“The hottest fires in hell are reserved for those who, in times of moral crisis, remain neutral.” –
--Dante
The vibrator on Mac's cell phone was loud. Mac looked at the phone, put it in his pocket and said, “I gotta go.” Thirty minutes later Mac walked into the Petra Cafe where he sat with Mishka Bergman. They shook hands and began to speak in Farsi of the chances of the Esteghlal Tehran Football Club to win the Asian Cup. They each ordered espresso. Mac dumped two teaspoons of sugar into his espresso, stirred quietly and then said, “What is it?”
“Khaled Mash'al will be in Tehran tomorrow," replied Mishka. “Ben wants him to start enjoying the 70 virgins. Time is very short and we have a spur of the moment operational plan without resources. We may not be able to execute the plan, but we have to be ready and we have to try. We're bringing in the Saudi's,” Mishka went on.
“In the past Mash'al stayed at the Azadi Grand Hotel while in Tehran. We will have a man at the airport telling us when he arrives. There are four direct flights from Istanbul arriving at 12:55 AM, 2:55 AM, 5:50 AM and 2:55 PM. We will be watching every flight. We won't have enough manpower to follow him from the airport. We will have to rely on his routine. We only have eight to cover twenty four floors at the Grand. When Mash'al arrives a woman will enter the elevator with him and press floor 23. She will report what floor he gets off the elevator. The closest man will get to that floor as quickly as possible to see which room he enters. If his bodyguards don't allow anyone else in the elevator, we have already put a GPS transmitter in each elevator. When his elevator stops, we will know what floor his is on. If our man gets there in time, we will know which room he is staying in. The biology Institute in Ness Ziona has created a potion which is really a poison. A few drops on the skin causes death in a day or two. It leaves no traces and can't be detected in an autopsy. The medical conclusion will be he suffered a heart attack. It has been used in the past against Wadie Haddad. It works. We have some.
“One of our men will stick a remote camera high in the hallway to watch the door we know he entered. A few minutes after Mash'al goes into the room, a housekeeper will pass by the door and put the poison gel on the door handle. The doors at the hotel are not self-closing. Then we will watch.”
“What's our play?” asked Mac.
“Your man will have a laptop with hotel Wi-Fi to monitor the camera. He will tell us when Mash'al leaves the room. When Mash'al closes the door, he will touch the gel. When he walks away, we will wipe down the door, retrieve the GPSs, the camera, and your man will leave the room where he is monitoring, and the operation is over. In twelve to 24 hours Mash'al will be dead. No fuss, no loud noises, no investigation. Your man will go to room 1540 as soon as you can mobilize, and he will carry this laptop. He only needs to turn it on, and the camera will come on, and the computer screen will show him what the camera sees. The more help you can give, the more floors we can surveil and the success of the operation is improved.”
“Why the Saudi's?” asked Mac.
“We have worked with them several times before the Inauguration Day bombing. They were helpful in doing anything to stop Tehran from developing the bomb. The Saudis supplied information and manpower for several scientist sendoffs by us. The nuclear bomb threat is subsided somewhat because of their help. I think this may be payment on account.”
Mac replied, “I don't want to be seen, or any of my group to be seen, by any Saudi, or member of your team. In the cold war if you got caught, there was exchange of spies. In today's world your family gets a video of your beheading.”
“Won't happen. Once we have identified his room, everyone except my people evacuate from the floor they have been monitoring. You will never be side by side with any operative. How many men can you give me?” asked Mishka.
“Three, maybe Four,” answered Mac.
“Here is a photo of Mash'al. Two of your men will be responsible for floors two through eight. One of yours will be in room 1540. My guys and the Saudis will be handling the riskier floors. Cycle your men for each arrival time. Trip time from the airport is about 50 minutes. From now on only text. We'll exchange notes after the operation,” said Mishka.
“What about the possibility of collateral damage?” asked Mac.
“Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. A bodyguard could close his hotel room door, or a companion who might be in the room with him might touch the handle. We're dealing with humans on this operation with very short lead or planning time. They are professional, but time is short. You know as well as I do that when humans are involved, anything can go wrong, and often does,” said Mishka.
After some discussion on the details of the operation, Mac stood up. “See you on the other side,” said Mac, and left with the computer in his hand and a card key to room 1540. When he arrived at the compound he gathered Raintree and Trader in the back bedroom and explained their roll. “John, if you will help us out, you will be the man in room 1540. Use this phone to text only to me either “evac” to tell everyone to leave asap because the mission is accomplished, or “compro” if there is a glitch of any sort. With “evac”, you leave. If the text says “compro”, stay in the room, someone will come to the room, and if not, wait in the room until breakfast the next morning. Then leave and return here.”
“Who is Mash'al?” asked John.
“He is an Arab fanatic Islamic radical. He has thrown the first stone against women who are accused of adultery, chopped off the heads of Jews, Gentiles and other infidels, and killed Arabs who have gone to a bar for a quick drink. That's probably why the Saudis are involved. He has picked up IDF hitchhikers in Israel and beheaded them in videos, and he has been a consistent supplier of Iranian weapons to Gaza. He has been in the cross-hairs of the Mossad for a decade, but he has had so much work on his face that he looks very different than he did just a few years ago. A deep cover operative in Gaza heard Mash'al would be in Gaza City. Their guy thought he observed Mash'al last week and tailed him, and Mossad got a set of his fingerprints. He didn't change those. Mash'al then roaded to Cairo. Their Cairo presence saw him purchase tickets to Istanbul and through to Tehran. A photo was taken of him when he arrived in Istanbul. In the meantime his fingerprints were checked and his ID was confirmed. Any portion of the intel could be unsupported, and things can change rapidly. But we have a strong sense that he will be here. There is such intensity by the Mossad to send him packing, that they are willing to take this risk, but the entire operation has to be low key.”
“If this guy is coming home, why would he go to a hotel?” asked John.
Mac replied, “No one seems to know where the guy lives. He's Iranian, but he is also Hamas. He could be living in Gaza. He could be living in Tehran, or he could be living in Europe. That is why it has been so difficult to find him. With the gun running he does and the support of radicals in the Middle East, he may not have a home. What is planned here is a long shot, but his history has been to stay at the Azadi Grand Hotel when in Tehran. Are you in?”
After the first operation, John knew that this team was professional, even if he didn't know Mac very well. “Yes.” answered John. “But I don't like missing my evening prayers.” Then he asked, “Is it always like this, so busy?”
“Never,” said Mac. “This is very unusual, but since the Inauguration day bombing, intel has improved and the rats are coming out of their cages. We can't go on too long with these operations or we could face exposure, but this Mash'al guy has enough blood on his hands to cause a blood moon. Here is the laptop and the card key for the room. The photo of the target is on the phone. Be in the room by midnight and wait until we let you know that Mash'al is on his way.”
“This is the last time,” said John.
Raintree drove John to the Azadi Grand and John went directly to the room, plugged in the laptop, turned it on and saw a still life of a hotel room door number 1540. At least he knew it was working on his door.
John watched several soccer matches
on the room television, with commentary in Farsi about teams he could not recognize under the best of circumstances. He also caught up on sleep he had missed for a long time, and here he could sleep on a fairly comfortable bed. After surfing the entire internet, and at four P.M the following afternoon, John received a text, “arrived”.
The female operative waiting in the entrance to the hotel observed Mash'al come in with two men obviously as bodyguards, and a girl she estimated to be 8 years old holding the hand of Mash'al. His daughter, clearly unexpected, complicated the task. The female operative quickly followed behind Mash'al as his group headed for the elevators. The group passed by the registration desk without checking in. She tried to get onto elevator number one, but was told by the bodyguards that she could not come in. She watched as the doors closed and pressed her send button on the text line to tell the group she was not on the elevator. The GPS monitoring the elevators saw that elevator one stopped on the 3rd floor and notified others of the stop. Elevators two and three were not on the main floor when the team received the text. The scramble began to the third floor to see which room Mash'al would occupy. The text to the team from floor three was “no joy”. Then the GPS indicated a stop of the 5th floor, and then the 7th floor and every other odd numbered floor. Team members climbed or descended to the odd numbered floors with consistent text of “no joy”. Then on the ninth floor the text was “empty.” A team member climbed to the seventh floor and opened the hallway door. He proceeded slowly to walk towards the elevators and saw Mash'al's group opening and going into the door to room 707. He waited at the elevator until Mash'al entered the room and placed the marble sized camera across for his room, high on the wall near a wall lamp that illuminated the hallway. John immediately saw a split screen on his monitor with one image of his door and another of the door to room 707. He waited and watched for twenty minutes and received the text “compro”. He psychologically prepared himself for another day of soccer games when he heard a knock on the door. He looked at his monitor and a lone man stood in front of his door. John opened the door and the man told John, “Leave now,” and then walked away from the door. John gathered the computer, saw that the camera opposite of his room was gone. John left the hotel and walked to the street. He got onto the bus he knew would leave to his neighborhood and wondered what had stopped the operation. When he arrived at the house it was too late to attend prayers and no one was there except the street urchin taken in by Raintree, Mac and Farah. The kid was eating and watching television.
At around eleven that night Farah, Mac and Raintree arrived. Mac said, “The operation was called off. The girl with Mash'al was his daughter and a surprise, and they don't kill children if they can avoid it.”
John asked, “Is there anything to be done to stop Mash'al?”
Mac responded, “They have another option, but we're not involved. They have a gas propulsion gun on a disability cane that can propel a spent uranium pointed needle to keep it stabilized. It is coated with the potion and can travel about thirty yards, so they will have to get close. It can penetrate his clothes. He may feel it, and he may know he has been hit, but there will be nothing anyone can do. He will be dead shortly after that, but the cause of death may be detectable. If the new alternative plan doesn't work, they will have plenty of photos of Mash'al, so it should not be impossible to find him later on, but it will still be difficult.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
THE CONSPIRACY
Eris Bahar's wife, Shirin, was a member of the Tehran Bar Association, and handled issues involving water distribution rights. In the quiet of their room when the children were sleeping, they would speak of many things. Many times she would speak about the Human Rights Section of the bar association, and the very active Civil Rights attorney Nasrin Soutoudeh. Shirin would say, “She is so smart and so strong and so beautiful, and she remained that way even after she was sent to prison for three years for acting against the interests of the state.” Shirin would tell him she wished that she could be as principled and influential as Nasrin.
Eris knew Soutoudeh was an attorney, and was involved in the appeal of the death penalty for Zoreh and Azar Kabin-niat. The case was eight or ten years earlier. Shirin told him, “The sisters had been convicted of illicit sexual relations and received ninety nine lashes and five years in prison.” She would tell him, “Those violations against the sisters are rarely charged, but in the sister's case the husband videotaped the meeting between the sisters and men friends. He turned the tape over to the police. The women admitted to their crime after some intense and unfriendly interrogation.” She told Eris that it was common knowledge that one of the sister's husband wanted to marry a fourteen year old cousin, but did not want to support two wives. “Most of these cases are brought by husbands who get tired of their wife or want to marry someone else without supporting two wives.”
Shirin told Eris, “Later the government brought charges against the sisters for adultery for the same conduct. Both sisters were then sentenced to death by stoning by the Iranian Revolutionary Court.” Eris knew that under Islamic law in force in Iran since the 1979 revolution, adultery may be punished by death by stoning and crimes such as murder, rape, armed robbery, apostasy and drug trafficking are all punishable by hanging.
“Soutoudeh was influential in having their death sentence sent back to a lower court,” said Shirin. “The appeal court in its decision said that punishment for the same crime was not consistent with Iranian law. I think there was too much international pressure on Iran.”
Shirin told Eris, “Right now Soutoudeh is fighting her disbarment as well as for the release of the American Newspaper writer Jason Teaian. I know Jason's wife, Yeganeh Saleh. She is a reporter too, and was detained with her husband, but for some reason, she was released. No one has heard from Jason for months.”
Eris began to realize that Soutoudeh might be a safe way to contact someone who could help. It would be dangerous, but he had to take a chance. In the privacy of his home office he penned a note in hope of getting it to Soutoudeh. In the note, he identified himself as the husband of Shirin, and that he had information he needed to get to the West. He wrote in the note that he would be at the Milek National Library a week from Sunday at noon in front of the painting of Doshantappeh Street by Mohammad Ghaffari. He wrote that he wanted a man wearing a black leather jacket, a dark blue shirt, and a black tie to meet him who could safely transfer a message. He put the note into an envelope and wrote the name Nasrin Soutoudeh on the outside. On Saturday, he drove to the address of the local office of The National, a newspaper published in the Emirates. He looked at the building directory and walked up the stairs to an office. The door was open. The local press office was nothing more than a small room with three or four desks, piled with paper and looking unorganized. There were a few computer terminals, and three people working at their desks. No one looked up as he walked in. Only one of the persons working was a woman. He walked over to her and asked in a very quiet voice, “Are you Yeganeh?”
She said, “Yes, I am. Can I help you?”
Eris replied, “I am the husband of Shirin.” A nod of recognition made him feel a bit more comfortable. He continued, trying to be calm, but he knew there was a sense of urgency in his voice. “I have a very important message that must be delivered to Nasrin Soutoudeh today. Can you do that?” He reached out with the envelope towards Yeganeh. His hand was shaking. Eris knew he was doing something conspiratorial, and he was surprised how easily Yeganeh was seemingly willing to enter into the conspiracy without hesitation when she replied, “Yes, I can, and I will.” She asked no questions, she did not smile, she did not frown. Without any words, Eris turned and left the building, and Yeganeh returned to her work with the envelope on the corner of her desk.”
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
THE OUTFIT
It was Thursday evening when Mac came into the kitchen area where Raintree and John were having a beer after evening prayers. “I have to go shopping tomorro
w,” said Mac.
Raintree responded, “Like, we care, Mac. But thanks for sharing.”
“I thought I would tell you so you wouldn't freak out when I dressed differently that I usually do.”
“I don't give a rat's ass about how you dress, as long as you don't start to wear Farah's clothes,” said Raintree.
“Catch this,” said Mac. “I got a message to meet a guy I don't know, and I don't know why, but apparently he's been vetted. They tell me he is an important guy. There is no particular danger. I guess I am supposed to listen to what he has to say and say nothing. I have been told to be at the Malik Museum Sunday at noon in front of some painting by an artist who painted a street. I mean, he didn't paint on a street. He painted a picture of a street. I don't know if I should schedule ten minutes or the whole afternoon. I'll have to figure it out when I get there. Anyway, whoever this guy is, I hope he isn't a spy. I don't run, or run with, spies. But for him to ID me, I have to wear a black leather jacket, and dark blue shirt, and a black tie. I have the shirt, but no ties and no black leather jackets. That's what I am shopping for tomorrow, and I can assure you I am putting it on my expense account.”
“You want some help on this?” asked Raintree.
“No,” responded Mac. “I have been shopping before, and the way you guys dress you would be more of a hindrance than a help.”
“I wouldn't go shopping with you if you paid me,” said Raintree. “Well maybe if you paid me. But will you need help, or backup for the meeting?” he asked.
“No,” said Mac. “I was told it was very benign, no danger, no backup, just be there. So, I will just be there.”
Across town, Eris prepared for his meeting the following Sunday. He put on a single sheet of paper the coordinates of intended targets, the guidance system properties and anomalies, the technical details of the expanded range of the No Dong missile to 900 miles, which was a range sufficient to hit targets near the Mediterranean. He outlined the changed configuration of the rocket to be able to carry the warhead as well as design features he knew about, and the number of No Dong missiles in their control, their location, and a window of the schedule of the intended launch dates. The weight of his responsibility was crushing. He did not want to die, and he did not want the world plunged into a darkness that might not end for decades or centuries. He wanted to protect himself, his country, but more than that, he wanted to protect his family. He did not understand why he was the only one of his team who hesitated in any way about the carnage that would result from their creations.
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