The Sword of Cyrus: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 4)

by JC Ryan

  ~~~

  Robert saw Daniel in his office the next morning with the news that one of the most brilliant nanotech researchers in the country, if not the world, had identified this ancient rock as the most advanced piece of nanotechnology in the world. He was gratified to see that Daniel was suitably impressed.

  “I wonder if the manufacturing method is hiding in the library somewhere.” Daniel mused. Robert understood him to mean the 10th Cycle library, the only library in which Daniel had interest these days.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. JR and I thought it might be 9th Cycle, but even if so, those 10th Cycle blokes would have figured it out, wouldn’t they?” Robert was still a little shaky on the history of the 10th Cycle, since it violated a lot of his concepts of time on the historical scale. Geological scale was a different matter. Even the supposed 260,000 year scope of human history was nothing compared to geological epochs.

  “Maybe,” Daniel said, bringing Robert’s attention back to the present. “Do you think there’s any value in looking for it, Robert?”

  “Roy James certainly thinks so. He’s brimming with ideas about the benefits of nanotechnology,” Robert hadn’t told Daniel yet that he and Roy were already planning for Roy to visit the Foundation headquarters.

  “Do you think he’d come and talk to us about that, if you invited him?” Daniel asked.

  Robert had a decision to make. Tell Daniel he’d already set that in motion? Or let him believe that it was his idea only and go through the motions of inviting Roy? Everything he knew about Daniel suggested he had no pretentious ego, though, so his answer was easy.

  “Already invited him. He’s waiting on us to give him a date, but it will have to be in the next couple of weeks. He needs to be back at CalTech for the first day of classes in the new semester.” Robert swallowed a nervous gulp. Had he overstepped his authority?

  “Good man, Robert. Let me check my calendar.”

  Daniel named a date in the first week of September, and that worked fine for Roy, so it was set. They invited select scientists in electronics engineering, chemistry, physics and a few who were interested in anything new at all, including Robert himself, JR, Sinclair and Nicholas, plus Robert’s friend Mark. Because of its implications for medicine, Rebecca also asked to sit in and to invite Hannah to fly out from Atlanta. Sarah would be there, though her field had no interest in nanotech, as an official representative of the Foundation along with Daniel. Raj, of course, since he would be doing the first search through the translated index for anything related. Sinclair, Nicholas and a few of the staff in the translation and research departments were also invited.

  Allah’s hand has stopped us twice

  August 16, Tehran

  Dr. Abbasi was called to the Niavaran Palace, home and headquarters of the Ayatollah Kazemi, at just past midnight, Tehran time, on the morning after his scheduled visit. There, he found Kazemi unresponsive and without a pulse. Alarmed, he attempted resuscitation methods, then called for an ambulance. The Ayatollah had suffered a massive heart attack and must be rushed to a hospital and intensive care immediately.

  Three hours later, a weary Abbasi entered a waiting room where many of the Ayatollah’s closest followers and lieutenants were pacing. One of them rose to meet him.

  “Will he recover?” Dr. Abbasi would have preferred to give the news he must give in his own time and on his own terms. Because he was caught unprepared, the news came baldly.

  “No, I’m afraid not. The Ayatollah has passed to another plane. Which of you will contact the media?” Abbasi looked around the room at the group of people who had suddenly grown silent.

  His question went unanswered as those of the faithful who believed Kazemi to be the 12th Imam sent up a ululation of grief. Confusion reigned. Some individuals among those closest to Kazemi automatically began to plan and prepare for burial, since Shariah law required burial to take place as soon as possible. Others felt that it was entirely possible the Ayatollah would rise from the dead, if he were indeed the 12th Imam, and therefore nothing should be done for several days, even though it would break with tradition. Dr. Abbasi was horrified at the thought, particularly because embalming was forbidden. In any case, embalming would have corrupted the body so that if Kazemi did, against all reason, return to life - no, it was impossible.

  In the midst of the unseemly arguments taking place at the hospital, the Ayatollah Khorasani, the person most likely to step into Kazemi’s nominal role as adviser to the government, arrived. As soon as he had taken in the situation, he took the doctor aside.

  “Is it possible that my brother was poisoned?” he asked. Dr. Abbasi paled, realizing that he had been the last to administer medicines to Kazemi and would come under suspicion.

  “No, surely not, Aqa,” he said, affording the other the title of respect. “I examined him myself not twelve hours ago. He showed no sign of distress at that time. This sort of cardiac event cannot be predicted accurately. I have told the Ayatollah in the past that he must avoid stress, but, as you know, he has been unable to do so.”

  “How can we be sure?” answered Khorasani.

  “Sure of what?” one of Kazemi’s followers asked, approaching just in time to hear the question.

  “Sure that the master has not been poisoned,” answered Khorasani, well aware that once the notion was out, some would take up the cry.

  “Poisoned!” said the follower, loud enough for others to hear. Within minutes, the doctor was beset with demands to answer Khorasani’s question. “How can we be sure?”

  With dread, Abbasi answered the only way he could. “An autopsy would tell us.” Abbasi knew full well that the idea would not be well received. It would be considered a desecration of the body, even more so when the body was that of a religious leader. Nevertheless, the question had been raised, and the only way to dispel it would be to autopsy the great man’s body.

  Khorasani, anticipating the answer, had a follow-up question. “Would it not be possible to perform blood tests without an autopsy?”

  Abbasi pounced on the suggestion with alacrity. “Oh, yes, Aqa, that would be a way to begin. I will order it immediately.” Later, he would wonder why he had volunteered to hasten the time of his interrogation.

  It took no time at all to run the tests Abbasi ordered, since the lab was instructed to put these tests ahead of all others. When the results were made known, there was little of interest. However, a sharp-eyed lab technician did note that there was a higher level of sodium chloride in the blood than he would have expected. Unfortunately for Abbasi, the technician took his results directly to Khorasani, who, since Kazemi had yet to rise from the dead, hoped to succeed him. Khorasani questioned the technician closely.

  “What does this result mean?” Khorasani asked, watching closely for any sign of untruth in the technician.

  “It could mean nothing. Or it could mean that an overdose of potassium chloride was administered to the Ayatollah. The substance would break down in the blood stream, causing a heart attack from the overdose of potassium. Meanwhile, the chlorine molecules would join with the body’s naturally-occurring sodium to form sodium chloride, hence an elevated level in the blood.” The technician spoke theoretically, unaware of the storm that his words would stir up.

  Khorasani took a few moments to consider this. By now he had learned that Abbasi had attended Kazemi the previous afternoon to give him various routine injections. It would have been easy for one of them to be the substance that would kill Kazemi within twelve hours. There was only one way to find out.

  “Bring Abbasi to me,” he ordered his new followers.

  Abbasi begged to be spared. His thought that he would be blamed had turned out to be prophetic, but he had no defense. It was he who had injected the Ayatollah. It was probably by his hand that the poison had been administered, but how? His desperate mental search for answers was made more difficult by the torture. If he had known, he would have given the information as soon as he was tied to the chai
r and struck repeatedly, but he didn’t know.

  It was only hours later, after having several toenails forcibly ripped out while chained spread-eagled to a table, that the doctor transcended his agony long enough to remember. The syringes had been prepared and handed to him by his assistant. Had the doctor not been tortured, he may have declined to throw his assistant under the bus, but he had no other ideas, and the pain of the treatment drove all thoughts but those of self-preservation from his mind.

  The relief obtained from giving an answer didn’t last long. Although the torture ceased, the doctor was left to remain chained to the table without medical attention while his assistant was located and brought to the Palace. His condition was intended to frighten the assistant into talking without resorting to the same methods, though the questioners wouldn’t hesitate to use them if necessary.

  Kasra Turani entered the torture chamber with apprehension, which turned to terror when he saw his employer strapped to a table by means of iron chains. Those who gave him his instructions did not warn him that the doctor would probably be tortured. However, they had provided him with the means to an end to his own torture. As soon as the beating stopped, he pled for mercy and said what he had been told to say.

  “Yes, I gave the doctor a syringe that someone else gave to me. I did not know that the Ayatollah would die! Please, they threatened my wife and children.” His terror lent truth to his words, and he was believed.

  “What did you think would happen to the Ayatollah?” the questioners asked. The stern voices left Kasra no doubt what would happen to him.

  “I did not know! I asked, and they would not say - only that my wife and daughters would be harmed if I did not. What was I supposed to do?” Kasra’s wails fell on unsympathetic ears.

  “Has your family been returned to you?” they asked. One of them knew the answer. It had been he who took the man’s family in the first place.

  “Not yet. Please, allow me to leave. I must be there when my family returns.” Tears fell from Kasra’s eyes as he pictured his wife, defenseless after he was gone. Only the same denial of certain death that allows a man to live his life in peace maintained the glimmer of hope that it would be all right.

  “Of course. We’ll escort you there. First, we must take care of a small matter.”

  Turani did not ask what came next. He was too frightened by the doctor’s condition to do anything but what his handlers had told him to do, and now what the men who held him prisoner wanted. If he was surprised when they took him to the headquarters of NIRT, National Iranian Radio and Television, he did not say so. Nor did he question it when he was put on a sound stage in handcuffs and told to look at a red dot.

  One of his questioners took his place beside Turani. When the signal came that the feed was live, the questioner began his interview. Turani followed the leading questions without hesitation.

  “Kasra Turani, you are here under arrest because of your actions of yesterday at the Niavaran Palace. You have previously confessed your crimes to us, is that correct?” A bright light was in his eyes, so Kasra could not see his questioner.

  “Yes, sir. I have begged mercy, because I was forced to do what I did.” He’d been told to say these words, and he followed his instructions to the letter.

  “And what did you do, exactly, for the record?”

  Kasra hung his head, terribly ashamed of his actions, though he’d felt he had no choice. “I substituted a syringe with a liquid that was unknown to me for one of Ayatollah Kazemi’s regular injections.”

  “And did you expect that liquid to cause the Ayatollah’s death?” The questions were now sterner, and this one hadn’t been asked in this way before. He wasn’t sure what to say. He settled for the truth.

  “No sir! I asked the purpose, but the people who forced me to do this would not say.”

  “How did they force you?”

  “They threatened my wife and children, sir. I could not let them be harmed,” he said, understanding belatedly that by putting his wife and children ahead of the Twelfth Imam, he’d signed his own death warrant. What could he have done otherwise, though? If someone were to die for his actions, better himself than them.

  “You acted on the order of others, is that correct?” On and on came the questions. Kasra wanted to close his eyes, lie down and forget what he’d done, but they wouldn’t let him.

  “Yes sir,” he answered.

  “And these others, did you know them? Would you be able to identify them?” This had been asked before. They knew the answer. Why were they asking him all these questions again?

  “No sir, they wore masks,” he answered, barely loud enough to be heard.

  “Did this not make you wonder if the Ayatollah would be harmed?” Yes, of course it did. But that wasn’t the correct answer.

  “Please, sir, no, I was too worried about my wife and family.” And because of his love for them, he was surely going to die. He only hoped he would be able to see them once again before his execution.

  “Very well. Was Dr. Abbasi aware of this substitution?”

  “No sir. I concealed the real medicine in my clothing, and handed him a syringe that looked like the normal medicine.”

  “Are you prepared to answer for your crimes?”

  Turani wondered briefly what answer would be required of him, but since he was following the lead of the questioner, he answered after only a brief hesitation.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then you shall be reunited with your wife and children,” the questioner said at last. Hope surged in Turani’s heart.

  Watching the TV screen from his table, Abbasi’s eyes widened in terror as he saw the man with the sword approach from behind Turani, but in the torture chamber, surrounded by other secret police, he did not make a sound, fearful for his own life.

  On hearing the words of his questioner, Turani’s relief was evident, right up until the time his head flew from his shoulders. Turani didn’t even have time to wonder if those who had captured his family would make good on their promise of payment, so that his wife would be compensated for his death. The live feed from NIRT was broadcast immediately, and then uploaded on YouTube for the repeat viewing of those who could stomach it.

  Abbasi was now a loose end. He met his fate only half an hour later, and by the same sword. However, the man who had ordered Kazemi’s death was a man of honor in his own way. Turani’s widow and children received sufficient payment to live in luxury wherever they wanted.

  Before the hour was up, Ayatollah Khorasani also made a live broadcast. To no one’s surprise, he immediately pointed his finger at the United States and Israel as the potential culprits who put the unfortunate physician’s assistant up to his crime. His rhetoric was even more extreme and bombastic than the late Ayatollah Kazemi’s had been, though Khorasani did not attempt to claim the title of the Twelfth Imam at that time. By the time he had stopped speaking, he had mortally offended most of the non-Middle Eastern countries in the world, and had half-committed Iran and its allies to a declaration of war.

  Khorasani’s words and actions ignored the unfortunate fact that the 9th Cycle virus had wiped out over half of the population of his country before it could be stopped through the generosity of Western countries that had supplied a gene therapy for it. The government was in chaos because many key officials had succumbed to the virus, and others were still recuperating from being near death. The President had been one of the victims, and elections were due to be held in a few weeks. However, an even more important election must now be held. The Assembly of Experts, the body of Islamic theologians that was charged with electing, and if necessary removing, the Supreme Leader of Iran, must name a replacement for the late Ayatollah Kazemi. No one doubted that Khorasani aspired to the post, and few doubted that he would achieve it.

  ~~~

  It is a fact that may seem peculiar to citizens of the West. The President of Iran, although the highest official that is elected by popular vote, is not the head o
f state. He answers, in fact, to the Supreme Leader. Having both offices empty at once in this case was a disaster. To fill the gap before elections could take place, Parliament took it upon itself to name General Ali Armand, the Chief of Defense, interim president, rather than follow the constitutional line of succession. Since war with the West seemed inevitable if not imminent, it was considered prudent to have a man of war heading the interim government.

  The first election to take place was within the Assembly of Experts, naturally, since it didn’t require campaigning, a decision of the general populace or the attendant bureaucratic hubbub. By Iranian constitution, the Assembly met every six months to perform various administrative functions, among them to maintain a list of potential candidates for the office of Supreme Leader in the case of death, disability to perform the functions of the office, or removal of the incumbent. Consequently, they had a ready pool of candidates. It only remained to consult among themselves and take a vote.

  Constitutionally, candidates for Supreme Leader must possess qualities of Islamic scholarship, justice, piety, right political and social perspicacity, prudence, courage, administrative facilities and adequate capability for leadership. The Assembly must elect anyone who meets these criteria but also stands out in one or more of the qualifications. Because of Khorasani’s quick actions to determine Kazemi’s true cause of death and his proactive political leadership, he was the natural candidate and was already on the list from the last meeting of the Assembly. It was quick work for the Assembly to meet in emergency session and elect him, which took place only a few days after Kazemi’s death.

  Khorasani wasted no time in taking over the reins of government. He approved the appointment of General Armand and called the man into his office to direct him to declare war on ‘all enemies of Islam’, a vague term he intended to mean anyone who wasn’t Muslim. Armand was no match for Khorasani on any front. His initial protest was that Iran was in no shape to wage war against even an army of children fighting with wooden swords, after the virus and the nuclear incident that had taken place several months before. Seeing that his words fell on deaf ears and being a soldier rather than a politician, however, Armand followed orders. That very day, he ordered what was left of his military to prepare for war, and to take up the offers of replacement nuclear warheads and missiles from their allies, North Korea and Pakistan.