The civilian side of the airfield, on the other hand, was relatively unscathed. The Imam Khomeini Airport was Iran’s largest and most heavily trafficked international commercial facility, and the Israelis had chosen not to hit it directly. The Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, obviously military, was headquartered there, but their bunkers and command center were actually secretly located under the main commercial terminal to cover it, essentially, with thousands of human shields — ordinary citizens and foreign nationals transiting to and from the airport built for Iran’s capital city.
Darazi was stunned. No one had briefed him on how much damage had been done by the Israelis to this prize of the Iranian Air Force. There were no news reports to watch. Even if the Iranian TV networks were operating — and they weren’t — the military censor would never have cleared images of such devastation at such a major airport. Darazi’s information had all come from planning meetings with the Mahdi, and he wondered why he of all people wasn’t being briefed on this.
As Darazi looked out over the smoldering wreckage, his knees grew weak. He began to gag on the thick, black, acrid smoke and the stench of burning human flesh laced with jet fuel, and he knew this was not safe. The Jews would return, he knew. Wave after wave of attacks were coming, hour after hour, day after day, and he desperately wanted to get the Mahdi indoors, back downstairs into the safety and security of the war room bunker. But he didn’t dare violate the sanctity of the Twelfth Imam’s communication with Allah. So he immediately fell to his knees and began praying as well. Only when he could hear the Mahdi was finished did Darazi open his eyes. Then, still bowing, he addressed his leader and pleaded for mercy.
“You may speak,” said the Mahdi, now on his feet and motioning the president to rise too.
“I’ve communicated with General Jazini via secure e-mail, Your Excellency,” he said, rising quickly.
“Good,” said the Mahdi. “How long until General Jazini is on site?”
“Very shortly. I will brief you the moment he gets there.”
“Fine — make sure all the arrangements we discussed are in place.”
“Of course, Your Excellency. Everything is set. You can count on me and my men. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, there is,” the Mahdi said. “Contact our ambassador in Vienna. Have him release a statement that Iran and the Caliphate are withdrawing from the NPT.”
“The nuclear nonproliferation treaty?” Darazi asked.
“Is there another?” the Mahdi responded in disgust.
“No, no, of course not,” Darazi said, bowing once again and feeling foolish. “I will do it immediately, Your Excellency. Anything else?”
“Have you heard from Firouz and Jamshad?” he asked.
The Twelfth Imam was referring to Firouz Nouri, the head of an Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps terrorist cell, and one of his deputies, Jamshad Zarif. The two were part of the cell that was responsible for the assassination of Egyptian president Abdel Ramzy and the attempted assassination of American president Jackson and Israeli prime minister Naphtali at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York a week before.
“Yes, my Lord,” Darazi replied. “We got them successfully out of the States to Venezuela, where they holed up in our embassy in Caracas. Last night they flew to Frankfurt, where they are awaiting further instructions.”
“They are traveling under new identities?”
“Yes, my Lord, as you instructed.”
“Very good. Tell them to get to Damascus as soon as possible and await my orders. I have an important assignment for them there.”
“But, my Lord, no one is flying into or out of Damascus because of the war.”
“Did I say anything about having them fly to Damascus?” the Mahdi retorted, his voice dripping with disdain for the Iranian president. “Tell them to fly to Cyprus. Tell them to look up a man named Dimitrious Makris. He’s a ship captain in the port of Limassol. From there, they should take a boat to Beirut. Makris will take care of everything. When they get to Beirut, they should make contact with a man named Youssef, who is in charge of security at the airport. Youssef is Hezbollah. He will provide them with a car, and they will drive to Damascus as quickly as they can. Tell them not to delay. I need them there in forty-eight hours. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Lord. Anything else?”
“Just do those things and do them well,” said the Mahdi.
“Of course, Your Excellency,” Darazi said. “But may I ask a question?”
“If you must.”
“When will we launch the last two warheads at the Zionists, my Lord? When will we finally have sweet vengeance upon those apes and pigs?”
“One step at a time,” the Mahdi replied. “You must be patient. I have everything under control. Allah has a plan and a purpose, and it cannot be thwarted. We want the Jews to think they have the upper hand, but we are luring them into a false sense of security. And when they least expect it, we will finish them off once and for all. Just you wait, Ahmed. You will see it with your very eyes — and soon.”
Zalinsky picked up the phone and dialed Tom Murray’s extension. He briefed the deputy director for operations on David’s call and his plan. Then he asked for Murray to relay the translation request to Eva. And he requested permission to retask a Predator drone over Tehran University Medical Center.
“Mr. Prime Minister, Defense Minister Shimon is on hold.”
“Put him through,” Naphtali said. He was sitting in his office, poring over dispatches from each element of the ongoing war. When the secure connection was made, he asked for the latest update.
“Six deaths in Dimona so far,” Shimon said, “but none from radiation. They’re all due to the fires. Several dozen injuries, too. But the hazmat teams are in. The fire-suppression efforts are going better. I think we’re going to be able to contain the damage, but it’s too soon to say more than that.”
“What about Tiberias?”
“The hotel is a disaster. It’s not just the collapse of the building. It’s the fire and smoke. The rescue crews can hear tapping coming from the bomb shelters in the basement, but they can’t control the fires, and until they do, they can’t get to the people. The death toll is climbing. I should receive updated numbers soon.”
“Please, Levi, as soon as you can get them. The Foreign Ministry is screaming for details and a statement from me, but I don’t want to put out anything official until we know more.”
“I know, and we’re working on it.”
“Okay, what’s next?”
“Good news and bad,” said Shimon. “Which do you want first?”
“The bad.”
“I just talked to Roger Allen at Langley. He says they’ve got credible evidence that we’ve destroyed six of the eight warheads but missed two.”
“How does he know?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“But they’re sure?”
“All he said was the evidence was ‘serious’ and ‘credible’ and they’re throwing everything they have at hunting down these two warheads and destroying them.”
“What’s the chance that it’s just disinformation?”
“Unlikely. I know Roger. He wouldn’t tell us this unless he was worried. I’m not entirely sure he was even authorized to tell us this. But he clearly wanted us to know. And he can’t think that’s going to make us back down from the fight or accept a cease-fire.”