The Saudi-Iranian War

by Ted Halstead

  “I was only authorized to offer you reparations of one hundred billion dollars. I think I can persuade all concerned to increase that to one hundred fifty billion dollars. Also, as a gesture of our sincere desire for a peaceful conclusion to this conflict, my President has authorized me to offer you his personal aircraft.”

  The Crown Prince smiled. ‘The one that the Qataris gave him in 2017, worth about half a billion dollars?”

  Enes nodded. “Yes, that one.”

  The Crown Prince looked thoughtful. “And Bahrain?”

  When Bahrain’s Shi'a majority had overthrown their monarchy, their royal family had also sought sanctuary in Ankara. Refuge had been offered deliberately, for precisely this moment.

  “The Americans plan to return to their naval base in Manama, and the new Bahraini government has agreed. There the Americans will ensure Bahrain never poses a threat to the Kingdom. From that base, the US Navy will also inspect any ship approaching Yemen with the capacity to carry ballistic missiles, to make sure the Iranians keep their promise not to supply them to the Houthis.”

  Enes paused. “The Bahraini royal family will be welcome to live out their lives in comfort in Turkey.”

  The Crown Prince grunted. He was sure the Bahraini royals would be paying dearly for the privilege.

  Enes handed a flash drive to the Crown Prince, who looked at it curiously.

  Enes said, “I was given this by the Americans. They say it includes the names of all the Shi’a in your Eastern Province who have been killed by Saudi forces over the past several years, as well as supplemental documents confirming their deaths. I was told to remind you that the Americans declined to intervene in Libya until Qaddafi declared he was planning to wipe out the residents of his eastern province, Benghazi. They wish to remain your ally, but even for allies, there are limits.”

  The Crown Prince scowled, but for several moments said nothing.

  Finally, he said, “Increase the reparation amount to two hundred billion dollars. In return we will allow all of the Qatari royal family except the Emir to return to Doha, and trust the Americans to oversee the transfer of all Qatari military assets to us. We plan to focus our military efforts on bringing peace to Yemen, and will not undertake any punitive action in the Eastern Province.

  We will also end construction on the Salwa Canal, both now and in the future. If you agree, I will take this proposal to my father.”

  Enes nodded. “Agreed. Please let me know what he says.”

  They both knew this was only for show. The King only had a matter of months at best to live, and had transferred nearly all power to his favorite son.

  Enes hesitated, and the Crown Prince’s eyebrows rose. “Something else?”

  Enes shrugged, and said “It’s none of my business, but I heard the address from Iran’s Supreme Leader, and his offer of compensation. I had an idea I thought you might like.”

  The Crown Prince made a “come on” gesture with his hands. He was actually curious.

  "Well,” Enes said, “you could ask the Iranians to pay for a desalination plant producing fifty percent more water than the one they destroyed. As well as provide all the workers. To encourage quick completion you could also refuse to allow any Iranians to make the pilgrimage to Mecca except the workers you decide are the top ten percent performers, until the plant is completed to your satisfaction.”

  The Crown Prince smiled. “I like your idea. I may just use it.” With a few changes, he thought, like requiring double the water production from the new desalination plant.

  Enes rose. “Your Majesty, I am happy that your wisdom has found a way to peace after all this bloodshed.” Moments later the Crown Prince was alone with his thoughts.

  Before he had become Crown Prince he had argued strenuously against the Salwa Canal, saying it would earn the Saudis new enemies, and achieve none of its goals. He had no idea then just how right he was, but ending the project would not only save money.

  No, it would also show the Saudis were capable of mercy. As would allowing the Qatari royals’ return to Doha, with the obvious exception of the Emir.

  Yes, he thought, my decisions will make a nice contrast with my predecessor’s murder of Jamal Khashoggi. That Kashoggi’s death took place at a Saudi consulate in Turkey, the country which had just helped to broker a deal to prevent the start of a wider war, helped drive the point home a little deeper.

  Shahid Rajaei Research & Training Hospital, Tehran, Iran

  Roya Maziar looked up from her station, and her pulse quickened as she saw Colonel Arif Shahin walking towards her. On the one hand, she was annoyed with herself. She was not a schoolgirl, to swoon when a handsome boy paid her attention.

  On the other, maybe she should start listening to her instincts, unless she wanted to let her mother pick her husband.

  “I am glad to see you again,” Roya said, looking Arif straight in his eyes.

  Arif looked at her thoughtfully, and nodded. “I as well. I wanted to be sure you had recovered from the terrible experience you had last week.”

  “I am fine. Have all of those responsible for killing my friend and the Supreme Leader been brought to justice?” Roya asked, her dark eyes flashing. Arif had no doubt what she meant by “justice.”

  “Yes,” Arif replied, adding, “I placed many of those criminals in custody myself.”

  “Good,” Roya said emphatically. “I’m certain there is a special place in hell for people who could be so cruel to those who are both innocent and defenseless.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Arif said gravely.

  “Now that we have that cleared up, I’m glad you came by because it saves me the trouble of finding you,” Roya said.

  “Oh?” was all Arif could manage in response.

  “Yes,” Roya said, “my mother insists you come for dinner. She says it is to thank you for saving my life, and that under no circumstances am I to take no for an answer.”

  “I see,” Arif said seriously, but with a humorous twinkle in his eye. “Of course, I was simply doing my duty. But as an officer, I recognize a valid order when I hear it.”

  Then he quickly wrote on a piece of paper, and handed it to Roya. “This is my personal cell phone number. Like the official number I gave you before I will answer it at any time, day or night. Unlike the other one it is not monitored by my superior officer, so you may also text me with personal messages. Like, for example, the place and time you wish me to come for dinner.”

  Arif and Roya smiled at each other, as Roya thought to herself that she had to remember to remind her mother that the dinner was supposed to have been her idea.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  FSB Headquarters, Moscow, Russia

  Anatoly Grishkov was welcomed into the office of FSB Director Smyslov with one of his usual bear hugs, this time followed by a pat on the back.

  Then, Smyslov led Grishkov to the same red leather couch where he had learned about the mission he had finished last month.

  "I am glad that at least one of you survived this last adventure, and that we were able to give you a month to spend with your family," Smyslov said as he looked Grishkov over. "From what I read in your report, either your guide in Iran, the Iranian border guard force, or an Iranian nuclear weapon could have easily cost me both of my best agents."

  Grishkov shrugged. "If I were really one of your best agents, Vasilyev would be sitting here beside me."

  Smyslov shook his head vigorously. "Nonsense. Vasilyev knew what needed to be done, and that it was a one-man, one-way mission. The Saudis gave us the weapon to study, which was after all the very least they could do.

  Our scientists say the device would have detonated if sea water had not infiltrated the casing, which happened due to water pressure. The depth for that to happen would not have been sufficient if you had both merely dropped it off the end of the pier. If you had been in the truck as well when Vasilyev drove it off to gain those extra meters of depth, all you would have accomplished
is your own needless death."

  Grishkov looked stubborn. "It should have been my choice."

  Smyslov gave a short bark of laughter. "Would you say that if Arisha were sitting here?"

  Grishkov winced at the mention of his wife. "I may have imagined it, but the last words I remember hearing from Vasilyev as I passed out had something to do with a promise he made to Arisha."

  Smyslov nodded. "There you are. I'm sure she'll deny it, but I'll bet Arisha got him to give his word he'd bring you back, or die trying. And why not?

  You do have both her and two boys depending on you, yes?"

  Grishkov reluctantly nodded. "Very well. Anyway, nothing I can do will bring him back. So, what is next for me? Will I return to Vladivostok? I have to tell you, I am not ready for any more such 'adventures,' particularly without a man I trust at my side."

  Smyslov smiled. "First, let me tell you that the President is once again extremely impressed by your performance, and of course with Vasilyev's as well. As after your last mission, you will each receive one million American dollars from the President's personal fund, with Vasilyev's award going to his next of kin."

  Grishkov's eyebrows flew up. "Is that a joke? Vasilyev didn't have any family."

  Smyslov shrugged. "I think it's time you met your new partner." With that, he pulled out his cell phone, and sent a one word text to his assistant.

  A few moments later, the door to Smyslov's office opened, and in walked a man who looked very much like Vasilyev, except about thirty years younger.

  "Anatoly, meet Mikhail Vasilyev, Alexei's son," Smyslov said with a huge smile.

  Grishkov remained seated, and appeared to be rooted to the sofa in shock.

  "But Vasilyev told me he never married."

  Mikhail sat down next to Grishkov and nodded. "Yes. But you do know it's possible to father a child, without marrying the mother?"

  As Grishkov turned beet red, Smyslov roared with laughter and turned to Mikhail. "I am only sorry that your father is not here to see this. I know he would have been tremendously entertained."

  Wiping a tear from one eye and gasping for air, Smyslov finally said, "Mikhail's mother was also a KGB agent, who was killed during an assignment in the Middle East while Mikhail was just a baby. He was raised by his grandparents. I knew Alexei even then, and I can tell you that he asked Mikhail's mother to marry him. She refused, because under KGB rules back then she would have been forced to resign."

  Smyslov paused, and said somberly, "Alexei never forgave himself for her death, even though he was on assignment in Asia at the time and could have done nothing to prevent it. He had nothing in his life except his work after that."

  Grishkov shook his head. "I can't believe Alexei had a son and never told me. Did he know?"

  Mikhail smiled. "Of course. He sent money to my grandparents, and I never lacked for anything. My grandparents claimed I was an orphan until I graduated from university, and had started my first job and rented my first apartment. When I came home on holiday to visit them, there he was. He said that he wanted me to make my own choices in life, and not to be pressured into following in the footsteps of his parents."

  Mikhail paused. "Maybe I was being contrary. But days later, I had applied to work at the FSB."

  Smyslov smiled. "It didn't hurt that he had studied foreign languages at university, and his first job was with a translation service."

  Mikhail shrugged. "I'm sure that's true. Anyway, when I told him of my application, it was the only time in all the years I knew my father that I saw him angry. He told me to withdraw my application, and when I refused said he would make sure I was never accepted. I didn't see him for several years after that, but as you can see I did start work at the FSB."

  Smyslov nodded. "It was obvious Mikhail had great potential. And no matter how much Alexei objected, it was not difficult to keep him busy abroad and unable to interfere. After several years, reports came to him of his son's performance in the field, and he finally changed his mind."

  Mikhail smiled. "Our work only let us see each other a few times, but we made the most of each occasion. The Director has told me about your last two missions with my father. I know you are unhappy that he did not allow you to join him in concluding his last one. I can assure you that he ended his career exactly as he would have wished had he planned it. After my mother's death duty was all he cared about. He was about to be forced into retirement, and after that he would have never complained, but would have still been miserable. A hero's death instead, saving thousands of lives including his partner's? Perfection indeed."

  Grishkov shook his head. "I still can't believe he never told me about you."

  Mikhail shrugged, and repeated the first part of Vasilyev's favorite saying.

  "Tell your enemies nothing."

  Grishkov gave a sad smile and repeated its end. "And tell your friends even less."

  Smyslov clapped his hands and said, "Now it is time, Anatoly, to answer your question. You have had a month to spend with Arisha and the children. I wish it could have been longer, but once again there is a problem, and

  Mikhail needs someone he can trust to help him address it. Do you agree to your new partner?"

  Grishkov held out his hand to Mikhail, who immediately shook it. "Of course I do. Where are we going this time?"

  Smyslov pulled two fat manila envelopes from his desk and laid one in front of each of them. "Mikhail obtained most of the information in these files, but there have been a few additions made since he came back a few days ago. I'm sorry, Mikhail, that you have to go back to Pakistan again so soon, but I'm afraid your last report has now been confirmed."

  Grishkov shrugged and said, "Well, at least it can't be as bad as three nuclear weapons."

  Mikhail smiled ruefully and said, "Three? I wish it were only three."