The Ayatollah was sitting at his desk studying a scroll, when Iyad knocked on the door saying, “Allaabu Akbar. (Allāh is Most Great.)”
The Ayatollah didn’t even look up from his work. “Qul huwa Allahu ahadun. (Say: He is Allāh, the One and Only.)”
Nasih, as he entered, repeated the same as Iyad, “Allaabu Akbar.”
The Ayatollah motioned for both of them to sit down while still studying the scroll. He slowly looked from his work. “We have new discoveries from Neyshâbûr near the tomb of Omar Khayyám, the famous Persian poet, mathematician, philosopher and astronomer. Some had doubted his Islamic belief, but these newly discovered writings prove that he was a scholar of the Qur’an and of Muhammad’s teachings. I apologize for my fixation on the subject. Let us get down to business.”
Nasih hoped that the Ayatollah would dismiss Iyad, but no such luck. He had become more relaxed as Iyad seemed to have no clue to his true identity.
Nasih reached into his suit pocket and brought out an envelope saying, “I’ve brought a gift for you and the soldiers of Allāh who are fighting the infidels in Afghanistan. We are aware of the sacrifices being made every day by those who carry the word of the Qur’an and we’re prepared to supply more funds. It is my desire to be in Pakistan, not only bringing financial aid, but also to fight alongside my fellow Muslims. I’m only requesting that you provide the proper introductions.”
The Ayatollah, following tradition, refused the gift from Nasih. Only after Nasih’s polite insistence did he take the gift and set it aside. It would have been considered rude for him to open it at this time. The Ayatollah pondered Nasih’s request for several minutes in silence. He was man of great patience and never made rash decisions. He finally spoke, “I’ll make the request and if approved, you’ll be informed. Where are you staying in Mashhad?”
Nasih told him of the hotel and, sensing the meeting was over, rose placing the palm of the right hand on his chest. Bowing, he closed his eyes and stated, “Shokran jazeelan. Qul huwa Allahu ahadun. (Thank you. Say: He is Allāh, the One and Only.)”
Nasih was glad to leave Razavi University and the ever-present Iyad. He had dodged a bullet and was most grateful. He decided to walk the six and a half kilometers back to the hotel to relieve the tension that had built up even though the temperature was near ninety-five degrees.
Nasih didn’t anticipate a quick answer from the Ayatollah, knowing that in the Middle East time was of little consequence; only the final results were considered important. This is one of the weaknesses of the Western Powers and hampers their continued support for the War on Terror, as they had coined the phase. The American people, after only a few years, were ready to call it quits. The slaughter of their young men and women was a sacrifice they were unwilling to accept. In the Muslim world, time and human life were not as important as the cause and the final results.
Nasih spent his time at the many historical sites in Mashhad and the surrounding towns. He made no direct contact back to his uncle, only using the Muslims For Justice website blog to communicate. They had predetermined certain phases from the Qur’an to indicate Nasih’s clandestine activities. He went under the user name of Al-Fath (Victory, Conquest); his Uncle Ahman was Al-Noor (The Light). Nasih typed in his message from the Qur’an, Chapter 34, Saba, verse 018 indicating he hadn’t been contacted for his quest into Pakistan:
(We placed other prominent towns between them, the towns that We had blessed and had set well-measured stages between them. Move back and forth between them, night and day, in perfect security.)
Days became weeks; weeks became months. It was January and the weather in Mashhad was like nothing he had ever experienced. The cold winds blew down from the Binalood and Hezar-masjed mountain ranges, bringing snow and ice. Nasih had to purchase all new clothing to deal with the inclement weather. It didn’t matter. If he were going to be in the Sulaiman Mountains in the Balochistan region of Pakistan he would need similar garments. Located there was the Bolan Pass, a natural route into Afghanistan used by the Taliban and al-Qaeda to bring men and supplies into the country.
After many years in South Florida, Nasih’s body had naturally adapted to the warm weather. He put himself on a program to acclimate to the cold by venturing out, every day adding ten minutes to the routine. By the end of January he could brave any elements for as long as it took. Now that he had the time, more than he wanted, Nasih spent hours in the hotel exercise room toning his body and increasing his stamina. He avoided going near the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza for fear he would run into Iyad al-Ibrahim. The last thing he wanted was contact with this man who could upset his entire scheme.
Near the end of January a letter arrived for Issa Abdullah Gara, from the Ayatollah Shahriar. Nasih read the contents. A person by the name of Wasim Ali Dani will be in touch in the near future.
Again Nasih waited and again time continued to move slowly. It was early March. Arriving at the hotel after taking dinner, a young man maybe twenty-five years old approached him, calling him by his new identity. “Issa Abdullah Gara, my name is Wasim Ali Dani and I’m here to take you to Nushki, Pakistan. I’ll meet you in the morning. Be ready at six o’clock. We’ll first fly to Zāhendā in Southeast Iran, then by small plane to Dalbandin, Pakistan. From there we’ll go on land by truck to our final destination.”
“What is our final destination?”
“Tomorrow,” said Wasim. He turned and left the hotel.
That night Nasih went online as al-Fath and sent the following email to his uncle from the Qur’an Chapter 48, al-Fath (Victory, Conquest), verse 006.
(He also did this to chastise the hypocrites, both men and women, and those who associate others in His Divinity, both men and women, and who harbor evil thoughts about Allāh. They shall be afflicted with misfortune, Allāh is wroth with them. He has laid His curse upon them and has prepared for them Hell. What an evil end!)
Ahman, when he read the message, knew that Nasih was departing for Pakistan.
The next morning at six there was a knock on the door. Nasih opened it.
An impatient Wasim said. “Hurry, we must go now. The Guardians of the Islamic Revolution have allowed us to travel with them.”
Barely making it on time to the Hasheni Najael International airport they were shuttled to the command post of the Iranian 14th Tactical Air Base that shared the runway with commercial airliners. There they boarded a Russian Ilyushin-76.
Wasim had arranged for their flight with the ninety-six paratroopers from the elite Guardians of the Islamic Revolution already aboard. The trip took about an hour before landing at Zāhendā International airport that shared its runway with the Iranian 13th Tactical Air Base.
Thanking the military personnel for their cooperation, Nasih and Wasim walked to a waiting twin-engine turboprop airplane that had been chartered by persons unknown. Nasih and Wasim were the only ones aboard except for the pilot, co-pilot and an attendant. Upon sitting, the plane took off and headed east, taking only forty-five minutes to reach Dalbandin, Pakistan.
Nasih looked out the window as the plane landed. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was this a trap? Had the CIA double-crossed him? Everywhere he looked he could see United States Marine Corps aircraft, C-130’s, Chinook and Blackhawk helicopters. There was even an American flag flying over a building.
Turning towards Wasim, Nasih grabbed him by the throat. The months of working out had given him a lethal grip. “You’ll die a painful death for this treachery. Who do you work for, the infidels?”
Wasim with great difficulty was trying to speak, but Nasih’s grip was only getting tighter. Only when he saw that the man was passing out did he release his hold.
Coughing and wheezing, Wasim answered as best he could. “This base is used by the Americans against al-Qaeda and the Taliban. This airfield is also used by civilian flights. The United States has nothing to do with Pakistani customs and entry. What better way to enter the country than in the enemies own lair?”
> Nasih was still not buying the entire story, but he listened as Wasim went on. “As soon as we pass through customs, a truck will be waiting to take us to Nushki. There’s no problem, even though the Pakistani Army is checking identification and business visas.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I’ve been coming here on business for three years and they know me. If anyone asks, you’re just my new employee and they’ll not bother us. I’m not crazy about being here, but we use this as an entry point because it raises less suspicion being among the American forces.”
Wasim then repeated an Old Iranian proverb. “A blind person who sees is better than a seeing person who is blind.”
Once again composed, Wasim lead Nasih off the plane and into the customs area. It was as if Wasim was among family, with greetings from the inspectors who had seen him many times before. They cleared customs in minutes and went outside.
Wasim became very irritated and shouted, “The truck is not here? I told them ten o’clock! Where the hell are they?”
Nasih noted, Wasim has a very short fuse and doesn’t tolerate ineptness. This was very clear from the conversations we had on the flights. I like his no-nonsense approach to business, and now I feel bad that I reacted so violently towards him when seeing the American aircraft.
Wasim was on his cell phone yelling at someone when he came back to Nasih. “The truck broke down, an axle I believe, and we’ll have to wait. Let’s find a taxi, if one actually exists in this hellhole, and go into town. Enjoy your stay. This is the best it’s going to be. From here on out it only goes downhill.”
Nasih excused himself from Wasim to use the toilets. Inside one of the stalls he opened his shirt baring his chest and passed the ring twice in the vertical position over the scar as he thought, I can only hope this device works. Nasih got his answer within seconds as a mild warming of his skin from the end of the left shoulder to his neck was felt where the wire was embedded. I certainly didn’t expect this! Soon the warming sensation ceased and his skin temperature returned to normal.
General Knight
In the United States a year and two months after the nuclear disaster, economic conditions were deteriorating. Government attempts to correct the problems were met with ferocious resistance by corporations and stockholders. The requests to have companies hire more people were being pushed back by the stockholders, seeing the increase in employees as a direct assault upon the bottom line and the price of stocks, which had already been decimated.
Powerful lobbyists had tied up politicians from passing legislation in support of the president’s economic recovery programs and unemployment had reached eighteen percent. The United States economy was hanging by a thread. Sporadic protests and rioting had broken out in the inner cities where unemployment had reached over twenty percent, but with the large number of military personnel already in place, they were quelled immediately.
To prevent the situation from totally spiraling out of control, General Knight stepped in by calling a secret meeting of the Joint Chiefs to discuss his strategy. Assembled in the room were his key military advisors.
The general took the floor. “We must get the politics out of the way to solve the country’s ever-growing economic demise. I know that some of you in this room may have reservations over what I’m going to tell you. I’ve agonized over this for the past several months with people from both military and civilian background and I see no other solution.”
The general gazed around the room then dropped his bombshell. “As we speak, the United States Military is replacing the government of the United States.”
In the room there was complete silence as the general continued. “Military vehicles and personnel are taking up positions around the White House, the Cabinet, the House of Representatives, the Senate and the Supreme Court. No one is being arrested, but they’ll be forbidden to continue in their positions. The president and other elected officials are free to come and go, as long as they don’t leave Washington. The president has forty-eight hours to vacate the White House. No elected official, federal, state or local, will be allowed to make a television, radio or Internet appearance. All media broadcasts, including the Internet, will be monitored and those responsible arrested and their facilities shut down. The same is true for all newspapers and magazines nationwide. Word of this action is being sent to every news media in the country as we meet. We’ll maintain this military control until economic conditions improve. Efforts will be renewed to reduce the radioactive contamination in Florida.” He paused, “Questions?”
The Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Mitchell A. Blair, spoke up. “Is this temporary or permanent? If temporary how long will it last?”
The general anticipated the questions. “This is a temporary military government, and how long it will last depends upon a number of factors, too many to discuss at this time.”
“How do you propose the government to work?” Admiral Blair asked.
“We’ll have input from key civilian members of the restricted and controlled areas, but they’re in a consulting role only. We’re not restricting any government employee or contractor from completing assigned tasks.”
“Are there limits set on government employees and their interaction with the public?”
“It is impossible for us to monitor the two million federal employees along with another eight million state and local employees. But if anyone is caught undermining our authority, they’ll lose their job and they cannot appeal the decision. That communiqué will be issued within the hour.”
Again the Chief of Naval Operations asked, “Is this the end of democracy and the constitutional rights of the people?”
A very calm General Knight replied, “I’m not proposing a dictatorship. Each one of you in the room will give input along with your staff personnel on how we’ll proceed.”
“Who has the final word?”
“We’ll work exclusively by committee. But if there’s an impasse, I’ll make the final decision. I’ll still consult with the president, but he can only give advice and has no authority.”
Admiral Blair sarcastically remarked, “I guess that makes you the dictator!”
The general was not too happy with the sarcastic remark, but he needed Admiral Mitchell A. Blair’s full support. His seventh fleet was critical to any military actions in the Indian Ocean. The admiral had thirty-two years of service in the Navy and had been in the Pentagon for the past five years before his appointment to the Joint Chiefs.
General Knight ignored the admiral’s remark. An aide interrupted the meeting, handing the general a note from CIA agent Jack Shelby. The General silently read the note’s one short sentence. We’ve detected a locating signal from the operative within Pakistan.
The general kept the good news to himself. Only a few key people within the government knew it was Nasih Mahmoud Rahman was the operative. The general excused himself, returning to his office to call Jack Shelby. “Jack, what do we know at this point? Give me the breakdown.”
“After waiting almost seven months we know the operative is now in Dalbandin, Pakistan and it’s only the tracking beacon we’ve detected. We’ll be monitoring his movements. We need to move a satellite into position and also have U-2’s doing daily flyovers of the Dalbandin area. When the signal indicates a strike target, we’ll need all the forces in the Indian Ocean on alert to assure that the target is legitimate and be ready to strike.”
The general hung up and returned to the Joint Chiefs for what was going to be a very long meeting. He would need to consult privately with Admiral Blair on activities that were taking place in Pakistan.
Balochistan Providence, Pakistan
Nasih returned to where Wasim was in a heated discussion with a taxi driver. Wasim turn to Nasih. “Apparently the hotels in the city are full, and the few homes that rented out rooms are located in the small farming villages. I finally got the taxi driver to agree to drive us there.”
The ride from Dalba
ndin was less than spectacular. The city sat on an arid plateau in the shadows of Chaghai Mountain. An inhospitable area constantly hit by dust storms closed down the airport frequently. They turned on the RCD Highway, a five thousand kilometer road that connects Pakistan with Iran and Turkey. In stark contrast to the surrounding architecture of cement structures stood a beautiful grand mosque, which had been built by President Sheikh Zayed of the United Arab Emirates. President Zayed had frequented the Dalbandin area to hunt birds and in return presented the people of the providence with the mosque.
The taxi drove nineteen kilometers east to a small farming hamlet. The driver turned into a short dirt driveway at a house surround by a cement block wall. He laid on the horn for about ten seconds and then exited the vehicle. The large wooden gate opened just enough for a man to peer out at the commotion. The driver and the homeowner were engaged in a heated conversation when the driver produced a ten-euro banknote, which the man quickly grabbed. The ten-euro banknote was equivalent to one thousand Pakistani Rupee his monthly income. The driver turned, flashing a big toothless smile, and soon the gates were opened.
After cordial greetings Nasih and Wasim were led to an upstairs bedroom with two well-worn beds. Running water was nonexistent and bathing would consist of a bucket of cold water drawn from a well and poured into a sink with a rubber stopper. The sink had faucets installed many years before, with the promise of running water from the government, but the lines had never been established from the city of Dalbandin. Always patient, the local Muslims didn’t complain, they only waited for the promised day.
That night Nasih and Wasim dined with the Ghazi Mirza family eating naan, the traditional Pakistani bread, and a chicken stew with items that had been unrecognizable by either Nasih or Wasim. Later laughing, they remarked that the chicken was at least as old as the two of them combined because chewing the meat was an exercise in futility as the object in the mouth would never break apart and had to be swallowed whole. After the first bite they resorted to cutting the chicken into portions small enough to be swallowed without having to resort to endless chewing. It wasn’t that they were ungrateful to their hosts who had next to nothing, but it did make for light conversation after dinner.
The Third Cell Page 51