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The CIA has a clever cyber-war program to shut down Iran. But things never go according to plan. Meet Aydin Llewelyn, computer genius, deadbeat and accidental spy. Can he and his ex-girlfriend make it to Tehran and save the day?

Find out in this fast-paced, amusing, twisty tale of travel and intrigue.

In part two, Aydin and Parveen try to make their way home but get side-tracked by a surface-to-air missile. Meanwhile Iran is forever changed by cyber-war.

The trilogy concludes as Aydin is thrust back to a devastated Iran to fix the formidable Prime Eleven virus. He has help from unexpected sources, and those who wish him great harm.

An Alternate History...




Now Available
in paperback



from CHAPTER 15

It was Friday night, late, maybe eleven o’clock or so. I sat in a Starbucks on Ledras Street in Nicosia, on the island of Cyprus. Iskander and Elliot were sitting next to me… Iskander and Elliot, not a high-priced legal firm, a comedy duo, or a Broadway songwriting team, though they could’ve been by the sound of it. And, I did get the distinct feeling, I was dancing to their tune.
“Screw the pencil— what about this damn virus? Something about it spreading across the whole freaking planet? What? Were you kidding, exaggerating? What the hell, Aydin?” Elliot spewed out his frustration.
Iskander calmed him. “A moment, Elliot. This may be important as well.”
I looked at him and then to Iskander, a bit unsure what to do. With a glance from each, they set me back to the task. I tapped the paper nervously, then started crossing things out and writing slowly.
“Well?” Iskander asked impatiently.
I slid the paper over and put my pencil down. Elliot leaned over to get a better view of the long string of capital letters that I’d scrawled across the page.
“What does it mean?” Elliot squinted at my handwriting.
“It’s a code, a very simple code. Just read the first letter of every word, but backwards... well, backwards if you only know Farsi.” I read aloud: “Help Us. Meet me at Lanatabad. Khalil H. Must find Kazem Zarif.”
Iskander gave me a look.
“What’s a Lanatabad?”
“La’nat-Abad. It is a cemetery, just south of Tehran… the place of the damned,” he replied.
“The damned?”
“People buried without rites… they are doomed to wander the earth and find no peace. At Khavaran, there are many mass graves left over from the days of the revolution. A terrible place.”

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