Tehran Decree

by James Scorpio

‘They kindly offered to be coffin bearers, and I thanked them with all my heart,’ she broke down completely and pressed the ‘end-call’ button.

  Jensen thought about Mrs. Chester’s revealations for a while, then keyed in Duttons number.

  ‘Hello Jeff, can you get to the Sydney Town Hall pronto -- we’re going to a funeral,’ Jansen closed his mobile, watched the rain spatter on his windscreen, then unfolded his mobile and keyed in the police minister’s number.

  ‘Hello sir...commander Jansen here, I understand the American secret service are filling in as coffin bearers for Clement’s funeral.’

  ‘That’s right commander, it wasn’t my idea, Mrs. Chester insisted they take over. I would have preferred our own chosen officers, after all they’re the men who served under commissioner Chester -- but she insisted.’

  ‘Where are these men now sir.’

  ‘Well they’ve been reassigned to other duties of course.’

  ‘Could you get then back together at the funeral sir discreetly armed with Glock pistols.’

  ‘Now look commander, we’re supposed to be having a very civil ceremony known as a state funeral, it is a national ceremony of some importance. I don’t want armed police intimidating or harassing any of the mourners especially the VIP’s’

  ‘That’s all right sir, the men would be discreetly parked outside the cathedral.’

  ‘They had better be...I presume you have a very good reason for this gung-ho display commander...because if you haven’t, you’ll be off the case quicker then you can say kiss my arse.’

  ‘I understand sir, but I have a terrible gut feeling about this funeral. I believe it to be a set up.’

  ‘A set up for what?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, I only have a part of the puzzle, and there are some little pieces missing.’

  ‘All right commander, I’ll have them deployed around the cathedral, but don’t forget, this is a national occasion and it will be televised live all over Australia, as well as possible global coverage.’

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Mrs. Chester had resigned herself to spending the day in the best room, sitting comfortably on her leather suite and occasionally praying for Clement’s soul in front of a small crucifix on the sideboard. She needed a little coaxing to bring herself into the right mood to grieve her husband of forty years -- it was a long time, and she had often wondered if it had been worth it. Still, she had made her bed, and she now had to lie in it, as usual.

  Her senses were sluggish and somehow she couldn’t bring herself to feel bereaved, even after four decades with the man she was supposed to have loved. She seemed to need a kick start...something that evoked her feelings. Incense seemed to be appropriate, it played directly on the olfactory senses, and smell was one of her preferred brain stimulating organs. She just loved perfume and had a huge collection of all the prominent perfumery products.

  She lit several sticks of incense pushing them into a holder, then put the box back into the top drawer of the cabinet.

  It was then she noticed the large envelope on the cabinet, it had been delivered the previous day but she hadn’t had time to open it. She ripped the top off and pulled out the contents -- it was Clement’s police association tie and badge rolled up in a set of white handkerchiefs accompanied by a scribbled not from the funeral parlor.

  To Mrs. Chester

  Sorry to worry you with small details, but you left these things in the office. I’m sure they would be of sentimental value to you at this time.

  Kind Regards

  Staff

  Thorpe and Wardle

  It had been Clement’s express wish that he be buried with in his best suit and police association badge and tie. She threw her hands in the air, looked in the mirror, and mouthed a few words at the reflection.

  ‘My god, you stupid buggers, Clement isn’t wearing his official Police Association badge and tie,’ She had left express instructions to enclose the items in the coffin next to Chester’s heart. Some silly assistant had forgot to pass on the instructions.

  She looked at her watch trying to work out where Clement would be at this particular moment -- her subconscious provided a double pronged answer -- he would be locked in the coffin at the cathedral in the middle of his funeral service, or...he might still be at the funeral parlour awaiting shipment. She shoved the tie and badge in her hand bag, dashed down to the garage, jumped in the SUV, revved up the engine, and pulled out into the traffic.

  Chapter Sixty-five

  The prestigeous funeral directors of Thorpe and Wardle had been through a busy week, with several well healed cadavers to deal with. The senior director, Arnold Benton, had just put the phone down after yet another elaborate funeral arrangement for the following week.

  It was an apprehensive time and he felt obliged to pour himself a double Scotch from his office drinks cabinet. The internal intercom buzzed and the receptionist passed on a message.

  ‘There’s a Mrs. Chester here to see you sir urgently.’

  ‘Thank you Susan, tell her to come straight in will you.’

  Mrs. Chester came bounding in and stood bolt upright in front of him.

  ‘I’m sick to the back teeth of telling other people how to do their fucking jobs Mr. Benton. I clearly informed the staff here to dress Clement in his best suit and police association tie, and to fix his association badge on his left lapel next to his heart. Non of this had been done -- are all your staff bloody stupid or something?’ Benton tried to smile sympathetically and reached for the internal phone

  ‘Before you issue any more pointless orders...is my husband Chester still here?’ Benton stared open mouthed at the woman he had done business with over the last two weeks. A distinct character change had occurred. Instead of the polite intellectual female he’d gotten used to, he was now confronted by a glaring, overbearing, foul mouthed woman. He forced himself to reply in his usual funeral directors dignified voice.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation Mrs. Chester -- your husband’s body left here over half and hour ago -- as you can see, his coffin is resting in the nave of St. Mary’s cathedral,’ he pointed to the large panel LCD TV monitor situated on the wall some three metres above Benton’s desk, which was tuned into the state funeral service.

  Mrs. Chester stood transfixed, her eyes glued to the TV panel. It was a service she never wanted to see, but her trained mind completely overruled any squeamishness she might have had. She had been trained by her mother to abhor improper dress in anyone, especially her own husband, who had specifically requested his best suit, tie and badge, to be worn at his own funeral.

  She turned and scowled at Benton, then took off, slamming the door behind her. In seconds she was on the freeway pumping the accelerator, and shouting obscenities at any vehicle that got in her way. St. Mary’s was still some distance away and Sydney’s notorious traffic build up had already begun.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  The sky was diffuse grey and a fine drizzle settled in on Sydney’s business centre, wetting the pavements into slippery sheets, the city hummed with activity. Strangely, inclement weather was welcome by many people, since it set the stage for a sad, but memorable funeral. How many people actually remembered a grand funeral on a hot summers day -- it was the wet foggy days that stuck in ones memory. Funerals had that tinge of horror about them, it symbolised death -- the last act of nature against the arrogance of mankind. It demonstrated who ultimately ruled the roost. It was so decisive, so final, so unalterable. Nature went on her irrevocable course regardless of what men did; mankind was a temporary phenomena, but nature was as permanent as you could get in this physical world.

  St. Mary’s cathedral symbolised all of this with her twin, two toned spires, glistened above the melee of people who continued to arrive for the state funeral of Sydney’s most well known lawman. To the people in the street, Commissioner Clement Chester was a saint, and woe betide anyone who spoke differently, but the police and government ha
d a different story to tell -- but it didn’t matter. In the long run public sentiment said it all and the man who had sold his soul to cannabis and the BIB, would now dominate the nations media and their conscience.

  It didn’t end there, for even in death, and given the right circumstances, he could bring down the government and destroy Sydney’s police force from the top down or the bottom up. And the irony of it all was that he would now be afforded the grand state funeral of a super hero. Political expediency could collectively change the morals of a nation or turn a monumental falsehood into an inviolable truth.

  At Sydney airport the drizzle had increased to a steady downpour and some flights had been delayed due to the rough weather -- only designated VIP flights had priority.

  Vice President Jenkins and his entourage had pulled a few sensitive strings and his flight from Tasmania was one of the last to be allowed to land.

  Jenkins declined both an official and a full media reception and landed some distance from the airport buildings. Three hired limousines met the 747C and whisked the entourage away to a private customs screening, and one of Sydney’s five star hotels within cruising distance of St. Mary’s Cathedral.

  The funeral service had just commenced as Jenkin’s and his security detail quietly made their way into the lofty cathedral. The police minister had discreetly briefed the officers on duty to allow the Americans free access within reason. Duty security clearance officers were bombarded with US photo ID’s as the Americans solemnly walked in and lined up at the back of the cathedral.

  The holy edifice was crammed with police officials and political luminaries. Celebrities abounded and it was amazing how many well heeled high flyers Chester just happened to know during his life time.

  The Archbishop of Sydney gave a short introductory eulogy, allowing more time for the many tributes, and personal dedications, by a host of well wishes still to come.

  The strained notes of Chester’s favourite hymn reverberated around the huge nave and the congregation spontaneously burst into song.

  Abide with me fast falls the evening tide

  The darkness deepens Lord with me abide...

  Many eyes and faces in the congregation began to sparkle as light caught the myriad flow of tears. The hymn itself evoked deep emotions particularly in the elderly members of the parish. Perhaps it was because most seniors began to realise their days on earth were numbered after all, and their demise was now rapidly approaching -- it was something to cry about -- since death didn’t happen everyday...but it would surely happen to them in the near future.

  Even the police minister shed a few genuine tears -- not because he cared for the plight of Clement Chester, but because he wanted an excuse to cry and let out his own pent-up emotions.

  It was Beatle, Ringo Starr, who said he felt that fans used the Beatles as an excuse to go mad, and release their inhibited emotions, rather than pay homage to their music. Many people did exactly the same thing that day and used the occasion to relieve themselves of their emotional baggage. If one person openly shed tears then it was okay for the next person to do so, and this had the usual human knock on effect all the way down the line -- until, as they say, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  It was during this poignant moment that Mrs. Chester chose to enter the cathedral armed with Clement’s police association tie and lapel badge. Without these adornments Chester was improperly dressed in a public place and this was the ultimate faux pas in her eyes. She stopped in her tracks; the coffin lid was well and truly screwed down with a peripheral row of high quality brass screws, which skirted the edge of the coffin lid. She rummaged in her hand bag, producing an over size nail file, and continued on her relentless march towards Clement’s coffin.

  ‘By hook or by crook he’ll be properly dressed,’ she mouthed to herself as she reached the coffin. Gaining a foot hold on the bier, with supreme effort, she levered herself on top of the coffin, and began to unscrew the brass screws with her nail file one by one.

  Jenkins stared at her in horror along with the whole congregation. He looked sharply at his secret service agents, and flicked his head towards the coffin, indicating Mrs. Chester’s prompt removal. Several of the agents converged on the coffin trying desperately to grab her -- she lashed out with the nail file drawing blood from two of the men.

  Jenkins had developed his own simple body language with his closet minders and he eyeballed his agents again flicking his head towards the large doors, indicating complete removal of the coffin to the hearse outside. The agents formed up three on each side of the coffin and lifted it and Mrs. Chester off the bier, then began an unsteady march toward the great doors, with Mrs. Chester kicking her legs and squealing as she held on to the coffin lid.

  She continued undaunted on her relentlessly quest to dress Clement in his badge and tie; she was now down to the last eight brass screws. The lid showed signs of movement and she turned and started to pull at the top end where Clement’s upper torso resided.

  Jenkins moved forward, his attention anchored on Mrs. Chester’s antics, he got to the top of the aisle blocking the exit. Suddenly he dropped down into the semi crouch position, looked quickly around him, then pulled a service pistol from a concealed body holster.

  The coffin lid was beginning to vibrate and threatened to detach itself from the body of the coffin. Jenkins clipped a pencil laser site to the top of his pistol and took careful aim, locating the laser dot on Mrs. Chester’s bust, then fired off a volley of shots at her.

  She squealed again as the bullets tore through her chest and propelled her backwards into the milling crowd of onlookers.

  Jenkins quickly concealed his pistol and ushered his men and the coffin out of the cathedral. A group of police with their weapons drawn closed in on the entrance.

  Jenkins held up his arm and pointed into the cathedral.

  ‘Quickly...there’s a mad man in there...’ The police rushed in as the congregation rushed out, creating a writhing mass of humanity blocking the great doorway.

  The bearers hurried down the steps and pushed the coffin into the hearse, Jenkins signaled his men towards the motorcade.

  ‘Follow me,’ he snorted, as he climbed into the front seat of the hearse. Jenkin’s put the large automatic vehicle in drive and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The back wheels squealed alarmingly generating a huge volume of acrid white smoke. This summoned a multitude of angry police officers who came charging out of the cathedral doors, their guns drawn. Several shots were fired at the smoke-screened vehicle as it turned into St. Mary’s Road and disappeared behind the cathedral. It was quickly followed by three other heavy, black Sudan's, packed with secret service agents.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Jansen parked his car opposite the cathedral and squinted incredulously at the milling crowd outside. Decimated flowers and wreaths were scattered all around. Men and police were arguing, woman were crying and throwing their arms in the air. Armed police were scattered everywhere trying to control the brawling congregation.

  Jansen looked at his Sergeant.

  ‘That must have been some funeral.’

  ‘I’d say so sir...takes me back to the Irish troubles.’

  ‘You were there then sergeant?'

  ‘Hell no, but we watched it at college on telly, and did a comprehension exercise on the worst riots over there.’

  A plain clothes police officer spotted Jansen and came over.

  ‘Hello commander, we’ve just had an incredible incident here...someone has shot Mrs. Chester during the service, and the US vice president, along with his security agents, have just hijacked Clement Chester’s coffin,’ Jenkins looked intently at the officer. The statement by itself sounded like a ridiculous sick joke, but if Jenkins had hijacked Chester’s coffin, there was one hell of a bloody good reason for it.

  Jensen pulled his gun and fired into the air -- it gave him the attention he needed.

  ‘Stop this stupid squabbling -- the man responsible f
or all this has just hijacked Chester’s coffin,’ he looked at the plain clothes officer, ‘get your men together...we’re going after Jenkins -- which way did he go?’

  ‘He turned into St. Mary’s Road and onto Crown Street. I’d say he was heading for the Pacific Highway.’

  ‘Good, then let’s get after him,’ Jansen got back in his car and half smiled at Dutton sitting in the front seat.

  ‘At last, it seems our impeccable vice president has made his first disastrous move, he’s stooped to body snatching,’ Dutton returned the smile, rubbed his chin and gunned the car ignition.

  It was fifteen minutes later after some tricky driving in precarious Sydney traffic that Jansen caught his first sighting of the hearse and accompanying black secret service SUVs. It always seemed strange to him that the choice of a secret service vehicle was always a black, highly polished SUV. This was about as anonymous as a pink convertible in a funeral procession and actually made it easier for him to keep tabs on the vehicle.

  Jansen checked the line of vehicles in the harbour tunnel as they neared the exit. There were at least six police vehicles behind him and another six in front, with no hearse in sight.

  Jenkin’s three car motorcade had made its way through the harbour tunnel exit just as the traffic came to a stop. Three minutes later they were cruising at substantial speed along the Pacific Highway.

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Sunlight glinted off the highly polished stainless steel tank of Brian Ralph’s pristine 3.5 thousand litre petrol tanker. It was exactly one week since it came out of the manufacturers workshop sparkling brand new. Custom made according to Ralphs specifications; it looked like a giant silver bullet with its sleek stainless steel lines and gleaming crimson fitments. After trading in his last rig in he still owed $200,000 dollars on the super tanker.