Ashani was shown into a comfortable room next to Amatullah’s office for the viewing of Minister Salehi’s presentation to the United Nations Security Council. Brigadier General Sulaimani of the Quds Force was already there, as well as Golam Mosheni, the Vice President for Atomic Energy, and Major General Zarif, the head of the Republican Guards. Tea was offered to each man. Ashani said hello to everyone and took a seat next to Sulaimani on one of the leather couches. The big-screen TV was tuned to CNN. A man and woman were on the screen talking about the tension in the chamber between the Iranian foreign minister and the U.S. secretary of state.
Amatullah entered the room holding a glass of water. He was smiling from ear to ear. “I just spoke with Salehi. France, Russia, and China have all agreed to back our resolution. He said if we withdraw our language about the U.S., he thinks England will back it as well.”
“What about the other members?” Ashani asked.
“South Africa and Italy are on the fence. Everyone else is behind us. He said the Israeli ambassador looks very uncomfortable.”
“They didn’t send their foreign minister?” Mosheni asked in a surprised tone.
“No,” Amatullah answered. “They obviously don’t want to embarrass him.”
Amatullah sat down seconds before Salehi began to talk. The Iranian foreign minister was sitting at the large semicircular shaped desk that looked down into the well where the fifteen members of the Security Council sat at a long rectangular table.
Ashani had received a copy of the speech and skimmed it in advance. It was less than five minutes long. The first third dealt with a sovereign country’s right to seek energy independence and be safe from the aggression of other nations. Everyone on the Security Council knew the facility at Isfahan had nothing to do with energy independence and everything to do with nuclear weapons, but that didn’t deter Minister Salehi from playing his part. The middle third of the speech outlined the damage done by the attack.
Salehi pounded his fist on the desk as he gave the number of dead—328 scientists, technicians, and laborers. Ashani knew that the actual number was roughly a third of that, but Amatullah wanted it tripled for effect. On the screen behind Salehi flashed the photos of some of Iran’s best and brightest scientists. Salehi listed the price of the facility at three billion dollars, again roughly triple the actual cost. Most egregious of all, however, was the mess that had been created. The beautiful city of Isfahan now contained a nuclear disaster second only to Chernobyl. The damage to the citizenry was incalculable.
The last third of the speech spelled out the recourse Iran was seeking. There was no debate over who had carried out the attack. No offer of evidence that could pinpoint the rogue country that was behind this savage breach of international diplomacy. Salehi for the first time mentioned Israel. He ran off a litany of historic events where Israel had attacked her Muslim neighbors, while conveniently leaving out the times Israel’s Muslim neighbors had attacked her. He pointed out that Iran had done nothing to provoke this attack, and finally he listed his country’s demands. The price was steep. Ten billion dollars in reparations plus whatever the cost would be to clean up the Isfahan site.
Ashani knew about these points and had helped craft them. In light of the destruction of the facility he felt they were reasonable, and in fact he thought the Americans might even pay. The next demand was intended to make Israel squirm. Ashani didn’t think they would get it passed, but it was worth a shot. Salehi demanded that Israel admit that they had a nuclear arsenal and allow UN inspectors full access to their facilities. The Israeli ambassador actually appeared to squirm when this point was made.
Ashani thought Salehi was done, but the man took a drink of water and announced that he had one more point. He began by recounting the horrible downing of Iran Air Flight 655 by the U.S. warship Vincennes which had resulted in the deaths of 290 people, 66 of whom were children. He listed another half dozen merchant ships and Iranian naval vessels that had been sunk. He decried America’s continued support of Israel and their abominable persecution of the Palestinian people. He said his country would no longer tolerate the bullying of the world’s lone superpower.
Ashani got the sense Salehi was building toward something very dramatic.
“This organization,” Salehi said, “has failed to protect us in the past. We have been attacked by the two greatest antagonists in the world today, and we will not allow these crimes against our sovereign nation to go unpunished. In forty-eight hours’ time we will suspend the right of innocent passage for all U.S. and Israeli ships through the Strait of Hormuz. We will consider the attempted transit of any ship sailing under the American or Israeli flag an act of war, and we will take decisive action.”
The chamber exploded in an uproar of discussion. Salehi paused for a moment and then began talking over the clamor. “When the United States and Israel have admitted to this cowardly attack against the sovereign state of Iran, and has made assurances that recompense will be paid, we will reopen the strait.”
The reality of what had just been said took a moment to sink in. Amatullah had intentionally kept this last demand from him, knowing full well he would have said it was too inflammatory. The Security Council would undoubtedly make a move to separate each demand before voting, and there would be calls for investigations that would take months, but the closing of the strait could short-circuit all of that and lead to a speedy resolution. Or it could lead to an escalation that Ashani was afraid would not benefit his country. Ashani glanced over at his president and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find him nodding at the TV and looking very full of himself. Ashani had the sinking feeling that Amatullah actually wanted a confrontation in the gulf.
27
MOSUL, IRAQ
Rapp was sitting in Massoud’s theater room with Ridley, Stilwell, Massoud, and one of Massoud’s nephews. They too were watching the proceedings at the United Nations, but instead of drinking tea and water they were drinking beer and smoking cigars. Rapp had learned to expect strange behavior from the Iranians. Especially their president. In a way, they were a cross between the Cold War diplomats of the Soviet Union and the South American thug Hugo Chávez. Never afraid, for example, to take an issue like freedom of the press and decry restrictions by the United States while touting their own supposed openness. Closing the Strait of Hormuz to U.S. traffic, however, Rapp did not see coming. It was difficult for the press to prove the lie when people were talking about human rights and freedom of speech. There was all kinds of wiggle room, but in this case the line had just been drawn in a very clear way. An aircraft carrier sailing through the twenty-mile strait was impossible to miss.
International waters were simply that—international waters. Anyone was allowed to be there. Iran owned the water twelve miles from the beach and not an inch further. As long as the United States stayed far enough away there was nothing the Iranians could do. At least that’s what a logical person would conclude, but Rapp knew better. Iran liked to write their own rules and then rewrite them. They exemplified the adage, don’t let the facts get in the way of a good piece of propaganda.
Secretary of State Wicka appeared on the screen. Rapp noted that the usually calm and classy Wicka looked to be barely containing her anger. She was wearing her reading glasses and looking sideways in the direction of the Iranian foreign minister while one of her aides was whispering in her ear. Wicka nodded and then the aide sat back down. She opened her leather briefing book with the flick of a wrist, took a moment to review her notes, then closed the book and took off her glasses. Looking into the well at the ambassadors who represented the fifteen countries holding seats on the council, she slowly began shaking her head in the manner of a disapproving mother.
“I would like to start out by assuring this body that the United States had no hand whatsoever in the events that took place at the Isfahan nuclear facility earlier in the week. What you just witnessed is the same old tired tactic used by the Iranian government every time they ha
ve a problem. Blame the U.S. Blame Israel. It is the great Satan’s fault.” Wicka glared at Salehi. “Every time there is a catastrophe in Iran, the leadership trots out the Stars and Stripes and the Star of David to distract the people from the failed policies of their own government. We have been your convenient whipping boy for far too long.”
Wicka glanced over her shoulder and pointed at the screen. “First slide, please.”
A satellite image of the Isfahan facility appeared on the large drop-down screen. “These photos were taken in the moments preceding the destruction of Iran’s nuclear facility. A facility that I would like to remind the council was in violation of both Security Council Resolution sixteen ninety-six and seventeen forty-seven.” Wicka paused for effect. “This next series of photos will show you the actual destruction of the facility.”
Images played out across the screen in a succession of time-delayed, high-resolution photographs. Wicka narrated. “Note the absence of any flashes, explosions, or debris plumes.” Wicka again looked over her shoulder. “Next slide, please.”
Highly magnified photos of the building’s roof appeared. It was split into four sections. Air-conditioning units could be clearly seen, as well as the textured gravel of the massive asphalt roof. The slides cascaded across the screen, progressing from an undamaged roof to shots displaying the early signs of trouble, fissures that from space looked like nothing more than hairline fractures. Red arrows pointed to each crack, and a side-by-side comparison of the before and after photos was shown. The next series of slides showed cracks emanating from the center of the roof outward like a jagged spiderweb. The lines were now clearly visible, and there was no need for the red arrows.
“Notice,” Wicka said, “at no point can you find the telltale sign of a bomb breaching the roof. Our experts have gone over these photos in great detail, and we encourage the other permanent members of the council to do the same with your own satellite imagery.”
The next series of photos showed the structural failure of the roof as a large portion in the center gave way and collapsed. Other sections followed in quick succession. It literally looked as if the earth were swallowing the building en masse. The last image showed the beginnings of the debris cloud billowing up from the center of the massive rectangular hole.
“Not only is the roof not breached by a bomb, there are none of the telltale explosions one would expect to see from an aerial bombardment. We have shown these photos to dozens of experts, both civilian and military, and they all agree that what happened at Isfahan was a complete structural failure from the inside of the building. There was no external attack. No bombs dropped from planes as the Iranian government claims.” Wicka looked directly at the Iranian foreign minister and said, “At first we thought the collapse was possibly due to faulty construction, but we began to rule that out yesterday as new information became available.”
Wicka looked over her right shoulder and gave a slight nod to her deputy. “The Iranian government would like the world to believe they enjoy the full support of the Iranian people when in fact the opposite is true. The People’s Mujahedin of Iran, the National Council of Resistance of Iran, and the Mujahedin-e-Khalq are just a few of the many groups who stand in opposition to the dictatorial Iranian government.” The names of the groups played across the screen. “For over twenty-five years the hard-line clerics have attempted to thwart these groups by assassinating their leaders and imprisoning their members for daring to speak out against their harsh policies. By strictly controlling the press, the Iranian government has managed to, for the most part, hide this growing insurgency from the rest of the world. That is, until now. With the Internet it has become increasingly difficult for dictatorial regimes like the one in Tehran to control the flow of information.
“The following is a statement released by the Mujahedin-e-Khalq, or MEK as they are more commonly known. I would like to stipulate that this video is available on the Internet, for anyone who is willing to look. Al-Jazeera, I have been told, has also started airing it in the past hour.”
Rapp watched as the video that was shot in Massoud’s house the day before appeared on the screen. There was a man sitting on the ground with his legs folded in front of him. He was wearing green military fatigues and a black hood with slits for his eyes. A Russian-made AK-74 rested on his lap. Behind him a blue banner covered the wall. In both Persian and English were the words Free Iran and Mujahedin-e-Khalq. The man under the hood was Massoud’s nephew, who was fluent in both Farsi and English. He started out speaking Farsi and then switched to English.
“The people of Iran have suffered for far too long while their leaders have enjoyed the spoils of the late Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. The brave Iranian people stood up and threw off the oppressive bonds of the shah only to have their revolution stolen by a group of selfish men who have lined their pockets while the rest of us have struggled to feed our families. They have held on to their power by strangling all dissent. There is no free thought, no free speech, and no freedom of faith in Islam. Only the harsh edicts that are thrown down by selfish men who live in the shah’s palaces where they drink his wine and watch pornography on their satellite TVs.”
Rapp smiled as he listened to the words he had written. He had hesitated to use the line about pornography due to certain sensibilities. To those living in the West, the accusation would sound ridiculous, but to the people living under harsh Islamic law the accusation had the potential to stir up a deep-seated suspicion that those who made the laws lived above them. Such an accusation in this part of the world had the potential to incite a riot.
“They are protected by a secret police,” the masked man continued, “that is far more ruthless than the dreaded SAVAK of the late shah. They have beaten, tortured, and assassinated anyone who dares open their mouth in disagreement. They have spent billions in the pursuit of nuclear weapons while the average citizen struggles to heat his home and feed his family. What have we as a people gained in this pursuit of nuclear weapons that we do not need, and the world does not want us to have? The answer is nothing. They have turned our once great nation into a pariah of the free world. I ask my fellow Iranians, how is this life any better than the one we had under the shah? The sad truth is that it isn’t. And that is why we destroyed the nuclear facility at Isfahan. We have infiltrated the ranks of the Guardians of the Revolution and virtually every entity within the government. The Isfahan facility stood as an example of everything that is wrong with our leaders. Do they care about our economic and spiritual well-being? No. They only care about the power they have so hungrily hoarded for themselves. We allowed these selfish old men to steal our revolution, and we have paid a heavy price. Many of our fellow countrymen are dead because we did not act sooner. Well, it is time for a second revolution. It is time to throw off the repressive bonds of the hard-line clerics and their little puppet dictator. With the destruction of the Isfahan facility we have marked the beginning of the end of these tyrants, and the start of the fight for a true Islamic and democratic Iran.”
28
TEHRAN, IRAN
Secretary of State Wicka’s remarks were met with extreme prejudice. Even Ashani, who considered himself to be far more rational than the other men gathered in Amatullah’s office, listened with the long-held belief that candor was an extremely rare commodity at the United Nations. Wicka’s first point, however, couldn’t have been more accurate. Every time Amatullah ran into trouble with the people or the Supreme Leader, he would run to the nearest microphone and deliver a speech bemoaning the evil nature of the United States. Then for good measure he would warn of Israel’s impending destruction. It was classic propaganda through deflection.
The satellite photos showing the destruction of the Isfahan facility were met with snorts of derision by the others, but for Ashani they struck a chord. He began listening with far greater intensity as the woman laid out the facts. Facts that dovetailed with his own suspicions. The first sign that something very serious was about to b
e levied came when Wicka began listing the various dissident groups within Iran. Ashani’s mathematical mind was geared to make quick linear progressions. He saw, in the naming of those three groups, exactly where Wicka was going with her presentation. He almost said something to Amatullah. A quick phone call to the Ministry of Communications could have shut the broadcast down, but something had changed in Ashani since the attack. His normal patience of playing along with all of the posturing and chest thumping was gone. It was as if a part of him now wanted to see Amatullah suffer, so he sat there and said nothing.
When Wicka announced the video by the Mujahedin-e-Khalq, the entire mood in Amatullah’s office changed in an instant. Smirks were replaced with frowns and flapping mouths grew silent. Ashani watched as Amatullah leaned forward.
The Iranian president said, “What trick is this?”
Ashani watched the first words of the MEK spokesman with guarded interest. He knew firsthand how terrorist groups loved to take recognition for the dirty work done by others, because he had helped orchestrate such statements before. Many of Hezbollah’s operations were deemed too controversial for them to take credit, so they allowed fringe groups to bask in the glory instead. The MEK was no fringe group, however. They had grown significantly in influence and numbers in the northern provinces. So much so that government units could not operate without fear of attack.
The words that came out of the TV were without a doubt the most subversive to be spoken in Iran since 1979. Ashani both feared and hoped that they would strike a chord with the general public. His fear was born out of the knowledge that revolutions were messy things with lots of innocent people caught in the crossfire. His hope was for his daughters. If only they could live in an Iran that was rescued from the bigoted, chauvinistic hard-liners. A third emotion entered his brain. It was amusement. Amusement at watching Amatullah’s reaction.