TEHRAN PROTOCOL

INVESTIGATION

CHAPTER 19: INVESTIGATION

Three Weeks Later

CIA Headquarters

10:00 AM

The investigation into the GMHIV theft had uncovered more questions than answers. The file on Marcus Webb's desk was thick, the pages dense with the names of men and women who had been interviewed, re-interviewed, questioned until their stories shifted and changed and became something that might have been the truth or might have been what they thought the men asking the questions wanted to hear.

Jack sat across from Webb, the morning light filtering through the blinds, casting stripes across the desk, across the photographs that were spread across it, across the faces of the people who had had access to the weapon that had been stolen, who had walked the corridors of USAMRIID in the months before the theft, who had been in a position to know what Alavi's people had known, to see what they had seen, to do what they had done.

"The more we dig, the more we find," Webb said, his voice flat, his eyes on the file, on the pages that he had read a dozen times and would read a dozen more. "Alavi's operation was too sophisticated. Too well-informed. Someone on the inside helped them."

Jack leaned forward, his eyes on the photographs, on the faces of the people who had been trusted with the most dangerous weapon ever created. "You think there's a mole?"

Webb looked up, his face unreadable, his hands flat on the desk. "I think there's a possibility. The timing of the theft—the day of the launch. The knowledge of the facility's layout. The access to Dune's home to collect Emma's DNA. Someone with high-level clearance fed them information."

"Any suspects?"

"A few. But nothing solid." Webb slid a file across the desk, the pages inside thin, the names typed in a font that was too small, too dense, too full of the lives of people who had been doing their jobs when the world changed. "This is the list of everyone who had access to the GMHIV project. Scientists, security personnel, administrative staff. Thirty-seven names."

Jack took the file, opened it, scanned the pages. The names were familiar, faces he had seen in the briefings, the debriefings, the reports that had crossed his desk in the months since the theft. Scientists who had worked with Dune for years, who had helped him create the weapon that had been stolen, who had believed in the project as much as he had. Security personnel who had walked the corridors of USAMRIID, who had checked the badges, watched the monitors, guarded the vault that had been breached. Administrative staff who had processed the paperwork, scheduled the meetings, managed the lives of the people who had been working to change the world.

One name caught his eye. He read it again, traced the lines of the letters with his finger, felt something shift in his chest, something that might have been recognition or might have been the beginning of a suspicion that had been forming in the back of his mind for weeks.

"Lieutenant Myers?"

"Dune's security detail. Young, ambitious, with access to everything. He was on duty the night before the theft."

Jack studied the photograph attached to the file. The face was young, earnest, the kind of face that people trusted, that people did not suspect, that people looked at and saw someone who was doing his job, who was following orders, who was not the kind of person who would betray his country for reasons that no one could understand.

"Has he been questioned?"

"Briefly. He passed a polygraph. But something about him bothers me." Webb's voice was quiet, the voice of a man who had been doing this for thirty years, who had learned to trust his instincts, who had learned that the people who passed polygraphs were sometimes the ones who had the most to hide.

Jack studied the photograph, the face that was too young, too earnest, too ordinary to be hiding the kind of secret that had cost lives, that had almost cost millions of lives, that had changed the world in ways that no one would ever fully understand.

"Let me talk to him."

---

Fort Detrick, Maryland

USAMRIID Facility

2:30 PM

The facility had changed since the night of the theft. The security was tighter, the guards more numerous, the cameras watching every corridor, every door, every window. The men and women who worked here moved with a new caution, a new awareness of what they had lost, what they had almost lost, what they might lose again.

Lieutenant Myers sat in the interview room, his hands on the table, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the door that had closed behind him and would not open until the men who had come to question him were satisfied. He was smaller than his photograph, smaller than Jack remembered, his face younger, more frightened, more like the face of a man who had been carrying a secret for too long and was waiting for someone to find it.

Jack sat across from him, the file on the table between them, the photograph of the night before the theft, the photograph of Dune standing before the vials, the photograph of a moment that had seemed ordinary and had become something else.

"Lieutenant. I'm Agent Black, CIA. I have some questions about the night before the GMHIV theft."

Myers nodded, his hands moving on the table, his fingers finding the edge, the corner, the place where the wood was worn smooth by the hands of the men and women who had sat here before him. "I've already been over this. I was on duty. I did my rounds. Nothing unusual."

"You were with Professor Dune that night. He was in the lab, working late. What did you talk about?"

Myers shifted in his chair, his eyes moving from Jack's face to the window, to the door, to the places where there was no threat, where there was no escape, where there was nothing but the questions that would keep coming until he answered them. "I don't remember. Small talk, probably. He seemed tired."

"Tired how?"

"Just... tired. He'd been working on the project for years. It was almost over."

Jack studied him, the face that was too young, too earnest, too ordinary, the hands that were moving on the table, the eyes that were not quite meeting his. "And you? How did you feel about the project?"

Myers hesitated. It was a small hesitation, a pause that lasted a second, maybe two, but Jack saw it, felt it, knew that something had shifted in the room, that something had been hidden and was trying to stay hidden.

"I thought it was important. Still do."

"But?"

Myers's hands were still now, flat on the table, the fingers spread, the palms pressed against the wood. "But nothing. I did my job. I don't know anything about the theft."

Jack leaned forward, his voice low, his eyes on Myers's face, on the face that was too young, too earnest, too ordinary to be hiding something that had cost lives, that had almost cost millions of lives, that had changed the world in ways that no one would ever fully understand.

"Here's the thing, Lieutenant. Someone helped the Iranians. Someone gave them information about the facility, about Dune's family, about the security protocols. And you were in a position to provide all of that."

Myers's face went pale. His hands were shaking now, the control that had held him together for weeks, for months, for the years since his brother died in a drone strike that should not have happened, that had been a mistake, that had been covered up, that had been forgotten by everyone but him.

"I didn't—"

"I'm not accusing you. I'm trying to understand. If it wasn't you, who was it?"

Myers was quiet for a long moment. The room was silent, the walls pressing in, the light from the window casting shadows across his face, across the face of a man who had been carrying a secret for too long and was waiting for someone to find it.

"There was a maintenance worker," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I saw him near the lab that night. I didn't think anything of it at the time—they're always working on something. But later, after the theft, I remembered. He was there longer than usual."

Jack's pulse quickened, but his face did not change, his voice did not change, his hands did not move from where they rested on the table. "Can you describe him?"

Myers closed his eyes, his face turned toward the window, toward the light that was fading, toward the memory of a face that he had seen and forgotten and remembered in the hours when sleep would not come.

"Average height. Dark hair. Middle Eastern features."

Jack felt something cold settle in his chest, something that might have been recognition or might have been the confirmation of a suspicion that had been forming in the back of his mind for weeks. "You reported this?"

Myers opened his eyes, looked at Jack, looked at the man who had come to find the truth that he had been hiding from for months. "I tried. But by the time I did, he was gone. No one could find any record of him."

"You have a name?"

Myers shook his head. "Just a first name. Reza."

---

The Corridor

USAMRIID Facility

4:00 PM

Jack walked alone through the corridors of the facility that had been breached, that had been compromised, that had lost the most dangerous weapon ever created and had found it again in the hands of a man who had been willing to die to destroy it. The walls were white, the floors were clean, the lights were bright, but there was something in the air, something that had not been there before, something that might have been the memory of fear or the beginning of something that would not end until the truth was found.

He thought about Myers, sitting in the interview room, his hands on the table, his face pale, his voice barely a whisper when he said the name that had been hiding in the darkness of his memory for months. Reza. A first name. A face that had been seen and forgotten and remembered when it was too late to matter.

He thought about the maintenance worker who had been in the facility the night before the theft, who had been there longer than he should have been, who had disappeared when the alarms went off and the world changed. He thought about the man who had been in Dune's kitchen, who had smiled at Emma, who had taken her DNA from a hairbrush that had been left on a counter, who had walked out the door and into a history that would be written in blood and fire.

He reached the end of the corridor, pushed open the door, stepped into the parking lot where the cars were waiting, where the light was fading, where the day was ending and the night was beginning and the work of finding the truth was just beginning.

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, saw Webb's name, answered.

"We have a name," Webb said, his voice flat, his words clipped. "Reza Karimi. Iranian national. Entered the US on a student visa three years ago. Dropped out of sight six months later. No record of him leaving."

Jack stopped at his car, his hand on the door, his eyes on the building that was dark now, the windows empty, the lights off, the work of the day done. "Alavi's second-in-command."

"The same. He was here, under our noses, for years. Gathering intelligence. Waiting for the right moment."

"How did we miss this?"

Webb was quiet for a moment. Jack could hear the weight of that silence, the weight of a truth that would take years to understand, that would take years to recover from, that would change the way the Agency did its work for a generation.

"Because he was good. And because someone helped him."

"The mole."

"The mole." Webb's voice was low, controlled, the voice of a man who had been doing this for thirty years and had learned to keep his emotions in check, to keep his voice steady, to keep his hands still when everything in him wanted to break something. "Karimi couldn't have gotten access to the facility without inside help. Someone with clearance got him in. That same someone probably provided the information about Dune's family, about Emma's school, about everything."

Jack opened the car door, slid behind the wheel, sat in the darkness of the parking lot, watching the lights of the facility go out one by one, watching the night settle over the buildings that had held the secrets of a weapon that should never have been built.

"Find them," Webb said.

Jack started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, drove toward the road that would take him to the highway, to the city, to the work that would not end until the truth was found.

"I will."

---

The Search

One Week Later

The investigation consumed the next two weeks. Jack interviewed everyone on the access list, some multiple times. He reviewed personnel files, financial records, phone logs, emails. He looked for patterns, for anomalies, for anything that didn't fit. He sat in offices and conference rooms and the small, windowless spaces where the people who had worked on the GMHIV project answered the same questions again and again, their voices tired, their faces drawn, their stories shifting and changing and becoming something that might have been the truth or might have been what they thought the man asking the questions wanted to hear.

He found nothing. The scientists were brilliant, dedicated, consumed by the work that had been their lives for years. They had not noticed the maintenance worker who had lingered in the corridors, who had watched them work, who had learned their routines, their weaknesses, their secrets. They had been too busy, too focused, too certain that the walls they had built around the most dangerous weapon ever created would hold.

He found nothing in the security logs, the personnel files, the records of the men and women who had guarded the facility that had been breached. The guards had done their jobs, had followed their protocols, had been where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there. They had not seen the man who had walked through the corridors in the hours before the theft, who had attached a device to the backup generator, who had stood in the vault where the vials were waiting and taken them into a history that would be written in blood and fire.

He found nothing in the administrative files, the schedules, the lists of names that had been checked and rechecked and checked again. The people who had managed the project had done their work, had kept the records, had followed the rules. They had not known that the man who had been hired to fix the refrigerator in Dune's kitchen was not who he said he was, that the smile he gave Emma was the smile of a man who was collecting the DNA of a child who would become the most valuable hostage on earth.

And then, on the fifteenth day, he found something.

It was in the personnel file of a scientist named Dr. Helen Chen. The file was thin, the records ordinary, the evaluations glowing. She had been with the project from the beginning, had worked alongside Dune for years, had been one of the few people who understood the science as well as he did. There was nothing in her file to suggest that she was anything other than what she appeared to be: a brilliant scientist who had given her life to a project that she believed would save lives.

But there were the deposits. Small at first, amounts that could be explained by a promotion, a bonus, a life that had been lived frugally and was finally being rewarded. Then larger, amounts that could not be explained, amounts that had been deposited into an account that no one knew about, an account that had been opened in a name that was not her own.

Jack sat in his office, the file open on his desk, the photographs of Dr. Helen Chen spread across the surface, the face of a woman who had been trusted, who had been respected, who had been in a position to know everything that Karimi had needed to know.

He picked up the phone, dialed Webb's number.

"I have something."

---

The Interview Room

Fort Detrick, Maryland

10:30 AM

Dr. Helen Chen sat across from Jack, her hands folded on the table, her face pale, her eyes fixed on a point on the far wall that seemed to hold no interest for her at all. She was older than her photograph, older than the file that was open on the table between them, older than the woman who had walked the corridors of USAMRIID for a decade, who had helped create a weapon that should never have been built, who had watched it stolen and said nothing.

Jack studied her, the face that was ordinary, unremarkable, the face of a woman who had been brilliant and had hidden it behind a mask of ordinariness, who had been lonely and had been seen by a man who knew how to see the loneliness in others, who had been used and discarded and was now sitting in a room where the questions would not stop until she told the truth.

"Dr. Chen. You've been with the project for ten years. You worked alongside Professor Dune. You understood the science as well as anyone."

She nodded, her eyes still on the wall, her hands still folded, her voice barely a whisper. "I did."

"You also made deposits into an account that no one knew about. An account that was opened in a name that is not your own. Can you explain that?"

She was quiet for a long moment. The room was silent, the walls pressing in, the light from the window casting shadows across her face, across the face of a woman who had been carrying a secret for too long and was waiting for someone to find it.

"He said they wouldn't hurt anyone," she said finally, her voice breaking, her hands coming apart, her fingers finding the edge of the table, the place where the wood was worn smooth by the hands of the men and women who had sat here before her. "He said they just wanted to study it, to protect themselves from it. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know they were going to steal it? Use it against us?"

The tears came then, streaming down her face, her hands covering her eyes, her shoulders shaking with the weight of a truth that she had been running from for months. "I thought I was helping. He was so persuasive. So charming. I didn't realize until it was too late."

"Who? Who recruited you?"

She looked up, her face wet, her eyes red, her voice barely a whisper. "Karimi. We met at a conference. He said he was a fellow scientist. We talked for hours. He understood me in ways no one else ever had."

Jack felt something cold settle in his chest, something that might have been pity or might have been the recognition of a loneliness that he had seen in himself, in other people, in the spaces between the missions when the work was done and the silence was all that was left.

"You gave him access to the facility."

She nodded, her hands covering her face again, her voice muffled, her words coming fast, as if she was afraid that if she stopped she would never start again. "He said he just wanted to see it. Just once. I thought—" She stopped, could not finish.

Jack stood, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound too loud in the silence of the room. "Dr. Chen, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit espionage and aiding and abetting terrorism."

She did not resist. She sat at the table, her hands in her lap, her face turned toward the window, toward the light that was fading, toward the life that was ending and the life that would begin in a room with no windows and no clocks and no hope of a future that was not already written.

Jack walked to the door, paused with his hand on the handle, looked back at the woman who had been brilliant and lonely and had been seen by a man who had used her and discarded her and left her to face the consequences alone.

He opened the door and walked out.

---

[END OF CHAPTER 19]