Deadly Ties

by Aaron Ben-Shahar

  “Yes,” Bonnie agreed, in a slightly less tired voice than Mehdi’s.

  They exchanged blue glances, unsure how to proceed. Bonnie came to his wits first.

  “Have you seen the message from Vienna?”

  “I did. But what is it that you wish to tell me?”

  “I came to tell you I am your son.”

  Mehdi was stunned by the direct reply. His blue eyes grew darker. The edges on either side of his mouth got deeper. His body tensed up. “What do you base this on?”

  Bonnie was struck by terrific fatigue. His face, sun-kissed by years of horseback riding in the valley, turned gray. His shoulders sank and his entire body betrayed how weary he was. But after a while, he recovered enough to reply. “I showed you the results of a genetic test.”

  “This proves nothing,” Mehdi retorted. Nevertheless, his eyes conveyed some curiosity, maybe even a dash of empathy. “What’s your story?”

  “It’s a long story,” Bonnie felt slightly encouraged by Mehdi’s now softer tone and body language.

  “We have all the time in the world. That’s what we’re here for,” Mehdi answered as he poured them both tea from the nearby pot.

  Bonnie sipped the tea carefully and began.

  “My mother’s name was Estée. She died two years ago in her home in a village in the Jezreel Valley. That’s in the north of Israel. Subsequently, after tidying up, I found an envelope in a drawer by her bed. It was addressed to me personally.”

  He took another sip from his tea and lingered a bit. “Inside this envelope, I found a letter in my mother’s own handwriting. She told me my dad was not my biological father.”

  The emotional turmoil that seemed to have subsided climbed from the bottom of Bonnie’s stomach and went to his head. Mehdi noticed how overcome with emotion he was and quickly poured him a glass of water.

  “And what did you do with this piece of news?” he asked Bonnie.

  Bonnie felt Mehdi’s vigilance. “Well,” he said, “I decided to look for my father and track him down. I discovered my mother had been to Thessaloniki, Greece, during the time that matched her being pregnant with me. So I went there and met a woman called Claudia, a friend of my mother’s. Based on the information she gave me, I went to a breathtakingly beautiful peninsula, Sithonia, saw the hotel and got to know where I was conceived.”

  The further along Bonnie went with his story, the faster he recovered, gaining strength from the close attention of the man across from him, his biological father. When he was done, silence descended on the room once again.

  This time, it was Bonnie who broke it.

  “Would you like me to go on?”

  But Mehdi was no longer there. His mind took him to the dreams, the memories, of that godsend creature from Sithonia, whose image he had kept alive in his innermost thoughts all these years.

  And then, Bonnie watched with anxiety how the tough commander of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard suddenly collapsed right before his eyes. Mehdi seemed to have shrunk. His head fell, his eyes grew blank, and he began to tremble all over. He could not help it. Years of denial, repression and emotional blocking out were taking their toll and finally gushing out. Mehdi never cried. As much as he might want to, he simply did not know how. Rather, he uttered all sorts of yelps and moans. Then, in a gesture that stupefied them both, he laid his head on Bonnie’s shoulder. Bonnie himself was beside himself with surprise, joy and perhaps even sadness.

  “If only you knew how much I loved your mother...” was all Mehdi was able to utter.

  After long moment of silence, Mehdi regained his composure and seemed to have returned to the image of power and fortitude. And then, as though nothing had happened, he asked, “But how did you manage to obtain my DNA?”

  “Someone got hurt in a car accident and was admitted to the hospital. It’s not much of a leap from that point.”

  “Tell me,” Mehdi asked apprehensively, “is the Israeli Mossad in on this?”

  “No. only two people in the whole world know the story, you and I.”

  ***

  The hours went by. It got dark as the day progressed. ‘So, what do we do?’ each of them thought as they looked at each other pensively.

  “We need to bide our time,” Mehdi reassumed his role of responsible adult. He rose from his seat. Quite spontaneously he went over to Bonnie, who, likewise stood up, and the two embraced long and hard. Their identical blue eyes exchanged a long, wet glance.

  “I would like you to have dinner tomorrow night with me and my family,” Mehdi said as he turned towards the door.

  ***

  The following day, Bonnie took the elevator down to the hotel’s mercantile floor at the lobby. He entered a menswear shop and bought himself a white button-down shirt and black trousers. He then went to the nearby gift shop, wondering what present to bring that evening. ‘I’m always so lousy at presents.’ He eventually succumbed to the warm and adamant recommendation of the lovely shop girl and bought a handwoven prayer mat.

  “I am sure your hosts do not have such a beautiful piece,” she told Bonnie, but inwardly, she commended herself on a good sale: ‘another tourist sold, and at such a steep price.’

  ***

  The car brought Bonnie to a splendid house on a swanky street in Tabriz. There was Mehdi, waiting up front. Much to his delight, Bonnie saw that Mehdi, too, was wearing a white shirt and black trousers. ‘Good match,’ he commended himself, ‘I hope I did well with the prayer mat too.’

  After they shook hands, Mehdi whispered to him, “I told them you’re an American who came to Tabriz on business. They do not need to know anything more than that.”

  Mehdi led his guest into a luxurious living room with a floor of black marble tiles separated by mosaics in blue and gold. The heavy curtains were all crimson with gilded tassels hanging by the windows. Bonnie also marveled at the side tables laden with artifacts and at the thick rugs with a quality matched by that of the gilded chandelier. Ashamed of the prayer mat, he hid it behind his back, while figuring out how to bow out gracefully.

  The family was already seated at their cushioned armchairs. Mehdi presented to Bonnie Ali’s widow and their three children, his brother Bahiz, Bahiz’s wife and their four children, his two sisters, Shahnaz and Yasmin, who came with their fiancés, and, finally, his mother Fatimah and his father Suleiman, who both got up in Bonnie’s honor and shook hands with him.

  Bonnie felt quite queasy at the sudden realization he was shaking hands with his paternal grandparents hit him.

  Throughout his entire life, Bonnie had an acute absence of grandpas and grandmas. He had never had the pleasure of a grandpa coming to preschool and tell tall tales. He did not recall one Passover dinner at his grandparents, whereas his fellow preschoolers, afterward, school friends, would always be telling him about a present their grandparents have given them. He did not understand what they went on about.

  Avram’s parents died before he was born, so he never got to know the people who had raised his father. He had a faint memory of his maternal grandfather, in particular the poor man’s unsuccessful attempts to teach him Russian. ‘And here I am, shaking hands with and receiving a warm hug from my newfound grandad and grandma, so late in my own life,’ he could not help thinking.

  Dinner dragged on and on. So many dishes and such exotic tastes. Laughter and chatter filled the spacious dining room, and Bonnie fit right in. But he wasn’t really there though. He kept picturing Estée with Avram, sitting right there with him, sampling the dishes and having such a wonderful time. ‘What would they have said about my new grandpa and grandma?’ he asked himself.

  When dinner ended and he bade farewell to his wonderful hosts, Mehdi asked Bonnie to come up with him to what he referred to as “my own patch of heaven.” There, on the spacious balcony, overlooking Tabriz’s night sky, lit by stars and city lights, the two sat a
nd drank the sweet tea that Mehdi prepared for them. Bonnie felt very much at ease. He hadn’t felt this happy and content in years. “I had such a lovely time with your family,” he told Mehdi.

  “They loved you as well,” Mehdi replied, and continued, “So, you’re going back to the Zionist country tomorrow, right?”

  “And you’re going back to your plans to bring about our destruction, right?”

  They both burst out laughing. Such a liberating laugh.

  “Iran doesn’t wish to destroy anyone,” Mehdi declared.

  “So, what does Iran want?”

  “Respect and security.”

  Bonnie went into deep thoughts. ‘Everything I thought about Iran I have to reconsider now. It’s not just an enemy, but also home to dozens of millions who want nothing else but to live their lives in peace and security.’ The Mohammadis’ warm hospitality and getting to know them in person had made an impact. Their kind and affable ways got the better of him. His own family was not the same. His mixed emotions towards his biological father also became clearer to him, as did his unfolding affinity. ‘We don’t just have the same eyes, we also seem to have the same character. I have a newfound appreciation for him.’

  Bonnie suddenly surprised himself when he asked, “May I be of assistance?”

  Mehdi, too, found the question surprising. “Only if you wish,” he replied.

  “I’ll be glad to help,” Bonnie replied, taken aback by the rollercoaster of his life.

  “I told you Iran does not wish to destroy Israel, only to protect ourselves, so any information in that regard will help. As minister of science you know what I mean.”

  “I will surprise you,” Bonnie told his father.

  Much later that night, after establishing their secure, well-concealed modes of communication, the father drove the son back to his hotel. Their parting was emotional: an embrace and a promise to each other they would meet again soon.

  ***

  The following day, the large man picked Bonnie up from the hotel and took him to the airport. He was once again cleared to depart quickly and efficiently and rushed into the plane so quickly, it seemed the flight was waiting just for him. Once the five and a half-hour flight back to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris landed, Bonnie returned to the Hyatt Regency, where he quickly gathered his stuff from the hotel safe, checked out and hurried back to the airport, where he went through customs again, this time using his real Israeli passport. He spent three hours waiting for the El Al flight back to Israel. Prior to boarding, he destroyed the Iranian passport, flushing the myriad pieces of paper down the drain at various stalls.

  “So, minister, how was Paris?” his secretary asked when he returned.

  “Quite all right,” he replied, and went over to his desk to go over the paperwork that had piled up.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Revolutionary Guard’s special staff, dedicated to the promotion of Operation Queen of Vengeance, convened at the villa near Qom. Commander Mehdi Mohammadi was seated, per usual, at the head, together, also as usual, with the heads of the ops and intelligence sections, the chief engineer and other top brass. Mehdi thanked them for their efforts in drawing up the plans for avenging the blows the Zionists had dealt them and asked the ops chief to review the final plan of action.

  “The Israeli embassy in Nigeria,” the chief of operations began his review, “is a real fortress. This five-story building consists of various wings. We’ve managed to obtain the blueprints, which I would like to present to you now.”

  He proceeded to show the slide displaying the comprehensive plans of the structure, pinpointing in great detail the exact locations of even the basements and parking spaces.

  “Not only this, we also have the building’s functional composition and the uses the Israelis are making of it. The front of the building is used for the administrative tasks of the embassy and the departments that are in contact with the local authorities. This is also where the consular office is situated.”

  Mehdi’s chief of operations then pointed to another wing. “As far as we are concerned, the interesting part of the building is the back, where the local Mossad station is located. In fact, the word station is diminutive, as it unjustly underplays Mossad’s activity throughout Africa. This wing concentrates their entire operations on this continent. This is where all the operational commands are relayed to the various teams. The back wing is also where the Mossad intelligence and cyber unit is located. They have at their disposal a satellite system that is operated via an array of antennas on the roof of this building.”

  He paused and continued. “I forgot to mention that the embassy’s diplomatic mission is also up front. The connection between the diplomatic mission and the operational stations is minimal, if any.”

  The ops chief moved on to the next item. “The building’s basement is used for various functions, such as the embassy’s archive, small printshop and various warehouses. The most important section there is an open space they use for training special forces, complete with an adjacent, specially dedicated room for counterterrorism equipment.”

  “As you can all see,” he was edging towards conclusion, “we’ve obtained a great deal of information on the embassy building and the activity there, but we are still unable to determine the use the Israelis are making with several rooms in the basement. We do know they guard them and use special security means.”

  He then made his final remark. “Hundreds of people work in this building, some of them are local. None of them have any access to the back section. Entry is exclusively allowed to Israelis, who enter this separate wing using a special code. Now, I suggest we hear from our friend Yazdi here, our highly qualified team engineer.”

  “I would like to thank the people from ops and intelligence for working so well to provide us with everything we need for this operation,” engineer Yazdi Shirazi began. “My guidelines were to destroy the entire building, but, as you just saw, the most important part is the back, so our operational plans are to allow a zero chance for this wing of the building to survive the explosion.”

  He took a moment before continuing. “We had long discussions with our team of explosives experts. After consulting with them and studying the building’s blueprints, we have concluded that we need an explosive charge of half a ton. If attached to the building, it would be enough to destroy it entirely.”

  The ops chief then brought his presentation to a conclusion. “As you can see, the building is surrounded by a tall cement fence. Entry is limited to an electric explosive-resistant steel gate. Resistant, that is, to conventional explosives. The compound and its surroundings are covered by special motion cameras that relay the images online to a control room within the building and, at the same time, to a special control room at Lagos Police. No doubt the Jews know how to take care of themselves.”.

  “Shirazi is correct,” Revolutionary Guard Commander Mehdi reassumed the helm. “Nevertheless, we are just as clever. I would like to finalize this meeting and provide you with two updates. First of all, the explosive charge is ready and is kept hidden about two hours’ drive from the embassy. Second, our modus operandi is tight. We will show these Jews, the Nigerians and the whole world who’s really clever. At this stage, we’ve decided to share the final operational details only forty-eight hours prior to the mission.”

  He then added, “I thank you all for a job well done. I want you to convey our thanks to all our good people who have worked on this holy operation.”

  ***

  The prime minister was sitting at the head of the table, with the minister of defense to his right and the science minister sitting to the left of the prime minister. The chief of the IDF general staff was sitting next to the defense minister, and next to him sat the intelligence affairs and strategy advisor. The head of the Mossad was sitting left of the science minister, next to the IDF chief of staff.

 
; “On today’s agenda,” the prime minister began, “is the removal of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps commander Mehdi Mohammadi. We have already authorized this in our meeting several weeks ago, but the details of the mission suggest that innocent lives may be lost due to its operational complexity. The attorney general insists that under such circumstances, the cabinet has to approve the operation with the members’ full awareness of all the details and steps. We have here with us our Mossad chief to provide a complete, detailed outline of the operation and the risks it poses.”

  The head of Mossad gave a comprehensive report of the mission and the risks that it involved, including the possibility of innocent bystanders being injured or even killed. At the end of his presentation, he concluded, “the sanctity of human life is paramount among the values of Mossad and its activities. We turn to this option only under special circumstances and out of necessity. Hurting innocents is out of the question in terms of our code of conduct, but in the particular case we are discussing here, this operation is necessary to save the lives of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of innocent lives that might fall prey to the savagery of this proxy of the Iranian regime. Under these circumstances and in the absence of any alternative, we have proposed to the prime minister to stop this mad Iranian mission by removing the snake’s head.”

  Silence descended on the room, broken only by the prime minister. “Who is in favor of authorizing the removal of the commander of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard according to the principles laid out by our Mossad chief?”

  Everyone present raised his hand.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I, Binyamin Pladot, son of Avram Fiddlemann of blessed memory and son of Esther Fiddlemann, may she live long, do hereby pledge, as member of the government, to remain loyal to the State of Israel and to its statues, to faithfully execute my duties as minister and uphold the decisions of the Knesset.”

  Bonnie recalled the immense excitement he had felt standing on the podium in the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, and taking his oath of office. He remembered how much he had missed his father, who had died not long before then and did not live to see the day his son was appointed minister in a government of Israel. As he stood on the podium, he had sought his mother’s loving eyes. She was sitting in the section reserved for honored guests, along with his sister, with tears in her eyes.