Scorpion Deception by Andrew Kaplan

snapped.
    â€œIt was a cutout.”
    â€œOf course! Nice one,” Rabinowich said, slapping the desk, his head rising up, grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œYou two girlfriends want to let the rest of us in on it?” Harris said, suddenly interested.
    â€œPut it together,” Scorpion said. “ Gol ghermez , red rose in Farsi, means the cutout is an Iranian in Zurich. What’ll you bet the cutout’s a trader doing business for the Revolutionary Guards or one of the factions? Right out in the open, because Switzerland’ll do business with Satan himself as long as it ends up in Swiss francs on the Bahnhofstrasse. Can’t be that many Iranian trading companies paying the kind of astronomical prices they charge in Zurich’s high-rent district.”
    For the first time, Harris smiled. He rubbed his hands together.
    â€œAll right, boys and girls, we are live. You make the approach,” he said, pointing at Scorpion. “And let’s not alternate this operation with the Ring Cycle. We don’t have a lot of time.”
    â€œHe might have to go to Iran,” Shaefer put in. “They’re prepping for war over there. The minute somebody climbs over the fence, they’ll pop him.”
    â€œHe’s a big boy. He’ll just have to watch himself, won’t he?” Harris said, looking at Scorpion.
    Scorpion got up. He walked over to the plate glass and looked out at the view. Switzerland was like a picture postcard, he thought. So different from Africa, from Sandrine, from everything he cared about. He turned around.
    â€œHow much time do we have?”
    â€œNone,” Harris said. “Things are moving fast. Right now this is our op, but in a little while people with bigger dicks take control.”
    â€œFor once, he’s telling the truth,” Shaefer said. “We’re talking days, hours.”
    â€œI need at least a couple of weeks. Maybe more,” Scorpion said. “This isn’t some 24 type bullshit where you smack a joe in the mouth and he tells you everything he knows. If it is Iran, penetrating them when they’re already paranoid as hell is going to take resources and time.”
    Harris got up.
    â€œI’ll talk to the Director, try to buy you ten days. He’ll have to get the President to approve it. After that . . .” He shrugged.
    â€œThree weeks,” Scorpion said.
    â€œTen days. But you better come up with something fast.” Harris looked at Shaefer, Scorpion, and Rabinowich on the screen. “As of right now, you three are a special task force. Special Access Program Critical. No one outside us knows anything. Shaefer,” he said, nodding at the lanky African-American, “will coordinate. He will speak with not just my authority, but the DCIA’s. The Director’s already on board, by the way. Use any assets you deem necessary. The entire U.S. military if we have to. Dave,” Harris said, turning to the laptop screen. “This is your full-time assignment. And talk to no one inside Langley but me, understood? Anyone gives you shit, send them to me.”
    Harris looked at all of them.
    â€œWe’re back in business, guys. Just like old times,” he said, winking.
    â€œBetter not be,” Scorpion said, remembering Rome and St. Petersburg and Kiev.
    â€œYou’ve got the easy job.” Harris grinned, the smile that had gotten half the female interns in Washington to drop their pants. “I’ve got to convince the President to slow-dance with the Washington press corps for ten days in the middle of a crisis.”
    Harris’s L-3 phone chimed. It was a Secure Mobile Environment Portable Electronic Device, a combination cell phone and PDA for Top Secret calls, texts, e-mails and surfing via JWICS. He took the call, holding up his hand to indicate that they should wait.
    â€œShit!” he said tersely into the phone, then: “Tell ’em do nothing till I