“A moment, please, Doctor,” a voice said calmly in Arabic. An instant later, another pair of hands expertly patted him down.
The men were apparently satisfied. The lock on Ahmed’s arms abruptly released, and the voice spoke again. “This way.”
The two men moved ahead and, with his vision adjusting to the dark, Ahmed followed the shapes becoming clear before him. As his racing heartbeat returned to normal, he gave silent thanks that he hadn’t embarrassed himself by acting like a scared little girl before what he presumed was his personal collection of spies.
Ahmed followed the man through another door and into a dimly lit basement storage room. Three more men were waiting. Now, he thought, now it begins. Suddenly, he was no longer tired.
The man who had grabbed him turned and spoke. “Welcome, brother. We are your team. My name is Saif, and we await your orders.” The man had broad shoulders and the look of a bodybuilder. Ahmed guessed Saif was in his mid-to late twenties, which probably made him the oldest of the group of young men.
Ahmed caught his breath, painfully aware that despite the fact that he was the amateur in the room, they were waiting for him to take charge, because he was supposed to be in charge. “Why don’t we start by each of you telling me where you work and how you came to the cause.”
They were all Bahraini Sunni, but not from the wealthiest families. They were from the second tier of Bahraini society, for whom good higher education was hard to come by, for whom good jobs were scarcer yet. Three had gone to religious training in Riyadh four and five years earlier. There they’d been recruited and sent back to Bahrain, where they had brought in two old friends.
“We are a small cell, but we believe there are other cells,” the one who was their leader, Saif bin Razaq, said. Ahmed said nothing. “Our strength is in the nature of our penetrations,” Saif continued, pointing to each man in turn. “We work at the travel office at the American Navy base, the telephone switching center for overseas calls, the Foreign Ministry, the airport, and I work at an Iranian import/export office in Sitra. It is actually a front for the Qods Force.”
“But why do you run these risks for us? What do you hope for?” Ahmed asked, straining to see the faces of the five zealots in the dim light.
“Not for you, Doctor, for Allah,” Fadl, the youngest-looking one, said softly. “We want Bahrain to be part of the new Islamyah. Now Bahrain is run by one family, who are Sunnis, yes, but they are threatened by the Shi’a majority here.”
“Iran is helping the Shi’a,” Saif joined in. “The mullahs have sworn that they will add Bahrain to Iran, just as the Shah wanted to do thirty years ago. Liberate the majority Shi’a from oppression. Tppt.” He spit on the floor. “From here they will move on the Eastern Province of Islamyah, where they say they will go to liberate the Shi’a majority there, too, but really they just want to seize the oil.”
“If Bahrain can become part of the greater Islamyah, we Sunnis here will be part of the majority of a great new Muslim nation, which can hold back the Persian forces,” Fadl finished the thought.
“The Persians have a very long memory and an equally long time horizon,” Ahmed responded. “They think that if they wait, and keep their hand in, these things will fall to them like ripened figs from the trees.”
“No, Doctor, they do not plan to wait.” Saif was excited. “This is the news we have for you! They are working on something big in the month of first Jamada. This is why they do these bombings now in Manama and blame it on us.” Saif pulled out an American newspaper. “Look at these lies that they spread, look here: ‘The work of Islamyah’s terrorist cells,’ they say!”
“Do you know for certain the bombings were done by the Persians?” Ahmed asked, taking the copy of USA Today.
“As I said, Doctor, I work in the building that is the front company for al Qods, the Iranian special services. I repair their photocopier and the printers.” He smiled for the first time. “And sometimes I help myself to what they print.” Now Saif handed over a thick wad of paper in a red file folder. “The Qods Force here is to step up the bombing, targeting the American Navy. Then in first Jamada they plan to be ready to stage a coup, and a popular uprising, as they had planned to do in 2001. Only this time, they think the American fleet will not be here and the Persian forces will be able to land quickly to support the uprising.”
“The American fleet never really leaves Bahrain,” Ahmed scoffed as he opened the red file. “It only sails nearby in the Gulf.”
“Doctor, over the last several years, the Americans have pulled their soldiers and ships out of Lebanon, Somalia, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and Iraq.” Fadl looked up, smiling. “Maybe the Persians know when they plan to leave here, too.”
Yes, Ahmed thought. Maybe they do. He turned. “Saif, your cell must find out when and how al Qods Force plans to hit the American Navy Base.” He stood up to leave. “The Persians cannot be allowed to pin that attack on Islamyah. We cannot give the Americans an excuse to attack us.” Ahmed bin Rashid moved to the door. “Find out, Saif.” He walked down the darkened basement corridor and out to the motorbike in the alley.
Mounting the little motorbike, Ahmed was pleased by the quality of the men in his cell, and equally pleased by his inaugural performance as spymaster. He would use the contacts and abilties of his men to produce intelligence for Islamyah, to prove his worth to his brother, Abdullah. If he could prove that the Iranians were going to blame Islamyah for an attack they would make against the Americans… better yet, if he could stop the attack.
As he drove through the parking lot behind the high-rise apartment building, Ahmed’s image appeared on a small black-and-white screen in a Bedford step van parked across the street. “Well, thank you, Dr. Rashid,” an English voice whispered. “We had been wondering who was going to run that cell for Riyadh. Mr. Douglas will like this information.”
“The Elburz are beautiful in the snow,” the man in the business suit said.
“Yes, they are, General. The mountains are beautiful all year round,” the cleric replied. “Let’s sit by the fire and have some hot chai.” The two moved to large chairs by the stone fireplace. A teapot sat on the table between them.
“Phase One of Devil’s Fish Tank is complete. The pro-Islamyah website has claimed the credit, but the Bahraini secret police believe it was our Shi’a brethren. They will begin to take measures against them,” the General reported.
“Very good. So the Americans will think it was Riyadh that blew up the hotels in Bahrain, and the al Khalifas ruling Bahrain will crack down on the Shi’a.” The cleric smiled broadly. “Nicely done. What’s next?”
“We complete Devil’s Fish Tank. Then the Armenian and his boss will demand action against Riyadh for the slaughter of so many brave sailors,” the General said, pouring tea for himself and the cleric.
“You trust the Armenian and his boss? Completely?” the cleric asked.
“I trust no one but you completely.” The General smiled. “But they are gullible and greedy. And because they must know that we have our meeting with him on videotape, they will not risk exposure by double-crossing us.”
“You will use Iraqis in Phase Two?” the cleric asked, and the General nodded. “The Iraqis are proving to be useful?”