“I hate to break up your little plot but the jig is up,” he said seriously. His eyes narrowed and he pointed to Abdullereda. “I know all about it captain; I know everything.”
CHAPTER 6: The Play
In Tehran, Iran, as Slade caught some sleep, nestled beneath a bush with his Barret, and as Hussein slept prior to his flight to Beijing, the personal envoy of American President Oetari waited for his meeting with the President of Iran. Freddy Waters knew President Oetari’s mother back in the sixties, when they ran around with radicals and protested the war. Decades later Freddy became a sort of older brother and mentor to the young Oetari, showing up now and again to tell young Patra of the struggle, smoking joints and instructing him on the rules of the game for radicals. Now Freddy was in Iran on business for his protégé, the president.
President Aliaabaadi of Iran walked into the well-appointed room. He was tall and gangly, striking many as a sort of comedic caricature of the American President Lincoln. He thought of himself in the same manner, a great man, ever since he stormed the US Embassy in Iran and kidnapped the Americans. That moment crystalized his future.
Aliaabaadi had a taste for power. Unfortunately, he wasn’t educated in the right manner to go via the religious road, he got into the university only because his father worked for the Americans. He was thought of as a scrub by his fellow Iranians, an Arab, not a Persian. In 1979 he betrayed his only friends, taking them hostage, and that got him noticed. The betrayal was the perfect springboard for a political career. So politics it was.
After the necessary pleasantries, Waters was blunt and crass. “Mr. President, the nuclear issue is a media generated problem. Frankly, we don’t really give a damn whether you have nuclear weapons or not.” His expression showed that he meant it. “You have your own reasons for having them — fine. The president’ opinion is that when Iran does acquire nuclear capability it will balance the power in the Middle East. However, we need political cover.”
“Yes, I imagine that would make your Democratic contributors in New York angry,” Aliaabaadi replied, sipping his tea and sitting down, looking rather like a complicated folding chair while doing so. “He’s got his second term, but Oetari likes to raise money and these New York Jews will think twice before showering him with gold if I do attain these weapons — which of course is not my intention — although it is my right.”
Aliaabaadi grinned and sipped noisily.
“Half the Zionists in New York don’t give a damn about what happens in Israel,” Waters said brusquely, ignoring the shudder that ran through the president’s angular frame every time he cursed. He sipped his own tea, wishing he could somehow slip a bit of scotch into it to spice it up. “That’s not a concern. We’d like to come up with a deal that will push this down the road past the Mid-term elections.”
“I want the sanctions off for a year,” Aliaabaadi said firmly.
“That is consistent with the president’s wishes as well,” Freddy nodded. “We will continue to promote a deal, a deal which will move incrementally forward. However, we would like something more concrete; something that will shut the conservatives up.”
“Such as?” Aliaabaadi said, his eyes almost disappearing beneath his bushy eyebrows.
“One of the sticking points in the negotiations is the amount of enriched Uranium you possess; Uranium that is enriched but still not to the standards of being weapons grade.”
Aliaabaadi nodded and picked up his phone. “Please send in Doctor Feruud.” Turning back to Freddy he sighed, “You touch on a very sensitive subject. The only manner in which we can proceed is with inspectors — correct?”
“Unless we can come up with a better mechanism,” Freddy admitted. This was one subject where he was legitimate. Freddy hated nuclear weapons. He had no problems with the violence of the sixties, but nukes he hated. That made his present mission somewhat problematic, but he satisfied himself with the thought that the only way to disarm the Israelis was to disarm their adversaries. First, though, the adversaries had to be armed and that meant Iran had to have nukes.
Dr. Feruud, a man in his late fifties or early sixties entered. The President asked Freddy, “How much enriched Uranium do you think we have?”
Waters came ready with his numbers. “We estimate that Iran has somewhere around six tons of Uranium enriched to three-point-five percent — that’s enough to make everyone nervous. That’s why the United Nations wants to keep tabs on it with inspections.”
Aliaabaadi knit his bushy brows and countered, “What if, instead of inspections, we were to voluntarily place half of our enriched Uranium in a United Nations vault; as a token of our good will.”
Waters started. This was good beyond his wildest dreams. “That would be perfect! If you were willing to do that it would open the door for the complete relief of sanctions!”
“Would the remaining three tons be enough for our research Dr. Feruud?”
The nuclear physicist sighed and said, “Three tons is enough for our research and possibly enough for a small prototype reactor.”
“Very well Mr. Waters. We have already been working on the deal. The UAE has agreed to help both parties. We will transport the enriched Uranium to the United Arab Emirates for storage in a United Nations vault. Your inspectors may observe the loading of the containers and escort them to the ship. I expect and welcome a United Nations escort across the Straits of Hormuz to Abu Dhabi. Will that be acceptable?”
“Absolutely!” Freddy exclaimed, too pleased with the victory to wonder how it came about. “That will give the president the cover he needs and give you the flexibility to move forward with your peaceful nuclear research. The president’s goal is to settle the international agenda down so that he can pursue his domestic agenda. If Iran can calm things down in the Middle East then we don’t need to spend any time or energy here.”
“By that you mean Hamas,” President Aliaabaadi said carefully.
“And ISIS,” Freddy inserted. “Hamas and their unrelenting rocket attacks on Israel, as justified as they might be, are eventually going to push the Israeli’s to retaliate. You’re one dead kid away from all-out war in Gaza.”
“Hamas is Hamas,” Aliaabaadi shrugged. The Americans had no cards to play and he knew it. “They are hotheads. They are run by teenagers and young men with axes to grind. They think firing a few rockets and strapping on some suicide vests will change the world; let the Israeli’s kill them. It is propaganda for us, for you as well, as I know President Oetari looks for any excuse to distance himself from the Zionists. Let it play out Mr. Waters.”
“Yes sir, but the ISIS situation is in some respects even worse. The Hawks are playing up the loss of American troops in securing Iraq after Sadam — something that gave you increased leverage here — without Sadam you’re the big dog on the block. This ISIS group isn’t following the “Arab Spring” playbook. It already looks like we’ve lost Egypt. We can’t lose Iraq as well.”
“ISIS is Sunni, Mr. Waters; Iran is Shia,” he said simply.
“The American people don’t look at it that way, Mr. President. The Islamic State’s brutality to Christians is largely ignored by the press; but their predation on other Muslims shocks even the media. The almost daily beheadings, now of women and children, it makes it impossible for the president to represent Islamists as reasonable partners in the peace process,” Freddy countered.
“Then bomb them,” Aliaabaadi told him simply. “You have my blessing!”
Now it was Freddy’s turn to put the screws to Aliaabaadi. With a twisted smile, he adjusted his small pig eye glasses, and said, “It might start that way, but bombing is just the opening move. Do you really want American boots on the ground in the Middle East again?”