The Minders Read Online Free PDF Page A

simulation and analytics programs, three having the highest score. He took the second highest scoring choice.
    “We’ve been eyeing this man for some time. I see his son has applied for a visa.”
    “Yes! His visit overlaps with another high value target and her family’s visa request. See the first file!” Ali Najaf replied with intensity. 
    Najaf was always excitable, especially when probabilities were favorable. It amused him when seemingly obscure things came together. No one was sure if he was a pessimist or an ever-hopeful optimist. Rezadad was never sure of Najaf’s true religious beliefs. He always seemed a little off and a little narcissistic. Everyone suspected Najaf was a mole put there to spy, and would often show his colors via his Islamist remarks. It was a slight bother to Rezadad, but one he knew would happen no matter what. Distrust was a common trait amongst Iranians, and something that might take generations to deracinate. 
    Rezadad read both profiles and instantly recognized a project that had come across his desk several times. A project that always had missing parts and one Rezadad hoped he would never implement. Nevertheless, he was under orders to implement it, if possible.
    “But, do we have a delivery mechanism as yet?” he asked, reminding everyone of the proposed vector.
    “I believe we have one.” Najaf shuffled through a stack of documents that went with the simulation run.
    “Here it is.” He slid a folder towards Rezadad.
    “His education was funded by us. He recently received his Ph.D. in mechanical engineering, from Stanford, and his dissertation is perfect.” Najaf pinged Rezadad’s laptop with a link to the candidate’s two hundred-page thesis.
    “How much did we pay for his education?” Rezadad whispered quietly as he read.
    “We paid nearly $500,000 for undergraduate and post-graduate work. He’s a genius and well worth it.”
    Rezadad got up, poured himself another tea, and returned to read the dissertation titled, ‘Inoculations and the Zigbee Matrix - A Sub-Saharan Panacea.’ He read, took notes, sketched a diagram or two, and then pinged an engineer upstairs to meet in the conference room. He then asked Najaf to conduct several more searches, handing him new search criterion, and asked that he immediately execute several new vector simulations.
    The pinged engineer arrived and sat at the table. She was a tall, elegantly dressed woman, with flowing blond hair and blue eyes, having none of the traditional headscarves and covers, yet another benefit of working at The Center. Rezadad handed her a drawing and asked if the design was achievable at any of their injection molding facilities in the U.S. She grabbed the drawings and walked back to her office. Twenty minutes later, while Rezadad was still drafting project plans, she pinged a message.
    “Yes, with some minor modifications we can easily manufacture the piece.”
    *  *  *
    Soon after, the requested simulation results arrived. Rezadad walked over to an open phone room, notes in hand, closed the soundproof door and made a call. He was on the call for a good thirty minutes, hands waving, yelling, agitated, with cheeks red and flushed. The only time Rezadad looked and sounded like this was when talking to the President, a call he always hated and a conversation he always regretted. Every call to the president was in support of something he didn’t want to do, but had to. As successful as he was, he was still expendable.
    This particular project was necessary, and one of several projects to be a divergent event to help distract from nuclear talks and reviews. To Iran, the process of talking and reviews were a means to buy time. They knew that promises would fade by the month, and they needed to create a cushion and to buy more time via a distraction, one that would give them a year or two, and would divert attention back onto the Arab Islamists.
    *  *  *
    Rezadad stepped out of the phone room, beads of sweat