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THE COMPLICITY DOCTRINE M. M. FRICK MATTHEW M. FRICK WASHINGTON, D.C. The Complicity Doctrine M. M. Frick This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental Copyright © 2012 by Matthew M. Frick All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. Cover design and photograph © Matthew M. Frick Published by Matthew M. Frick Distributed by Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing Select Also by Matthew Frick Open Source For Janelle, Jade, and Gavin Chapter 1 Sistan va Balochistan, Iran The small white bus left a rising cloud behind as it sped down the road, alerting the seven figures watching from the surrounding hills. “Get ready, Pirok,” a voice chirped in Balochi over the handheld radio. Pirok Bugti pressed the transmit button twice in quick succession. He was ready. He raised the Soviet-made rocket propelled grenade launcher to his shoulder and closed his left eye. Pirok focused on the road below as a bead of sweat lazily made its way from his forehead to his nose. Was it the heat or the nervousness? No matter. Pirok ignored the uninvited distraction and watched as the bus appeared from behind the hill. The young Bolch fighter swallowed hard and squinted against the blinding reflection of sun on sand. When the bus was almost halfway through the winding curve along the Pak-Iran Border Check Post Road, Pirok moved his finger off of the trigger guard. Three more seconds. “Allahu Akbar,” he whispered as he gently pulled his finger back. The bus bounced violently off the road as the rocket impacted the vehicle just above the right tire. If the driver had not been thrown through the front windshield, he would have tried to get out of the bus the second it crashed back to the ground and caught fire from the resulting explosion. No doubt the passengers were having similar thoughts of escaping the metal coffin, but those dreams were quickly dashed as automatic gunfire erupted from all sides. Pirok dropped the now-empty tube and picked up his rifle, scurrying down the hill to join his comrades, firing on the way. * * * * * Across the road, one of the turbaned attackers remained concealed. He pulled out a cell phone from the vest over his shalwar and dialed. “Yes?” a distant voice answered. “Perfect,” the man on the hill answered loudly, competing with the clatter of rifles below. “Say again?” “The coordination was perfect. I mean, the way these guys acted towards each other three months ago? I tell you, I had my doubts.” The six fighters on the road were firing their weapons in the air, celebrating as a final bullet to the head stopped the last remaining passenger’s escape at the bus door. “The enemy of my enemy?” “Apparently.” “Well, good work, Bob. Keep it up.” Bob smiled and ended the call. No good-bye. Just the update. He returned the cell phone to his pocket and joined the others who were busy scavenging their victims’ belongings. Chapter 2 New York City Casey Shenk opened the door of the conference room and was greeted by seven pairs of eyes. The other five people, including his boss, ignored the distraction. “Sorry I’m late, sir,” Casey said as he took the closest empty seat at the table—right next to Jim Shelton, the head of IWG’s Middle East/Southwest Asia cell. “Continue, Oscar,” Jim said. Oscar Horstein, the lone Israel analyst at the company, looked back at his notes until he found where he left off. “Well, I was saying that I really don’t think the Israelis will make a big stink about it. Are they concerned that Natanz may be back online? Yes. But they are too busy dealing with the immediate threats on their own turf right now. Until things stabilize in Syria, they are going to continue fighting to plug their border in the Golan Heights. And with Egypt’s upcoming elections looking more and more like a potential Muslim Brotherhood landslide, the 1979 treaty they’ve counted on to maintain the peace for three decades may soon be a thing of the past. If Egypt opens the gates any more, there’s going to be a bloodbath on the Sinai.” “So they’re not worried about a nuclear threat anymore?” “Not after bombing Iran’s facilities last year. I’m sure they’re still keeping tabs on it, but there’s no indication that Netanyahu or Peres even believe the reports that Iran is actively enriching uranium again.” “Do you believe the reports?” Jim asked. Oscar hesitated before answering. “No, I don’t.” “Bullshit,” Casey said. Everyone at the table was awake now. Two chairs down from Oscar, George Smithfield smiled, anticipating another Shenk- Horstein throw-down. “Easy, Casey,” Jim Shelton cautioned. “Sir, I think Horstein absolutely believes the Persians are back in the nuke business. He just doesn’t want to admit it.” “Fuck you, Casey,” Oscar said. He didn’t know why he let Casey push his buttons. Just when he thought he was making progress with the anger management classes Jim and Doc Borglund, IWG’s CEO, made him attend to retain his job, Casey always said or did something that pissed Oscar off to no end. He breathed deeply to try and calm down, but his reddening complexion betrayed his anger. “Look, Oscar, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Casey said, not sure if even he believed that. “I just think you don’t have to defend the Israelis for every little thing just because you’re the resident Israel expert. If anything, that should mean you know when to look through all the crap and tell what’s really going on.” Everyone looked at Oscar for a response, but he just concentrated on his breathing—like he was taught. Casey allowed three seconds of silence to pass before continuing. Three seconds to let someone else have a chance to speak up. After that, the floor was back open. “Oscar, you had to think about what you were going to say before you answered Jim. That means you weren’t sure. So just say that. Say you aren’t sure whether Natanz is active or not. I don’t know either, but I’d be willing to bet it was never really out of commission.” “Why not?” Jim asked Casey. He was comfortable letting his subordinates verbally duke it out to a point. But when he saw one side pummeling the other too much, he stepped in with his own shots. This time he wanted to put the crosshairs on Casey. It was good for everyone’s professional analytic development to engage in a little cerebral combat every now and then. “Why don’t I think Iran ever stopped their nuke program?” “No. I mean what makes you think the uranium enrichment facility at Natanz wasn’t actually destroyed when the Israelis bombed it last year?” “I don’t think they have the capability,” Casey answered. “Hell, last year even we didn’t have that capability. Not from the air, anyways.” “So now you’re an expert on aerial bombing?” “No, Oscar. I’m not.” “He was in the Navy,” George Smithfield said, his innocent comment accompanied by an “everybody knows that” look. Casey wasn’t the only one at the Intelligence Watch Group with military experience, but Jim Shelton’s past life with the National Security Agency notwithstanding, he was the only one in the Middle East cell who could claim to have prior government service. That wasn’t good enough for some people, however. “Exactly,” Oscar agreed. “And he wasn’t a pilot, or even an officer for that matter.” George’s expression changed. He didn’t mean to help Horstein in the debate. “No, sir, but I can read,” Casey said. “And it doesn’t take much to find out Israel’s order of battle and put it against the underground construction at Natanz, which even the IAEA confirmed. After that, it’s pretty easy to conclude that even if Israel had a GBU-28—they damn sure don’t have a MOP—they would need a shit-load of those bunker busters to move even a fraction of the 200 meters of earth on top of the centrifuges. Israel’s attack was only cosmetic. The Iranians started rebuilding the exterior accesses a week after the bombing.” Oscar didn’t respond, choosing to concentrate on his breathing instead. When Jim saw that Oscar was done arguing with the cell’s most recent addition to its analyst ranks, he decided to call the match. “Interesting argument, Casey,” he said. Jim looked back down the table to his ego-damaged Israel analyst. “Oscar, I agree with your assessment about the Israelis having more important things to worry about right now, but I also want you to look a little closer into what Casey said. See if you can find out the accuracy of the reports coming from Iran about resuming enrichment at Natanz.” “That’s a little out of my lane, isn’t it?” Oscar protested. “I don’t read Farsi, so it’s going to be kind of hard for me to confirm anything out of Iran.” “Don’t worry about that. I’m assigning George to help you.” “Me?”