Norzagaray Cement Plant

Three Minutes Later

One of the truisms of the concrete business is that those who produce it, often are its first users. As such even the office buildings around the plant contained their fair share of concrete, simply because it was readily available. Inside one such building in the front corner of the complex, near the main shipping docks and a pond, an unusual group had taken up temporary residence. As a group they fit in rather well in their working attire. Their complexion, while not the Spanish and Polynesian mix of the locals, was just tanned enough to match rather well and keep them from standing out if one was looking from any distance.

To most people they were just like the foreign delegation inspecting the plant and collating their findings that they were supposed to be. They constantly looked over the plant workings. In their collection of facts and figures they had detailed analysis of materials, chemical composition, by-product production, air quality, work hours, labor research… Dozens of different criteria, which while ridiculously thorough, could if one stretched credulity a bit, be the needs of a terrifically picky client with a lot of time to waste.

If there was something to put lie to their pretense, the two men walking through the corridors of the plant, smiling and nodding to the locals, and putting in some random chit-chat with their associates as they hunched over pages full of numbers, visually would not be it. One, tall and bald, with a bit of ex-military poise to him, chatted amicably with the other, a shorter man whose demeanor, slightly hunched and sighing off and on cue, seemed terribly world-weary. Still, both were quite smartly dressed in blue business shirts, sans tie, and gray twill pants. They radiated corporate competence. If only the local staff was fluent in Persian, they probably would have noted some problems with the duo.

Translated from Persian/Farsi

"Very good, very good." the taller man was saying, looking over the facts and figures from one of the staff, "We have confirmation of numbers and disposition?"

The Iranian staff member nodded, and handed the tall man a sheet of facts and figures not unlike the half a dozen on his desk.

Looking back to the shorter man the taller said with a broad smile, "It seems like the problems we may have had on that end will be fixed shortly." and handed the form back to his underling.

"That is very good Zakaria." the shorter man said with a nod as he and his compatriot carried on down out of the office and into another corridor, " I'll admit I was surprised when an important Ansar-Ul-Mehdi like yourself was sent to work with a humble basij like myself…"

"The Imam thought this operation was important enough to send one of his own protectors Doctor." Zakaria interrupted, sounding important and sagely, "Even Soleimani would never have approved of such a bold action were it not for the nature of the threat."

"So we are here, so far from home." the shorter said with a sigh, "Your men?"

"Busy advancing plans and reviewing the security situation. Your friends are a little lax." the big man admitted, "Nothing that twenty Qod from Pāsdārān e Enqelāb can't fix quite quickly. We are very good at that in the Sepāh. Though I would rather that we were a little more familiar operating together. We did have to rush more than usual."

"You came to the rescue with admirable speed my good fellow." the doctor replied, "You seemed to have few problems getting in."

"Thank the accidental aid of the Sunni in the South." Zakaria remarked with another of his huge smiles, "All of our enemies eyes are watching down there. I've noted the average westerner can't tell a Shia from a Sunni even if you explain it to them. It seems to be helping for now, but smarter minds will undoubtedly get hold of the data eventually. One unit in particular."

"You can tell me about that in a bit. I'm a physicist. I do devices, not getting them places and who to get them past." the shorter man advised as they turned a corner and checked in with one of their guards, then continued with an edge of incredulity creeping into his voice, "We are good? The Russians are actually holding to their part of the deal?"

"They have more defenses against the… *problem* than we do, yet also far more to lose." the larger man replied, glancing up and about as they passed through an area with a higher ceiling, "We have the two large, lead-lined, suitcases you asked for, though they are prohibitively heavy, and the strontium ninety to put in them."

"Good, good. My office is down this way. " the doctor said with a nod then motioned towards one hallway, "…and your, one unit in particular?"

"A group my Qod comrades met in Iraq during the American's invasion. They were defending the remains of an Osiris class nuclear reactor that had been destroyed by the Zionists decades ago. Both sides took casualties, but they never broke and proved formidable foes, ones we have reason to believe are operating in this area." Zakaria explained, "and the travels of the infamous Doctor Mostafa Ochbelagh, when he approaches such an area where they are active in, will surely bring their attention."

"Heh, infamous so soon." the doctor replied with a sigh.

"You are considered a hero to the revolution, and were very important to us even before your… unfortunate change in circumstances."

"What a nice way to put it." Dr. Ochbelagh said with disgust and sarcasm dripping through his words, "So your formidable friends. They are a danger to our operation?"

The pair turned a final corner and came to a hallway with one door on the right while Zakaria continued to speak, "Possibly, they have one…" he said then stopped and motioned down the hallway, "You have no guards in this hall?"

"That is my office there." the doctor replied, moving towards the door, "and that way is into the main plant, a more confusing warren of hot, dusty, practically impassable machinery, filled with workers and choking cement particulates I have never seen, but we do have a guard on the outside entrance."

"It will have to be worked on." the big man said as the doctor got out his keys and unlocked the door, then started in before Zakaria could suggest going first wasn't the best idea, so he just continued, "There is one man in particular…"

"Oh there you are doctor." a voice interrupted Zakaria as Mostafa entered the room, "I've been hoping I'd catch you to ask you about your insistence on referring to Iran as Persia in your peripheral works."

KA-CHACK

The first thing Dr. Mostafa Ochbelagh found unusual in the moment he'd entered his office was the American man sitting on his desk, in dusty gray fatigues, looking intently into a small hand book of some sort. The second thing he noticed unusual was the rather miraculously produced automatic pistol that was now resting over his shoulder and pointed at the new man. He would have sworn just seconds ago that his associate Zakaria was not armed in any way.

"Your 'one man in particular' I suppose?" the doctor asked his guardian with neither the least hint of fear nor the appearance that anything was out of place. He could practically feel Zakaria's nod over his shoulder.

"Oh I don't mind your friend doctor." the new man, a strongly built blond, said without raising his eyes, "I was just wondering why you insist on using Persia, a name taken from Greece, to describe your own country when more noted individuals suggest Arya and therefore Iran would be the proper term."

"A sincere enough question." the doctor said, switching to a slightly accented English while ducking under Zakaria's gun and heading for a stove and tea set on the right side of the room, "I suppose you'd rather an answer in English? Your attempt at Farsi being halfway decent aside, I can tell you'd be more comfortable there."

"Doctor." Zakaria said sternly to bring the man's attention to the problem at hand. The American glanced over at the tall man and all but froze him with an eerie smile. Maybe it was the way it made the trained protector, willing to throw himself in front of any adversary for his charge, feel like he was already a dead man that caused that twinge of unfamiliar fear, or maybe it was the slight sparkle of gold he caught in the man's eye as he looked at him.

"Oh it's alright Zakaria." the doctor replied, pointing at the wall they'd just walked past, the one between them and the office, "That is one of the few structures here not made of concrete, if he'd wanted us dead we wouldn't be here."

"One does not debate gifts from Allah Doctor."

"Well then I'd appreciate you checking on all my people and yours." Mostafa retorted while putting on some tea, "Or do you think this man is alone? I'll be fine, go." then switched to English while turning back to his guest, "I hope you don't mind I only have tea here. Coffee isn't a staple of mine."

"No that's fine." the man said, nodding and looking back to the doctor while never really taking his eyes away from Zakaria, "I can handle hot tea on occasion."

"His name is Byran Hawkins." the big man said, vanishing around the corner. If he was going to return, or grab his men then cut and run, the doctor was not aware of.

"Ah, Mr. Hawkins." the doctor said with a smile as he clicked up the stove heat.

"Dr. Ochbelagh." Hawkins returned with a nod.

"Well acting like your question wasn't just a very well-chosen ruse to get you in the door…" the doctor started, turning his back to the stove, "The Greek word Persia which you know refers to the East, was created from the name of my home province of Pars, the cultural homeland of the area now known as Iran. It is simply an extension and exonym that refers to the heart of my country, and is a completely preferable name to the Sassanid term eran and therefore Iran."

"That is a way of looking at it from the standpoint of pure facts." Hawkins pointed out, tapping his book, "But I wonder if it isn't also a defeatist way of looking at it."

Hawkins turned himself towards the doctor as the teapot started to steam slightly. The Iranian man cocked his head a bit and raised an eyebrow at the statement.

"Well no, really." Hawkins continued, "I have to wonder if the conquest of Iran by Greece and their subsequent naming of the entire area as Persia, which is one of their words, makes its continued use seem like the act of a conquered people."

"I've never really…" the doctor replied as his pot steamed, then bent down to look at Hawkins' book, "Wait is that… well of course that's from Ehsan Yarshater, is he still working at Columbia? He'd be in his nineties now wouldn't he? Of course he'd not want the country named after Pars. He's from Hamedan! Hell he's old enough to remember the country being Persia… did you check your sources?"

"I'm sorry if ulterior motives don't get listed in the bibliography." Hawkins said with a smile and a nod, holding the book to the side, "It seems to have done it's job anyway."

"I suppose it has, you really wouldn't give a damn if we called the whole place Grand Funk Railroad would you?" the doctor said with a laugh, getting the tea bags ready, "Is Chai ok?"

Hawkins looked around the room then nodded again with a shrug and a smile.

"But if you're making an attempt at dialogue, and trying so hard at it." the doctor posited, pouring our the water, "Well I can't imagine you're trying to *talk* me out of what I'm doing."

This time was Hawkins turn to laugh, so hard in fact he had to hold off taking the offered cup for a few seconds, before he got out, "Hell no, I'm here to help you."

"Help?!" the Iranian bomb maker almost croaked, "Wait, not stop? But why… wait, wait… You're after the MUTOs too?"

Hawkins cocked his head to the side then extended his hand to shake the doctor's and said, "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Chief Hawkins, US Navy, and the operational lead on the American G-Unit. We make the big bad things that shouldn't live in our world dead."

The Doctor looked for a place to put his cup, and finding one, deposited it on his desk before he shook the man's hand, a bit of confusion on his face, "You do know that's not exactly in your best interest. You'll be going against your own Monarch Unit." he pointed out, "Their objectives are very clear on the topic."

"Yes yes, I read the report and it's a nice pile of dung. I can see why you're worried about it, but your government has taken a somewhat narrow, self-centered, view on the matter." Hawkins replied, putting down his book and pulling out his smart phone, "The attempt to use Insectoid MUTOs as directed, biological, anti-nuclear weapons is such a crock and such an obvious disaster in waiting everyone who knows about it is taking a stand. We hope you'll join us."

"Well… err… that's quite unexpected." Mostafa said, stuttering a bit, his expression sort of like a youth who'd just been told the test he'd just taken would give him more points for every question he got wrong, "I'm not sure I can trust such a reversal."

Hawkins paid him no mind, but simply worked on his smart phone then pointed the screen at the Doctor. Mostafa bent over to look at what was displayed. It was a three-dimensional map of something indistinct, but the Iranian recognized it quickly.

"I checked your intel when I got to your office. That was a pretty tricky way of getting yourself maps of the upper levels." Hawkins said, sounding slightly impressed, "Here's the whole thing. Do you think you could plan out a proper dispersal pattern in the next few days with this?"

The doctor chewed on a knuckle for a second, looking the display up and down, "There are a lot of variables." he pointed out, "I can't do it just from a look, could you bring that out to the printers for us to get a hard copy?"

"Printout? Really?"

"I'm a little old-fashioned." Mostafa said with a shrug, sadly looking to his now probably wasted tea, "I have a hard time with these three-dimensional models, my perspective gets screwed up without something to hold in my hands."

"Not a problem." Hawkins remarked, dropping off the desk, "I need to go that way in any case. Hope Mr. Zakaria isn't too quick with his guns."

"You treat it all like it's a regular day at work." the doctor said as he moved with Hawkins out the door.

"You wouldn't believe my regular day at work."

"I would guess not, but is it troublesome going against your own government?"

"Monarch isn't my own government Doctor." Hawkins pointed out as he also wordlessly went over the data on his phone with the bomb maker, moving the image this way and that, "G-Unit's authority is American only and comes straight from the top. Monarch hasn't felt like 'us' for a very long time."

The Doctor nodded and took the smart phone to check out a few places of note before handing the device back to Hawkins. Mostafa hid his surprise and discomfort that Hawkins had known every turn they'd made before they'd come to them, unlike his own protector. The fact that his encounter with this American was a very well preplanned and possibly even rehearsed matter crossed his mind not for the first time.

"That does happen to groups with specific powers over time." the Doctor said with a nod, "They compartmentalize and lose touch, rarely share notes. I've seen too much of it."

Hawkins could only nod and shrug yet again as he made the third turn without being told. If the fact they hadn't passed any guards on this trip was bothering either of them, neither spared the attention to show it.

"So, five containment units for creatures, on radial spokes under the hills around Angat Dam." the Doctor said, verbalizing what he had seen, "Tunnels made as a warren, both to confuse those entering without permission and to allow the maximum possible number of different egress sites for removing the creatures. This looks odd though, why such large exit tunnels?"

"Not my concern at the moment." Hawkins replied, looking at the map, "Does it make the area any harder to flood with radioactive particles?"

"No, no we have plenty." Mostafa assured him, "We only need to make certain areas inaccessible. See the extra layering of radiation absorbing materials here, and here, and also around the containment vessels makes me particularly assured that I can leave that place a dead zone while neither risking radiation leakage outside the facility nor risking giving our trapped friends a good meal."

"Getting Zakaria to trust the operation is going to be hard in the early running." the Chief explained, "We're going to have to give his Qod friends something to do. I've already got teams for clearing out the underground."

"I'm sure someone will have to clear the outbuildings and add-ons to the generator complex." Mostafa said without concern, "These special forces people never seem to be at a loss when you tell them to find something to kill."

"Quite." Hawkins said with a chuckle.

With that the two arrived side by side in the main office. Zakaria was standing confidently in the middle of the room, looking as unarmed as ever. The men at their desks looked a bit more unsure of themselves and shifted about uncomfortably. A number of new, well dressed, men stood leaning on the side wall, and a couple more stood lazily by the exit door.

"Oh good!" Dr. Mostafa said with a spring in his step, hurrying over to a man at the closest desk, "Amjad, open up a wireless connection for Mr. Hawkins, we need him to transfer over some files."

"I could get the files Doctor." Zakaria said, in both a menacing tone and perfect English, "We don't need him for them."

Hawkins smiled and walked up to the taller Persian, "So, only seven here?" he remarked with a thin-lipped grin, "You're cutting it short, the other thirteen will take a while to cover a facility of this size, not that it will matter, you'll never catch her."

"Her eh?" Zakaria said, returning an easy smile. Their smile contest was interrupted by the sound of Zakaria's radio crackling and a voice calling over it.

"Mr. Zakaria, who are these people?" the voice, apparently one of the taller Persian's Qod troops, asked, "Some crazy witch just hung Navid up a tree by his underwear. I do not think they respect us."

Hawkins tapped a few buttons to link his smart phone up to Amjad's wireless then took that same hand up to his face to rub the bridge of his nose and remarked, "Yeah, her… don't ask."

"It will take Navid quite a while to live that one down." Zakaria admitted, his eyebrows raised then returned to Hawkins with a bemused smirk, "If you were trying to impress me it worked. I wouldn't have imagined that possible from a woman."

"I'm not trying to impress you. Someone just has a really bad sense of humor." Hawkins admitted.

"And how do you feel about this Dr. Ochbelagh?" Zakaria pressed, checking his compatriot, "Working with an American after your loss?"

The Doctor glanced over, but if he was going to say something he was quickly cut off by Hawkins angry return statement, "That's low, the man has a lot of grief to work through and he's not going to get any better with you goading him." the Chief said, "What am I supposed to do, apologize for some nameless bureaucrat in my government, or for all of Israel? I can't so I won't bother. I was going to avoid bringing the whole thing up for the man's sake but you just had to go there."

"I'm sorry you think I'm a slave to my grief Mr. Zakaria." the Doctor said with a sigh as the plans came up on his screen, "My family is in a better place. I don't hate any individual American for it, but their whole accursed system. It's just unfortunate that I can't bomb that."

A pall of silence fell over the room. Only the tall, self-assured Iranian and the cocksure American seemed oblivious to it, lost in their staring contest. Even the men along the sides of the room seemed less comfortable in their own skin from the exchange.

"Do you have it yet Dr. Ochbelagh?" Hawkins pressed, looking to his smart phone for the completion readout.

"Yes, we do." the Doctor replied, glancing up at his protector, "No more trouble right now please Mr Zakaria."

The taller Iranian just shrugged. Hawkins headed for the door, putting his smart phone away and double timing it.

"Will you need some sort of ride Mr. Hawkins?" the doctor asked.

"Nah." the Chief replied, heading out the door with only a short glance at his watch first, "Should be one coming up now. I'm just in time. Your Russian friends will be in contact to coördinate our efforts."

Besides the Doctor, the whole room let out their collective breath as Hawkins jogged out the door and across the courtyard. Zakaria began sending his troops around to check the facility and get set to move to a different advanced deployment.

"The Russians are working with him?" the tall man asked the Doctor and got a nod in return, "We've stepped into something more convoluted than we believed."

"I'm just glad you didn't start shooting." Ochbelagh said, looking to the maps and setting up some printing jobs, "A man like that will rarely leave anything to chance."

"I'm aware." the protector said, looking concerned, "I'm usually good at judging the time to attack someone, but I never saw a truly unguarded moment. He unnerved me, and that's odd. Maybe it was those odd sparks of gold I saw in his eyes."

Checking his watch again Hawkins jogged out to the connecting road. The dust clung to him like an extra skin outside the plant. He hoped no one noticed or asked about it, but with the strip mine up the road and the cement plant here it shouldn't attract too much attention.

He glanced back, checking his rear then started to talk beneath his breath.

"G5, G5, you get that?"

"Got it G1, decent trade." the voice in his ear returned, "G4 picked up a few things from the wireless, everything we could grab quick and looked interesting."

"Good, everyone clear?"

"Like they could catch her, hell I've tried to catch that rear for years… gack oww… no smacking G4... No I did not ask for it."

"Sounded like you did G5." the Chief chuckled.

"Opinions are like assholes." G5 defended himself, then added, "And what the hell is wrong with Grand Funk Railroad?"

The Chief just shook his head and moaned under his breath, "And I got stuck with the god damn Piccolo."

"What was that Chief?"

"My ride's here, I'll keep in touch." Hawkins replied, waving to a white van that was coming up the dirt road.

"Didn't sound like what you said."

"Leave it."

"Right-o."

With the sound of gravel crunching under tires the white van slowed to a halt in front of the Chief. The sliding door on the side of the van popped open to reveal a number of smiling faces, a mix of locals and foreigners, in the dark space beyond.

"Hey Chief!" one of them called, "What's up? Can't believe you're still jogging to work. Don't you know that'll take forever?"

"Never bothered me before." the Chief replied with a smile.

"Well you being late will probably bother Mr. Stevens." the man said, then waved Hawkins toward the van, "Come on, we'll give you a lift before you get in trouble."

Smiling, Hawkins jumped in the opened door and took a seat among the passengers. The van erupted in a lively chatter, something no one inside seemed a stranger too.

"Much obliged." Hawkins remarked, nodding to the man.

"Not a problem."

With that the man slid the door back closed. In moving the door back into place he completed the symbol on the side of the van, a plain black glyph of two triangles pointed towards each other.