“Brothers… the time is upon us… the Age of the Coming is now before our eyes… a well-laid plan must now unfold… may the grace of Allah be revealed in the coming of the Mahdi… the infidels of the Great Satan believe their sanctions can stop what began so long ago with the Prophet’s daughter Fatima and Imam Ali… today we have demonstrated that their devices have no power on our Islamic Republic… Iran has, today, cut off oil exports to Britain and France… more nations will be cut off… we do not need Satan’s money to do Allah’s work… our warships can close the Straits of Hormuz at a moment’s notice… our preparations are almost complete… we can soon rain fire down on the Zionist regime according to our will, not theirs… today I announce the date, a date that must not leave this room… the blessed Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet, the beloved husband to Fatima, and the first Imam, was born on the 23rd day of October… we shall honor Ali with the revolution… Brother Markazi, will start the revolution before the appointed day.”
The attention in the room shifted to Qazvin who presented his grandson.
“God’s peace be upon all of you,” Kazi said as choruses of blessings were echoed back to him.
“The wind of torment has been sown and now proven effective in Bourvari, Rasht, the village of Levo, and God willing, in Ajloun before the sun sets tomorrow. On the day that has been appointed, ten days before the Revolution, a festival of Islamic Unity will begin in Beirut, Lebanon. Fifty magnificent hot air balloons will rise into the sky and fly along the coast of the sea to Port Said in Egypt. Television news cameras from all nations will film the festival flight so that our children from all corners of the world will experience our unity. The wind over the Zionist regime pushes in from the sea and over the non-existent land of the Zionists from the north then back south and out to the sea. Like the hands of a clock that starts at 11, the wind pushes to three then back out at seven. The wind of torment shall be released from these 50 balloons at the appropriate time. With international television cameras as our guide and protector, we can come as close to the Zionist coast as we desire. There is no cure for this torment, no protection.”
Yazdi nodded to the intelligence commander with MISIRI, the Ministry of Intelligence and Security.
“God’s peace be upon you… three days before the revolution, on the 21st, our Shia brothers in al-Awamiya, a town in the Qatif region of Saudi Arabia, will execute a plan that has been given to them through divine providence. They have unrestricted access to the King. Whether he is killed, injured or escapes, news from around the world will speculate on his fate for nearly two full days. Chaos and confusion will abound in the Saudi kingdom. Rumors and dissension will run through the ranks of the security forces. This will be the moment when our brothers in Yemen begin their push north. They will charge over the border and directly into Mecca where they will reclaim the holy city for the Mahdi.”
Yazdi made eye contact with a senior military commander who began to speak.
“God’s peace be upon all of you,” he said as responses filled the room again. “We will move our Army to the Iraqi border on the 22nd day of October. Early in the morning on the 23rd, God willing, three, perhaps as many as six, nuclear warheads will visit Tel Aviv, Haifa, Beersheba and Ramla. More than 1,000 Shahab missiles will then fly in succession. Beitol Moghadas is a holy city and will be spared from nuclear fire but will receive carefully placed Shahabs. The mighty Iranian Navy will block the Straits of Hormuz. In less than nine minutes, the revolution will be won. The Mahdi’s deputy, the Shoeib, will have conquered Israel. May God’s name be praised.”
Some prayers were offered, and the meeting was adjourned. Small groups of informal conversation were underway as Yazdi and the Shoeib left the room amidst a large security detail. Omid walked over to Kazi and Qazvin. Qazvin quickly turned his back and walked away.
“This is a very big and important project for you, Kazi,” Omid said.
Kazi shook his head as a disgusting scowl smeared across his face.
“But much too big of a project for you, Colonel Farid.”
Kazi turned and walked away.
33
Lyon, France
Billy Finn was sound asleep in his double-sized bed at the Lyon Hilton Hotel when his cell phone rang. He let it go to voice mail. The phone quickly started ringing again. He recognized the area code, 212, as New York City.
“Finn,” he answered simply and concisely from his grog.
“Billy, did I wake you?”
“No, ah, I mean, yes, who is this?”
“Susan Francis in New York.”
“Susan?”
“What! Did you take stupid pills after you retired? Susan Francis, intel, New York field office?”
Finn sat up in bed wide awake.
“Oh my gosh, Susan, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice. It’s three in the morning here.”
“Sorry, Billy, I was just getting ready to head home myself when I got a strange call. I had your home phone and called your wife. She said you were trolling the hills of Afghanistan as a DOD civilian. She gave me your number.”
“Well, actually I’m in Lyon, France right now but probably heading back to Kabul in a couple of weeks. Is everything okay?”
“Fine, but I got this call and needed to tell you about it. I got a call from Pablo.”
Finn’s mind wandered at full speed. Who the hell is Pablo?
“He was patched in from several connections for security purposes — his and ours — we spoke only briefly.”
“What did he want?”
“He implied that the two of you recently met. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s what he said.”
Finn paused for what seemed like an eternity. Pablo! He wasn’t sure how he should answer.
“Finn?”
“Yes, I did meet Pablo. Completely by chance. We even talked about your father and his colon cancer.”
Now Susan Francis was silent.
“Were the two of you camping? He said he wanted ‘camp’ and gave me some numbers for you to call… to get in touch with him. He said it was urgent.”
“Give me the numbers, Susan… I think I know what he wants.”
Francis gave him three numbers and the associated codes then bid him goodnight.
“Billy, don’t get too involved with Pablo. His intelligence door swings both ways, if you know what I mean.”
Finn ended the call on his cell and immediately called Camp on the hotel phone.
“What?” came an agitated and sleepy voice on the other end of the line.
“Get your ass down to my room right now. Omid is looking for you.”
Tel Aviv, Israel
Reuven walked slowly in the setting sun along the tan sands of the Mediterranean Sea on Metzitzim Beach. He paused and looked out over the sea as the sun seemed to set between Morocco and the Rock of Gibraltar. His heart was heavy. Reuven had two young sons and a lovely wife, but all of his energy, all of his passion, was invested in preserving his country. The entire Middle East seemed to be sitting on a powder keg, ready to explode at any moment.
He had been hopeful that democracy would rise in Iraq and provide stability to the region. But the Americans left hastily with little “shock” and no “awe” while a fledgling Iraq was left to battle pockets of terrorism and internal Shia-Sunni rivalries alone.
At first glance, the Arab Spring uprising in Egypt seemed to be an authentic yearning of the people to have their freedom, but the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood gave Reuven great caution. He knew that Egypt was only tolerating Israel under Mubarak, thanks in no small part to American foreign aid. God only knew what might come up from the south with a new Egyptian government in place or fewer American dollars in the Egyptian treasury.