“Hello, professor, I wanted to compliment you on the thoroughness of your presentation. I found it most informative,” Sheep Dog said softly and with his eyes on his shoes.
Ayatollah Khamenei was annoyed, mainly because an interloper had invaded the privacy of his inhalation of a third cigarette. His choice—not surprisingly—was the Iranian Bahman and 57 brand which was produced by the state monopoly. The bright red pack featured the Farsi language on the pack front and English on the back side. Bahman is the eleventh month of the Iranian year. The number “57” represents the Iranian year 1357—1979 on the Gregorian calendar. The obsequiousness of the approach from a Westerner assuaged his pique, and he deigned to speak to the foreign kaffir.
“I am glad that you did. It is not often that we have a chance to speak candidly to outsiders, and it is even less common for such an outsider to understand and to appreciate our position. May I ask your name?”
“Angus McFarland…from Scotland.”
“I have visited Edinburgh frequently in the course of my work and of my training. Are you from there?”
“Yes, sir. I received my training there…my PhD from the university.”
“I was educated in the U.S., at Yale undergrad, and Harvard for my first PhD, and then Oxford for my second.”
“That is impressive. I am impressed that you could be accepted at not one, but two prestigious American universities. I am more impressed that you were then able to matriculate at Oxford. That would have required a most impressive record. And not one, but two PhDs. That is remarkable. Finally, you are not only a nuclear physicist, but also a renowned Islamic scholar in a country full of major religious scholars. It is a privilege to be able to learn from you, professor.”
“I prefer Ayatollah, but thank you for your kind words. I hope your stay in Iran has been a pleasant one. Now, however, we must get back to the lecture.”
The next segment of the lecture was a lengthy listing of all of the perfidy of the Zionist Entity—hundreds of unprovoked attacks, causing the wars between the Entity and its peace loving Muslim neighbors, and not least for betraying The Prophet, may his name be blessed.
“The most grievous of the attacks, the most unconscionable, were those by the Israeli Air Defense. To name but a few: the unprovoked and unwarranted attack on June 7, 1981 to destroy the Iraqi nuclear facilities of Osiraq; then on October 1 1985, the Israeli air force carried out bombing of the Palestine Liberation Organization headquarters in Tunis; after that the Israeli Air Force took an extensive part in IDF operations during the righteous al- Aqsa intifada, which was no more than a protest against the desecration of the Final Mosque. This outrage included targeted murders of peace-loving Palestinian leaders, most notably Salah Shakhade, Mahmoud Abu-Hunud, Abu Ali Mustafa, Ahmed Yassin, and Abed al-Aziz Rantissi. There was considerable collateral damage—the death and maiming of innocent civilians, in truth—in that nefarious raid. I could go on, but a fairly complete listing of the terrorism instituted and perpetuated by the Israeli murderers is being handed out to you. Keep it as a reminder of the truth.”
The professor took a swallow of water from a Bedu gourd.
“I need hardly say that the Islamic Republic of Iran will most vigorously oppose any incursions or attacks from the Zionist Entity. Let the Entity and its puppet master be informed on this day and hour that we will not sit idly by and be injured or destroyed. Iran is not a paper tiger. Do not underestimate our will or our power. While our nuclear research and preparations are peaceful in nature right now, further provocations—including the unwarranted so-called U.N. sanctions—will not be tolerated without more vigorous preparations or without a vigorous response.”
Ayatollah Khamenei continued his oration—which was now a bombastic peroration—until the break. As he had done earlier, the professor swiftly exited the lecture hall without announcement.
Again, Sheep Dog made his way apart from the other members of the IAEA delegation and onto the rear terrace. Again he wheedled his way to where the Ayatollah was standing in a personal cloud of cigarette smoke. He stood near to the man, but did not initiate conversation.
“Angus McFarland, are you offended by my remarks in there?”
“No, sir. You have every right to make your protest. I am sure that you know that most of intelligent and educated Europeans favor the Palestinians and their protectors in the great debate that is taking place. Few of us agree with the fact that the State of Israel was carved out of Muslim territory at such great hardship to the displaced. And—certainly—we do not condone Israel’s militant actions. For that matter, most Europeans do not condone the actions of America since World War II.”
“Pardon me, Dr. McFarland. The very word “Israel” causes offense. I am sure you did not intentionally wish to offend me, but please in future refer to that area as the “Zionist Entity”.
“Of course, professor. It was thoughtless of me.”
The two men talked about world politics, the place of Iran in that world, the decline of the West, and the moral decay seen outside the world of Islam. Sheep Dog was surprised and impressed to learn that the professor was completely up to date and an enthusiastic fan of World Cup Football. Sheep Dog was interested, but deferred to the professor’s expertise on that area of sport. Once Khamenei was able to divert his attention away from his dogmatisms, he proved to be affable, well informed, and interesting. They had a two-way conversation that did not get into politics, religion, or nuclear energy; and when it was time to return to the class room, they had advanced to a rather personable acquaintanceship.
Sheep Dog left the professor and re-took his aisle seat in the auditorium. The audience was tired and bored, and strongly desiring to get the harangue over with. The IAEA delegation had already admitted defeat and was anxious to get back to Europe and spread the gloom.
Professor Ayatollah Khamenei stood at the podium and collected his notes for a technical presentation.
“Now, we shall consider the subject that many of you have come for—Iran’s peaceful nuclear policy. As you well know, weapons grade uranium requires an 80% concentration, and I am here to inform you that the Iran Nuclear Development project has succeeded in achieving just over 10%. Even if we wanted to do so, we do not have the capability to make weapons. We do have sufficient low-grade uranium to begin plans for peaceful nuclear reactor operation, and will go on line in two months time. In addition, we do have self-defense short, medium, and long range missiles capable of neutralizing our enemies even without placing nuclear warheads on them. So, it must be readily apparent even to the most resistant among you that Iran is capable of defending itself against any and all attacks, and will not develop, import, or consider utilizing nuclear weapons. We demand protection by all peace loving nations from the hegemonist Zionist Entity.”
He seemed to be tiring, took a large swallow of water, and cleared his throat.
“Let me present the technical details, the material you can take back to your United Nations superiors. Hopefully, we can put this nonsense about Iran having nuclear weapons or other WMDs to a final rest.”
Khamenei spent another hour with a PowerPoint program describing in fully technical terms what Iran had done, what it envisioned, and what was expected from the United Nations. The calculus was over Sheep Dog’s head, and the subject was of minor interest to him, because he was convinced that it was nothing more than a web of lies. He tuned out the speaker and caught forty winks while still sitting upright.
The lecture concluded at long last, and Professor Khamenei exited promptly. The audience slowly began to leave the auditorium and to gather in the lobby. No one paid any attention to the Sheep Dog as he prepared to go to work.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sheep Dog walked briskly into the now empty hallway at the left of the auditorium and quickly made his way to the rear of the building. He fingered his weapon, feeling vulnerable because he had not been able to bring in a gun or a knife. For the first part of his operation, he would have
to be the weapon.
This time as he sauntered out onto the terrace, the guard on the left was not there, and the guard on the right paid him little heed since he had talked to the Ayatollah twice already that morning. The guard turned away from Sheep Dog and leaned out over the right protective rail to enjoy a Bistoon cigarette. He took a deep drag, held it, and was about to exhale, when Sheep Dog silently stepped up behind him, took hold of his chin and occiput and broke his neck. The guard was dead before he could cry out, even before he could register contact or pain. Sheep Dog quickly looked around to see if he had generated any on-lookers. Satisfied that he had not, he lifted the large man up and over the guard rail. The corpse landed with scarcely a sound on the pavement of the garbage collection area below. It lay hidden among a large pile of black garbage bags. The uniformed corpse was altogether camouflaged lying there among similar colored plastic bags.
This time when Sheep Dog looked at the terrace, he saw the professor occupying his usual place and enjoying his usual Bahman and 57. He was experiencing a rather severe bout of smoker’s cough and paid no attention to Sheep Dog. The guard on the left had returned from what Sheep Dog presumed had been a head call and was standing bored and sleepy in his assigned place.
Sheep Dog moved slowly and deliberately along the face of the building, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. The guard turned away from him to spit over the guard rail, and Sheep Dog took advantage of the momentary inattention to dart behind the large plant bed. The dwarf junipers stood over six feet tall, and ground cover and flowers obscured the guard’s view of the Sheep Dog as he moved swiftly to the end of the bed. This put him three feet away from the guard, and he maintained a statue-like immobility and silence as he watched for the guard to afford him another opportunity.
The Revolutionary Guard sergeant pulled out a pack of Bahman and 57’s and lit up. He took a large drag on the cigarette and exhaled a pungent fog of aromatic smoke that covered his face. Sheep Dog covered the three foot distance between him and the guard and swept a rigid palm under the man’s chin with all of the force he could muster. The man’s head cocked back in sudden and extreme extension. The sound of bones snapping was audible for several feet around. Sheep Dog caught the guard’s body before it could hit the ground, and stood holding it as he checked to see if the professor had heard the bones breaking. Apparently, he had not. Sheep Dog dragged the lifeless body to the edge of the railing and surveyed the ground below. Directly beneath them sat two cars. The noise of the corpse landing on one or the other of them would be too much. Sheep Dog moved the corpse to the very back of the railing where there was nothing but concrete below and hoisted it up and over the edge. The body struck the ground with a satisfyingly muted thump. The assassin turned his full attention back to the professor.
As he had done on two previous encounters that morning, Sheep Dog—in the innocent appearing guise of Dr. Angus McFarland, liberal European scientist—sauntered at a leisurely pace up to his new-found friend and congratulated him on the success of his lecture that morning.
“You must be tired, Ayatollah. It is a strain, I think, to give such a long and complicated lecture. The mathematics alone exact a considerable amount of energy.”
“I take it you are speaking from experience, doctor.”
Sheep Dog leaned in towards the Ayatollah to be able to hear him better. He grasped the plastic syringe and unsheathed the needle, carefully avoiding contact with the sharp point. He started to speak as the Ayatollah exhaled a puff of delicious smoke.
“Fine way to relax.”
He drove the two inch long needle into the buttocks of the Ayatollah and depressed the plunger fully injecting 10 ccs of succinyl choline deep intramuscularly. He knew his victim would not be able to cry out or to retaliate; so, Sheep Dog stood stock still against the Ayatollah to catch him as soon as the neuromuscular paralytic drug took its full effect.
Sheep Dog had underestimated the diminutive fighter he had just attacked. To his great surprise and terrible chagrin, the Ayatollah whipped a razor knife across the Sheep Dog’s belly opening a ten inch gash through his epidermis and dermis. As the drug took its full effect, and the Ayatollah collapsed, blood gushed from Sheep Dog’s wound.
Fighting off the shock of the unexpected attack, Sheep Dog dropped the Ayatollah to the concrete tiles of the terrace and tore off his coat to staunch the bleeding from his abdominal wall incision. The Ayatollah lay inert on the floor looking at Sheep Dog with motionless but knowing eyes. He was well aware that he was dying, a horrible suffocating death, and he was powerless to prevent it. However—as he lay dying—he was pleased that, even in his extremis, he had killed his despicable assassin and now he would meet The Prophet, bless him, and his 72 virgins, 72 wives, and everlasting happiness. As his consciousness began to dim, his last thoughts were on the Qur’an, sura 56, verses 12-39, which he had committed to memory in his diligent youth: “They shall recline on jeweled couches face to face, and there shall wait on them immortal youths with bowls and ewers and a cup of purest wine (that will neither pain their heads nor take away their reason); with fruits of their own choice and flesh of fowls that they relish. And theirs shall be the dark-eyed houris, chaste as hidden pearls: a guerdon for their deeds…We created the houris and made them virgins, loving companions for those on the right hand…” He could not think all of the verses as the darkness closed in, and his soul took flight.
Sheep Dog had to take flight as well. He had to have clothes that were not blood soaked, and the Ayatollah’s were four sizes to small for him. It could not be helped. His first priority had to be to hide the body. He took a moment to place a card in the front pocket of the man’s pants.
He lifted the small corpse up and threw it over the side. It landed directly behind a large old university dump truck. Sheep Dog was aware that no one would be likely to enter the rear area of the university building until after the weekend; so, the obvious evidence of his morning’s work would not be detected until he was out of the country. Now he contemplated the not-sosimple set of tasks before him; so, he could get out of the country.
Of immediate concern was the fact that his abdominal wound had begun to bleed briskly again. He tore off his shirt and rolled it into a long tight bandage and pressed it into the wound. The pain was excruciating, and Sheep Dog felt himself beginning to pass out. He bit his lip hard, and slowly the feeling of faintness began to subside. He hastily removed his belt and wrapped it around the bandage in the wound and tightened it to the point that he had some trouble breathing. The bleeding stopped.
He had seen a fire escape on the rear of the terrace where he had thrown the second guard’s body over the side. He ran to it, holding his belly and the syringe in one hand. He climbed down the side of the building clumsily because of having only one hand to hold on with and for balance. At the bottom, he turned the guard’s corpse over. He had been dead before he fell; so, there was almost no blood on his uniform. Sheep Dog set down his GlobalStar satellite phone and removed his own remaining clothing, stripped the guard’s body as fast as he could and found that all of the clothing fit fairly well except for the boots which were too small. He would have to brazen it out with his own patent leather opera slippers. He threw his clothing and the syringe and needle into the bottom of the Dempsey Dumpster, and, for good measure, struggled to hoist the inert body up and then into the dumpster.
He picked up the sat phone and dialed in the emergency number he had been given for use in a last resort emergency.
“Embassy of the United Kingdom, how may I direct your call?”
“This is my code number—19-8-5-5-16-4-15-7 + 01-22. Got that?”
Sheep Dog could hear the sounds of typing on a computer keyboard.
“Yes, sir. I am at your service.”
“Get me code name Phillip, directive E2, ID code SIS114631.”
“It may take a moment. Please hold.”
The moment seemed like an hour, but eventually a clip British accent came o
n the line.
“Phillip, here. What is the nature of your problem?”
“Medical emergency. Abdominal slashing. Bleeding under control, but I require immediate emergency suturing. I have a serious deadline.”
“What is your 20?”
Sheep Dog gave the officer his location.
“We’ll have a station car there in less than three minutes. How shall we recognize you?”
“I am in a guard’s uniform. Six feet tall, about 200 pound Caucasian, salt and pepper hair, scar on my face.”
“Right-O. Be there in a jiffy. I can arrange care as I travel.”
A black Range Rover pulled up beside him five minutes later. After a quick inspection by both parties, a burly SAS master sergeant assisted him into the back seat.
“Best if you stay down, sir,” the driver, a corporal, said.
SAS Major Donald Henderson-Gruel, military attaché and resident U.K. intelligence officer, spoke to Sheep Dog as they pulled away from the university without turning to look at him.
“We’re heading up Manuchehn Street then we’ll take a hard right and go north east on Shariati to Kaj and turn right. Hang on, it’ll be a twisty and bumpy ride. Hospital is on the corner of Kaj and Padegan e-Vali-ye-Asr Street. There we’ll meet Professor Doctor Hossein Masoud abu-Boroujerdi. He’s one of ours and an ardent supporter of Mir Hossein Mousavi. I’m sure you’re aware that Mousavi is the politician looking to a future Iran which is progressive and has a measure of law, justice and freedom. The good doctor is taking a terrible risk, and we expect the Cousins to reward him accordingly.”
“I have sufficient money with me to satisfy the man,” Sheep Dog said. “Just hurry.”
“The doctor is a general surgeon, a professor of medicine at Tehran University of Medical Science. That is right next door to where you were standing.”
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