by Azam Hossain
I walked slowly towards the reactor, whilst both admiring and detesting the genius and deceit of the Persians. If it had not been used before as I suspected, then it would not be long before it was; and all without the rest of the world being any the wiser. In this solid rock chamber, radiation was unlikely to escape if I blew up the reactor - except in small quantities. And if it did escape I reflected grimly, it would be as nothing compared to the destruction wrought from a nuclear missile fired with plutonium derived from this reactor. It would be the lesser of two evils I decided! I rummaged around my backpack and found the last two blocks of C4 and a detonator and concealed them at the base of the reactor and set them for 05.00hrs. My bag was now devoid of anything incriminating.
I had barely enough time to make my rendezvous at 0100hrs. So I turned back and ran down the tunnel, past the silo and ran up the stairs. The lighting on the stairs was on, which was a pleasing sight as it would assist me in making a faster ascent to the surface. I took flight after flight as I got inexorably higher and thus closer to the exit. When I reached the level containing the control panel which I saw on my way down, I knew that I was near the surface. Out of an insatiable curiosity - which prevailed over my sense of prudence I wanted to see it again - but this time in the light. I walked briskly past the alcove that I had seen on my descent and then saw that the corridor gave way to my right, into a large area containing rows of long metal desks. I switched on the lights. The desks had recessed screens imbedded in them periodically every metre or so, with switches, buttons and keyboards at each work station. Above the desks hanging down from the ceiling were banks of televisions, positioned so as to be easily visible by those who might be standing or sitting at the desks. On one wall on the left there was a large electronic map of a grid with small lights. All the screens were of course switched off. I estimated that there was enough space here for a dozen scientists to monitor and control the reactor and missile launch capability. All the doors in the tunnel that connected the two now made sense – it was to protect one from the other.
Just then I abruptly heard the sound of several pairs of boots coming down the stairs and voices’ talking loudly and agitatedly in what I presumed was Farsi. I uttered an expletive and made to conceal myself. Just as I began to move, two of the IRG armed with machine guns ran into the control room and saw me. I froze on the spot. It had all happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to draw my Glock. It was just as well I told myself, for it would have been no match for their machine guns. There was nothing for it but to raise my hands and be taken prisoner. They were breathless, as much from running down the stairs as from the excitement of catching me and nervously held their weapons. They both had beards neatly trimmed; one wore a jacket and the other a black anorak. The one in the jacket cursed me in Farsi and then shouted questions at me with such vehemence that he involuntarily spouted saliva towards me. I said not a word with my hands still in the air, attempting to look as meek and unthreatening as I could as I shrugged my shoulders.
Just then another three Persians joined us, two of whom also had automatic weapons. Of the three who had just arrived the unarmed one appeared to be in charge. He was thin, tall, bearded and in his late forties. He started barking questions and orders to the others in Farsi. One of the two men with whom he had just arrived, ran off. The thin tall one looked me up and down, with a look of enmity and suspicion, whilst the others just watched.
“Who are you?” he asked in halting English.
“.....I’m very sorry”....I stuttered.... “But I think I’m lost,” I bumbled sheepishly.
He then muttered something to one of the guards who then slung his weapon over his shoulder and produced metal handcuffs. I was made to take off my backpack after which I was handcuffed with my hands in front of me. I daren’t protest as I watched one of them search my backpack - knowing they would find nothing incriminating. It was now 00.35hrs. I noted stoically that I would now be a “no show” for my rendezvous at 01.00hrs. I was then marched in the direction of the stairs from where we climbed up towards the entrance, accompanied by all four of my captors, whilst regularly being shoved and manhandled on the way. We came out as I had entered, through the heavy metal door. I noticed immediately that all the floodlights had been switched on; and that there was a flurry of activity, with armed men from the JFF and the Revolutionary Guard in abundance. It occurred to me that this might all be attributable to me. It seemed that there was a General Alert on. Many of them turned to look at me as they ran past; some just stood and stared – for I was the enemy - possibly in their eyes sent by the “Great Satan” himself. I betrayed no emotion, as I was led away, my hands bound in front of me. Trying to be positive despite being in a bit of a pickle - I noticed that the rain had stopped.
We walked away from the base to where it was less well lit. I noticed that here the Valley floor widened out and over yonder to our left a little way off I saw, despite the darkness, a familiar site - but I could barely believe my eyes. It was Gulbador Hekmatiar’s Caravan of whores, with their wagons and camels and a couple of fair sized tents erected close by. Suddenly my mind was cast back to that pleasurable night in my tent just a few evenings ago. As I turned to look again at this bizarre Caravan I saw a man running out of one of these tents towards the direction of the base, adjusting his trousers. How odd I thought! I looked ahead in the direction to which we were headed and then heard voices in the distance behind us. I turned around and saw coming out of the Portacabin, where I had earlier seen three of the Guard standing outside before I had descended into the base, none other that Hekmatiar, that fat jovial rogue chaperoning a couple of his girls. I could not help but let out a delicious chuckle of irony as it all made sense. One of my guards looked across at me grimly. Now I realised why there were no guards around the base when I approached in the rain. Now that they were out of Persia and away from their Mullahs and the strictures of Iranian society, these IRG had allowed their urges to overcome them. It just shows you that men are men; and all regardless of religion and attempts at celibacy, have carnal appetites that they are wont to satisfy. These ostensibly pious Shiites! The self flagellation of the zealot one minute and then whoring the next! Hypocrites! I on the other hand made no pretension of religiosity. No hypocrite I, although I did “worship” at the altar of a women’s “citadel.” I made a mental note just then that if I ever got out of my present predicament I would make a point of “worshipping” fervently and frequently, at whatever “churches” would permit me entry into their “citadels.”
We continued walking away from the base in a southerly direction.
I asked the tall one, “Where are you taking me?”
He merely gestured to me to continue walking with an aloof nod of his head. Was I to be interrogated or summarily executed?
CHAPTER 24 – THE GAUNTLET OF IGNOMINY.
We walked a little further and came around a turn in the valley and saw a row of parked vehicles on our right, consisting of jeeps a couple of pick up trucks and some 4WDs’ – one of which we got in to. I was in the back handcuffed with guards sitting either side of me. The tall one was in the front passenger seat and the third guard sat next to him in the driver’s seat. The silence of the valley here at this time of the night was broken as the engine was switched on and the headlights came on. No one said a word. It was as if they knew my fate and that there was nothing left to be said. I felt like an animal being taken to an abattoir. The vehicle swung round and drove at speed across the valley floor until it approached the North West Pass. We then slowed down in order to turn right on to its black tarmacked surface and then built up speed and headed south. I noted with fortitude that outnumbered 4 to 1 and handcuffed there was not much I could do. My one consolation was that whatever happened to me our mission had been fulfilled; and many of the rascals who had been gawping at me as I came out of the base would be surrounded by 70 virgins in heaven - if you believe in such things, rather than Gulbador Hekmatiar’s well worn whores.<
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After having snaked along the North West Pass for several minutes, it soon became apparent that we had left the Bactria Valley, as evinced by the flat land either side of us. After a while the scenery changed again. I strained to make it out in the darkness as we sped on; and then I realised what it was – the gorge through which the North West Pass ran before it met the Highway that led to Persia. This must be the Haidar Gorge that Mueller and Aziz had been sent to dynamite. Dramatically, there on either side of the road were high walls in close proximity and by the left side of the road running parallel to it I could hear the gushing of a river, of which I caught a glimpse.
After a while we embarked on a newer road on our left; it was a broad two lane highway. Based on the maps I had seen and the Major’s briefings it was the Highway leading to the border. Were we going back to Persia? Given the distance we had driven - it seemed a long way to go just to put a bullet into me. They must be taking me to a place of captivity and interrogation. With these thoughts weighing down upon me a sense of utter fatigue overtook me and I closed my eyes. I had been living outdoors - camping for days; riding horses; eating abysmal food; being hunted; killing those who would kill me; constantly being on the alert; stumbling over rough terrain; having to contend with the heat dust and lack of running water – I hadn’t had a bath since leaving Kushanbay and now to top it all I was a prisoner of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. It seemed my luck had run out. Just as these thoughts of self pity consumed me, we abruptly slowed down and I opened my eyes to see why. We were approaching a side road on our right up ahead. The map the Major had shown us did not contain this road. Was the map just out of date or had this road only recently and surreptitiously been built? My captors seemed to bestir themselves, heralding arrival at our destination. We must still be in Azakistan, for we had not crossed the border.
We turned into this narrow but well tended road and slowly proceeded along it. Up ahead I could see some high neat hedgerows either side of this single lane road, they would not be naturally occurring here. How incongruous they looked in this barren and remote location. Just on the other side of the hedgerows I could see the top of a building. My curiosity had quickly replaced my tiredness. As we passed the hedgerows a large three storey building that looked as if it belonged to a cheap hotel chain came into view a little distant ahead. The space in front of this building had several vehicles neatly parked to one side. The driver brought the 4WD to a gentle stop as he parked and switched the engine off. My captors hauled me out and some lights came on, both in the building and on its exterior wall. One of the guards held my arm and marched me towards the entrance, as he did so I noticed that one of the parked vehicles was a black Mercedes. I was convinced that I had seen Anastasia and Zhukov get into it earlier when I observed them at Iskandar’s Mouth.
The front door opened and a couple of guards greeted my captors with pleasantries and then turned to me with a look of thinly disguised contempt. I was led into the building. The tall one consulted with these two guards; after a moment they walked me down some stairs. They lead me into the basement consisting of a long corridor; it was clear that few people came down here judging by the dust and stale air. It was poorly lit. We walked along this corridor past many doors until one of the guards stopped to unlock the door in front of him. After turning the key in the lock he gave it a shove with his shoulder and flung it open; he flicked the switch and a naked light bulb came on, which only very dimly lit the room. He then stood aside whilst the other guard removed my handcuffs. I was then immediately shoved into this room. I then heard the door being shut violently and the sound of the key turning. My eyes adjusted to my dimly illuminated cell. There were no windows, it was a fairly small room, at one end of which there were pieces of old, dusty and broken furniture piled up against the wall; the long wall on my left consisted of a series of shelves attached to the wall – these contained bits of wood and generally assorted junk. I was in the Maintenance room – the workmen’s room! Oh the ignominy of it all I sighed.
I stood up and tried the door handle, it was locked. I tried forcing the door but to no avail. I checked the time; it was now 01.23hrs. When the C4 exploded my captors would correctly conclude that I had a hand in it – and would quite naturally want to exact retribution. It was therefore imperative that I should try and escape before that happened! I rummaged amongst the contents of the room but found nothing that would be of use in escaping.
Suddenly I had a glorious realisation! I felt about me to reassure myself that I still had them – I did! Eureka! With everything that had happened to me I’d completely forgotten.....I still had my weapons; my Glock and my knife; and of course my tracking device. I got them out; checked them and put them back: my Glock inside my left calf attached by holster; my knife inside my right boot and my Tracker around my waist inside a money belt containing my Passport and credit card. The Persians had been quite remiss; they had searched my backpack but omitted to search me - allowing myself to appear the pathetic and unthreatening figure when they captured me, may have caused their oversight. However, the fact remained that I was still a captive. I could try and shoot the lock and escape, but the sound of my shots would alert every Persian and my single Glock could not be expected to out shoot their machine guns. My knife was too broad to unpick the lock. My feeling of joy at realising that I still had my weapons was instantly replaced with anger and frustration. I sank down on to the floor and rested my back against the wall and momentarily buried my head in my hands. After a moment I looked up and chastised myself - this was no way to behave if I wanted to escape!
Just then I heard a key in the lock and stood up in anticipation. The door opened to reveal three of my captors. They gestured for me to leave the room and join them in the corridor. We then proceeded; the jailer at the head, and both guards behind me. We went upstairs and from there we took another corridor before taking a staircase up to the second floor. Here it was brightly lit and clean, with what appeared to be a newly laid carpet. It was like any corridor in any hotel. We then turned left into another corridor, in what was clearly another wing of this building. I could see that one of the doors was open and there was another Persian standing outside it facing us expectantly. He stood aside in order to allow me to enter. The room contained a table in the middle with a single chair on the near side and another two chairs on the far side. There was a small table against the wall in the far corner containing some cups and a jug; but there was no window or any other furniture. So I was to be interrogated! The fact that they were prepared to do this now; just after 2o’clock in the morning seemed to speak of the urgency with which they regarded me. If they only knew about the C4 they would realise that such urgency was well founded!
They bade me sit in the single chair. After a moment I noticed that the guards by the door had suddenly stopped chatting and stood to attention. Someone was coming, and just then they saluted. This heralded the arrival of three men: the first I realised to my astonishment and horror was the man whom the previous day the Major had identified as Mehrab Rostami; the second was the tall one with whom I had travelled in the 4WD – they both sat on the chairs on the other side of the table to me. Finally a big burly, bearded brute stood against the wall on my left and folded his arms. Rostami wore a cream coloured parka jacket; he was in his fifties, of medium build with a receding hairline; he had a handsome face, an aquiline nose, piercing turquoise eyes; and a neatly trimmed beard. It probably did not bode well for me that Rostami was here; surely he had subordinates whom he could have sent to interrogate me. The Major mentioned that he was cruel and ruthless. Shrewd and cunning too no doubt! His presence thus distinctly discomforted me. Another guard shut the door and stood behind me. My innards tightened and I felt a cold sweat of fear. I was trapped with no way out!
CHAPTER 25 – GAMES, INDISCRETION AND MEGLOMANIA.
There was a tense silence. No one said a word. Rostami got out a packet of cigarettes very slowly and deliberately, took out a cigarette and tapp
ed one end of it on the table three times, before putting it between his lips. At this point, as if by custom, the burly guard strode forward and produced a cigarette lighter; which he flicked open, ignited and then held out deferentially and thus ignited Rostami’s cigarette. He inhaled and then removed the cigarette from his lips, tilted his head a fraction upwards and nonchalantly, slowly and luxuriantly exhaled a cloud of smoke above his head in supreme self satisfaction. Everyone watched as the strangely perfumed smoke rose to the ceiling, almost mesmeric in its gyrations and its intoxicating allure.