‘How things turned around,’ he couldn’t help but wonder.
***
‘Lady’ the mare loved her rider. Their ‘affair’ had lasted twelve years, during which he would give her favorite morning treat, a special brand of hay, mixed with alfalfa, and she, in turn, would stride along and gallop sure and steady. She liked the way he rode, light and respectful of her, and he liked the way his mare was devoted to him, cooperative and always in sync.
When he became a member of the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, Bonnie asked Udi, his friend and neighbor, to have Lady join his stables. Every so often, when he returned to his house in the valley, Bonnie’s first went over to Udi’s shed to reunite with the mare. She, for her part, did not have to see Bonnie with her own eyes. She simply knew her best friend was on his way to her. She had such a lovely, acute, bloodhound sense of his presence. She would suddenly stomp impatiently, and there he was.
“Even my own faithful dog doesn’t care for me as much as your Lady cares for you,” Udi complained at the sight of Bonnie and Lady exchanging neighs of joy. Bonnie began preparing her for their ride, cleaned her hooves, brushed her mane gently but firmly, exactly the way she liked, put a thick blanket on her back and then the special saddle he had bought in Marrakesh, Morocco.
The moment he mounted his mare and put his feet through the stirrups, Lady trotted out, ever so lightly, out of the stables. The horse needed no direction, knowing full well, after dozens of hours of riding, it was the fields and meadows they were going to. The valley was a patch of green fields, cotton fields before they bud, clover, green wheat just before harvest, and long stripes of yellow daisies and wild mustard in between.
Lady simply loved to ride, ever so softly, through dirt paths, driving flocks of white egrets, yet careful not to trample a slow-crossing turtle. Bonnie breathed in the fields and savored the blue of the far-off mountains: the Carmel range to the south, the Galilee mountains to the north, and the Gilboa up ahead.
This was Bonnie’s natural habitat. Here, he could commune with himself and his Lord. It was here that he made his life-altering decision.
***
The leaders of the Islamic Republic of Iran decided on a lavish, impressive parade for that year to broadcast to the whole world the country’s might and offer the downtrodden masses something to be proud about despite their harsh economic crisis. Powers that be first thought the supreme leader should be the one leading it, but then they thought better of it and decided to bestow the honor on their commander of the Revolutionary Guard, who would also be assigned a seat right on stage near all the other heads of the country.
Ankalaev, one of Tehran’s main streets, was chosen to host the parade because of its length, width and central location. A few weeks prior to the occasion, it was sealed off and traffic having been forbidden, makeshift seating, complete with roofs, was set up to accommodate some two thousand spectators. A dignitaries’ booth was erected at the center of these platforms, complete with a throne-like box with a red canopy and gilded tassels.
Security was so paramount that even trash cans five hundred yards away were removed and relocated, as were all the trees within three hundred feet of the honorary platform. Much to the chagrin of the local residents, this was indeed a necessity to prevent any risk of snipers. Trees that were farther away were closely trimmed. Iran’s security services made careful background checks of everyone living within some three hundred yards from where the country’s top leadership was to sit. Moreover, the residents of the houses at closer proximity were driven out of their own homes for forty-eight hours prior to the parade. When given advance notice of this, they were obliged to surrender their keys to the security detail and prohibited from entering their own apartments until they were told otherwise.
The special force assigned to command the parade went into emergency protocol forty-eight hours before take-off. All the platforms were double-checked again, including the customary sweep for mines and explosive devices. They were then marked in blue tape, armed guards were posted, and parking was prohibited for the following twenty-four hours. The day prior to the parade, security force snipers took their positions in the apartments above and were given strict instructions to shoot anything or anyone suspicious – and ask questions later.
The morning of the parade saw helicopters patrolling the street very low as thousands of security men took their places along the planned route. At ten o’clock that morning, three hours before the parade was due to begin, the security detail from the ‘special branch’ sealed the platform and encircled it, barring anyone who was not due to sit there from getting close.
The person in charge of securing the parade, an experienced veteran of such events, had a simple rule, ‘be concerned now so that you can have peace of mind later.’ He and his men thoroughly inspected each and every aspect of the security arrangements until they had exhausted every query. The final drill concluded without a hitch, and everyone hoped for the best.
***
On the eve of the parade, Mehdi was sitting comfortably in his apartment in the center of Tehran in his shorts and t-shirt. He glanced at the fancy uniform hanging outside his closet, laid out on a clothes hanger in the center of his living room, exactly as his bodyguard, after thoroughly inspecting the uniform down to the last button, had brought it over.
Mehdi planned a quiet evening for himself, a welcome respite after the past few hectic days, ahead of the parade the following morning. He didn’t care for parades. ‘All that noise, the rigorous security arrangements, standing for so long, saluting at attention... all that hassle just isn’t my thing,’ he told himself. ‘Nevertheless,’ he thought, ‘it can’t be helped.’
The telephone rang. He had three by his side. One of them was red. Only the President of Iran had the number, strictly for the utmost emergency. The second landline for operational matters was known to a select group of senior Revolutionary Guard commanders. Mehdi’s third line, a personal cellphone, would vibrate whenever someone would use a special one-time code that was designed to self-destruct immediately after the message or call was accepted. ‘Why is it vibrating now?’ Perplexed for a short while, Mehdi approved receiving the message, opened the screen and saw the following line: “Do not show up for tomorrow’s parade.”
The message remained on the screen for three seconds before the code, the SIM card and the message itself self-destructed. ‘I know who it’s from. The only person in the entire world I gave the code to.’ Mehdi could not stop thinking about him ever since had they met. He could barely contain his emotional outpouring from then on. The only other person who had ever caused his emotions to surge in such a way was the blue-eyed young man’s mother.
‘Miss the parade tomorrow? I couldn’t possibly...’ but then, Mehdi did pull himself together, picked up the phone and called his deputy, Mosati Ahizi.
“How are the preparations going?”
“Everything is going to plan, sir. We are going to have a great parade, sir.”
“What about security?”
“We conducted a general inspection of all the security matters and found everything to be in order, sir. We are assured zero risks and zero problems. The entire route is secure as of now, sir, by a large security detail. Everything is looking good, sir.”
“Very good, Mosati! But I want another inspection done first thing in the morning; pay special attention to the podium area, especially where the dignitaries are going to sit.”
“Yes, sir. Everything will be done according to your orders, sir.”
After a deep, uneventful night’s sleep with no dreams, Mehdi woke and took a morning shower to freshen up. As he stepped out of the tub, he slipped and hit his head on the sink. Crawling on all fours, he made it to his living room and pushed the alarm button. One of his 24/7 bodyguards burst into the room and saw the commander lying on the floor, blood gushing from his head.
Meh
di’s personal physician came soon thereafter, and, after he had bandaged his head and run a few tests, he told his patient, “I think you might have a slight concussion. It’s best you stay home today.”
Although notoriously stubborn, Mehdi put up no fight and told his stunned doctor he would indeed do as he was bid. He then called his deputy Ahizi. “Do not be alarmed, but I had a small accident and the doctor said I was not to leave the house. It cannot be helped. You will have to take over for me at the parade today. You will take my seat at the dignitaries’ podium.”
“Yes, sir.”
‘He sounded different just now. Is he worried or excited at the prospect of sitting there with the leaders?’ Mehdi thought when he replaced the receiver. A strange sensation he could not shake gripped him.
***
As soon as he got off the phone, Ahizi called his wife. “Don’t wear the black hijab you set aside for the parade. Wear the white one, the one with the golden stars I brought you from Esfahan.”
***
All the units due to attend the parade were waiting in a large assembly yard at the far end of Ankalaev Street, according to the order of their appearance. The dispatcher was standing on a small platform at the other end of the street. He was holding a megaphone and wearing an earpiece that enabled him to communicate with the marching formations.
At precisely twelve-thirty, the dispatcher ordered the band to set out. No less than thirty musicians in white uniform and pineapple-colored sashes, holding wind instruments and drums followed their jaunty conductor, who also sported a hat that matched his sash.
Exactly sixty seconds after dispatching the band, the dispatcher ordered the flag bearers, all three hundred of them, to follow suit. They held the poles in their strong arms and waved Iran’s tricolor national flag alongside the Revolutionary Guard flags, which were yellow. Each unit that participated in the parade had its own uniquely colored flag, as well, so that the combination of the multitude of colors was indeed spectacular.
A tall and burly flag bearer led this parade of flags. The flagpole he was brandishing was particularly long, over eight feet. Its lower end had a special holster within the custom-made belt that was tailored to this man. The tall end of this thick pole featured the flags of both Iran and the Revolutionary Guard.
The dispatcher sent forth the third outfit eighty seconds after the flag bearers went on their way. This third installment of the parade comprised elite, bearded, Revolutionary Guard commando soldiers in speckled uniforms and carrying short-barreled Kalashnikovs. The muzzles had already been removed the previous evening to prevent any possible risk. Their assigned route was a four-mile march.
The parade’s fourth unit was the Revolutionary Guard’s ballistics outfit, complete with green trucks towing missile wagon and carriers. The missiles’ fuses had been removed. Those with a keen eye could discern that the missiles had been painted over recently. The anti-aircraft unit followed ballistics. It, in turn, was followed by the other units, which were still in for a good two hours of an arduous parade after being dispatched.
The band passed in front of the dignitaries’ podium to the sound of loud cheers. Sixty seconds later, the flag bearers marched passed Iran’s top-level officials at exactly one o’clock, precisely on schedule.
When the band reached the podium, the chief flag bearer called them all to salute, which they all did in honor of the Iranian people and the Islamic revolution. That very second, he leaped with surprising agility from where he stood in front of the platform and crossed the ten yards that separated the men under his command, still holding their flags, from the platform. Before anyone could get a chance to realize what was going on, the flagpole exploded a few inches away from Deputy Revolutionary Guard Commander Mosati Ahizi.
Except for Ahizi, who bore the full blow of the blast so that very little remained of his shattered body, few others were injured. Even among those, the injuries were minor at the most.
What a commotion this blast caused! People began fleeing in every direction. The parade ground to a halt. The valiant commandos, who were nearest to the explosion, simply stretched out on the road in fear. The ballistics detail fled, leaving their vehicles behind. The anti-aircraft crew likewise fled the scene, trampling those right behind them. Hundreds of thousands of civilian spectators were caught up in the ensuing stampede.
The only people who seemed to be entirely out of place were the members of the band. They simply kept on going, passed the platform, continued on with their route and on with their drums and trumpets, their noise rivaling that of the sirens of the ambulances that rushed to the scene.
Mehdi followed all this from his own room, on TV in real time. He was probably the only person in the whole of Tehran who was not surprised by the turn of events.
His operational line buzzed. “I am sorry to inform you that your deputy, Mosati Ahizi, was killed in the attack.”
Mehdi got off the phone. ‘I owe someone my life.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Revolutionary Guard’s entire high command, some fifteen seniors, was called up the following morning. They were all summoned to an emergency meeting. All, that is, but one. The very evening after the parade that had ended so abruptly, Mehdi ordered the Revolutionary Guard security services to arrest the chief of security and interrogate him for the enormous blunder that had brought the catastrophe about.
Mehdi was sitting at the head of the table and the chief of operations was sitting next to him. Mehdi’s head was bandaged. His face was frozen and there was a foggy look in his eyes.
“Trouble,” he began saying, “tends to come in pairs, like a team of oxen towing a plow or pigeons in their coup. But before we delve into all that, let us take a moment and stand in silence to honor the memory of our good comrade, the valiant, heroic Commander Mosati Ahizi.”
Everyone stood up in honor of the fallen Revolutionary Guard deputy commander, whose body was torn to pieces right before their very eyes. In their heart of hearts, they blessed Allah for extricating them from a similar fate. Then, Mehdi sat back down, and they followed suit.
“Yesterday’s terrorist attack was a serious blow to our homeland and to our righteous fight against the forces of evil that wish to crush the revolution. Immediately after this ferocious assault, our esteemed president called me. He lifted my spirits and asked me to pass on to you and to all our valiant men his sincere condolences and heartfelt commiserations for this terrible tragedy. I promised him we are standing firm, we have not lost our spirit, and we shall carry on all the way to victory.”
Mehdi then added, “Immediately after the attack, I ordered the appointment of an investigation committee to look into all events leading up to it, as well as the conduct of our men afterwards. I instructed them to complete their inquiry and deliver their conclusions within seven days. In the meantime, I asked the chief of our ops department to give us a short review of what we’ve managed to examine thus far.”
The head of the Revolutionary Guard Ops Department began his presentation looking very low as if frozen in gloom. “Yesterday, immediately after the terrorist attack, I assumed personal responsibility for the tragedy, although I was not personally responsible for security-”
Mehdi cut him off. “I immediately rejected his assumption of responsibility. As much as it is an ethical and moral step, it was not merited in this case. I assure you that those responsible for what happened will pay dearly. Please carry on.”
“This is merely a preliminary review. The inquiry is in its initial stage. No doubt, the enemy has succeeded in surprising us, and by ‘enemy,’ I am referring to only two possible agencies that can be taken into account, CIA special ops or Mossad. This attack has all the hallmarks of a Mossad operation.”
“We must also admit this was a highly professional attack, meticulously carried out. The deputy commander was the only casualty, not including the perpetrator himself.
There is no doubt that the one sitting right at the center of the podium was the designated target, and the fact remains that none of the dozens of people sitting in his vicinity were injured. Only a first-rate professional organization could execute such a highly focused operation.
“We were also surprised by the M.O. We thought of dozens of possible scenarios, but it did not occur to us that a plastic explosive could be concealed in such an unforeseen way. Our R&D department continuously gathers data from any terrorist attack worldwide in order to draw lessons from it, and there is no precedent for concealing an explosive device in a flagpole.
“Another issue we are carefully looking into is the identity of the flag bearer who took his own life in this attack. Thus far, our inquiry indicates that his personality and the environment where he lived are not in line with the psychological profile of a suicide bomber as we know it. We shall forward you our findings once we complete our investigation.”
Mehdi thanked his ops chief. “As I have told you, trouble comes in pairs. In this case, the catastrophe of the attack on the parade is coupled with operation ‘Queen of Vengeance.’ The small team and I had decided to execute the operation three days after the parade. I regret to inform you that this mission we have been working on for so long has been postponed. Last night, while I was grieving and hurting for what had happened at the parade, I received word from our people in Lagos, Nigeria, that dozens of local police officers, together with persons identified as Mossad agents, have pounced on the figure who was designated the ‘smoking gun’ of the entire operation, arrested him and uncovered the explosive charge that was already fully operational for detonation against the Israeli embassy.”
Deadly Ties Page 20
