The Saudi-Iranian War

by Ted Halstead

  Vasilyev smiled. “No. But, let me ask you a question. How would you describe our host, in two words?”

  Grishkov frowned, and finally shrugged. “Angry. Desperate.”

  Vasilyev’s smile grew broader. “Excellent. Now, if someone asked for his help and the help of his people in attacking the Saudis, what do you think his answer would be?”

  Grishkov grunted. “OK, I see your point. We did learn something worth knowing. So, care to tell me where we’re going?”

  Vasilyev nodded. “Tehran, via Dubai. We should be there by evening.”

  Grishkov grunted. “Lovely. I know someone has thought about the need for an Iranian visa, which I didn’t notice in my passport.”

  Vasilyev smiled. “Of course. We are good at such details. A man will meet us at Dubai airport with passports containing the correct visas for a short business stay.”

  Grishkov sighed. “And may I know why we are going to Tehran?”

  Vasilyev shrugged. “No idea. Such details are never included in a cell phone message even when the device is encrypted, as is ours. We will be given a summary readout by the agent who passes us our new papers in Dubai, and a full briefing once we arrive in Tehran.”

  To that Grishkov had no answer, since his time in both the Russian Army and the Vladivostok police had drummed the need for operational security into him at often tiresome length. Well, he mused, having paid attention to security requirements helped explain why he was alive to be walking here beside Vasilyev, in spite of several serious attempts on his life when he was in Russia.

  It didn’t make him any less curious, though.

  Dubai International Airport, United Arab Emirates

  Grishkov and Vasilyev were waiting for the next Iran Air flight to Tehran, after an uneventful flight from Dhahran and a smooth handover of new documents from one of their agents in Dubai. Grishkov thought, not for the first time, that it was good to be part of a truly capable organization. Russia had many problems. An incompetent intelligence agency was not one of them.

  Now, though, he saw the twinkle he dreaded in Vasilyev’s eye. “OK, out with it. What’s so special about this airport?”

  Vasilyev smiled. “Why, it’s the world’s biggest, of course!”

  Grishkov groaned. “Not again! OK, Dhahran was the biggest by land area.

  So, this one has the most passengers?”

  Vasilyev shook his head. “Close, but not quite. It has the most international passengers. Construction is underway to add further capacity, so it’s likely to keep that title for some time.”

  Grishkov frowned. “But, since we are literally passing through, this time it really is trivia with little importance for our mission.”

  Vasilyev grinned. “Well, alright. You have me this time.”

  Grishkov nodded. “At last! Let me turn instead to a subject where I hope you can shed some light. The brief report we just read says the defector we are on our way to assist is an Iranian woman. I know that women throughout this region are repressed, but not the details. Perhaps you could contrast the situation of Saudi women with Iranian women, since you have lived in both countries.”

  Vasilyev smiled. “An excellent approach. Let me begin with the positive.

  In both countries some women have always been able to obtain both degrees and employment, primarily in areas such as education, medicine, and administration. Women have obtained employment in other sectors, but only in small numbers. One example I saw personally during a tour of a Saudi jewelry factory was the design and production of high-end gold jewelry. The owners admitted they had been unenthusiastic about employing women when a small quota was forced on them by the government, but quickly changed their minds."

  Grishkov frowned. "Why? Did the women impress them immediately with the quality of their work?"

  Vasilyev shook his head, and explained, "Their work quality was fine, but that's not the real value they brought to the factory. Once the women told their friends that jewelry they made themselves was available at a particular shop and showed them pictures of what they'd made, it immediately disappeared from the store shelves. In part, this was friends showing solidarity. In many cases, though, the owners believed it was that women were better at designing jewelry because they knew what women like. That's because even the jewelry these women designed that was exported to surrounding countries like the United Arab Emirates and Oman sold better than the rest of their products."

  Grishkov frowned and asked, "But isn't segregation still the rule?"

  Vasiloyev nodded. "Segregation by gender exists in both countries, and the need for totally separate facilities including entrances if women work at a company is often cited as a cost factor in refusing to hire them. Such segregation is generally more strictly enforced in Saudi Arabia, so that the women in the jewelry factory, for example, have to work in a separate area.

  Likewise for the requirement that women be accompanied by a male relative outside the home, and need a male relative’s permission to obtain a passport, make a report to the police, or to take most other significant actions.

  However, thanks to recent liberalization in Saudi Arabia women no longer need a male relative’s permission to apply to a school, for a job, or for medical care. Plus, as long as they obtain the permission of their nearest male relative, Saudi women can now drive.”

  Grishkov nodded. “Yes, I had heard of this. And the negative?”

  Vasilyev frowned. “Perhaps the most disturbing development in Saudi Arabia has been forced divorce. This happens when a relative of a married woman, often her brother, decides to contest the legitimacy of the woman’s marriage. He would usually do this by going to a religious official, often making a ‘contribution’, and asking for a ruling that the marriage was invalid.

  A typical basis would be that the marriage was beneath the status of the woman’s family, and as its head he disapproved.”

  Grishkov shook his head. “Why would he do this?”

  Vasilyev grimaced. “Money. The most common motivation is to take control of a woman’s share of an inheritance. Though a woman only gets a half share, that is often more than the males in the family want to give, particularly if giving that half share would require selling property or businesses and splitting the proceeds.”

  Grishkov frowned. “What happens to the woman in such cases?”

  Vasilyev spread his hands. “Their marriage is annulled as if it never happened. Any children are given to the father to raise. The woman is required to move in with her closest male relative, usually the man who forced the divorce, and must place all her assets under his control. This means not only her share of an inheritance, but any assets she retained after her marriage, such as a bank account or salary.”

  Grishkov shook his head again. “How often does this happen?”

  Vasilyev shrugged. “There are no statistics. However, at one point there were articles about the issue even in the Saudi English language press, which demonstrated both that the government was aware of the issue and disapproved of the practice. It’s important to understand that the Saudi government has only limited control over the actions of the clergy, though that’s still better than Iran where in spite of elections the clergy is actually in control of the government.”

  Grishkov frowned. “I think I have heard enough about women in Saudi Arabia. I hope their situation is better in Iran.”

  Vasilyev smiled. “It is, to some degree. Women have been allowed to vote and hold office for years, though in the 2009 presidential election many women were arrested for voting for a candidate not favored by the clergy, and their votes were not counted. Women make up only about three percent of the members of Iran’s parliament. In other areas the record is also mixed.

  Women are allowed to participate in some sports, but not to enter stadiums as spectators to watch football or volleyball matches. Though they can drive, few have the money to buy a car of their own, and strangely women are not allowed to ride bicycles.”

  Gri
shkov nodded. “Not so surprising then, that this particular Iranian woman would like to live elsewhere.”

  Vasilyev grinned. “Fortunately for us, since otherwise we’d have no leads worth pursuing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tehran, Iran

  Anatoly Grishkov placed his request for black coffee with the waiter as soon as Alexei Vasilyev had finished ordering his latte. Waving his hand around the back patio where they were seated, he asked “Why is it we seem to always be in coffee shops? And why did you specify this one in particular?”

  Vasilyev smiled, and said, “Good. We will continue with your training.

  Think, and then answer the questions yourself.”

  Grishkov scowled, and then nodded. "Very well. It is obvious that we should not meet our Russian Embassy contact at the Mission building, since it is sure to be under observation by Iranian intelligence. This cafe is within walking distance of the Embassy, and there is nothing strange about our contact sharing a coffee with two other Russians.”

  Vasilyev arched one eyebrow. “And?”

  Sighing, Grishkov looked around the patio. “Well, I did notice when we arrived that you told them we had a reservation, and we were shown outside to this patio. I suppose not all cafes take reservations, and we wouldn’t want to stand in line waiting. I also notice that we have good table separation here, and in this patio with the ambient noise from the city around us overhearing our conversation would be quite difficult.”

  Vasilyev grinned and clapped his hands. “Outstanding. I’ll add that along with excellent reviews Google was nice enough to include customer photos, including one showing this cafe’s latte art. Just the basic heart design, but enough to make me hope the latte will be drinkable. Tehran is not really known for its coffee.”

  With that a tall woman with blond hair showing under her sheer scarf walked into the patio, and made straight for their table. She sat down without any preamble, and placing a black briefcase beside her said in a low voice, “You may call me Alina.”

  Before either could say anything Alina gestured impatiently and added, “Introductions are unnecessary. I know who both of you are. I am here to give you the details of your mission. First, you will receive an overview from Director Smyslov.”

  Both Grishkov and Vasilyev started with surprise. Vasilyev asked, “He is here in Tehran?”

  Alina smiled dryly. “In a manner of speaking,” as she pulled a small laptop from her purse and attached earbuds. “One earbud each, but for this you will not need stereo.”

  The waiter appeared and Alina ordered coffee, with cream on the side.

  As soon as the waiter left, Alina turned on the laptop, placed her fingertip on a sensor and entered a password to open the video file. She then turned the screen towards them, and handed them each an earbud.

  Shortly Smyslov’s smiling bearded face filled the screen, and his voice boomed through the earbuds. “My friends! We are finally able to send video files to our embassies with proper security. I’ve always wanted to do this, like the Mission Impossible movies, yes? But there is a serious purpose — I want there to be no doubt in your minds that these orders are coming directly from me.

  Your mission will not be impossible, but I will not lie. It will not be easy.

  The first part will be to help an Iranian woman leave Iran for Iraq overland.

  She is the wife of the man leading Iran’s nuclear weapons program, and has vital information on the attacks coming in Saudi Arabia. An Iranian who has worked with our Embassy before will accompany you as guide until you have reached Iraq.”

  Smyslov paused. “Now for the difficult part. Once you are in Iraq, a Russian Army helicopter that has already been cleared to enter Iraqi airspace will pick you up and fly you to our military headquarters in Syria. There you will meet with the commander of Russian forces in Syria, General Stepanov.

  The purpose will be to brief him on the planned attack. The defector has told us that part of it will be by air, and we expect the Iranians to use a pair of J-20 stealth fighters they have recently obtained from China in carrying out the attack. Particularly since the Saudis are heavily engaged in Yemen, we think the attack may succeed unless we intervene.

  General Stepanov controls the only pair of SU-57s stationed within range to defend likely targets. He has refused to commit these stealth fighters to that mission, saying they are needed in Syria. The President will not overrule the commander on the ground, which I… reluctantly… understand. However, he has agreed to order General Stepanov to hear details of the planned attack directly from the defector.

  Now we come to the most difficult part of your mission. The defector has provided us with many details, but has told us she has withheld many as well until she reaches Moscow. We pointed out that once the attacks begin her information is useless. We also threatened to refuse to help her leave Iran at all, and even to give her to Iranian authorities. She has proved quite stubborn.

  You will need to overcome her reluctance to talk to have any chance of convincing General Stepanov to commit his SU-57s.

  The Embassy will give you all the other details of your mission. Good luck to you both.”

  Grishkov shook his head in bewilderment. “Can it really be so hard to persuade this defector to talk? Does whoever at the Embassy debriefed her know what they’re doing?”

  Alina flushed angrily. “I’d like to think so, since that person is me. As the only woman at this Embassy’s intelligence station, I was selected because it was thought the defector would relate better to a woman. That may not have been the best choice, but it cannot be changed because after our initial report Moscow ordered that no one else at the Embassy is to speak with the defector.”

  Grishkov winced. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense. I’m frustrated because we’ve been hitting our heads against a wall for days trying to find details on the upcoming attacks, and to be told a person has the answers, came to us but refuses to tell us everything is… maddening.”

  Alina was still clearly unhappy, but seemed at least somewhat mollified.

  “Maddening is the right word. But put yourself in her position. By now she has certainly been reported missing. Considering her husband’s position, there is sure to be a police alert for her. Without our help, she’ll never make it out of Iran. And once she’s told us everything, why should we take the risk of helping her?”

  Grishkov shook his head. “We would never betray…” His voice died away as he saw the expressions on the faces of both Alina and Vasilyev. It was Vasilyev who spoke first.

  “No, we would not betray her in this case, because there will be those in Moscow who wish to speak to her personally. But betrayal is simply another tool for an intelligence officer, however distasteful they may find it personally. I doubt that any of us makes it through a career without using it at least once.”

  All Grishkov had to do was look at Alina’s face to see the truth of Vasilyev’s statement. She looked up and said, “She has told us a great deal.

  You will find the information in your briefing materials. But she has held back the target locations.” With that she laid a hand lightly on Vasilyev’s, who withdrew it with a smile. She withdrew hers with an answering smile.

  Grishkov frowned and asked, “Do we really need this Iranian guide who is supposed to take us across the border to Iraq? I can read a map, and I have plenty of experience getting through wilderness without being seen by the enemy.”

  Alina sighed and shook her head. “There are many dangers not marked on any map. Minefields left over from the Iran-Iraq War in the eighties. Others said to have been put along smuggling routes more recently. And, of course, Iranian Army patrols. The area of Iraq you will cross into is controlled by the Kurds and there is no love lost between them and the Iranians, so they keep a sharp watch there.”

  Grishkov grimaced. “So, why are we going that way?”

  Alina waved her hand, clearly frustrated. “Not my decision, in fact I argued against it. Director S
myslov ordered it, precisely because the area is controlled by the Kurds. When our forces pick you up by helicopter, he does not wish a detailed report of who was aboard immediately passed to the Iraqi government, and from there almost certainly to Iran. Mind you, that will happen eventually. But it will take longer this way, since the Kurds do not cooperate especially closely with the Iraqi government.”

  Grishkov shook his head. “Assuming we make it at all.”

  Alina smiled wryly. “Well, yes. That was the crux of my argument against this route. The Director seems to believe you both have nearly superhuman abilities. He said something about how I would never believe what you have already accomplished, and how I should be feeling sorry for the Iranians,” in a tone that made it clear she was not convinced of anything of the sort by the two sitting in front of her.

  Grishkov snorted. “I feel very ordinary, and I’m sure bullets would work on me just fine.”

  Vasilyev sighed. “We shall have to have a long talk with the Director after we return home.”

  Alina leaned forward. “Another important point to remember is that it would be suspicious for the defector to be traveling without a male family member, particularly because she is fairly young and quite attractive. You should wait to speak to her until you are far from observation by any Iranian.”

  After first looking around to make sure they were not being watched, Alina passed her black briefcase under the table to Vasilyev.

  “Documents for your trip, local currency and US dollars, and train tickets are inside. So are some other necessities, so you should not open the case where you may be observed.”

  Seeing Vasilyev’s raised eyebrows, Alina smiled and said, “No offense. I know you have far more experience than I do, but I have found it is best to take nothing for granted.”

  This earned her an answering smile from Vasilyev. “So, Mikhail is still training at the Academy?”

  Alina nodded. “Yes. The instructor everyone hopes they don’t get, but sooner or later everyone did. I thought he was tough but fair, as long as you paid attention.”