The Iranian Blockade

by Stephen Makk

  “This way Paniz.” He led her to the restroom and stayed in there whilst she took a piss.

  “Nothing like that when you need one, is there?” He spoke English with a slight middle eastern accent. He took her back to the room and didn’t tie the bindings.

  “It’s hard, sat so long on the wooden chair. Would you like me to rub your bottom?”

  She stared at him. It was time to show some fight.

  “Yes, but my ass has to be bare.” He gave her a half smile.

  “Why did you shoot Rhaa Haroon?”

  “Did I?” she raised an eyebrow.

  He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a large bottle of water and food, cheese, bread, fruit and a beef sandwich. Anupa ate ravenously.

  “You know who the ISI are, don’t you Paniz?”

  “Yes, I do. They’re an Iranian boy band. Not my sort of thing. But I must admit, they’re fit.”

  “Every time you don’t answer my questions, I’ll leave the room for an hour and you’ll have to wait an extra hour for food and drink.”

  She grinned.

  “And I thought you liked me. You did offer to rub my bare ass.”

  “Paniz. Are you what I think you are? Are you in The Mossad?”

  Anupa smirked.

  “Is that an Iranian girl band? I didn’t think you had them.”

  “That’s one hour.”

  “I didn’t say I was or wasn’t.”

  “Are you?”

  “I can’t sing.” He swore in Farsi.

  “One hour.” He left the room.

  They kept her up all night asking questions. She did her best to avoid giving them an answer.

  Anupa knew it was a game. They were trying to break her. She’d hold out as long as possible. It was a futile exercise, but it gave her something to think about.

  Hours later a man walked in, overweight, stocky with cold baleful eyes. He placed a pair of pliers, a hammer, nails and an electric drill on the table. He stood there and glared at her. His face angry, cold and vengeful, He left without saying or doing anything. Anupa knew it would be another long session, both men would be from the MOIS, the Ministry of Intelligence and Security.

  Chapter 9

  Black Monday.

  NEW YORK.

  CASSIDY SAT AT HER desk in The Deutsche Bank’s Wall Street headquarters. Three large monitors displayed the current trading and market status. They were mostly a sea of numbers. Colors displayed the direction of stocks and metals. Futures, puts and calls. Green up, red down.

  “Miss Cassidy?”

  “Ok, set it down there.” The delivery boy placed a Subway footlong on her desk. She fished out a ten dollar bill.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks Miss Cassidy.”

  She picked up the phone and waited to be put through.

  “Hi, Mr Minlezz. You asked me to call it for you. Your fund B. I want to go long on Oasis Petroleum Inc, it’s showing the signs. Ok, you’ve made a good move Sir.” She replaced the phone and watched the trades. Oasis moved up as she’d said. Cassidy smiled, Mr Minlezz had made six million bucks in ten minutes by following her call.

  “Hey Cass,” a guy from across called over. “Just look at Aramco. Some volume going on there.”

  She checked her screen, a lot of selling was going on. She watched for a few minutes, buying some Aramco, nothing wrong with its market position.

  “Holy fuck, holy fuck,” said her colleague from across.

  “Saudi’s just taken a dump, increased production to 14.9 million barrels a day. That’s huge man.”

  She watched as the red spread over the screens. The oil price fell twenty two points. Good for some, bad very bad for others.

  “Shit.” She’d have to call Mr Minlezz. She knew that Goddamn billionaires didn’t like losing money.

  “Shit,” she picked up the phone.

  ZURICH. SWITZERLAND.

  THE MAN ENTERED JULIUS Baer Bank and walked up to the reception. He had swarthy skin and a moustache. The man dressed in sunglasses and a waistcoat. He placed a card on the table.

  “Mr Horstolz please.”

  The interior was all marble and starkly clean. Behind two glass screens were old paintings that you just knew were very valuable. An ornate bronze woman lay on a platform behind the desk. The place reeked of old money.

  He was led away to a side room where Mr Horstolz awaited his client.

  “Hello Mr Johnson, how can I help?” He knew the man’s name wasn’t Johnson but ignored the fact. Mr Johnson with his Arabic accent was a good customer, a very good customer.

  “This account,” he slid over a paper. “I’d like to access it.”

  “Yes Sir.” The personal banker opened up a screen on a spare laptop on his desk. Mr Johnson accessed the account, entered the password along with access security details and transferred out four billion US Dollars.

  “It’s done Mr Horstolz. You need to verify it.”

  Mr Horstolz did as his visitor asked.

  “Will that be all Mr Johnson?”

  “Yes, thank you, it will be for now.” The man in sunglasses and a waistcoat got up and left the bank. Once outside he couldn’t supress a smile at the shit storm he’d just let loose.

  TEHRAN. IRAN.

  AT THE HASTILY CONVENED meeting of the General Council, the Supreme Leader wanted answers and wanted them now. Two guest organisations were summonsed. He demanded a report from The Management and Planning Organisation of Iran; the MPO. A form of fusion between the US Federal Reserve and the US Federal Government. It reported that the massive fall in the oil price was a catastrophe. The impact on the economy and budget was devastating.

  The Supreme Leader’s blood boiled at the predicted impact. He knew of course it was the Saudi’s doing. His country was now at war. Not a shot had been fired, but it was nothing short of war.

  Then in a report by the leadership of Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, the nation’s armed forces, it happened.

  A bombshell was dropped.

  THE SUPREME LEADER asked for clarification by the MPO and they confirmed the details. He looked at the gathering, one by one he stared them in the eyes.

  “So, let me summarise. The oil price fall will have, no, is having devastating effects on our economy. This will impact the Military too. Our ultimate defence is the nuclear guarantee deal with North Korea. This is initiated by a transfer of funds to them before our weapons can be released. They’re not released to us until we pay.

  The secret fund that we set up to make that payment has been thieved. Some dog withdrew four billion Dollars.”

  “Supreme Leader, enough funds remain for...”

  “I know that,” he lashed out. “But the bastard who withdrew the four could withdraw whatever he wanted, and we’d sit here with our thumbs up our asses. Our Government and Military funding is under threat by this oil price fall. Somebody has stolen from the fund we set up to initiate our nuclear guarantee.” He paused and lowered his voice.

  “Gentlemen, the survival of The Islamic Republic is at stake. We have one course of action. I will tell you what you must do.”

  Chapter 10

  Davao City. South Philippines.

  THEY’D CHOSEN TO MEET at a small estate on the slopes of Mount Apo around twelve miles west of the city. It was quiet, secluded, away from any population centres.

  The two men sat at a table under the shade of the trees in a forest glade. They’d been driven there by two separate Toyota vehicles, each carried three aides with them. One of the aides poured out glasses of fruit juice from ice filled jars.

  One of the men had the almond eyed oriental look, he could be Japanese, Korean or Chinese. The other looked Arabic Middle Eastern, Egyptian or Saudi perhaps.

  “I saw the report from the Production group, all seem to be complete,” said the oriental.

  “Yes, my friend, it’s cleaned up now apparently,” said the Arab. “How is your side progressing?”

  The
oriental took a draft of the cold fruit juice.

  “I don’t know how they can live in this humidity. Manufacturing and processing are underway. Some are ready, others will be soon. How are the consignments you are supplying?”

  “Ready, we’ve arranged the transport by two separate third parties.”

  “Can you trust them?” The Arab nodded.

  “Yes, they were discrete with transport to your, let’s say neighbour.”

  “Then we have concluded phase one. It was always going to be the most difficult. Any undue problems?”

  “No, loading licences can be obtained. The shipping business needs the cash.” The oriental smiled.

  “Yes, we found the same. So, we’ll dispatch the first items when we receive your first consignment. Then we switch, we dispatch first and you ship on receipt of our goods.”

  “Yes,” said the Arab, “we alternate. Our dispatch first. Then you, and so on.”

  The two men shook hands. “Then we are ready to make the first payments?”

  “Yes, we’ll pay the first five hundred million dollars into your account in the Cayman Islands,” said the Arab, “and you pay ours into Bahrain.” The oriental stood.

  “Then let’s authorise the payments.”

  The two men walked off in separate directions, each was around thirty yards away from the table and spoke on their cell phones for a few minutes. They returned and sat.

  The oriental smiled.

  “Let’s drink to our agreement.” He gestured to one of the aides.

  The man poured out more fruit juice.

  Two other aides approached holding machetes behind their backs. The Arab and the oriental had their heads pulled roughly back by the hair.

  “What the...” The two long blades were pulled quickly across the two men’s necks. Blood spurted over the table and their outstretched arms clawing in vain at the blades. The blood spurts ebbed away, and blood gushed over their jerking bodies. The aides produced hot spoons from the barbeque and burned away the men’s fingerprints. Their heads were completely severed and placed on the barbeque. The lid was pulled down. The aides cleaned up after themselves. After twenty minutes or so the barbeque lid was lifted. There where just two blacken baked heads lying there. Both were more skull than head. It was a job well done. One of them patted his pocket and the large wad of dollars it contained. They walked over to the two vehicles chatting and laughing. As they approached both Toyota’s exploded with devastating force. The aides were shredded, and the surroundings were blown wide apart. Fires raged, driven on by the cans of gasoline concealed under the vehicles.

  He watched from afar with a pair of binoculars. He smiled. Now he had just one task remaining. Transmit a communication to the nominated news agency using the correct password and phrase. It would inform them that the Abu Sayyaf group had carried out an attack on the infidel enemies of the Caliphate. He took a last look at the burning scene, turned and walked off.

  Discord, deception and discord. That was the goal, a delicate dance if done well. Do it badly and, well let’s not go there. He smiled to himself.

  Cover your ass and it will cover you.

  FOUR DAYS LATER TWO Philippine registered Roll on Roll off ships, pulled alongside the port of Chongjin. North Korea. The Luzon star and the Pacific sealift were too large for the task, but they were available now.

  Now, was of the essence.

  Military convoys dominated the roads into the port. Troops flooded the streets, a curfew was imposed. Loading was carried out during the hours of darkness, over two nights. Around fifty North Korean troops under the command of a Major boarded each of the vessels for the long voyage. On the third night the two ships set sail to south and headed in the direction of the East China Sea.

  USS STONEWALL JACKSON was running off the East coast of Japan at five hundred feet deep. She’d ended her third test dive. Nathan walked into the Engineering spaces.

  “How’s she looking?” he asked the Engineering Officer.

  “Good Sir, the drive’s looking good. I’ve had everything fully instrumented. It all checks out, vibration levels were right down where I expect them. Better in fact. The Mitsubishi Engineer we had on the first two cruises said to expect that. The boat’s bedded in now. Hull integrity is faultless. One hour at test depth would have revealed any issues. They fitted her with new valve gear for the waste system obviously, but also the buoyancy circulation system. New pumps too, oh and an electrical and software upgrade for the Li-ion battery management. We’re getting a longer life now. She’s better than new.”

  “Good, I’ll make a report to COMSUBPAC. I’m glad we’re back in the groove.” The Engineer smiled. “Me too Sir.”

  “TRIM FOR ASCENT. MAKE for periscope depth.” The boat ascended, then levelled off.

  “Periscope depth Sir.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Lemineux, raise the photonic mast and send this communication.”

  “Aye Sir.”

  The message was transmitted via satellite To COMSUBPAC Pearl Harbor. The report stated that USS Stonewall Jackson’s repairs were complete, and that she was reporting for duty. Now off Kobe, Japan.

  “We have a signal receipt acknowledgement. Sir, it tells us to await orders. Prepare to sail within three hours.” Nathan looked to the XO.

  “Sir, we’re fully fuelled and provisioned, war stock is updated. The boat’s patrol ready.”

  “OK, we’ll float here and wait. Let the Chief Engineer know we’re at periscope depth in case he wants to top up the batteries.”

  THE PENTAGON. WASHINGTON.

  THE LARGE SCREEN ON the far wall flickered once and became blank.

  The CIA had asked that a meeting be called, and present were the senior section analysts Simon Hobbs, Middle East and Koon Wing Mui, Far East. The Joint Chiefs of Staff sat around a large table. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Ian Cotton USAF.

  Chief of Staff of the Army General Sally Weingarten, USA.

  Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Nicolaj Kamov, USN.

  Commandant of the Marine Corps Bruce Nanut, USMC.

  Chief of Staff of the Air Force General Neil L Cooper, USAF.

  Also a civilian sat at the table, National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen.

  Simon Hobbs. senior section analyst Middle East stepped forward.

  “Thank you for your time Generals, Admiral, Commandant. We have important developments to report. Our sources are confidential but include sigint and humint. I’ll hand you over to Koon Wing Mui, Far East section, as she’s coordinating the intel. The Asian woman stepped forward.

  “Thank you Simon. The matter we have asked you here for is a follow on to our last meeting. If you’ll recall we discussed the North KorIran postulate; that is the means by which Iran may acquire nuclear weapons by working with North Korea and thus bypassing the JCPA deal.

  We’ve seen recent market activity by Saudi Arabia that’s lowered the price of oil. This hurts the Saudi economy, but they can afford it, for a time.

  It hurts the Iranian economy too, and they can’t afford it.

  It’s come to our attention from a source that,” she sheepishly looked at her colleague, “that Simon has been in contact with. From this source we learnt that another event occurred, one that has mortified the Iranians.

  They have a fund quietly stored in a Swiss bank, that will be used to pay North Korea for the release of their nuclear weapons. This fund recently suffered a withdrawal.”

  “You mean somebody stole from it?” asked General Cooper.

  She nodded. “Yes, Not all of the fund but a substantial amount. So much so, that the Iranians have been panicking. The Supreme Leader has ordered that the fund should make a payment to North Korea for the weapons to be transferred to Iran.”

  “That’s very risky for them,” said Chief of Staff of the Army General Sally Weingarten.

  “If the JCPA finds out about them, it’ll be a sanctions nightmare.”

  “Yes,” replied Koon,
“but if more of the fund is stolen there may not be enough left to pay for their weapons.”

  “Go on,” said Commandant of the Marine Corps Bruce Nanut, “they paid Kim for the nukes.”

  “Yes,” she said, “the NSA satellite surveillance has seen columns of military trucks converging on the North Korean port of Chongjin. Two transport ships we’ve now identified as The Luzon star and the Pacific sealift have taken on a load at night. They’re now headed south for the East China Sea, after that, we think around Singapore and up the Strait of Malacca.”

  “How did you find out about this theft from their fund?”

  “We can’t tell you.” Simon Hobbs intervened.

  “But we can say that the source has always been rock-solid.” Rock solid but self-interested he thought, but that was The Mossad for you.

  There was a knock at the door, a USN Petty Officer entered and handed Admiral Kamov a note and then left.

  “So,” said Bruce Nanut, “we have two ships out there that are likely to be carrying Iran’s nukes and they look to be heading for Iran. What are we waiting for?”

  “We need to be careful about this, other things may come to light before they get to Iran,” said General Cooper.

  “It could get political,” said Army General Sally Weingarten.