“Hiyo, Silver! Away!”
Chapter 14
Amir Hassani stood in the center of the plush library deep within the fortified confines of the former Shah’s royal palace in the Niavarin district of northeast Tehran. A huge section of the room was dominated by bookshelves housing the royal library of first editions in all languages. There were four long shelves holding books of every conceivable color binding, in addition to the neatly layered stacks from floor to ceiling on the three walls enclosing the shelves.
But as his feet padded across the luscious deep red floral carpet, Hassani was aware of the books only from the scent of leather that filled his nostrils as he addressed his audience. The representatives of the various groups that had united behind him sat in seven high-back chairs upholstered in a red velvet that matched perfectly the red of the rug. At present they sat collectively aghast and dumbfounded by his report pertaining to the first stage of the plan that would ultimately see them seize power throughout the Mideast.
“The key to the success we are about to achieve,” he said, nearing the end of his presentation, “has been and will continue to be the level of secrecy I have employed in the operation that will set us on our way. There have been no leaks in security. We are poised on the brink of something awesome. It is within our grasp, and if we maintain the resolve to reach out for it, soon the state of Israel will cease to exist.”
The library hall was enormous, and the result was a background echo that would have unnerved his audience had they possessed the inclination to notice. Of the seven, three had come in military uniforms, three in traditional Arab robes, and one in an expensive western-style suit. They came from Syria, Libya, Jordan, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia. For himself, as always, Hassani had chosen a general’s uniform from the Revolutionary Guard he was still proud to be a part of. He wore it boldly, defiantly, as if refusing to acknowledge a war had ever been lost or, more likely, to illustrate the point that a more important war was about to be won.
“You speak of the destruction of Israel,” the Iraqi delegate said, “yet you continue to avoid the specifics. My concern is that we are being attentive here to the same kind of mindless rhetoric that preceded your unsuccessful campaign against my nation.”
Hassani did his very best to smile at the man he had been at war with just a few years before. His cap was tilted so low over his forehead that it shadowed his face all the way down to his beard. His eyes were narrow and seldom met those of the person he was addressing. He never allowed anyone a close look at him, as if any glimpse might strip away part of his aura. He was a specter who had never been interviewed by the Western press, which condemned him for being elusive and enigmatic, and for making a travesty of Iran’s post-war economic recovery.
But his smile was that of a man who saw what others failed even to look at. He had been one of the nation’s military leaders, a great favorite, during the war with Iraq. His militance had forced him to flee when the final, humbling terms of peace were agreed upon. He returned, however, during the military coup that followed Khomeini’s death and the failure of any of his successors to be installed as president of Iran with a promise to restore pride and hope.
“And is it not a great blessing,” he continued, only half looking at the delegate from Iraq, “that the strife between our nations is at last over so we can contend with our true enemy? No one supported the end of our war more than I, not because I wished to accept defeat, but because a greater victory, a victory with the word of Allah behind it, was on the horizon. Your final roles in this victory need not be made known until the last day is upon us.”
“But I have people to organize,” the Syrian delegate protested. “You promised us Israel would be ours to take in a vast sweep across lands that are rightfully ours.”
“Rightfully the Palestinians, you mean,” exclaimed the representative from the PLO. “Who, may I remind you, are supplying the largest complement of manpower to this invasion.”
“Now just wait a—”
“Gentlemen,” Hassani interrupted, raising his voice only slightly and turning his face rapidly from one man to the other, “listen to yourselves. You make the lot of the Jew easy by bickering with each other. Israel is not our greatest enemy; we are our own greatest enemy, and that in the past has prevented the miracle we have now accomplished by uniting our forces together. It also accounts for my reasons in continuing to hold back the final elements of our plan.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust us?” asked the delegate from Saudi Arabia, the single one dressed in a western suit.
“Of course I’m not. But for this operation to be successful I said from the beginning that I required your trust, your single-minded devotion to a cause that will only just be beginning when we overrun Israel. If one of you disagreed with the substance of my plan, you could leave here and destroy it. My holding it back is simply insurance against the exercise of such poor judgment. I would be foolish not to heed the lessons of the past. You will know what you need when you need to know it.”
“Hah!” the Libyan delegate laughed, rising to his feet and looking cramped in the medal-layered khaki uniform that was too tight on him. “We sit here and listen to a man who has already lost one war. I say to you, General, that you have accomplished your task by bringing us together and uniting us behind the common goal of Israel’s destruction. Now let us do it our way. Am I right?” he asked of the Iraqi delegate, searching for support.
“No,” the darker man said, “you are not.” The Iraqi’s eyes turned to Hassani who had stood rigid and silent through the Libyan’s tirade. “General Hassani did not lose the war. No man could have done more when faced against the might of Iraq.”
“Listen,” the Libyan responded, “I am not arguing intentions, only procedure. Comrades, together we have at our disposal millions of troops who can enter Israel from all sides and avoid the mistakes of ’67 and ’73. We can have them prepared within two weeks and leave words behind.”
“You would have them die for their cause?” Hassani asked.
“Of course I would! Any Arab would!”
“To die in pursuit of a dream instead of seeing that dream come to fruition? I think not. Our peoples need no more martyrs. I am not advocating denying Arabs the chance to fight for what they so richly deserve. But let them fight for certain victory instead of almost certain death at the hands of the cursed Jewish state.”
“Certain death to the Israelis as well,” the PLO delegate added.
“And they will use their bombs to obliterate all of us in a last desperate attack. What have we gained? Nothing, gentlemen, nothing at all. Overrunning Israel isn’t an end, it’s a means for all of you to come to power in your individual countries and unite the Mideast as it has never been united before. We have been mistaken in the past to be so narrow and shortsighted in our goals.”
“You continue to ignore the obvious,” the Saudi protested. “Israel may never have faced as strong an enemy as we are, but neither have we faced as strong an Israel. Nuclear weapons aside, her conventional arsenal, including jet fighters, is terrifying.”
“Granted, Mr. Ambassador. And to combat that force we now have in our possession a weapon that will render Israel helpless.”