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CHAPTER 1

"You're actually serious about this, aren't you?" Aaron Cousins, CIA's deputy director for operations (DDO), fixed his flinty gray eyes on Logan Alexander with a penetrating stare that, in the case of a lesser man, would surely elicit powerful feelings of self-doubt. He toyed with the letter of resignation before him, his manner revealing the depth of his exasperation with the young operations officer.

"Why now? You've just pulled off one of the most elaborate operations against a hard target in the history of this Agency. Hell, what you and your team achieved was nothing short of amazing. Not to mention the amount of effort and cost that went into establishing Alexander Maritime in Hong Kong."

Logan allowed the DDO's praise to permeate the reflexive shield he'd erected. The significance of his team's accomplishment was not lost on him. He knew thwarting China's Zero Day attack against the U.S. was a significant coup for the intelligence community. It was the catalyst, when all else was said and done, for bringing the government, private sector, and military together in support of legislation establishing the most comprehensive cybersecurity bill in the nation's history.

Despite their achievements, though, over the last year, he found himself questioning his commitment to long-term government service. And notwithstanding his devotion to the Agency, and his early success, there were times when the bureaucracy and Washington politics made it difficult to stay focused on the mission.

A recent family tragedy was all it took to push him over the edge, the driver behind today's meeting with Cousins. He sighed inwardly as he contemplated the events leading to today's face-off. His wife, Zahir, had suffered a miscarriage in her third trimester, the result of a confrontation with a Chinese ministry of public security (MPS) intruder who had broken into their Hong Kong apartment, knocking her down when she surprised him by returning home earlier than usual from her teaching job.

Logan had rushed her to the emergency room, shaken up and spotting. After the doctor examined her, he prescribed a period of bed rest. Her situation appeared to normalize after a few days, and the medical staff was able to detect a fetal heartbeat at the follow-up visit.

But something had gone terribly wrong at the beginning of the third trimester. Logan drove her to the hospital early one evening following a family Christmas trip to Thailand. She was experiencing heavy bleeding, and as they wheeled her into the emergency room at Adventist Hospital. Logan's throat constricted, and he fidgeted in the waiting room with his head in his hands, praying to God. An hour later, the doctor emerged from the ER.

"The baby was stillborn," she said.

"But — up to now, everything seemed to be all right." Logan could feel his emotions rising.

"We moved her to a private room so we could induce labor. The medical term for what we found is placental abruption. It happens when the placenta separates from the uterine wall. This is what was causing the heavy bleeding. We don't always know what causes the placenta to separate. Often, it's trauma or injury to the mother's abdomen.

"I see from your wife's medical record she was admitted to the ER during her first trimester with an injury resulting in vaginal bleeding. The attending recommended bed rest. Follow-up pre-natal visits indicate she and the baby were doing well."

The doctor made a helpless gesture with her hands. "I'm sorry."

The rest of the evening evaporated in a blur. Logan and Zahir held the lifeless body of their daughter until it was time to say goodbye. The ride home from the hospital was painful. Zahir was disconsolate, sobbing until back at their apartment. She fell into a fitful slumber once she lay down in bed.

Now, Logan held up his hands in front of the DDO as if to ward off a blow. "It's Zahir. The shrinks won't clear her for overseas duty. She's depressed, and I think deep down, she blames the Agency because she believes this would never have happened if we'd been living in the States."

"Where is she now?"

"We're staying in Arlington with her parents."

"Look, why don't you take some time off? Don't do anything rash. When she gets better —"

"I've already closed out everything I was working on, and we packed up our apartment before we left Hong Kong. We're heading back to Boston at the end of the week. Maybe —" Despite Washington's caustic political climate and Zahir's health concerns, he had to admit he loved the work.

"What are you thinking?" Cousins asked.

"Take some time off to spend with her. Hopefully, her condition will improve, and she can go back to teaching in the fall."

"She was at Boston University, right?"

"Yes. In their Arabic language program, Academy for Arabic Teachers. Depending on how she's doing, I plan to ease back into work at Alexander Maritime. I've put some feelers out with a couple of my old navy pals, and there's some contract design work we have a shot at getting."

He shrugged his shoulders. His degree in marine architecture from the U.S. Naval Academy had served him in good stead ever since a battlefield injury in Afghanistan ended his navy SEAL career over six years prior.

"I'll tell you what I'd like to do." Cousins was creasing Logan's memo between his fingers. "I'm going to authorize an extended leave of absence. It'll be for one year without pay. If at the end of that time, you want to come back to work, you know you'll be welcome. If you're still on the fence, we'll accept your resignation. No harm, no foul."

"Thanks, boss." He felt a lump rise in his throat. He doubted he'd be back, but it didn't hurt to placate Cousins and at least give the appearance of leaving the door open to his possible return. He stood and shook the DDO's hand before nodding to the secretary, Marge Givens, on his way out the door.

He wasn't prepared for the deflated sensation that overwhelmed him as he took the elevator down to the first floor and walked through the main foyer. He paused before the granite CIA emblem in the entryway, inscribed with the words "Central Intelligence Agency, United States of America." It depicted the head of an eagle, a shield, and a 16-point compass star, representing strength, defense, and intelligence from around the globe.

He let his eyes wander to the white Alabama marble memorial wall etched with 129 stars, commemorating Agency officers who lost their lives in the line of duty. U.S. and CIA flags flanked the wall, and in the middle, beneath the stars, was the book of honor, which depicted the star and year of death for each memorialized officer. In many cases, the names were included, but for some, they would forever be cloaked in secrecy, lest their disclosure endanger ongoing operations they might have been involved in. He saluted the memorial, turned, and hurried out of the building.

As he walked, he felt a burden lifted from his shoulders. It was a fact, the initial impetus for his decision to leave the Agency was Zahir's health. The Office of Medical Services (OMS) made it clear her condition was frail; she would have to undergo counseling and a battery of psychological tests before they would even consider signing off on another foreign field assignment.

On one level, he understood her hostile feelings towards the CIA. After all, the MPS officer who broke into their apartment wouldn't have been there if he wasn't suspicious about Logan's real occupation. What worried him more, though, was the possibility that Zahir's aggravation might, over time, be directed less at the Agency and more towards him. He couldn't bear the thought of their relationship unraveling because he put duty before family.

He'd heard of marriages failing over the death of a child. No amount of counseling could get those couples back together if they weren't devoted to making it work. Their relationships were damaged beyond repair, endless recriminations spiraling into resentment, resulting in a peevish coexistence leading to separation or worse yet, divorce.

On one level, he felt he was already betraying her, letting her take the fall with the Agency brass about his decision to leave. But he knew himself well enough to realize what had really been gnawing at him for the last year was the recognition that he was at his best when he alone called the shots. He was used to having more autonomy than the CIA customarily gave its officers. In the field, operations officers saw themselves as the pointy end of the spear, and they had considerable leeway in making operational decisions on the spot as circumstances demand. Back in Washington though, you were just a cog in the wheel.

His deal with the Agency was as good as it got for government work, but with Washington politics and the inner workings of the Agency's ever-changing bureaucracy, personal autonomy was fast becoming a scarce commodity. Add to that, congressional oversight and the Director of National Intelligence's propensity to meddle in just about every facet of the Agency's work, he could understand his recent surge of disgruntled feelings. He was more "go it alone" than "team player."

He followed the sidewalk around the south parking lot to his rental car. His in-laws lived in nearby Arlington, Virginia, a fifteen-minute drive from headquarters. He was feeling melancholy as he navigated through their leafy neighborhood. He made the turn onto 32 and pulled around to the back of the Parandeh's residence.

His in-laws' 7,000-square-foot home was just around the corner from the Washington Golf and Country Club. When he first met Zahir, he had no idea her family was so wealthy. His mother-in-law was a favorite niece of the deceased Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. During the sixties and seventies, before he was ousted from power by Islamic revolutionary, Ayatollah Khomeini, her family salted away millions in Swiss bank accounts from Iranian oil exports.

Zahir's parents followed on the exiled monarch's heels in 1979, establishing themselves in northern Virginia with other Pahlavi family expatriates, many just a stone's throw from Langley. While most of them settled in for the long haul, the former Shah was later banished to Egypt after Islamic militants stormed the U.S. Embassy in Teheran, taking 52 American diplomats hostage.

When he and Zahir first met, she had just been evicted from her family's home, after they discovered she was pregnant, the result of an amorous relationship with Logan's younger brother, Cooper. She and Cooper fell in love while working together in Iraq. When Cooper was killed in an IED attack while on patrol in Ramadi, Zahir was sent back to face her family in the U.S. in disgrace. She found temporary refuge in Boston with Logan's younger sister, Millie. Over the next year, she and Logan, who had moved to Boston to set up his maritime consulting business, fell in love and married.

As he rounded the back of the house, he spotted his father-in-law, Nima, working in the potting shed in the backyard. Things had been decidedly cool between him and his in-laws when they first met. Thirty-five years in the U.S. had done little to soften the bitterness of being exiled from their homeland, despite the fact their circumstances in the U.S. would elicit feelings of envy from most Americans. Then, to add to their disappointment, their daughter married outside of her faith — to a Catholic. It was almost more than they could tolerate.

Not too long after their marriage and the birth of their son, Cooper, named for his biological father, his in-laws' attitude towards them softened. Ali, Zahir's older brother, was the sole holdout. He remained somewhat aloof. Working in New York City as a marketing executive for the National Basketball Association (NBA), he didn't have much contact with them. Ali was a conservative Muslim; he worshiped at the Masjid al-Farah mosque in Tribeca and once confided to Zahir he felt at odds with the Imam's message of tolerance and reconciliation, which he felt was out of touch with today's reality. Logan was wary of Ali and kept his eye on him.

The Parandehs did not discuss religion around the family dinner table. They were moderate Shias, who raised Ali and Zahir according to the Quran. Zahir was non-practicing, and Logan suspected Ali was either self-radicalized or headed in that direction. It's a good thing my brother-in-law has no idea what my actual occupation was for the past several years, he thought.

He spotted Cooper helping his grandfather in the potting shed. "Hey, guys, what's going on?"

"Daddy!" Cooper dropped what he was doing and ran over to greet him. Logan scooped him up and walked over to the potting bench where his father-in-law was at work. The structure resembled nothing like most people's idea of a garden shed. It had the feel of a small cottage from Washington's Mt. Vernon estate. Plank siding, a copper roof, and columns across the front gave it a decidedly genteel appearance.

Nima worked as a civil engineer in Iran until his late twenties, when his father died of a sudden heart attack, and he stepped up to take over the family business, Parandeh Civil Engineering Corporation, one of the largest construction companies in Teheran. Ten years later, he and his young family left for the U.S., where he wasted little time establishing a flourishing consulting business. He retired five years ago and spent most of his free time planning and planting flower beds around their Arlington estate.

He wiped his hands on his work pants and shook Logan's hand. "I've lost my helper," he joked as he tickled Cooper's ribs.

Cooper kicked and shrieked with laughter. "Stop, Babar."

Logan put his wriggling son down and looked at the mound of potting soil, seedling flats and peat pots stacked on the bench. He picked up a small plant and sniffed it. "What's this?"

"Celosia. That one's called Chinatown. Bright red when it flowers. I'm going to put them in the bed over by the back of the patio. We get full sun there, and we can admire them when we're sitting outside."

Cooper lost interest in the conversation and was already on his hands and knees, crawling after a wriggling worm. "How's Zahir doing today?" Logan asked. She was still sleeping when he left the house at 7:30 for his meeting with Cousins.

Nima rubbed his brow and stared off into the distance. "She and Rosana took a walk. They're meeting Rosana's sister in Georgetown for lunch. They left just a few minutes ago." He started to say something and stopped.

"What?" Logan searched his father-in-law's face.

"We're worried about her. I hope time heals these wounds." He paused a moment before continuing. "You know, we lost a child as well." Nima's lip quivered, and Logan could tell he was fighting to maintain his composure.

He was startled by his father-in-law's admission. Zahir never mentioned a third sibling. He struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry. Zahir never said —"

"She didn't know. It was the year after Rosana and I were married. Our first child. The same thing happened, a miscarriage in the third trimester. We held him." His voice cracked, and he looked away. He picked up a pot and began to scoop in potting soil.

"It took Rosana over a year to recover from her depression. Afterward, we never talked about the baby. It was too painful. For both of us." He extracted one of the Celosia from a flat and transferred it to the pot, covering the roots and tamping down the mixture.

"I asked Rosana this morning if she'd be willing to talk with Zahir about her experience. Maybe knowing her mother went through the same thing would help her overcome her grief."

Logan gave his father-in-law a hug. He felt him tense up in response to this uncharacteristic display of intimacy. The Parandehs weren't given to overt manifestations of emotion. "I hope so. She needs something," he said.

"It'll be hard for her to talk about it because, even after all these years, those feelings are still raw, but she'll do it. The worst thing for a mother is to lose her child. Watching one suffer is almost as hard." There was a faraway look in Nima's eyes as he turned back to his potting.

Logan was struck by the melancholy expression on his father-in-law's face and the plaintive tone of his voice. It was apparent decades after his loss, the pain was as fresh and poignant as the day it happened. Was this his and Zahir's fate? Would bitterness and disparagement define their lives going forward or would love win out? His stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse into a rancorous future.

Cooper was tugging at his jacket. "What's wrong, Daddy?"

Logan crouched down so he was at eye level with his son. He drew him in and kissed him on the cheek. "Everything's just fine, buddy. Everything's just fine."

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Excerpted from "The Last Caliph"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Terrence L. Williams and First Coast Publishers, LLC.
Excerpted by permission of First Coast Publishers, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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