It was very early in the morning—so early that the sun had yet to rise in Washington D.C. That didn’t matter to the president, he had been awake for quite some time now. He was tossing a thought back and forth in his head. He turned toward the Director of the CIA, who was still lingering in the doorway, and said, "There’s a voice in my mind. It keeps asking me if I made the right choice."

"Mr. President," he said, "the choice was very tough, but I believe you made the best decision possible. Don’t worry, Robert Gray is one of our top agents. He was originally groomed to be a sniper, and he was in country during Vietnam. A team of Delta Force commandos is also being assembled, but due to Robert’s proximity, they won’t be there until a day after he reaches the base."

The president shook his head a little. "It sounds like a lot for one guy to take on. Do you really think he can handle it?"

"Trust me, Mr. President, he’s as good as they get at counter-terrorism. It’s a shame that the CIA is not set up to implement his skills more often."

"And if he fails, do we have plausible deniability?"

"Always, Mr. President. Always."

Robert Gray took in a deep breath as he approached the complex. He spoke Persian and Turkic fluently, which enabled him to talk to most people in Iran, but now it was time to see how well he could impersonate a specific Iranian- the high-level Iranian scientist whose identity he had assumed. He walked confidently up to the security guard at the outer gate. The guard casually checked his ID before running it through a scanner. Everything checked out; after all, he had taken the ID right out of the scientist’s pocket. The hard part was copying his face. Fortunately, Robert had access to a facemask of the highest quality-courtesy of Hollywood movie magic.

Robert walked into the facility. On the outside it looked like a normal, everyday medical research lab. The CIA was interested in what was happening on the inside, though. Rumors of Anthrax production abounded. It was Robert’s job to check it out.

Getting into the area that he needed access to required a fingerprint ID. Fortunately, Robert had taken the liberty of creating a fleshy, latex copy of his double’s fingerprint and placing it over his own. The machine accepted Robert’s false fingerprint as genuine, allowing him access to a restricted computer area.

Looking left and right to make sure no one else was in the room, Robert put on black gloves (he didn’t want to leave any fingerprints-not even false ones) and began to type away. It was time to see if the access codes he had stolen were worth anything. Thankfully, they were. As it turned out, the Iranians were indeed planning on producing that horrible biological weapon, Anthrax. Robert began copying as much data as he could-timetables, production techniques, etc.-on several disks.

Robert was copying the last bits of data onto his last disk as he heard the sound of someone beginning to enter the room. The data transfer was at 80% completion. Robert bit his lower lip; he really should take his gloves off, but he really didn’t want to. Deciding he could minimize extra fingerprints, Robert went ahead and removed his gloves, stuffing them deep into the pockets of his labcoat. As the door began to swish open, the data transfer was 95% complete. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty room. As soon as the display read 100%, Robert snatched the disk out of the drive and turned to face the approaching man.

"Dr. Mohammed?" he asked in a Persian dialect. Robert couldn’t help but notice the menacing machine gun hanging at his side.

"I’m sorry," Robert returned in the same language, "you must have me confused with someone else. I am Dr. Rashid." Robert pointed to his ID as a little show of proof.

The guard nodded and said, "Of course. I remember the staff talking about how they were flying in a new scientist from Kerman to help on the later stages of the project."

Robert smiled and said, "I only hope I can help." In truth, that was the main reason why Robert chose to assume the identity of Dr. Rashid. The man had no prior contacts in the city or on the staff; he had a hotel room that Robert could operate out of; and Robert could have room service before leaving.

"By the way, doctor," the guard said, "you received a message from the hotel. They said it was absolutely important to get it to you immediately."

Robert began to be a little concerned-the only people he could think of who would want to get an urgent message to him were his superiors. With any luck, it would be an urgent message for Dr. Rashid-like a death in the family. Unfortunately, Robert would have no such luck. "The message gave a nonsensical English phrase followed by coordinates," the Iranian guard replied, leveling his machine gun at Robert. "You are under arrest for espionage. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Robert raised his hands in the air and said, "Hey, I’m no fool." Silently though, he was quite unhappy with how the mission had been botched. Luckily, the guard was standing too close to him.

"Good," Robert’s captor replied, lowering his guard slightly for Robert to walk past.

Robert never did. Instead, he grabbed the machine gun by the barrel, pointed it away from him and then used it to pull his opponent into a throat punch. He rapidly considered what to do next. If his superiors were in so much of a hurry to put him in danger like that, he would probably have to go back to the hotel and get those coordinates.

Robert, although an excellent shot, didn’t carry a gun because it was way too suspicious. Fortunately, he could borrow the guard’s machine gun for a little misdirection. Robert ran out of the room, surprising and shooting everyone in the adjacent room and quickly ditching the weapon behind a large computer console. When the guards rushed in to investigate the gunfire, Robert yelled and pointed, "A madman has shot them all! He went that way! That way!"

In their haste to pursue the phantom madman, the guards left Robert alone. He then left the "medical research lab," jumped into Dr. Rashid’s rental car and kicked it into high gear. He sped all the way back to the hotel.

Robert walked into the hotel as calmly as possible. He walked boldly up to the front desk and said, "I’m Dr. Rashid. I understand that you have a message for me?"

"I thought they were going to give it to you at your work place," the man behind the desk said.

"They were, but the message got kind of garbled," Robert said.

"It’s no problem; here you go," the man replied, handing Robert a piece of paper with the message scribbled on it.

About that time, two guards from the facility arrived-they had obviously pieced everything together, so more were undoubtedly behind them. Robert moved to the elevator before they noticed him. As they went up to the front desk to find out his room number, one of the two caught sight of him as the elevator door was about to close. Bullets sped past Robert as he ducked for cover. People everywhere began screaming. Some immediately hit the floor; others panicked and ran. Robert hurriedly considered what his next move would be. He knew that those two guards would find him pretty quickly, and more guards had to be coming.