Then again, why bring the Mahdi here at all? Why would the Twelfth Imam want to be in Syria? And why would he want to meet with an old man like Birjandi here, of all places? Such questions had been bothering him all day, but it wasn’t until the young officer said good-bye, clicked off the lights, and left the room — locking the door behind him — that the answer finally came.
Birjandi was in the bathroom washing his face when the truth he had been nibbling at all evening suddenly dawned on him so plainly he wondered why it hadn’t been this obvious before. He turned off the faucet and stood ramrod straight, water dripping from his face and hands. The Mahdi was going to launch the last jihad against Israel from right here in Damascus. He was sure of it. And now it dawned on him, too, that the Mahdi and his forces had pre-positioned the remaining two nuclear warheads here at Al-Mazzah. They were planning to fire both warheads — most likely with a massive salvo of chemical weapons — at the Zionists to destroy the Jews once and for all. Then, presumably, when the evil act was complete, the Mahdi planned to go on worldwide television and declare victory.
And what a victory it would be. To destroy Israel after Israel had launched a devastating preemptive strike would be even more unexpected and dramatic than if the Mahdi had ordered a sneak attack against the Jews in the first place. Few in the West now believed the Caliphate could prevail. Indeed, Iran and her allies appeared to be on the ropes. Many in the Muslim world were questioning the power of the Twelfth Imam. They had been rattled by the effectiveness of the Israeli first strike and had been left unsure as to the Mahdi’s ability to counterpunch. The Mahdi was playing the expectations game more shrewdly than even Birjandi had anticipated.
Birjandi dried his face with a hand towel and proceeded to change into his pajamas, climb into bed, and slip under the sheets. A gust of wind began blowing across the base, stirring up dust and rattling it against the windows. But the old man barely heard any of it. All he could think about were these questions: How was the Lord going to stop the Mahdi, and what role did he want Birjandi to play? God had clearly brought him to the forefront of the drama for a reason. But what reason was that?
37
Rashidi couldn’t believe it. The deal was done. Now the Mahdi and President Farooq were recording a joint “press conference” that would be aired in a few hours on Pakistan’s state television network as if it were a live event. The rationale was that the Islamic world would wake up to what they believed to be a major news event happening in Kabul in real time, but by taping the event, the Mahdi and Farooq would have plenty of time to get to other, safer locations, lest the Israelis or the Americans try to attack the site of the press conference while it was under way.
“Good morning. I would like to begin by making a brief statement,” said Farooq, standing behind a large wooden podium before a bank of microphones and sporting a charcoal-black suit with a crisp white shirt and a red power tie. He looked directly into the cameras in the back of the room. “The Islamic Republic of Pakistan today formally announces that we are joining the Caliphate and following the wise and courageous leadership of Imam al-Mahdi.”
At this, the Mahdi’s security staff took dozens of flash pictures with cameras they had brought for the occasion, helping to further create the appearance of a room full of reporters.
“In keeping with the spirit of unity and true partnership of this important new alliance, we are putting full control of Pakistan’s 345 nuclear-tipped, long-range ballistic missiles into the hands of the Lord of the Age.”
This statement brought another burst of flash photography, and Rashidi found it clever that Farooq — no doubt at the direction of the Mahdi — had this time significantly inflated the number of Pakistani warheads to once more keep the world, and especially the Zionists, off balance.
“On behalf of my Cabinet and the Pakistani legislature,” Farooq continued, “I can say that I have full confidence Allah will give Imam al-Mahdi divine wisdom to use these missiles and these powerful warheads to further build the Caliphate and bring forth justice and peace here in this region and around the world.”
More flash photography.
“And let me add that the government of Pakistan wishes no harm to the people of India or their government,” Farooq said. “We seek no hostilities with India, and we do not believe that our joining the Caliphate warrants any concern on the part of New Delhi. The only ones who should shudder in fear because of this dramatic and powerful new alliance are the filthy ones who currently occupy the Holy Land of Palestine but will soon be eradicated from the face of the earth, inshallah.”
After more pictures, the Pakistani president stepped aside. Then a broadly smiling and apparently very contented Twelfth Imam strode to the podium in his black robes and addressed the handful of security and technical staff in the nearly empty room, none of whom, of course, would be shown on television.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is a joy and an honor to be here in Kabul this morning,” the Mahdi began. “I am grateful to Afghan president Zardawi for welcoming us to his capital and providing us a secure and quite lovely location to hold these vital discussions. And I want to say that I warmly welcome the Islamic Republic of Pakistan into the Caliphate, and I accept the gift of the nation’s nuclear arsenal. This is a historic day in the long journey of the Islamic kingdom and one that will not be forgotten. As all of you know, we are engaged in a holy jihad against the infidels who currently occupy Palestine. We have been attacked by those infidels, and we are fighting back with the courage of our forefathers. With Allah’s help, we would prevail over the Zionists anyway. But we accept this nuclear arsenal because we believe it is, in fact, a gift from Allah to help us finish the task at hand.”
The security men in the room had been given slips of paper with questions they were supposed to shout at the end of the press conference, and they dutifully did their jobs. But the Mahdi and Farooq abruptly left the room as an aide to the Pakistani president stepped in to inform the alleged press corps that the event was over and the leaders “will not be taking questions at this time.”
Rashidi quickly grabbed his briefcase and raced to catch up with the Mahdi, who was already saying good-bye to Farooq and climbing back into his bulletproof SUV. Rashidi waited for the all-clear from the security team and then climbed into the SUV as well and pulled the door shut behind him. He glanced at the Twelfth Imam, whose smile was nowhere to be seen.
“Get me to Damascus,” snapped the Mahdi, and with that the motorcade began to roll.
It was just after four in the morning when the convoy of ambulances carrying General Jazini and Jalal Zandi finally arrived at the Al-Mazzah air base on the outskirts of the Syrian capital. As the convoy cleared security, Jazini and Zandi were immediately greeted by a large man in a ribbon-bedecked uniform. The military man sported a square jaw and piercing green eyes and was flanked by Abdol Esfahani.
“General Jazini, greetings in the name of Allah,” said the man. “I am General Youssef Hamdi. Welcome to Damascus.”
“It’s an honor to be here, General,” Jazini replied, saluting the man smartly.
“Please, please, it is my honor,” Hamdi responded. “And of course you know Mr. Esfahani. He has been hard at work setting up secure communications for you between here and your new command center in Tehran.”