, the morning Shia Muslim prayer.

Quietly. Reverently. The scientists who operated the nuclear facility at Isfahan made their way into the courtyard with their prayer blankets. Among the men who would kneel that morning was Mohsen Farouk, the mastermind of the covert Iranian program to develop and then proliferate the nation’s nuclear arsenal. He would be joined by everyone within his team. The best of the best who’d gathered in Isfahan to assess North Korea’s technological advances using low-Earth orbiting satellites as a means to launch nuclear warheads.

To be sure, dropping a bomb on the facility at this hour would more than accomplish his employer’s purposes. However, bombs left breadcrumbs, trails of evidence of where they came from, easily allowing fingers of blame to be pointed. Operatives like him were ghosts, before and after death.

Agent L retreated from the weapon, slightly concerned about a malfunction or a case of mistaken identity. He scanned the perimeter and confirmed his plan to extract himself from the compound when the time came. He checked his watch. It was 5:03. The grassy area was filled with INTC personnel, men only, kneeling on their prayer blankets.

He studied his digital watch.

5:04. Sunrise.

From a satellite high above the planet, artificial intelligence pulled the trigger on the computer-controlled machine gun. The powerful 7.62-millimeter rounds poured out of the drum magazines affixed to the bottom of the weapon. The laser sights, powered by the AI, scanned the courtyard full of those in prayer, searching for movement. Any quiver or flinch or deep breath created a target for the weapon, which immediately locked on and riddled the body with bullets.

Agent L was astonished at the speed and accuracy of the killing. No human being, including a trained killer like himself, could accomplish the slaughter of over a hundred people in mere seconds. The incredible killing machine then turned its sights on the security personnel manning the perimeter.

One by one, the targets were eliminated with ease. The electronically controlled gun turret swept back and forth, alternating between the armed guards on the perimeter wall and the security personnel racing through the front entrance to lend an assist. Shouting and screams of agony filled the air as the weapon spent hundreds of rounds, killing everyone.

Agent L heard sirens in the distance. Helicopters could be heard inbound. He scooped up his rifle and ran to the rear of the utility yard, where he climbed the chain-link fence at the point where it adjoined the perimeter wall. He ran along the top of the wall until he reached the northernmost side of the compound, relieved that the building stood between him and the most destructive automatic weapon he’d ever witnessed.

As dust rose into the morning sky from the vehicles approaching the facility, Agent L paused to look toward the rising sun in the east. He was certain his employers—in Beijing—would be pleased with the results.

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