by James Ward
The two men ate some food consisting of flat Persian bread, some fruits and coffee. The farmer’s wife packed bread, fruit, cooked rice and some braised lamb for the men to take as a trail lunch. Two large goatskin canteens were filled with fresh water. Kourosh paid the farmer well and thanked him for the hospitality he could always expect from his old friend. Roche understood that the type of trip they were about to take was probably a regular source of income for both of these men.
They set out at three forty-five am in Kourosh’s car. Skirting the city of Tabriz they set out on route four, the road to Khoy a hundred miles away. About half way to Khoy the two men were too involved in swapping endless ‘war stories’ to notice the small car that began to track them at a distance. Behind the car about three hundred yards, a bus joined the parade. The driver of the car kept in contact with the bus driver on a hand-held radio.
Kourosh finally noticed the car in his rear-view mirror as they passed the town of Marand. He let Roche know that they might have company. At a place called Evaghli, Kourosh suddenly turned off the main road and drove toward Maku. The car followed them. At a turn-out, Kourosh stopped and waited. The car passed them by. It looked innocent enough, just four men traveling a country road. When the car was out of sight, Kourosh retraced his path, speeding back southeast to rejoin route four. As they reached Khoy, they passed a bus that seemed to have engine trouble. The driver seemed to be struggling with something in the engine compartment.
Moments later, the car with four men passed the bus at high speed waving to the bus driver as they passed. The bus driver hastily drove back onto the road and followed.
They passed though Khoy in the nether-light of pre-dawn. Just outside Khoy was the only stopping point between that city of about a half-million and the Turkish border. Kourosh pulled in to get petrol and a snack. While Kourosh was inside, Roche went to the trunk of the car and dragged out his pack-frame, a gift from Khazeh. He carefully packed the food, the dis-assembled parts of an old H&K assault rifle, lots of nine millimeter ammo and the small case containing the prize. He hefted the pack and found it to be light enough. When Kourosh came out with bread, cheese and meat he told Roche plainly, “Get in the car.”
Roche, who had just finished trying out the pack and adjusting straps for comfort did as he was told. In side the car, Kourosh admonished him. “This is the last place to show your American face, Roche. Every trucker and passer-by now knows for sure that someone is going to try the border today!”
Roche cursed himself for having been so stupid. His pride would not let him admit his folly so he protested. “Look at the turban on my head,” he asserted. “I wasn’t close enough to anyone to be recognized.”
“You didn’t have to be,” replied Kourosh. “The back pack betrayed you loud and clear.”
They drove away in silence heading down the rough back road that led to Qotur and the Turkish border.
_________
Ajir and his body guards drove right by the petrol station and sped along the road to Qotur. They were followed by the bus which had fallen in between two large trucks carrying livestock. Ajir was pleased at the opportunity to slip past their quarry. Now they could set an ambush. West of Khoy was high farmland with big fields fallow for the winter. The trucks turned off to a farm where the hills rose into craggy mountain territory. At a place a mile from Qotur, the road became impassible for the bus. They pulled the big vehicle off the road, hiding it behind an outcropping of reddish gray rock. Within minutes, their trap was set. Ajir shouted last minute instructions to the men, including the admonition to take the men alive and not to destroy their belongings. After all this trouble a smashed figurine would be total disaster.
_________
It was early evening in Washington. Ryall Morgan had finished his workday and was in the garage at Langley ready to begin his commute. He had started his car and was just about to head out when the red phone rang. “Morgan,” he said tersely knowing no one would bother him this time of day unless it was an urgent matter.
“Hello Ryall.” It was the voice of the Director.
“Hello, sir. What’s up?” Morgan thought it might be news about Steck’s operation.
“I’ve just come from the White House, Ryall,” the director began. “The President has expressed grave misgivings about our ongoing operation. The Secretary of State is at a turning point in relations with Iran and the President does not want to endanger that in any way.”
“Morgan’s temperature was rising as the boss spoke. “Sir, we discussed that in detail and the President authorized the operation. We are in the midst of that operation as we speak. Do you mean to say we try to pull-back the operation now?”
“No Ryall, nothing of the sort. The President understands the importance of keeping that object out of the wrong hands.”
“What then?” Morgan loathed politicians getting in the way of well planned operations, as somehow they always did.
“The President has ordered deployment of a Global Hawk drone to the area. Its high altitude surveillance capability will allow us to observe every move on the ground. The President has also tasked the Air Force to have air to ground attack capability maintaining high altitude over northeastern Iraq.”
“What the hell for?” demanded Morgan. He knew perfectly well what for but he wanted to hear it from the boss.
“If anything happens that would embarrass the United States the Air Force may be asked to destroy the evidence.” The Director waited for a moment then added, “The evidence is The Hand of Mohammed, Ryall.”
“What about Steck and his team?” asked Morgan. Again, he knew what the Director’s answer would be. He just wanted to force him to say it out loud.
“That’s going to depend on which side of the border they’re on.”
“Are you still in your office, sir?” asked Morgan.
“Yes, I am still at my desk, Ryall.”
“Stay there! I need to talk with you right away.” Morgan clicked off without giving the boss time to say anything. He turned off the engine and locked the car. Striding up the back stairs two by two, he reached the Director’s office in minutes. The Director’s secretary had left for the day, so he strode right through the office door. He tossed his coat and set his brief case down. He sat in the chair nearest the desk.
“Come in!” said the Director sarcastically.
Morgan’s gaze was already fixed on the eyes of his boss. “I’m worried that those Air Force cowboys will just spread destruction everywhere if you let them go in there,” he blurted. I understand the set up perfectly, but we can’t allow the situation to become a flipping act of war in the eyes of the Iranians.”
“Slow down, Ryall,” the Director said holding his hands up.
“No!” declared Morgan, “Hear me out!”
The Director gestured as if to say ‘go ahead.’
“I think we should get one of our Predator assets into the air flying from Mosul or Insurlik.” He was referring to the CIA operated drone fleet that was routinely used to take out terrorists with its payload of Hellfire missiles.
“If this thing gets out of hand, we fire one round to take out Roche and the figurine. That rids us of two problems at once. Then we tell the Iranians that we took out a terrorist who was infiltrating from Turkey.”
“It’s probably too late to float your suggestion even though I think it has merit,” the Director said. “This thing is already going down.”
Morgan leapt to his feet. “Then let me talk to the President, if you won’t.” He was on real thin ice. The next few minutes might destroy his career.
“You need to follow the chain of command, mister.” The Director was getting red in the face.
“I want to sir,” Morgan nearly shouted, “but if you won’t talk with the President about this I surely will try to get through.” As he spoke this, Morgan picked up the secure phone on the Director’s desk. He offered the receiver to the boss. “Which will it be?”
The Direc
tor stared at the phone for a moment. He realized that if he refused he would lose his best assistant Director and one of the CIA’s best agents. “Okay Ryall, just cool down,” He said reaching for the phone. “Let’s give it a try.”
_________
High on a mountain ridge overlooking the road from Qotur to the Turkish border, twelve Taliban watched the deployment of the ambush. They stood less than a mile from the position Steck and his men had just assumed. Neither knew the other was there at the moment.
The commander gave orders to his men to take cover in the rocks. He positioned them so that they could fire directly down on the soldiers waiting in ambush. He did not know who these fighters might be, but he knew he would have to kill them all to get The Hand of Mohammed.
The men were all armed with AK-47 rifles. Extra magazines were tucked into their jackets. The men were quite familiar with the tactic of ambush but it was usually their job to initiate such an action. The commander was amused that he would now ambush an ambush.
He gave the signal to hold fire. They waited….
_________
In Tehran the Ayatollahs were finishing their morning call to prayer. As they prepared for the government workday, a call came from Evin prison.
Hurried orders were given. Moments later, three fighter jets scrambled from Doshan Tappei air base. They flew west toward Tabriz at top speed. At Tabriz, two helicopters full of Quds guards trained in mountain warfare were ordered to prepare to get airborne as soon as practical. They would be joined by the jets in one hour.
CHAPTER 43
Susan Deet sat watching TV late into the night. She couldn’t have described any of the programs she had watched. She was lost in thought about the events of the early evening. Was it love she felt for Greg? Was it just some physical attraction that would pass away?
Love wasn’t something Susan knew a lot about, at least the kind that happened between a man and a woman.
She had experienced the love of her parents toward her. It was the kind that drove them to sacrifice for her sake and that of her only brother. They were working class people of modest means and always provided a secure but modest home for the family. Her father had worked two jobs, sometimes three and her mother had taken in work at home in order to afford the best college education for their children. Susan knew that kind of love.
There was the love between Susan and her brother. They had always ‘been there’ for one another even if it meant sacrifice. An example was the time when her brother lost focus and was about to leave school. Susan dropped her life for weeks to fly out to the west coast and help straighten his mind.
Susan had sometimes felt it odd that she had no inclination toward the dating scene that seemed to consume her friends. She thought it silly to be ‘in love’ one week and ‘in hate’ the next. She considered all of that to be a waste of time. She concentrated instead on her chosen career. First as a student then as an agent her drive was to be the very best she could possibly be. Love would have to wait until some ‘mister right’ came along.
Here she was in her thirties, still waiting for a relationship to last beyond a date or two. Susan figured part of it was her determination not to give her body to any guy who thought he wanted it at the moment. Most guys just walked away the first time she refused them. Even her girlfriends that gave in to those kinds of guys usually wound up losing them at the first sign of difficulty in a relationship. She knew that meant she had done the right thing to refuse them.
But tonight was different. Tonight she wanted to give so much, yet knew she had to refuse. Her religion told her to wait. She trusted its teachings and traditions. For the first time in her life, she had wanted to ignore all of that and give herself to a man. Was this the real thing? Was she deluding herself? One side of Susan said to herself she had once again saved her integrity while the other screamed ‘don’t let this one get away!’
Early in the morning on her way to bed, Susan stopped by her hallway mirror and stared at her image. “Okay,” she said, “what do you want to be for the rest of your life?” Her image just stared back at her not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
_________
The President entered the private living area of the White House, tossed a jacket, picked up a tall glass of soda and exclaimed, “Whew, what a day.”
The President’s day had begun at five am with a pre-breakfast conference of advisors and had not stopped for even one minute. The pundits who call the job of President of the United States a man-killer were absolutely right, he thought. It sure was trying to kill him.
After greeting family and deciding ‘what’s for dinner,’ the President sat in an easy chair to watch the evening news. As usual the media were criticizing the President’s polices about everything. Just as the news about the State Department’s recent success in opening talks with the Iranians was aired, the secure phone at the President’s side rang. Realizing that it was the director of the CIA and remembering the actions that were in motion, the President turned off the TV and sat up straight to listen.
As the conversation progressed, the President put the call on hold then came back on with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of State on the line. Twenty minutes later a compromise had been reached. The Strike, if necessary, would be made by a CIA controlled Predator but the Air Force would still have ground attack assets in the area in case they were needed.
Ryall Morgan was relieved. He thanked the director profusely then trod the stairs back to the garage. His car was now the last one on its level. Inside the car, he dialed Mort Lindsley and brought him up to date on events.
Lindsley was not at all pleased by what he considered ‘meddling’ by politicians in the affairs of the security agencies. “Our best plans can be compromised in just minutes by those bumbling rascals,” he complained. “It makes you want to just go silent and do the job, don’t you know. Sometimes I think we should just let them know only when it’s over. I always say it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Morgan let him ramble. He knew Mort wouldn’t do anything of the sort but had to admit there were times when the concept was attractive.
_________
The airport at Tabriz was abruptly closed down. The few commercial and general aviation flights were told to hold their positions and prepare to circle for up to one hour. No other explanation was offered.
Minutes later the reason became clear to the pilots who were circling. Out of the sunrise three Sukkoi Su-25 jets came straight in at high speed and landed at Tabriz. Other Su-25’s were sitting on the ground at Tabriz, but they were either non-operational due to maintenance issues or configured for a different mission than the three that had just landed. These three carried only rocket launchers and ‘dumb’ 500 Kg bombs in addition to the rapid fire 30 mm cannon carried by all Su-25’s. No air to air missiles were present, as their weight and drag would slow the plane down and limit its fuel range. The aircraft, called “frogfoot” by NATO performs a close air support role similar to the American A-10 Warthog. These jets were perfect for today’s mission: co-operate with sensor systems carried by helicopters to find and destroy a few people in the craggy mountains of eastern Iran.
The pilots remained in their cockpits as the ground crew topped off their fuel. Half an hour later the three aircraft had taxied to take off positions awaiting orders.
_________
Kourosh Menzadah cursed his luck as he pulled the car off the road. The last thing he wanted was to change a tire in this open place but the sharp rock he had just struck in the middle of the road forced the delay. They had not come quite far enough to leave the car and get onto mountain trails yet. The spot where they could pick up the trail was still three miles away.
Paul Roche hustled equipment and Kourosh worked feverishly to get the tire changed. They wasted twenty minutes of precious low reflection dawn light to change the tire. Kourosh had wanted to use that particular time window to get free of the car and on the trail usin
g the low reflective light to help cover them. Now they would have to make the transition to the trail in broad daylight.
The two men were just getting back into the car, when instinct froze Roche in his tracks. Moments later, Kourosh heard it too. The unmistakable crack of small arms fire emanated from a point just further along the road from their position. A few shots suddenly became a fusillade. Just ahead of them someone was engaging in a furious fire fight.
Kourosh looked around. He wanted to find a way around whatever was going on ahead. He spied a small path that seemed to drop out of sight of the road, but appeared again a bit further west as running parallel to the road. “I think we better leave the car here,” he said. “It means a couple of miles more walking, but it’s better than trying to get through that,” he said motioning in the direction of the small arms fire.
“Let’s do it!” Roche agreed. He had already spotted the path. “This way?” he gestured.
“Yes quickly!” Kourosh urged.
The two grabbed their gear and strapped it on. Roche slid a clip into his Beretta and stashed it in his belt. Kourosh produced a Glock 17 and shoulder holster from under the driver’s seat. He clicked a clip into it and stuffed several more into his jacket pocket. They would have to wait for a sheltered spot somewhere down the path to take the time to assemble their assault rifles.
After the two were fully strapped up and ready to move out, Kourosh grabbed the car keys and they both dropped over the side of the mountain road to the path that ran ten feet below.
Minutes later they came on the scene of the fire fight. There were dead bodies strewn about the road. A couple of wounded made sounds like animals dying. A wide column of smoke rose from behind an outcropping of rock. No one was firing anymore.
Kourosh motioned up to the cliff above the scene. “I think these guys were ambushed from above,” he whispered.
Roche nodded. “I think these dead and dying buggers had set an ambush for us,” he whispered back.