“Then get Matty on the phone,” he said.
He wasn’t convinced they had time for one last ploy, but these guys were right. They had to try.
DAMASCUS, SYRIA
It was called a hangar, but it wasn’t really, Esfahani realized, not in the classic sense. There were no fighter jets housed here. No bombers. No refueling tankers or trainers or any other jets or planes of any kind. This was a strategic missile base—and a clandestine one at that.
As they cleared through two heavy security checkpoints and he helped Dr. Birjandi off the elevator and onto the hangar floor, Esfahani was struck by what an enormous facility it really was. In one of their brief coffee breaks, Zandi had hinted to him that it was large, but Esfahani had had no idea. It stretched at least twenty soccer fields in both directions, maybe more. At this end, it was both an R & D center and an assembly line for state-of-the-art missiles. Several hundred yards down the range, it was a subterranean launch facility. So fascinated was he that he began to whisper to Birjandi details of what he was seeing, and Birjandi seemed to indicate he was grateful for Esfahani’s play-by-play reporting and color commentary.
“What are you seeing now?” Birjandi asked.
“There’s a group of technicians scurrying around,” Esfahani replied. “They’re all wearing white lab coats, and they seem to be making last-minute preparations.”
“On the missile?”
“Actually, on six.”
“Six what?” Birjandi asked.
“Six missiles,” said Esfahani. “They all look like Scuds, but they seem to be an advanced model. I’ve never seen any quite like this.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning they’re taller and wider, and their rocket engines look larger,” Esfahani said.
“But only one has the warhead, right?”
“Apparently, but they all look the same to me,” Esfahani observed.
“Clever,” Birjandi said. “I’m guessing they’ll fire them all at once, and the Israelis won’t know which one to shoot down.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Esfahani. “That would be clever.”
He then began describing other elements of the building, beginning with the six launchpads themselves. He described the enormous metal blast shields that were now being hydraulically raised from the floor, presumably to prevent the Mahdi and his guests from being incinerated upon launch. He also noted the unique ceiling of the facility, which had some kind of gigantic levers and pulleys and other devices he didn’t quite know how to describe, all of which would evidently open on cue to allow the missiles to be fired into the afternoon sky.
Esfahani was marveling at it all when they heard General Jazini call for quiet and for all the guests to come forward to the missiles.
“Imam al-Mahdi is going to say a few words; then we have some business to attend to, and then the historic moment will commence.”
ROUTE 90, CENTRAL SYRIA
David quickly briefed Matt Mays over Fox’s satphone. Then he put Fox and Crenshaw each on the line to confirm they were all in agreement.
“You in?” David asked.
“Absolutely,” Mays replied. “Maybe we can get sent to the same prison.”
David smiled for what felt like the first time in days. “We should be so lucky, Matty.”
David could hear Mays unlocking the makeshift holding cell and calling Tolik Shalev and Gal Rinat to come out and sit with him. A moment later, Mays turned on the speakerphone and David briefed the two Israelis as quickly and concisely as he possibly could, even explaining the call he had made several hours earlier to the Mossad.
“So will you do it?” he asked when he was done.
“Of course,” said Tolik. “You really should have used us sooner.”
DAMASCUS, SYRIA
Gathered together in front of the launchpad for Missile Four were Ayatollah Hosseini, Syrian president Gamal Mustafa, General Jazini, and Dr. Birjandi, with Esfahani and Rashidi standing nearby, along with Dr. Zandi, numerous armed Revolutionary Guards, Syrian bodyguards, various other military officers and technicians, and both an official videographer and a still photographer.
To Esfahani’s shock, on the floor underneath the nozzle of this particular missile, both handcuffed and chained to the nozzle, lay a trembling and pale General Hamdi. The Twelfth Imam, meanwhile, stepped up on a small stand and began to speak.
“Gentlemen,” he began, for there were no women to be seen, “we have a traitor in our midst. General Hamdi is a mole. He is a betrayer of the Caliphate, and he must now die for his crimes. But rather than behead him, I have decided that he should burn in the fires of this rocket before he burns for all eternity in the fires of hell.”
Esfahani was glad they had caught the mole, but he had never imagined it would be Hamdi. He felt sorry for the man and shuddered to think of what his fate was going to be moments from now.
“That said, let us not allow the sins of General Hamdi here to distract us from this historic moment,” the Mahdi continued. “I have gathered you all here to celebrate the dawn of a new era in human history, the rise of the Caliphate that is consolidating power throughout the Islamic world and will soon—with Allah’s help—sweep across the planet. As I said in Mecca when I first revealed myself to the world, the age of arrogance and corruption and greed is over. A new age of justice and peace and brotherhood has come. It is time for Islam to unite. No longer do Muslims have the luxury of petty infighting and division. Sunnis and Shiites must come together. It is time to create one Islamic people, one Islamic nation, one Islamic government. It is time to show the world that Islam is ready to rule. We will not be confined to geographic borders, ethnic groups, or nations. Ours is a universal message that will lead the world to the unity and peace the nations have thus far found elusive.”
Esfahani trembled with anticipation.
“No longer will the blasphemous powers of the West subjugate Muslims with their armies and their laws,” the Mahdi boomed. “Nor will they defile our women and children with the toxic cultural pollution they pump into the air—their satanic movies and music and television programs and religious heresies. It is time for the peoples of the world to open their eyes and open their ears and open their hearts. It is time for mankind to see and hear and understand the power of Islam, the glory of Islam. For I have come to usher in a new kingdom. At the beginning, the governments of Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the Gulf States joined together as one nation. I noted at the time that these would form the core of the Caliphate. I promised then that in short order we would be announcing our expansion, and I have kept my word.”
The Twelfth Imam pointed to the six missiles behind him.
“I told those who would oppose us that this Caliphate would control half the world’s supply of oil and natural gas, as well as the Gulf and the shipping lanes through the Strait of Hormuz. I told our enemies that this Caliphate would have the world’s most powerful military, led by the hand of Allah. Furthermore, I told them that this Caliphate would be covered by a nuclear umbrella that would protect the people from all evil. At the time, the Islamic Republic of Iran had just successfully conducted a nuclear weapons test, their weapons were finally operational, and—thanks to our dear friend Ayatollah Hosseini—they had just handed over command and control of these weapons to me. Now, thanks to our dear friend President Farooq, our arsenal has been expanded manyfold. I warned the Zionists and the Americans that any attack by any state on any portion of the Caliphate would unleash the fury of Allah and trigger a War of Annihilation, and so it has. Today, we will show the world who we really are. We will erase the stain of the State of Israel from the map of the earth. We will begin to eradicate this cancer of the Jewish people from the global body politic, and we will not rest until every Jew and every Christian and every infidel of every kind bows to me and gives his praise to Allah.”
Esfahani was about to clap and cheer, but no one else was doing so. It was, he decided, too solemn and holy a moment.
“In a moment, we will pray and dedicate these weapons of life,” the Mahdi continued. “But first I want to acknowledge a special guest. You all know Dr. Alireza Birjandi as the world’s foremost expert on Islamic eschatology and the teacher whom Allah used to help people understand who the Twelfth Imam is, why I would return, how I would return, and why it would matter. I asked him to come here today to see the culmination of all his writings, to see the prophecies truly come to pass. I know he cannot literally see these things, but this is only because Allah has taken away his physical sight in order to give him something more precious—a supernatural ability to see the spiritual world more clearly than anyone else but me. So I welcome you, Dr. Birjandi. I honor you for your service to Allah, for helping to prepare the way for me. And I look forward to making you a valued member of my kingdom in the days and weeks and years ahead.”
At this, all the assembled VIPs and staff erupted in sustained applause. Esfahani was touched by how humble Birjandi was, how he shook his head and seemed genuinely uncomfortable with all the attention.
“Dr. Birjandi, we have only moments,” the Mahdi added. “But would you say a few words before we begin?”
There was more applause that echoed through the cavernous facility, and Esfahani helped Birjandi walk over to the missile and step up on the small podium, while the Mahdi stepped aside several paces. The old man stood there for a moment, cleared his throat, but seemed to hesitate.
“Please, Dr. Birjandi, share what is on your heart,” the Mahdi prompted.
Birjandi cleared his throat again and nodded. “Very well,” he said, “I will share what is on my heart. I must say that I agree that God has taken away my physical sight to give me spiritual eyes, and for this I am most grateful. Sometimes the truth is right in front of us, and most men cannot see it. But God rewards those who walk by faith and not by sight. God rewards those who seek the truth with all their heart and soul and mind and strength. When we know the truth, that truth will set us free. And I am here to declare to all of you today that in all my years of studying the end of days, I finally found the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and his name is Jesus Christ. I have given my life wholly and completely to him, and I implore each of you today to do so as well.”
Esfahani was aghast. What was Birjandi doing—and why now of all moments? The Twelfth Imam was not offended, however; he was enraged.
“Alireza, what are you saying?” the Mahdi demanded. “Do you dare renounce Islam and speak such blasphemies in my presence? Do you dare—?”
But Birjandi cut in and insisted that he was not speaking blasphemies, that he was not speaking lies but only speaking of each man’s desperate need to receive Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord and renounce all others.
“Do not dare interrupt me, Alireza!” the Mahdi bellowed. “You are here at my invitation, and I am grateful for your contributions to the Revolution. But you will bow before me and beg me for my pardon. No one interrupts me and certainly not today.”
“I will not bow to you, Ali,” Birjandi retorted, using the Mahdi’s never-used name. “I will bow only to the one true God, and that is not you. Ali, you are not the true Messiah. You are a false messiah, and today you and all who follow you will face the judgment of the living God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of Israel, the God and Father of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the one true Messiah.”
Esfahani gasped. Horrified and perplexed all at once, he instinctively took several steps back, away from Birjandi, as did the others.
“General Hamdi is not guilty of betraying you, Ali,” Birjandi continued. “You are guilty of betraying us all, of leading millions into evil with false teaching, witchcraft, and sorcery.” Then Birjandi raised his blind gaze and seemed to address all those gathered in the hangar. “I am not a follower of the Mahdi. I am a follower of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and in the name of Christ I bring the word of the Lord to you: Repent. Turn away from this wickedness. Judgment is coming. Damascus is about to be destroyed, as is your false kingdom built upon lies. You do not have much time. You must repent and turn to Christ for salvation. He will forgive you. He will save you from this devil. But you must repent now, before it is too late.”
Esfahani was shifting from shock to rage. He couldn’t believe what this beloved mentor was saying. Birjandi had gone crazy. He didn’t know how or when, but all Esfahani could see was red. This was the mole. This was the betrayer. It was clear to him. It must be clear to all of them. But just as he decided to attack the old man and shut his mouth and beat him to death for daring to blaspheme here in the presence of the Mahdi, he saw General Jazini—eyes wild with rage—draw his pistol, lunge for the old man, and put a bullet between his eyes.
Birjandi snapped backward. The back of his head exploded. His body collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled. The old man was clearly dead, but Esfahani couldn’t help himself. He, too, lunged forward and began beating the body like a man possessed.
50
ROUTE 90, CENTRAL SYRIA
David silently prayed for Birjandi. At least the old man was at Al-Mazzah. He was on the inside. He knew what was happening. Maybe there was some way he could stop the launch or at least stall it. It wasn’t much to count on at this late hour, but it increasingly seemed all they had.
David and his team were fast approaching the junction with Route 53. That meant the outskirts of Damascus were less than an hour away. There was nothing more to do, David told himself, but wait and pray that the Israelis got the message and launched their attack. He also prayed for Marseille and his father and then for Torres’s wife and two little daughters. He couldn’t imagine the pain that would hit them when they heard the news of Marco’s death. But he was so grateful to the Lord that at least he’d had the opportunity to share the gospel with Torres and that Torres’s heart had been so open and that he’d said yes to Christ.
And then it dawned on David that not only was there more he could do, but there was something he had to do and thus far had failed to. He had to share the gospel with Fox and Crenshaw, too, and quickly. He realized he had no idea what their spiritual backgrounds were, but how could he forgive himself if he did not do all he could in the next few moments to share with them the Good News of forgiveness and eternal life through faith in Jesus Christ? God had given David a great gift, a great treasure, and David had offered it to Torres. Now he urgently needed to offer it to these two dear men as well.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “it has been a great honor to go into battle with you. I couldn’t have asked for a better team. And I need to say something to you both that I told Marco before he died. . . .”
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
Zvi Dayan burst into Levi Shimon’s office. The defense minister was on a call and put up his hand, motioning for Dayan to wait.
Shimon covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “I’m on with London—MI6. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“It can’t wait,” Dayan said.
“It’ll have to.”
Dayan reached over and depressed the disconnect button on the desktop console, severing the connection.
Shimon cursed and jumped to his feet. “What the—?”
“Levi, listen to me—I just heard from one of my men inside Iran.”
“Mordecai?”
“No, Cyrus.”
“This had better be good.”
“It is—he confirmed both warheads are in Syria,” Dayan breathlessly explained. “He says a CIA team took out a convoy carrying one nuke in northern Syria, not far from the Iraqi border. The other, Cyrus says, is at Al-Mazzah Air Force Base in Damascus. What’s more, he says the Mahdi is there at the base, along with Ayatollah Hosseini, President Mustafa, and, presumably, all the Pakistani launch codes the Mahdi just got from Farooq in Kabul.”
“Can he prove it?” the defense minister asked.
“Not in the time we have,” Dayan said.
“Do you trust him?”
“Absolutely,” said Dayan.
“He’s one of my best men.”
“A mole?”
“No, an Israeli, a sabra—one of us.”
Shimon closed his eyes for a moment. Launching a preemptive strike on Iran was one thing. Launching a preemptive strike on Syria was still another. But this did appear to be confirmation from a second source. The prime minister was likely to order the attack any moment regardless. Now all signs were pointing to Al-Mazzah as the best target.
“Okay, get the PM on the line,” the defense minister finally said. “If he’s going to go, he’s got to go now.”
DAMASCUS, SYRIA
“Silence!” the Mahdi shouted. “Silence. Allah is the one true God, and you have no need to fear. Allah can see the traitors in our midst, and he will bring them to judgment. This is war, gentlemen. Our enemies are everywhere. Many are deceived. Few are chosen to know and follow the path to Allah. But you are. You know the truth. You know that Islam is the answer, jihad is the way, Muhammad is our prophet, and I am your savior. Stay focused. Do not let the enemy distract you. Not now. Not when we are so close to victory. You must pray for strength, for the courage to submit to the will of Allah, no matter what the cost. Come, I will lead you into his presence, and together we will dedicate these missiles to achieving Allah’s will.”
Several guards pulled Esfahani off Birjandi’s body. Esfahani was covered in blood. He was shaking with rage. He could barely hear what the Mahdi was saying. But he followed suit as the others got down on their knees, faced Mecca, and prayed for victory in the War of Annihilation.
When they were finished, the Mahdi stepped down. General Jazini then directed his men to push the body of Dr. Birjandi next to General Hamdi, directly under the nozzle of the nuclear-armed Scud. The general desperately protested that he was not the traitor in their midst, that Birjandi was, but neither Jazini nor the others would listen. Then Jazini directed everyone to the rear of the facility, behind the blast shields, and into steel and concrete bunkers, where they would be able to watch the launch of all six missiles through specially treated and reinforced glass, as well as on multiple video monitors and radar tracking displays.
Damascus Countdown Page 43