Sheep Dog and the Wolf
Page 29
The plane made the trip with silence on the part of the guests of the Islamic Republic. They all knew better than to make any comment that could be construed as being critical of the regime. They also all knew that their every word was being monitored and recorded.
When they touched down at Mehrabad, an obsequious diplomat in an English morning coat right out of central casting met them and was effusive in his welcome and apologies for the unforeseen delays.
“Inshallah,” he said more than once.
God’s will or not, Angus McFarland—the Sheep Dog—had to control himself not to gag.
“I am Mohammed,” the very minor diplomat told the delegation of inspectors, “we have arranged for you to attend a lecture by our foremost educator, the chairman of Nuclear Development of Iran, Professor Ayatollah Alaeddin Muhammad Khamenei of the Department of Islamic Studies at Tehran University. It is a singular honor for you members of the foreign delegation. You may realize that the Ayatollah is the nephew of our esteemed Supreme Leader, may Allah bless and keep him. President Sofrekheneh, himself, has said that you will benefit greatly from this opportunity to have an in-depth look into our religion and our nation—his very words. You will be required to wear black tie, I think is your term for tuxedos.”
The sweeping adulation expressed by the minor bureaucrat, the intimate association of secular government, the military, the higher educational system, and the omnipresent and omniscient ecclesiastical authority informed the delegation—as it was meant to do—that they were likely to receive a hardline approach. The Sheep Dog presumed that they were going to be sent packing without having accomplished anything and that this would be his only opportunity to come into contact with his target.
Ibn Sharif al-Tezari shrugged in defeat.
“Take us to our hotel, Mohammed.”
Mohammed fetched limousines for the delegation, and they were whisked through the teeming streets to northern Tehran to the “best five-star hotel in Tehran” as Mohammed modestly described it. It was obvious to the entire delegation that their drivers were military men who made no real pretense of being otherwise. Their weapons were worn openly. Everyone was more than happy to be dropped off at the Azadi Grand Hotel on Chamran and Evin Cross Road Expressway, a place with which they were all too familiar from previous unproductive inspection tours.
Prior to leaving Frankfort, al-Tezari had briefed the man he knew as Angus McFarland, “I’m afraid that you will have to change your expectations when you travel to Tehran with us. The fact of the matter is that the hotels in Iran are not that popular with foreigners because you can’t get what you get in the hotels all around the world—big things like casinos, discos, fancy restaurants—or little things like a comfortable room. What you do get by going first class is barely an average room in a building that resembles a Hilton Express Hotel in the States. In many rooms, there is a TV but no HBO or other movie channels. Usually, if you do luck out and get a TV, there are only six local channels in Persian, and, if you are really lucky, you might get the BBC or CNN.
“Interestingly, there is wireless internet but the speed is no more than a dial up and it’s filtered, and I do mean filtered. When the government doesn’t like what’s going on in the country or in the world—or just doesn’t like the foreign guests—the internet is more likely than not to slow down to an unusable speed and conk out entirely. You won’t like the bathroom. Expect it to be small and sparsely fitted out—no hot tub, shampoo, or soap; and if you forget to bring your own towel, you can make do or do without. I doubted that you would know that; so, I took the liberty of buying you a couple.”
He neglected to mention that the toilets did not work, and Sheep Dog had to find that out later as he prepared for dinner. The hotel provided a small bowl of water atop a handsome rectangle column tiled with sayings from the Qur’an. Since there was no toilet paper, Sheep Dog presumed that his left hand was supposed to do. He performed his ablutions and wiped with one of the thin towels provided by his leader, Ibrahim ibn Sharif al-Tezari, carefully folding it so that it could be used a second time should the occasion arise.
The German Embassy had been authorized by the American ambassador—in a quid pro quo gesture on the part of each ambassador—to divulge to the IAEA director the fact that not everything was quite as it appeared to be with Angus McFarland; and it was best not to inquire overmuch. The favor of taking on Dr. McFarland—whom the German ambassador admitted did not know a thing about nuclear physics or anything related to the production of nuclear energy—had “another purpose for being in the Islamic Republic” was to be repaid with a future marker for a share of German satellite intel. The Americans—in turn—would similarly reward the Germans. Ibn al-Tezari rather hoped that McFarland’s purpose was intended to bring harm to the arrogant and dangerous Iranians; but, of course, he never suggested such an opinion aloud.
They were curtly informed by the inhospitable assistant manager of the Grand Azadi that the delegation was to present itself decked out in full black tie regalia at the stroke of 1830. They would be then taken to the Revolutionary Guards instructional auditorium at Tehran University where they would be privileged to hear a lecture from the great Professor Ayatollah Alaeddin Muhammad Khamenei.
“You will then be returned to the Grand Azadi and retire for the night,” the officious Persian said.
“Let’s get some dinner,” ibn al-Tezari said. “The food is the least bad thing about the hotel.”
He said it loud enough that the assistant manager could not help but hear.
The dinner was not all that bad, in fact. The floor was clean—unlike the carpet in Sheep Dog’s room—and the table linens were spotless. They were not given a choice from a menu; but rather, the waiters brought in ample servings of Sabzi Polow, a dill rice dish, followed by a delicious dried fruit soup made from soaked red beans browned in olive oil and lamb stock, mixed with cubed boneless lamb, lentils, julienne beets, and minced onion and spiced with turmeric, cardamom, cumin, black pepper, and salt. The mixture was boiled, then a mixture of chopped dried fruit including apricots, prunes, pears, peaches in light lemon juice was added. The dish was served garnished with parsley and lemon wedges. The next course was Kabab-e Ozungorun-sturgeon kebab, and dolme-ye Barg-e Mo—stuffed vine leaves. Dessert was Shollehzard-saffron rice pudding. The meal was the best thing that had happened all day and lifted the mood of the thoroughly dispirited U.N. Nuclear Radiation Inspection Committee. Sheep Dog was able to order a small bottle of Johnnie Walker Black from room service which is illegal for Iranians, but perfectly all right—albeit very expensive—for visiting kaffirs.
Despite an acceptable breakfast of eggs, bacon, a rasher of wheat toast, and corn flakes, the general mood of the Europeans sagged again as they dutifully boarded the Revolutionary Guard chauffeured limousines at 6:30 As a minor gesture of defiance, the members of the committee all left off their ties and buttoned the top buttons of their collars, a timid mockery of the vain refusal of the Iranians to wear full Western attire. The Iranians viewed the Europeans’ dress as the opposite: a gesture of respect for their chutzpah for defying Western customs, a product of the glorious Islamic Revolution.
The IAEA inspection team and their minders formed an armed convoy from the Azadi to Tehran University. The team was divided up into four separate limousines, each protected by a dour pair of Revolutionary Guardsman from the security branch. The silence of a funeral cortege reigned as the four huge seven seater black Russian Zils—20 feet long and weighing nearly four tons—moved through the streets of Tehran. Cars, trucks, motor bikes, and pedestrians alike gave way quickly to one of the ultimate symbols of Soviet power and now of the commanding presence of the Islamic State. The limos were comfortable, unlike anything in the Azadi Hotel. Sheep Dog settled into the beige velvet seat and had a short power nap.
The particular Zil in which Sheep Dog and the rest of his group were traveling was a famous model 41052 assembled by hand. To underscore the dominance of the Revolution
ary Guards over the IAEA team—and indeed, the entire Middle-East region—this model was custom fitted with armor plate which was bullet and grenade resistant. It had cost the Islamic Republic of Iran a million dollars, and its intimidation factor was worth every penny to them.
The University of Tehran—“the mother university of Iran”—is the oldest and largest university in Iran. It was officially inaugurated in 1934. Its library is the largest in the country. The limos pulled up to the front steps of the administration building on Enghelab Avenue near the middle of the central Pardis campus—the oldest and the best known of the campuses of the sprawling university complex. The IAEA delegation was swiftly ushered out and marched up the stairs to a reception lobby by prodding Revolutionary Guards, who made no effort to disguise their contempt for the Westerners.
Sheep Dog was aware of the history of the roadways he had just traversed as the cortege entered the Pardis campus. He was not very well versed in the glorious ancient history of Persia, but he well remembered its key roles in the political events of recent history. It was in front of the same gates of this school that the Sheep Dog had just passed that the army of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi—the Shah of Iran—opened fire on dissident students, killing many and further triggering the 1979 revolution of Iran. It was there and 20 years later—back in July 1999—that a much smaller number of dissident students confronted police.
Currently, at the university, the leaders of the country deliver some of their most potent speeches often on Friday during prayers. Since the 1979 Islamic Revolution, the main campus of the university and its surrounding streets have been the site for Tehran’s Friday prayers to emphasize the direct and complete linkages between the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran, the Supreme Leader of the nation, a powerful grand ayatollah, and Allah, himself.
Six goose stepping soldiers led the appropriately intimidated IAEA delegation into the third largest of the building’s many classroom auditoriums. They were ushered to their seats; guards took their places around the room, and conspicuously by the entrances; and the room fell into a hush. Sheep Dog made sure that he sat in an aisle seat.
The disquieting hush endured for thirty minutes until a side door admitted two guards, then the republic’s foremost educator and the chairman of Nuclear Development of Iran, Professor Ayatollah Alaeddin Muhammad Khamenei of the Department of Islamic Studies at Tehran University. He walked briskly to the podium and stood impassively surveying the audience until there was silence in the room. He was surprisingly small, a diminutive bespectacled man dressed in the ultra conservative black suit and tieless white shirt worn by every senior official Sheep Dog had thus far seen during his stay in the republic. He had a peaked face, strikingly white skin, and a shock of jet black hair that was decades younger than his seamed face. His voice was high-pitched, and his English was unaccented Harvard American.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he began.
There was slight murmur of acknowledgement.
“Welcome to the delegation from the International Atomic Energy Agency. I intend that this communication to you by me and from the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran will prove to be instructive. I suggest that you pay close attention. I will not take questions.”
Al Tezari looked at Sheep Dog and cautiously rolled his eyes. Sheep Dog gave a scarcely perceptible negative shake of his head.
“My lecture will be as follows: First, I will give you an overview of Islam, then of the Islamic Republic of Iran. We will then take a ten minute break. Second, I will present the world as seen from the eyes of Iranians. That will lead me into my third segment, wherein I will set you straight as to the provocations of the Zionist Entity and of its master, the Great Satan.”
Professor Khamenei looked down upon his audience with a glare that challenged anyone to defy him. There were no takers. The members of the captive audience sat in a silence that would have befitted a spectator in the Soviet show trials of the 1930s.
He continued, “Lastly, after our second break of ten minutes, I will instruct you on the peaceful nuclear program embarked upon by the peace loving Islamic people of Iran. The lecture will conclude; you will be taken back to your hotel; and you will depart on the Air France flight to Paris which leaves at 1600 hours on the dot.”
Al Tezari stirred uncomfortably in his seat itching to protest but knowing that it was futile. He and the delegation already had their answer. There would be no real inspection, and he would not be party to a visit to a Potemkin village.
“Now that we understand each other, I shall begin. Islam is the one religion of the One God. All others are subservient at best and opponents at worst. It has ever been so since the day of the Prophet, may Allah bless him and his posterity forever.”
Professor Khamenei gave a sweeping laudatory history of his religion, its five pillars, its accomplishments, its historical opponents, its golden age, and the pivotal role played by the Shia.
“Next, I shall enlighten you about the glorious Islamic Revolution of 1979. There was much affection in the West for Mohammed Reza Shah, the brutal dictator who founded a dynasty on the backs of the Iranian people and had the temerity to challenge the Ayatollahs and the faithful in Iran. Despite the economic growth in the nation and the apparent prosperity, that which was so greatly beloved in the West, there was a great deal of opposition to the wouldbe shah particularly for his unIslamic use of the secret police—the Savak—to control and subjugate the Iranian people and to westernize and to dilute the true religion of Allah. Civil war approached with the opposition lead by the genius Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomenini—a grandfather of seventy—who had the iron will of one of Mohammed’s rightly guided Khalifat Rasul Allah, the political successors to the messenger of God, may all bless his holy name. Grand Ayatollah Khomenini is surely the Mahdi, the Guided One whose life fulfilled the prophecy; and he has heralded the coming of the day, Yawm alQiyamah, the Day of the Resurrection, the Day of the Standing.”
Khamenei paused, too caught up in emotion to continue.
A shiver passed quietly through the now enthralled audience. It was like hearing Hitler’s oration at Nuremburg. The Sheep Dog pondered his problem. He was stuck in the auditorium listening to the rantings of a madman, a man who was informing a select group of people determined to save the world from nuclear holocaust that the holocaust was in preparation. At least, that was what Sheep Dog was hearing. Professor Khamenei was sweating; the volume of his voice had increased by several decibels; and the pitch by an octave.
The professor shuddered briefly and went on. He told of Khomeini’s exile, his triumphal return, “the beginning of the Iranian revolution”. He told of the despised Shapour Baktiar, the shah’s appointed prime minister and his ouster.
“The cur went into hiding. The accursed French kept him from Islamic justice. They will pay dearly.”
Sheep Dog said silently to himself, “and the supporters of the shah were ruthlessly hunted down and murdered. Khomeini’s reign of terror made him one of the greatest mass murderers in history. Present company possibly excepted,” which gave the assassin a small smile.
Professor Khamenei told of the powerful choice of the people to make the Grand Ayatollah the supreme spiritual leader—Valy-e-Faqih—of the overwhelming demand for the Islamic code of behavior, of the unanimous acceptance of the new regulations of dress for women and their return to the proper place in the home, and in glowing terms told of the great moment when the Muslims of Iran shamed and humbled the Great Satan.
“On November 4, 1979, right thinking Iranian Islamic students stormed the accursed embassy of the Great Satan, taking 66 people as hostages. 440 days later, the humbled Americans on January 20, 1981 agreed to the release of the hostages. The American president, Carter, a weak and ineffectual puppet of the Jews, conceded to transfer money and to export military equipment to Iran. And this paper tiger nation now demands that Iran cease from production of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes. Who is this decaying entity w
hich demands that inspections on Iranian sovereign territory by kaffirs be permitted? The Great Satan will, in the end, concede again.”
Sheep Dog’s attention had wandered and returned to focus again only when the professor got around to the point of nuclear energy. He had to restrain himself from snorting out loud at the mention of “peaceful purposes”.
“Seyyed Ali Khamenei succeeded Ayatollah Khomeini after his death. I am most honored to be the humble nephew of the new Valy-e-Faqih.”
He paused for effect. The Iranians in the audience broke into enthusiastic applause. Khamenei bowed his head in humility.
Sheep Dog felt like sticking his finger down his throat and having a good puke.
Professor Khamenei stopped after that sentence, turned away from his podium and strode purposefully out of the side exit.
A university functionary announced, “You may all take a rest for ten minutes, no more.”
There was a mass exodus from the stifling room with relief on the faces of the IAEA delegation but almost no conversation. Sheep Dog watched them head to the lavatories and the handsome stone floors of the auditorium’s lobby. He had observed the direction of exit of the professor and calculated that he knew a private area in the rear of the building where he could collect his thoughts in preparation for another fascinating chapter in Iran’s history. He wandered through three hallways before he found the glass doors that lead to a terrace paved with concrete tiles. There were three long rectangular flower beds with tall shrubs obscuring his view of the outside edge of the terrace.
Sheep Dog casually made his way forward, appearing to anyone who cared to notice, that he was fascinated with the horticulture. He was aware that there were two uniformed guards who did notice and did seem to care, but they did nothing to interfere with his ramblings. He put on a diffident expression, kept his hands in plain sight, and moved slowly and casually towards the professor, who was leaning on the low guard rail of the terrace.