Our Sacred Honor

by Jack Mars

  “When it comes to human rights violations, Iran is practically in a league all its own. George Orwell would have been proud to know them. Arbitrary detention and imprisonment, disappearances, a kangaroo court system where death sentences are often decided in minutes, torture techniques left over from medieval times, public hangings—these are just a few of the arrows in their quiver. The nightmare begins immediately. Many prisoners freed later describe their initial questioning as having been absurd, illogical, or consisting entirely of physical abuse, screaming, loud noises, and accusations. This is, of course, by design. Our own CIA experiments have determined that nonsensical, violent interrogations break the typical prisoner’s spirit very quickly.”

  Kurt looked up. “It might be needless to say, but the health of Iranian political prisoners tends to deteriorate rapidly.”

  “Are they worse than the Saudis?” someone said.

  “The Saudis have a bad record on human rights. The difference in Saudi Arabia is that there are rules. Everyone knows what they are. You might not like the rules, they may be unspeakably backward, but you are aware of them ahead of time. In Iran, many people find themselves in prison for years, being tortured routinely, and they have no idea why it’s happening. Meanwhile, their families don’t know where they are. Often enough, the first official acknowledgment a family will receive from the government is a letter informing them their loved one has been executed for treason.”

  This kind of talk wasn’t setting Susan’s mind to rest one bit. If Stone got captured by the Iranians during a black operation…

  “And the current conflict?” she said.

  Kurt nodded. “Iran provides weaponry to its allies among the Shiite tribes in Iraq, to the Assad government in Syria, Hezbollah in Lebanon, and the Palestinians. Iran does not recognize Israel, and is the primary supporter of attacks against Israel in the world. In general, Iran is regionally powerful, both economically and militarily. It is well protected, both by its own military, as well as by its relationships with Russia and China. It projects its own power, and as a cat’s paw for Russia, into Middle Eastern conflicts. If it has indeed emerged as a nuclear-armed power, it will be a major destabilizing influence throughout the Middle East, and by extension, the world.”

  “What would be the effect of a nuclear war between Iran and Israel?” Susan said.

  Kurt shook his head. “It’s really too horrible to contemplate.”

  “Well, it seems like we’re stuck contemplating it at the moment.”

  “Yes we are. And we estimate that Iran probably has enriched enough nuclear material for anywhere between eight and fourteen nuclear warheads, each with an explosive potential perhaps twenty times the size of the Hiroshima bomb. They have hundreds of missiles that are capable of carrying nuclear warheads. We can assume that because of Israel’s missile defense system, Iran would launch a massive attack with both nuclear and conventional weapons, all at once. Israeli missile defense would quickly be overwhelmed—there would be no way to guess which incoming missiles were the nukes and which weren’t. Under such a scenario, we estimate that at least five nuclear warheads would reach their targets. Israel is tiny—depending on where the missiles hit, five should be enough to utterly destroy the major population centers in the middle of the country, wipe out communications, critical infrastructure, the electrical grid, food storage and provisions, and in all likelihood, access to clean water and sanitation.

  “More than half of the Israeli population would be killed immediately, or would die soon afterward. Ninety percent of the population would be dead within a year. Much of the Palestinian population would die off as well. It would be difficult for the international community to organize relief because of the radioactivity. In the days and weeks that followed an attack, winds from the Mediterranean Sea would blow a toxic, radioactive cloud eastward into Jordan and Syria, then Iraq, and then back into Iran itself, although this would be mitigated somewhat by the Zagros Mountains along Iran’s western border. The death toll from the toxic cloud alone would likely be in the hundreds of thousands. Syria and Iraq are already collapsed states and humanitarian disasters—add poisonous radioactivity, and you’re looking at a very volatile mixture.”

  “How would Iran fare?”

  “Iran is a country of eighty million people, and is physically much, much larger than Israel,” Kurt said. “But Israel has a larger and more powerful nuclear arsenal. We don’t know for a fact, but we believe they have at least fifty nuclear missiles capable of reaching Iran. Most of these are ballistic missiles deployed in underground silos, but some are also bombs deliverable by airplane. If Israel finds itself under nuclear attack, they will have no reason to hold back.

  “Iran has limited missile defense capability. As a result, most of what Israel launched would hit its targets. This would result in widespread death and destruction, including the complete destruction of Tehran, a city of eight million people. We can assume that at least thirty to fifty million people would die immediately. It would cause a total collapse of the Iranian economy and infrastructure. It would create a shock to world oil and natural gas supply, and precipitate skyrocketing prices as the Chinese and Indians seek to get their energy from other markets. Those shortages alone would likely cause runaway inflation and a worldwide depression. It gets worse, because if Iran sees its own imminent destruction, there is no reason for them to refrain from bombing the Saudi oil fields and closing the Strait of Hormuz—two things they have long threatened to do. If they managed that, worldwide oil consumption would drop overnight to levels not seen since the 1950s. This might sound like a good thing in some abstract way, but it isn’t. It is a very, very bad thing. The world economy is dependent on oil.

  “Meanwhile, the toxic cloud from fifty or more nuclear explosions? It would drift east from Iran into Afghanistan and Pakistan, destabilizing already unstable societies. Pakistan is a nuclear-armed power, and there is no telling what they might do in response, especially if their fragile government collapses. Within a couple of weeks the toxic cloud would reach India, a country of nearly a billion people, the majority of whom already live in abject poverty, and have limited access to clean air and clean water to begin with.”

  Kurt looked up from his paperwork again. “The thing to realize is that in the event of nuclear war between Iran and Israel, what I just shared with you is basically a best-case scenario. It describes the fallout from a limited war that only includes those two countries. The two of them would likely manage to destroy each other, taking out the world economy, and probably half a dozen other states while they were at it. We could anticipate reprisal terror attacks against the Jewish population here and in Europe, and I assume that with Iran out of the picture, Sunni Muslims would feel free to attack and slaughter Shiites anywhere they found them.

  “Radioactivity would eventually find its way around the world, contaminating air, water, crops, and livestock populations. The Chernobyl disaster was thought to have caused hundreds of thousands of cancer deaths worldwide over the following two decades. This event would be a thousand times as large as the Chernobyl disaster. It would unleash a host of ills that are hard to anticipate—crop failures, starvation, widespread radiation sickness among vulnerable populations, civil unrest, refugee crises on a scale never seen before, government collapses, and additional wars. A major danger is that it would destabilize the already fraught relationship between India and Pakistan, causing a second nuclear war, this time between those two countries.”

  “Is there any possible good that might come from it?” a military man in dress greens, a four star general, said.

  Kurt looked at him. “I can’t think of any. Can you?”

  “Well, as you mentioned, it would get Iran out of the picture.”

  Kurt switched his gaze to Susan. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  December 14

  1:05 a.m. Tehran Time (5:05 p.m. Eastern Standard Time on December 13)

&
nbsp; Zagros Mountains

  Ilam Province, Iran

  The night was bitterly cold.

  They had landed hours before, on a plateau beneath the slopes of a steep, snow-covered mountain. The ground was hard, and it took over an hour to bury their parachutes, taking turns breaking the frozen earth with the small fold-up shovel Ari had brought.

  At some point during the jump, Luke had come to think of the guy as Ari. Somehow, it sounded better to his ears than the Golem. If that’s who the man wanted to be, then okay.

  It was time to get started. Forty-eight hours? And they had already burned two of them. There really wasn’t any time to waste.

  Luke stared out into the darkness from the high plateau. The winds howled along the peaks above them, the trees rustling and shaking. Far below them, deep in a valley, there appeared to be the lights of a village.

  “Are we hiding from people on this trek?”

  Ari shrugged. “This region is sparsely populated. The Iraqis bombed here mercilessly in the 1980s. Many people fled. The ones who remain are farmers and animal herders. They go to bed when the dark comes, and rise before first light. Hopefully, we will reach the road while they sleep. Anyway, they are mostly Kurds, plus a few nomadic tribes. They have no love for the Iranians.”

  He paused. “But yes. We will avoid them. You never know who is indebted to the regime in one way or another.”

  They made their way down. It was a long, difficult hike through a trackless wilderness. Here and there, Ari found a path they would follow for a while. Mostly, they blundered ever downward over loose rocks and scree, and through dense underbrush. The wind would shake the trees above their heads, bringing a gentle dusting of snow.

  They barely spoke, moving in single file, Ari in the lead, checking his compass every few minutes, followed by Luke, and then Ed. Hours passed in this formation. Late, a bright half moon came out from behind the clouds, and Luke could make out the towering peaks of the mountains high above them.

  They were standing in a small, dense forest. Ari pressed himself against a thick tree. Luke and Ed did the same. Ari indicated the area just ahead of them.

  Perhaps fifty yards away, and three stories below them, there was a break in the trees. A narrow ribbon of roadway cut through the forest. A truck was parked down there, along the side of the road, its hazard lights flashing in the dark. Two men worked with flashlights, trying to fix something—perhaps changing a flat tire.

  “That’s our ride,” Ari said. Steam rose from his mouth.

  He looked at Luke and Ed. His eyes were serious. “The men will ignore you. Do not speak to or acknowledge them in any way. Simply go to the back of the truck, walk up the ramp and into the trailer. A few minutes after we are in, they will finish their repairs, close the gate, and off we go. It’s a long drive to Tehran—this will be a good time for sleep, if you can manage it. There will be plenty of straw bedding. It’s not very comfortable, but I imagine you’ve slept on worse.”

  Luke looked at him. Straw?

  Ari dug into the breast pocket of his coat. He came out with small Styrofoam ear plugs. They were the cheap, squishy kind—they would expand to fill your ear canal. People often stuffed them in their ears at shooting ranges.

  He handed two to Ed and two to Luke.

  “Is it going to be loud?” Ed said.

  Ari shook his head. “No. It’s going to smell.” He held up his own plugs. “Put them in your nose.”

  They hiked down to the truck, doing exactly as Ari had instructed. Once on the roadway, the walked past the two men, ignoring them as if they weren’t even there. The men didn’t look up or appear to notice them. The two groups were like spirits to each other, inhabiting different dimensions.

  Luke climbed up the steel ramp into the back of the truck. The trailer was separated into pens, each pen filled with about a dozen brown sheep. The sheep were thick with their winter coats.

  Ari squeezed into a pen, patted a couple of sheep, and immediately lay down on the straw-covered floor.

  “The Iranians love their sheep,” he said. “If you’re lucky, these sheep will lay down with you and give you their warmth.”

  “Wool?” Luke said.

  Ari shook his head. “Meat. You never had sheep’s head soup? Kaleh pache, they call it. They put the whole head in—eyes, tongue, brain, everything. Also the hooves. Very nice for breakfast—it will keep you full all day. Perhaps we’ll get some at a bazaar stall in Tehran. After the mission is over, of course.”

  “Okay,” Luke said. “Once we find the nukes and call in the air strikes, we’ll hang around for a couple of days, relax and eat strange food. That sounds like fun. I’m sure the Revolutionary Guards will be delighted to host.”

  Behind him, the metal gate to the trailer clanged shut. The man padlocked it closed. Up front, the truck’s engine roared into life.

  Ed was pushing his way into a pen with the sheep. He had a considerably harder time squeezing between the metal rails than Ari had. After a moment, his giant bulk was surrounded by fuzzy, bleating livestock.

  “I didn’t know this was going to be a pleasure trip,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  8:35 am Tehran Time (12:35 a.m. Eastern Standard Time)

  Tehran, Iran

  “No war! No nukes! No war! No nukes!”

  The young woman raised her fist in the air as she shouted the words. All around her, on the campus of the University of Tehran, and spreading out into the surrounding streets, thousands of students chanted the same slogan.

  She had come because enough was enough. She had come because this time, the students really were going to seize power.

  The government leaders, the ayatollahs, the clerics, the secret police, the Republican Guards—they had gotten away with too much for far too long. They had squashed dissent in the name of policing public morality. They had imprisoned, tortured, raped, and murdered those who would dare question them.

  Now they claimed they had built nuclear weapons, despite every agreement to the contrary. They were threatening to launch a devastating war with Israel—a war Iran could not possibly win. Even if Israel were totally destroyed, Iran would be as well. Who would benefit from such a disaster?

  What was the obsession with Israel? There were more people in the city of Tehran than in the entire country of Israel. Let them work out their own problems. Let us work out ours. We have enough problems right here to keep us busy for generations.

  It was time. If no one else would stand up and put a stop to the lies, put a stop to the madness, the students would before it was too late.

  “No war! No nukes!”

  Up at the front, there was a makeshift stage. Some student leaders stood on the stage with megaphones, leading the chants. Suddenly, they seemed disturbed. They were looking at something to their left, away across the vast crowd.

  And their chant changed.

  “Resist!” a young woman on the stage shouted. “Resist!”

  Without warning, she removed her dark hijab, letting her hair flow free. She waved the hijab like a flag. A roar swept through the crowd. Instantly dozens of young women and girls followed suit. Then hundreds did. Then, perhaps, thousands.

  A sea of hijabs waved.

  Was it too much? No! They could not punish us for showing our hair. Those days were over. Today was a new day.

  But… something was happening. A commotion far to the right, coming this way.

  “Resist!” the girl screamed from the stage, her voice breaking now.

  Gunshots rang out. The girl onstage was shot down, with a dozen others. Were they rubber bullets? Were they real? There was blood on the stage. The dark hijab took wing like a kite, fluttering on the breeze.

  People started to run. People started to scream.

  The commotion was coming. It was the police. Large armored vehicles pushed slowly through the crowd, driving it forward, separating it. The vehicles had plows on mounted on the front, like snow plows. A phalanx of helmete
d policemen followed the vehicles, carrying clear plastic shields, clubbing the protestors with batons.

  Protestors fell before the batons. They fell under the wheels of the armored trucks.

  From the left, another wave of trucks and policemen came.

  The crowd was squeezed between the two approaching fronts. A giant mass of people surged backward, trying to escape it. People fell and were trampled.

  The young woman fell. Someone stepped on her stomach.

  She looked up at the stage. No one was there anymore. No one held a megaphone. No one shouted “Resist!” No one shouted anything.

  Closer by, people screamed in fear and pain.

  Far away, against the bleak overcast sky, a dark object flew, blown about by the wind. For a moment, it looked like a bird. Then it looked like what it really was—just a cast-off piece of rag.

  Everywhere, people were falling. She could not rise—too many people were on top of her. She crawled a small amount, and fell under the crushing weight. Then there were new screams, louder, more urgent.

  She turned. An armored vehicle was here. It moved implacably through the writhing mass of demonstrators, shoveling them to the sides like snow. She tried to crawl again. She fell, lying on her side now. She could not move. She was pinned.

  In seconds, the front tire of the giant vehicle was in front of her. It was monstrous. It smelled like burning chemicals. It stopped, hesitated, reversed, then rolled forward again. The thick, notched rubber was an inch from her face.

  Her entire being rebelled against what was about to happen. She screamed, louder than she had ever screamed before.