“Does all this belong to you?” asked Doc.
“To my family, yes. For many generations. It was totally useless and barren, even in my father’s time. But our Shah changed all that. He took the income from our petroleum resources, and put it back into the country—into roads, steel works, and into dams. Here in Khuzistan, which is the source of Iran’s oil, he built the greatest dam of all, and named it after himself.”
“What does the water cost?” asked Doc.
“For the first twenty years, nothing,” replied Agha. “Because we are using it for the good of the Iranian people. You see over there? Tomatoes. Millions of them. And that? Strawberries. We fly two planeloads every week into Teheran. Now we are coming to alfalfa. We get four crops a year and make high protein cattle feed out of it. You see those trees? They are not very big yet. But in a few years we will have some of the largest orange groves in the Near East. Even more productive than those of Israel. In fact, it was Israeli agricultural engineers who helped us with much of the planning and implementation of this project. They are quite used to turning deserts into gardens of Eden.”
“But don’t you people have problems with the Israelis?” queried Doc again.
“No. We are Mohammedans in Iran, yes. But remember. Although some Arabs live here, especially in Khuzistan as you must have already noticed, we ourselves are not Arabs. Our culture and heritage are radically different. We Iranians have no quarrel with Israel. In fact, we have no quarrels with anyone at present, except for Iraq. They continually try to claim territory of ours on the Gulf. They are a primitive people. But I do not involve myself with politics. Look at what comes.”
The Range Rover bumped over a series of simple bridges spanning irrigation ditches, and suddenly they found themselves in the middle of the lushest vegetation thus far.
“What is it?”
“Sugar cane, and we have built one of the most modern sugar mills in the world. You can see it over there.”
“How much land do you have?” asked Doc.
“Well, it goes from here to the foothills. And it is about the same width, or length, depending upon how you want to describe it.”
“Don’t you have fences?” asked Doc.
“No. At least, not yet. This land has always been open to our people. The nomads. We still have hundreds of thousands in this region. They spend their summers high in the mountains, here and in Luristan further north, where they graze their livestock. In the winters they come down into the valleys and plains. To your eye, most of this area looks like useless desert. But if you look closely, it is not. There is grass. True it is very thin. But it is there. Enough to satisfy the nomads in any case. So they leave our irrigated areas alone.”
As the sugar cane fields began to end, they pulled up in front of what appeared to be a vast construction site. Large Caterpillar tractors, towering shafts, cranes, trucks, a huge corrugated metal shed, even a narrow gauge railroad spur.
“Is this to be another sugar mill?” asked the prince.
“No, no. This is Choga Zambil.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come. I will show you.”
As they walked into the site, it suddenly began to take on contours. It was not a construction project, but rather one of reconstruction: a huge archeological dig.
A bewildering number of walls and broken walls, some extending hundreds of yards, indicated that once this had been a vast complex of civilization. But almost immediately all eyes were drawn to a towering structure of massive stone. It rose a good hundred feet above the ground, and distinctly resembled a pyramid.
“It’s enormous,” exclaimed the prince. “What is it?”
“A ziggurat. The largest and best preserved in all of Persia.”
“How old is it?”
“Three thousand years, give or take a century or two.”
“What was it used for?”
“Religion. All ancient Persian cities’ religious life centered around such sacred temples. But, of course, very few have survived centuries of pillage, and the simple ravage of time.”
“When was this one discovered?”
“Four years ago. We were pushing a main channel irrigation ditch through here, and the bulldozers suddenly began to uncover this buried city. We have managed to dig up, and then restore, all of what you see here in the time since.”
“You mean the government?”
“No, we. The Firdausi family.”
“But,” said Doc, “surely such an undertaking must be expensive. Why do you do it?”
“My family has an obligation not only to present-day Iran, but also to the Persia of the past. We have always had great civilizations here. We are a people who have always been master of this part of Asia. Today we are gradually reassuming that role. It is good to remind our people that they are part of a great heritage, and that they—we—are destined to continue to play a major role in world history.”
“But still,” said Doc, “surely the government has the primary responsibility in that regard. They can hardly expect private people to . . .”
For the first time Firdausi interrupted. “There is another reason. But we shall speak of that later. Now we must go.” He turned abruptly, and the rest of the party had no choice but to follow him back to the Range Rover.
“I have just one more thing to show you,” continued Agha, as the vehicle moved off. “Then we must return to our home for more serious talks.”
After seven miles, they came to a main road and approached what appeared to be a structure transplanted from medieval Europe.
“That looks like a German castle!” exclaimed the prince.
“No, French,” replied Agha.
“But who in the world did such a crazy thing, here in the middle of nowhere?”
“The French, as I said. A certain Monsieur de Morgan, around the turn of the century. He was the leader of the French archeological mission. He built it for a very practical reason: to protect himself, and the treasures he unearthed here, from the marauding Arabs coming from the west, and the nomads from the north. It turned out to be an excellent solution. Both he and his treasures survived. You must remember that until the 1920’s this part of the world was completely hostile to any outsiders. In fact, it is only since the late 1940’s, when the army tightened its control, that Khuzistan has been relatively safe for visitors.”
“What is the name of this place?”
“Susa. Or, as it was known in the Bible, Shushan.”
“Never heard of it,” commented Doc.
“But you have heard of Daniel and the lion’s den.”
“Of course.”
“Here is where it happened. In Shushan.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. When we get back to our home, I will tell you more. For the moment, let me simply say that we are standing literally on top of what was Persia’s most glorious ancient city. A city of enormous riches. And Choga Zambil, which we the Firdausi family have rediscovered, was the source of most of those riches.”
Doc looked puzzled, but asked no more. The party got out and walked through the excavations behind the fortress. Part of the foundation of a huge palace had been uncovered. Yet, unlike Choga Zambil, there was not much to see—just a few large blocks of granite, a number of columns lying on their sides, the remains of mosaics of either the palace floor, or that of its courtyard. It was only with a great deal of imagination that one could visualize the immenseness of the structure which stood here many centuries before Christ was born. Agha was not particularly helpful. After five minutes, he suggested they return home. On the way they again crossed that narrow bridge, but this time it was in daylight. Agha pointed to a massive pile of rubble, partially blocking the river upstream.
“That is Bankd-i-Quisar, the ancient dam I was talking about. But I think we have all had enough of this sort of thing. It’s time for lunch.”
Both Shireen and lunch were waiting for them when they returned to the villa. Salads, fruit,
yoghurt, tea. Conversation was restrained— just small talk, dominated, of course, by Gianfranco who had fully mastered that art, in various languages. Agha Firdausi appeared increasingly impatient, and before long he suggested they move outside. It was warm, but the palms provided ample shade. The pool looked inviting, but that was obviously not on. No sooner were they settled in a circle of lounging chairs than Agha turned to business.
“I do not wish to appear impolite, but still, I would like to come immediately to the purpose of your visit.”
He turned to his cousin. “Gianfranco, as you know, I did not care to go into detail on the telephone. One never knows. But I must say, your call could not have come at a more opportune time. You and your bank in Switzerland are exactly, but exactly, what we have been praying for. First, the rials, I have them here at home in the safe, in fact in two safes. They will fill two large suitcases. I also have the suitcases ready.”
“Two large suitcases?” interjected Doc.
“Yes. Unfortunately, I could only manage to accumulate a very mixed assortment of bills, and I could hardly exchange them at the bank for larger denominations. So I’m afraid you will have to cope with a rather substantial volume of paper. This presents a problem?”
“Frankly, yes,” said Doc, “I had hoped we were dealing with a relatively small package. To get two suitcases through, unopened—it’s going to mean running a risk. You know as well as I do that every airline on earth has started to make spot checks of baggage as a result of hijacks. Especially large heavy suitcases.”
“Ah,” interrupted Firdausi, “that must not worry you. I have taken care of that problem. My friends at the Iranian Oil Company have agreed to take you back to Europe as their guests. They have their own Lear jets which regularly fly Abadan-London. Once in London, there should be no problem. There is no law against bringing rials in and out of London airport.”
“But what about the controls at your airport?”
“Iranian Oil people are not subjected to controls at Abadan. They own Abadan. On this you have my guarantee.”
“Then everything seems already settled,” said the prince.
“Yes.”
“Then you already know when we shall be leaving?”
“Yes. Tonight. Takeoff is scheduled for eight P.M.This means we shall be leaving here in about two hours. I will bring you to the aircraft.”
This statement surprised both the prince and Doc.
“How would you like us to settle the technical arrangements?” asked Doc, hesitantly, disturbed by such fast-moving events.
“What technical arrangements?”
“You know, the deposit arrangements in Switzerland. We have brought the basic bank forms with us, and . . .”
“Wait a minute. I’m afraid that I have not made my position entirely clear. There can be no connection whatsoever between my person and these funds. When I come to Switzerland at a later date, we can make any arrangements you suggest. But there can be nothing— nothing—in writing in this country. Either now or later. I want this understood. And I suggest you leave those forms with me. I’ll burn them.”
“But of course,” replied Doc, flustered. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“Still,” interrupted the prince, “you must tell us how you desire that we employ these funds, Agha. I give you my assurance that your wishes will be carried out immediately and exactly.”
“Gianfranco, that goes without saying. At first I was thinking in terms of a simple bank deposit, probably a time deposit. In dollars or Swiss francs. It would not really matter. Just so the funds are taken out of Iran and put into a freely convertible currency. I still want this done. But after a lot of thinking, I have decided that our relationship could go well beyond this.” He paused. “Before I go further I must have an absolute pledge from both of you that what I tell you will remain secret. The fate of my family, that of my sister and myself, will depend upon your keeping this pledge.”
With that, Agha turned directly to Doc: “Sir, can you give me your solemn word?”
“You have it,” replied Doc simply.
“And from me, Agha,” said the prince, now observing his cousin with a great deal of curiosity.
Agha glanced at his sister. She nodded ever so slightly.
“Good. Then I will proceed, and quite bluntly. I have discovered on my land, our land, a silver mine. It will be, beyond any doubt, the richest source of silver existing in the world today.”
Silence.
“Where?”
“At Choga Zambil. You remember—the excavations, the ziggurat.”
“Aha. That’s why those shafts, the drilling rigs.”
“Exactly.”
“But,” asked the prince, “why the secret? There can hardly be anything illegal about finding a silver mine. You said it is on your property.”
“It is, of course, not illegal. But you forget about taxes. They are nothing short of confiscatory in Iran. The government would take 60 percent, maybe 70 percent of all the profit. In the end, they could very well nationalize the mine—just as they are doing with the oil fields. Why should I run such a risk? Especially if there is no necessity—and there is none. This thing is secret, and it can be kept secret. All the people I use at Choga Zambil have been working for the Firdausi family all their lives. They have complete loyalty to us, not to the government in far-off Teheran. Anyway, at least thus far, they have no idea what Choga Zambil is really all about. They are an uneducated people.”
“Yes,” said Doc, “but surely you require the help of engineers in such an undertaking. They cannot be that ignorant.”
“You are right, of course. But so far I have also been able to cope with that problem. The entire project has been managed by an Englishman. His name is Ron Howard. He was with Rio Tinto in Africa for many years. Apparently ran into some trouble, I don’t know the details. I do know he is extraordinarily competent. He couldn’t care less about the interests of the Iranian government. He’s worried only about himself. He knows what we’re onto here, and he also knows that when this venture succeeds he can settle down wherever he chooses as a wealthy man. His loyalty is further guaranteed by the fact that he is working in Iran illegally.”
“But can one man manage such a thing? You intimated you have struck something enormously rich. To get it out, to refine it, is going to require more than just an Englishman.”
“You are right again,” replied Agha, “and it is not just going to require more men. It will require much more equipment.”
“Then how do you propose to continue?” asked Doc.
“With your help.”
“But we know nothing about mining,” said the prince.
“Neither do I,” said Agha, “but that’s not the point. You know everything about money, and how to finance a potentially vast operation like this.”
“What kind of financing?”
“Initially, loans to buy the needed equipment. Later, if we need more capital, we may want to sell shares to other investors. But for now, all we need is a modern metal refining facility, and the technicians to go with it. We know exactly what is required, and where to get it.”
“Where?”
“Rhodesia. That’s where Howard came from. When he was with Rio Tinto, they bought a lot of equipment from a company in Salisbury which specializes in that sort of thing. Almost all their sales are today restricted to South Africa, since most nations of the world have put a total embargo on trade with Rhodesia because of their racial policies. So they’ve got both the knowhow we need, and the spare capacity to do a quick turnkey job. And in Rhodesia, since the embargo, they have learned how to keep such matters secret.”
“And the technicians?”
“From the same country. Rhodesia attracts the type of roustabouts we need. Howard says it would take him no more than a week to find the men he requires. So all we need now is the necessary banking arrangements, but they—as you must now appreciate—have to be set up outside of Iran.”
/> “But wait a minute. It seems to me that there is still a big hooker in this whole deal.”
“That is?”
“How would you get those people and equipment in? Smuggling in an Englishman like Howard is one thing; to bring in a gang of technicians from Rhodesia, and tons of equipment is another.”
“It’s an easy run by ship from the east coast of Africa to Dubai. We are only a few hundred kilometers from the Persian Gulf. The biggest, in fact the only, major business on the Gulf, except for oil, is smuggling. Gold, watches, cattle, even what closely approximate slaves—the list never ends. All of this type of trade is based in either Abu Dhabi or Dubai. From there, the needs of Iran, of Saudi Arabia, of Pakistan, of India are served. It will be in Dubai where our cargo will be trans-shipped. From there, the goods are usually run in djerbas, hundreds, probably thousands of them. But of late, large modern craft, equipped with powerful twin engines and radar, are becoming more and more common. We also have enough large trucks of our own to bring everything across land from the Gulf to our place. I assure you, we will have no problems.”
“But what about when everything arrives here?”
“This morning I showed you the extent of our land holdings. It is private property, the property of the Firdausi family. I can, and will, insist that this privacy be respected. I shall hire people to enforce it, on the pretext of protecting both our crops and our archeological findings. The town people, and the few government officials living in these parts, will respect this. The only exceptions will be the nomads. But they will cause no trouble. It is preferable that we maintain our peace with them. So you see, this whole venture has been carefully thought through.”
The Silver Bears Page 4
