Tehran Decree
Page 13
President Jenkins stood at the head of the table in the White House situation room along with the joint chiefs of staff, the military chiefs, the directors of the CIA, FBI and the National Security Agency.
To his right were the acting White House chief of staff and security advisor, both newly appointed yes men, virtually without portfolio, as far as the rest of the luminaries were concerned. Jenkins had now taken to raising hands in all important vote issues, with the full knowledge that he had the numbers. He read out the latest communiqué from Australia.
The terrorists or Black Islamic Brigade (BIB), as they are now openly calling themselves -- no reference to skin colour by the way -- are flying out of Australia with the US president in a chartered Lear Jet. The aircraft has been modified to carry extra fuel tanks, and they will be landing away from public terminals. The jet will refuel at Darwin, Singapore, and Muscat, before finally landing in Tehran,’ the chief of the air force jerked his head in Jenkin’s direction.
‘We can have a fully functional fighter force with refuelable air support ready to go in thirty minutes sir.’
‘Good, but at this stage we need something a little less drastic, we’ll just keep the fighter force on hold for the moment,’ the air force chief bit his lip
‘Thankfully the presidential security advisor and chief of staff were spared and will be flying back to the US in a few days time,’ a subdued cheer erupted around the table, it was the only bit of good news from the entire hostage debacle.
‘Now gentleman, at last we have some measure of control. We will of course be shadowing the Learjet all the way to the Iranian border, from there onwards, the president will be lost to us in mind and body, however his location will still be accessible to us. As you are all aware by now we have applied the classified high-tech DS302 monitoring device to the president -- he is now unwittingly our virtual ears and eyes,’ Jenkin’s squinted sharply at his air force chief.
‘What are our nuclear options in this case general.’
‘Well sir, the most sensible response might be a small to medium tactical nuclear device. This would wipe out most substantial buildings within a radius of one kilometer and create one hundred percent fatalities at five hundred metres around ground zero.’
‘I see, that would be a good tit for tat political counter measure for the elimination of 4000 US troops and the abduction of the president, and if that isn’t a multiple act of war against the United States I don’t know what is,’ the joint chief frowned dramatically.
‘What we do need now is a suitable target option sir.’
‘We have one...our president has unequivocally volunteered. By the time we’re in position to deliver the weapon he’ll be on trial in Iran,’ the defence chief looked up from his notes.
‘But surely Mr. president, you don’t intend to unleash this on the Iranian general assembly. All the members of the supreme council, the Supreme Leader and the president will all be annihilated.’
‘Exactly -- casualties of war -- the Iranians next stop could well be a nuclear attack on Washington. With just one clean strike we can wipe out the whole Iranian leadership before they do the same to us,’ the chief of the army shook his head in bewilderment.
‘Couldn’t we just tell them not to put the president on trial or they’ll all burn in hell.’
‘Look George, we’re not playing tiddlywinks, we will probably never get a chance like this again. One quick surgical strike is all we need, and its all over. The main contender in the axis of evil will be vanquished forever,’the chief of the air force brightened and leaned forward in his chair.
‘Possibly the best way to deliver such a strike sir is by a remote controlled drone aircraft.’
‘You mean a hi-tech flying bomb -- a drone with a lethal payload in it’s nose.’
‘Exactly sir, we could bring it in on a low trajectory and home in on the DS302 homing device, then terminate it on contact with the target,’ Jenkins looked perceptively at his air force chief.
‘I presume this would be a conventional explosive device with a limited destructive capacity.’
‘Yes sir...we wouldn’t want to kill too many civilians,' Jenkin’s frowned.
‘The whole purpose of this exercise is to produce maximum casualties rates in order to wipe out the ruling Iranian elite. If we can’t achieve that, there is no point in continuing with the project. Of course it needs to be a surgical strike, but we need a weapon with a powerful killing range, the deaths of a few civilians is inevitable,’ Jerkins pondered for a short while on his next statement.
‘We will of course have to occupy the country and set up a regime favourable to the United States. The national security director suddenly perked up...
‘Is that wise sir...it could result in a new Asian conflagration involving all the Muslim states.’
‘I have considered that director, and if we silence the ruling Iranian elite, then, we have no choice but to invade on a temporary basis. There will be a need to initially bomb Iran’s nuclear facility at Bushier on the coast, to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.’
‘But this is initially an economic agreement with Russia and Iran sir...the debt is enormous...it is certain to infuriate the Russians.’
‘True, but since this facility is being funded by the Russians, they will want some input here...it gives them an excuse to put troops into Iran...which of course is the last thing we want. If the facility is destroyed then there is less chance of Russian troops being sent there.’
‘I can’t agree with that sir...isn’t this also a good reason to send Russian troops into Iran -- this will come back to haunt us sir,’ Jenkins smiled knowingly,
‘Doesn’t every significant policy decision do that, one way or another? I might as well say what we’re all thinking anyway; Iran is better off as a controlled low-tech nation, rather than an out of control high-tech nation. Bare in mind gentleman, Iran is also designated as one of the controlling partners in the axis of evil, if we remove the major partner, it will break up this vicious axis.’
The national security director looked more flustered than usual, and forcefully twisted his features, as if he desperately wanted to get something off his mind.
‘There’s an ancient Jewish proverb Mr. president...‘if you live for revenge dig a grave for two,’ Jenkins stifled a sneer.
‘Well in that case director, we’d better dig graves for the entire American nation, because every hot blooded American worth his or her salt will want a killing over this.’
Chapter Thirty-four
The modified Lear Jet 60 carrying the BIB terrorists now had an effective nonstop range of 5000 miles, nearly three times its normal capacity. The downside to this dramatic upgrade was a reduction in speed of 100 mph to 490 mph and large modified fuel tanks. The aircraft was now on the penultimate leg of its flight with Muscat as the next refueling stop.
Kazeni and Sharazi sat directly opposite president Garner who was handcuffed to the seat with the rest of the BIB who were bedded down in the rear of the plane.
Kazeni took a concerted interest in his victim for the first time, after reading an article in one of the planes in-flight magazines stowed away in the front pocket of his seat . His continual staring began to annoy Garner, and he tried hard not to show displeasure in his face. Kazeni began to compare a photo of the president in the magazine with the real thing in front of him.
So this was the prize -- the president of the United States -- his face was ashen and his blue tinged lips were trembling. He looked anything but the ultimate leader of the western world. He seemed much older then his media photos and TV appearances. The makeup crew must have done a cracking job on what seemed to be a rapidly ageing man.
Stripped of his presidential powers, and now a mere non entity, he was little more than a tragic figure head, but considering the faith and kudos the Americans placed in their leader, he had to be kept alive and kicking for the big payoff in Tehran, and indeed, the world, once they had him on trial.
He continued squinting silently at Garner, then suddenly took hold of his lapels, yanking him upright. His hand cuffs snagged on the seat arm causing Garner to yell in pain. Kazeni quickly removed them and tossed them on the floor. He brought his pistol close to Garner’s face then slashed it across his nose, breaking it in two places, blood poured out of both nostrils. Garner clutched his nose with both hands to stem the bleeding. He ripped a handkerchief from his top pocket and smothered his face with the generous linen material. Kazeni laughed outrageously.
‘I’ve always wanted to break the American president’s nose,’ Sharazi looked grimly at his boss.
‘Don’t do that Farid...we need him in pristine condition for the trial,’ Kazeni arranged his features into a sly grin.
‘We don’t really need to put him on trial at all,’ puzzlement crossed Sharazi’s face, and Kazeni decided it was time to elaborate.
‘You do realise who we have here: the Americans want him so badly they would go to war and sacrifice the lives of thousands of their young men. The political coup is so great that the supreme leader of Iran would pay a king’s ransom just to put him on trial in front of the whole world.’
‘What is your point Farid?’
‘To us he is just another man, and not a particularly great one either -- but a king’s ransom would repay us handsomely for our troubles,’ Sharazi squinted at his companion with uncomprehending eyes.
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting we sell him to the highest bidder...be it the Americans or the Supreme Leader,’ Sharazi walked away, shaking his head in bewilderment, he turned abruptly.
‘We can’t do this...it is not Allah’s will.’
‘No Habib, it is my will,’ for the first time Sharazi was seeing Kazeni’s true personality.
‘We will be annihilated when we get to Tehran.’
‘We’re not going to Tehran.’
‘Where then,’ Sharazi demanded in astonishment.
‘We’re stopping at Muscat...then we will go to a safe house on the outskirts of the city. There is a place ready waiting for us,’ Sharazi raised his head in surprise.
‘You have planned this from the very beginning Farid,’ Kazeni frowned.
‘Lets not get too politically correct Habib...we are all human with human needs.
‘But your promises and devotion to Allah and the Jihad,'
‘That’s wonderful stuff if you like a cause to cling to, but it’s not for me. It never has been and never will be, my emotional needs have always come first. Of course, I will die for a cause, but that cause must be greater than life itself. For me Allah is a mere mental contrivance which takes away your mind and allows others to manipulate you. If I am to die then it must be something that satisfies both my intellectual and emotional criteria, and that something is freedom.’
‘So you think that freedom is greater than life itself?’
‘Without freedom life is merely existence, but to exist with total freedom is paradise on earth.’
‘But surely to die for Allah is paradise in heaven,’ he looked perceptively at Sharazi.
‘Believe that if you will Habib...but remember, death is the end of the physical world, and if there is no heaven, then you are bound for eternal oblivion.
From now on we follow a different course, the US and Iranian authorities will be given fresh instructions. The first country to offer fifty billion dollars will get the president. However, if the other country offers a higher sum, then they will get America’s top man.’
Sharazi turned away not wanting further discourse with the man who was once his mentor and had now turned into a greedy non believer -- worse than the infidels they had taken the president from.
He made his way to the rear of the aircraft and wrenched the toilet door open looking for space to brood. Sitting on the latrine outlet, he stared into the polished steel mirror, looking for a sign from Allah. Anything, to guide him, for his faith had been badly mauled by a man he once admired, a man whose devotion and commitment had seemed absolute.
The harder he stared into the mirror the more inanimate his image became -- like looking at a dummy in a tailors shop. Life had all but drained from his face -- the only thing that seemed out of place was the stubby plastic aerial on his satellite phone, which swung loosely from his breast pocket.
It was the only thing in the mirror image that craved attention, because of its movement, and it was the only thing that could get him out of the mess he was in -- Allah had given him a sign. The phone was his only contact with the outside world and the only thing that could change the predicament he was in. He keyed in the Australian police number, the one they had used to speak to the Australian police in the tunnel, it was the only number he could vividly remember off by heart. A long pause and a man with an Australian accent came on the line.
‘Hello, commander Steve Dennison speaking.’
‘Hello commander, this is Habib Sharazi...I am one of the terrorist who abducted the president in the tunnel. Please, I beg of you, to put me in touch with someone of high authority now,’ at the other end Dennison fumbled nervously with his phone and cleared his throat.
‘Give me your mobile number,’ Sharazi quickly ran off the mobile number. A sudden urgent tap on the toilet door unnerved him.
‘Hurry please, I have to go’ someone shouted outside the door in Farsi.
‘A few more minutes please,’ he shouted back in Farsi.
His mobile sounded alarmingly as another louder voice came on the phone..
‘Hello police minister Jones here.’
‘Hello this is Habib Sharazi minister.You must listen to me carefully if you want the US president back. Farid Kazeni has changed the conditions, he wants a ransom of at least fifty billion dollars US for the president from the US or Iran. But if one of them outbids the other he will give them the president.
We are landing at Muscat and we will take the president to a hiding place on the outskirts of the city. Please send a team of competent armed men if you wish to rescue the president. I will try to keep you informed and let you know where we are,’ Sharazi pressed the end call key on his phone, flushed the toilet, then opened the door.
A member of the BIB stood just outside and gave Sharazi a mock smile.
‘Was it a big one Habib?’
‘Yes...’he expanded his open hands, ‘it was that big, I pray to Allah it doesn't land in a Muslin's lap,’ his fellow terrorist entered the toilet smiling effusively.
Sharazi sat in the back of the aircraft out of Kazeni’s sight and began to think about the situation he found himself in. Everything had suddenly changed, Farid had turned everything on its head -- he, Habib Sharazi, was now a police informant, and worst of all, he had betrayed Allah according to BIB beliefs. Instead of being a BIB terrorist he was now a traitor to the cause and to himself, but Allah would surely forgive a man who betrayed a non believer.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ex-commishioner Clement Chester was a tin shed man, and spent long periods in his large corrugated building at the rear of his Balmain house. Rosey his wife had gone to the Ladies Club International Night with one of her best cooking creations and would not be back until 12 midnight.
It was all good news for Clement as he followed the news and footy channels on his computer. He had recently purchased a TV tuner stick which gave easy access to most TV channels via his XP laptop computer.
The Tunnel terrorist attack by BIB was all over, the news and the presidential hostage situation the authorities had waxed and waned over had created one compromising stuff up after another. They now had the temerity to blame him for the tunnel debacle which had left at least eighty police and over hundred and fifty secret service men dead and they were still
picking up the pieces.
He had watched the progress of the incident ever since his dismissal on all the news channels, faithfully recording the ones he couldn’t watch immediately. They had not done any better since they had dismissed him, the NSW commissioner of police, in fact, they had well and truly buggered things up. The latest news broadcast had signaled the release of most hostages but not the US president, which is what the terrorists wanted anyway.
They were a lot of limp dicks pissing in the wind and he was glad to be out of it in his forced retirement.
Although he relished his retirement the circumstances surrounding it had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Vengeance was a cruel agitator and would not let go of his addled brain. They had humiliated him, all of them, after forty loyal years of service to the police force. The very last thing one needed in retirement was a ready made set of demons.
Every night he would go through the tunnel fiasco reenacting the whole damned thing in his mind, creating better scenarios that would have worked had he been given another chance, but one could not rewind reality, life wasn’t a rehearsal for something better -- it just happened and that was it -- take it or leave it.
He had long and terrible periods of recrimination which frequently lead to severe depression and had smoked marijuana cigarettes to alleviate it, but this often made the depression even worse...and of late, suicide had entered his mind to end the unbearable dark nights.
Strangely, the actual thought of committing suicide temporarily relieved his depression, but it always came back when the brain was cheated of actual reality, it was as if relief could only be satisfied by the physical act of suicide itself.
Switching through the TV channels, he pointing the remote, sitting upright in his patchwork armchair, a survivor from his training days at the police academy.
He continued to change channels picking out the worst cases of police ineptitude during the tunnel siege and verbally criticised them between sups of beer and long draws on his marijuana cigarette.