by Ted Halstead
Bijan had to bite back the comments that came to mind at the incongruity of the lecture in modernity being delivered by the black-robed cleric before him.
Besides, he was right.
Aloud, he said, “I see your point. In the end, all that matters is whether we can apply sufficient pressure at enough points simultaneously to bring an end to the Saudi royal family’s rule.”
Reza nodded. “Good. Now that you understand our options, all that’s left is to get our forces in place. Remember to stop by before you leave when you have plans finalized to deal with securing the Assembly of Experts. Once you are in Qatar I may send you further orders, depending on the success of our nuclear and ground attacks.”
Bijan nodded, rose and left.
Reza looked at Bijan’s retreating back and sighed. He had known a military man like Bijan would not be happy with what he would see as treachery. Well, high-minded principles had no place in his plans to secure Iran’s future in the few years he had left. Reza was fighting for the souls of his countrymen, and sentiment had no place in that battle.
Now that Farhad Mokri had convinced his uncle to hand over the weapons his team had developed, Reza would have to convince him that bombing Riyadh was necessary. Farhad would then need to convince his Saudi friend that this step was unavoidable.
Well, Farhad was the one who'd convinced Reza to authorize the use of VX against the Saudis' air bases. And Farhad's Saudi friend had his father killed by the Saudi government.
Yes, they might not like it. But Reza was betting they would go along.
Assembly of Experts Secretariat, Qom, Iran
Grand Ayatollah Reza Fagheh looked at Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani’s expression for a clue about whether he would be pleased by his news, and was happy with what he found. Bijan’s normally serious expression wasn’t smiling, but did appear… satisfied.
Bijan wasted no time confirming Reza’s impression. “I believe we have a plan to keep the Assembly of Experts occupied while the operation is underway.”
Reza nodded with relief. One of his great worries had been that once their plan was being executed, one or more of the other Ayatollahs in the Assembly of Experts would discover Reza’s role in the war and call for an immediate election to select a new Supreme Leader. For Reza to have a chance to win that election, he had to delay it until the war was at a minimum successful at overthrowing the Saudi royal family’s grip on Saudi Arabia.
Anything else he managed to accomplish, like helping the Shi'a majority in Bahrain to overthrow its Sunni monarchy, would help even more.
Bijan continued, “Everything depends on the successful detonation of at least one of the three nuclear devices against a Saudi target. My men can then quickly rush into the Secretariat building, and tell the Ayatollahs that they must be moved to a nearby bomb shelter for their safety in case of a retaliatory raid by either the Saudis or the Israelis, who have threatened to attack anyone using nuclear weapons in the Middle East with their own nuclear stockpile. Once they are in whatever we decide to call a ‘bomb shelter,’ they will be under our control. We will naturally say they cannot contact anyone outside for security reasons.”
Reza nodded thoughtfully. Warning the Ayatollahs about a strike by the Israelis would not only be credible, but much more likely to work than trying to scare them with an attack by the Saudis.
“If you agree with this concept, I will have a building near the Assembly of Experts Secretariat secured and prepared. I have already identified one with a large below-ground level that I believe will do nicely.”
Now Bijan hesitated.
“If the Ayatollahs prove difficult to control, or vote to select anyone other than you as Supreme Leader, more drastic steps may be required. I suggest we wire the ‘bomb shelter’ with explosives in such a way that after detonation, the building would appear to have been struck from the air. We can then blame their deaths on either the Saudis or the Israelis, depending on which appears to be more credible at the time. You can then continue as Acting Supreme Leader until a new Assembly of Experts can be selected. By you, of course.”
Looking at Reza’s expression, for a moment Bijan feared he may have gone too far. Then he relaxed, as Reza’s expression became more thoughtful.
Reza shrugged. “I don’t want to take such an extreme step unless there is no alternative. Some of the Ayatollahs are good men, who I will be able to count as allies in moving Iran forward on the correct path. But, there are those like Sayyid Vahid Turani who must be stopped at any cost.”
It was now Reza’s turn to hesitate.
“Very well. Make the preparations you described. But the explosives are not to be detonated without my personal order. That means even if you, or whoever you select to carry out your orders while you are in Qatar, thinks it would be the best option.”
Bijan nodded. “Understood. And I agree, it would be best if we could secure your election as Supreme Leader with the current membership of the Assembly of Experts. I remain optimistic that our plan will achieve that goal.”
Reza simply nodded, and Bijan strode out of the office, and on to Qatar to begin the first stage of the plan.
Reza sighed, and looked unseeing at the papers on his desk. After so much effort and preparation, now they would finally see whether the plan to remove the Saudi royal family would work.
Chapter Eight
Salwa Beach Resort, Qatar
Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani was out of uniform for the first time in many years. As the supposed construction manager in charge of finishing the Salwa Beach Resort, he was dressed in the khakis and polo shirt he’d been told would be typical for the job. Now, he had to get the Pakistani foreman of the construction crew he’d hired moving without arousing his suspicions. All while praying that the resort’s real owners didn’t hear about all the new activity at Salwa before it was too late to stop him.
The truth was, he’d been lucky to get Fuad Siddiqi. Competent foremen were in high demand in Doha’s busy construction industry, and few were eager to leave the capital for a site without amenities for many kilometers in any direction.
Fortunately Fuad, or more precisely his family in Pakistan, needed the money. His first month’s salary had been paid up front, and a generous bonus promised for on-time completion. Fuad had rounded up construction material, hired a crew, and was ready to start when Bijan arrived. He was bald, but sported a mustache and beard that seemed to be trying to make up for it.
As soon as he spotted Fuad, which was easy due to the crowd of workers listening to his shouted orders, Bijan pushed his way forward until he was standing in front of him. Bijan thrust his hand forward and said simply, “Bijan.”
His hand was quickly enveloped by one covered with calluses from a lifetime of hard work. The power that went with its grip was not challenging, simply a reflection of the sturdy muscular frame of the man behind it.
“Good to meet the manager. I understand that after this resort has been left to sit in the sun for years you’re finally going to finish it,” Fuad said with a smile.
Bijan nodded. “Yes. Getting these two warehouses up so we can store the construction materials we’ll need is my first priority.” Waving his right hand at the pile of prefabricated components laying on the sand, he added, “I see you’ve already got the warehouse materials unloaded. You’ve got the blueprints, right?”
Fuad frowned, “Yes, but one point I wanted to check with you. There are no roof components among these materials, or shown on the blueprints.
Instead, we’ve got blue plastic sheeting we’re supposed to put in place of a roof. Which will work fine to keep out dust and insects.”
Bijan nodded calmly. “Correct.”
Fuad’s frown deepened, and Bijan thought to himself that the absence of hair on his head made the frown seem to go higher. Probably his imagination.
“OK, I’m sure you know like everywhere on the Peninsula it doesn’t rain much. But it does rain sometimes. If it does in any quantity
, this plastic sheeting is going to collapse and dump rainwater all over the contents of these warehouses. I know that this sort of storage method has been used before here, and that warehouses this large had to cost quite a bit. But it won’t cost much more to add the roof components, and my crew can have the roofs added in just a couple of extra days.”
Bijan nodded as though he were seriously considering Fuad’s arguments.
“I will talk to the owners and pass on your concerns. I’m sure you understand that I’ll need their approval to spend the extra money. Frankly, I had the same thought and have already checked the weather report for the next ten days.
Fortunately, it shows clear skies ahead. I’m glad to hear you say that the roofs can be added in just a couple of days if that changes.”
Fuad looked relieved. “Yes, that’s right. I’m glad you’re willing to think about my advice. I always want the bosses to be happy, and soaked construction materials are a sure way to slow down the finish time for this project.”
Bijan smiled. “And that wouldn’t help your chances of getting that on-time completion bonus, would it?”
Fuad smiled back. “No sir, it would not.”
Bijan nodded. “So, how long to finish the two warehouse buildings based on the blueprints as they stand?”
Fuad shrugged. “The components are all prefab, so my crew should have no trouble getting them done in the three days you asked for, as long as you don’t have any side projects in the meantime.”
Bijan laughed. “Spoken like an experienced foreman. No, you’ll get no surprises from me. Just get the warehouses up, and then we’ll get the materials we need to start on finishing up the resort stored away.”
Fuad nodded. “Very good, sir. I’ll get the crew started.” With that, he walked to where the crew was sitting around two plastic tarps stretched out on the sand and held down with rocks, makeshift tablecloths for an outdoor breakfast. As Fuad explained what they would be doing to the crew, Bijan smiled with satisfaction. Now, if everything else just went this smoothly…
Assembly of Experts Secretariat, Qom, Iran
Grand Ayatollah Sayyid Vahid Turani was one of the very few members of the Iranian clergy to have contacts within the regular Iranian military. There was a reason a large and well-armed parallel military answerable only to the clergy had been set up after the Iranian Revolution. That was the Shah’s use of the regular military to successfully suppress dissent for years, until the Iranian people were finally willing to face machine guns in crowds numbering tens of thousands to defy them.
Vahid smiled as Colonel Arif Shahin was escorted into his office by his secretary, who quickly left. Arif was in command of a tank regiment stationed near Tehran, which meant he was considered reliable by both the Iranian military and the Pasdaran, who would have never allowed a military commander they suspected near the capital.
“Arif, it’s good to see you! Please, we must have some tea.” Vahid said, gesturing towards a low table surrounded by comfortable chairs, where tea and cookies were already waiting.
There was only one possible answer to that invitation, though Vahid could see Arif was anxious to begin speaking immediately about something important. With a sharp nod, Arif sat in the indicated seat, and visibly willed himself to relax as Vahid poured tea.
Arif took the offered glass and sighed as he inhaled the tea’s fragrance. “I must remember, we have ancient customs for a reason.”
Vahid laughed. “Indeed we do. Now, tell me what brings you here with such urgency.”
Arif set his glass down and frowned. “First, I have to say I wish I had more to tell you. Much of what I’ve learned is incomplete, and I’m not sure what action we can take to stop whatever’s happening. But, here’s what I know so far.”
Arif spent half an hour explaining what he and his men had discovered.
Vahid listened intently, and once Arif had finished shook his head. "Very well," he said. "Let me sum up what you've told me. Reza Fagheh and his allies in the Pasdaran plan to attack Saudi Arabia, and their plot includes at least one nuclear weapon and the Qataris. We don't know exactly how or when this attack will take place, but we believe it will be soon. Reza is doing this because he thinks it will provoke a rebellion against the Saudi royal family's rule, and that if he can claim credit for sidelining our main rival for influence in the Gulf, he will be elected Supreme Leader."
Arif nodded, and then shrugged. "I know it's not much to go on."
Vahid shook his head sharply. "I can't go to any of my fellow clergy with this, let alone try to warn the Saudis. We've all heard rumors that we built one or even several nuclear weapons, but I've never seen a document referencing them, or talked to anyone who claims to have seen them with his own eyes.
And who would take the Qataris seriously as a military threat? The Saudis could squash them like a bug."
Arif looked distinctly unhappy, but simply nodded.
Now Vahid smiled. "Cheer up, Arif. I didn't say I don't believe you. We may not have enough information to stop whatever attack Reza is planning against the Saudis. But there is one step not covered in the plan you outlined that Reza will have to take if he's to become Supreme Leader. And that, we can counter. Now, here's what I want you to do…"
Tehran, Iran
Neda Rhahbar called her sister Azar, and was relieved when she answered for a change, rather than letting the call go to voicemail.
“Sister, it is good to hear from you! How have you been?” asked Azar.
“Bored, to be honest. I was hoping you might be having one of your gatherings sometime soon,” Neda said, trying to keep her voice casual.
Azar laughed. “I’m glad to hear you say so! As it happens, I’m having one tomorrow. I would have called you, but I thought you weren’t so interested anymore.”
Neda forced a laugh of her own. “Well, I was a little hasty there, I think.
So, where are your guests from?”
Azar paused and thought briefly. “Well, the foreigners are from Pakistan, Azerbaijan, Indonesia and Russia. Were you hoping for someone from any country in particular?”
“No, not at all,” Neda said quickly. “Just curious.”
Azar replied in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t convinced, “Sure. So, I’ll expect to see you tomorrow at seven?”
Neda answered immediately. “Look forward to it! See you then!” and hung up.
Neda had really been hoping for someone from France or the UK. She knew that an American was too much to hope for, but this group was not very promising. Maybe the Russian…
Neda grimaced. She had a vague plan of trying to trade the information she had overheard for a ticket out of Iran.
But would Moscow really be an improvement over Tehran?
Neda again thought about going directly to a West European embassy, but after a few moments rejected the idea. All foreign embassies were watched by VEVAK, the Iranian secret police. She also believed that they all had VEVAK agents working in them covertly as ordinary local employees and was correct for all but one. Only the Russian Embassy refused to hire local employees to work inside its mission, which they regarded as an elementary security precaution.
Neda had thought about posing as a visa applicant, and only once she was inside the embassy building revealing her true purpose. However, she was right to think that if she were to be believed and admitted to an office other than the visa lobby for interview, this would be noted and reported to VEVAK.
Life in Moscow with its endless cold, dark winters was the opposite of appealing. On the other hand, she was certain that women there had more freedom than in Iran. After her experience learning English, she was also certain that she could quickly learn Russian.
Neda also thought that her information would be worth money to the Russians, not just a ticket out. When they had gone on their honeymoon in Paris she had told Kazem she needed to buy some “lady products” to give her the time needed to open a French bank account she could access online, s
o she would be able to demand and receive payment before providing all she knew.
Though it was tempting to wait for a better opportunity, Neda finally decided that she had to act on her information immediately. Kazem and Farhad had never mentioned a specific date for the attack they were planning, but it sounded as though it would be soon. Neda knew that if the attack happened before she could sell her information, it would be worthless.
Besides, she thought to herself, it wasn’t as though Tehran never had snow and ice. Neda also realized that on her own in Moscow, there was a good chance she could find someone from a West European country to marry. She still had her looks, and her excellent English.
Leaving Kazem would have made her hesitate before, because she used to have real feelings for him. Not now, though. Hearing him casually discuss the slaughter of thousands of her fellow Muslims had horrified her, and now having him anywhere near her made her skin crawl. That was actually another pressing reason to go with any credible buyer of the information she was selling. Neda didn’t know how long she could go on pretending everything was fine before Kazem realized something was wrong between them.
Kazem was many things. Stupid was not one of them.
So then, Neda thought with a decisive nod. That’s it. I’m going to Moscow.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Anatoly Grishkov and Alexei Vasilyev both stood to greet their contact, who they had been told was Saudi but little else. He was dressed in the standard thobe and gutra worn by nearly all Saudi males, had dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Both guessed his age, correctly, as in his thirties. After brief handshakes, they all sat and the man gave his coffee order to the waiter who appeared almost immediately.