Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 (42 page)

 
          
“What?”
Buzhazi retorted. “The sixtieth
meridian? That is . . . that is just west of Chah Bahar. . . . Sir, do you
realize that is almost
the entire
coastline of
Iran
!”

           
“And that
is
the entire coastline of all of the Gulf Cooperation Council
states,” Nateq-Nouri said. “We shall have an equal number of warships as all of
our adversaries in the oil-transit areas, but we will be free to sail
expeditionary warships from Chah Bahar Naval Base if we so choose—but they will
not be allowed to enter the Gulf of Oman, the Gulf of Aden, the Strait, or the
Persian Gulf if they exceed the number of warships of GCC states.”

 
          
“This
is utterly insane!” Buzhazi shouted. “You cannot do this!”

 
          
“Pending
successful treaty negotiations between now and September, ratification by the
Majlis, approval by the Council of Guardians, and the blessing of the Faqih,”
Nateq-Nouri said, “we will sign such an agreement. We shall then seek a new
treaty to limit similarly the number of attack planes over the
Persian Gulf
region.” Buzhazi was completely
speechless—he was watching his newly redesigned military going right down the
drain.

 
          
“As
proof of our good intentions and our desire for peace and prosperity,”
Nateq-Nouri went on, “I am ordering that the aircraft carrier
Khomeini
and the destroyer
Zhanjiang
be returned immediately to the People’s
Republic of
China
. Their presence only exacerbates the tensions in the region. In return,
the
United States
has promised not to send another aircraft
carrier or marine aircraft assault ship into the
Persian Gulf
or
Gulf
of
Oman
. We are most heart ened by these developments
and feel this is the beginning of a new era of peace.”

           
“Peace! What peace?” Buzhazi
exploded. “Did you not. hear what I have said, Mr. President? I believe the
United States
overflew our country, violated our
sovereign airspace, and attacked our cities and our aircraft carrier with
stealth aircraft and cruise missiles. In return, we are agreeing to disarm
ourselves? Sir, the Americans attacked our aircraft carrier because they knew
what kind of threat it was to their security and the security of their Gulf
Cooperative Council and Zionist lackeys. We cannot surrender to their blackmail
and threats!”

 
          
“It
is already done, General—I have so ordered it,” Nateq- Nouri said. “That
monstrosity has always been an embarrassment to the Islamic Republic, General.
The money we spent in so-called training can better be spent on our cities, on
the needed infrastructure in the remote provinces, and on our people. We can
spread the Islamic revolution easier with well-educated, successful citizens
than we can by force. It is so ordered.”

 
          
One
of the Imams, the Ayatollah Bijan Kalantari, raised his hand, and a crier
behind the Imams ordered silence. “General Hesarak al- Kan Buzhazi,” the old
man said in a deep, surprisingly strong voice, “the loss of prestige in the eyes
of the true believers around the world has offended the Faqih, and he has
demanded an explanation. You may speak in the presence of Allah, his servants
of the Leadership Council, and all those true believers present here, and may
you be struck down by the hand of the righteous if you do not tell the truth.”

 
          
This
was it, Buzhazi thought as he got to his feet. His days were numbered, his
replacement was present, and the firing squad was undoubtedly waiting outside
for him—his fate would be decided by the words he was to say right now.. . .

 
          
“Our
aircraft carrier, the city of Bandar Abbas, and the Chah Bahar Naval Base were
attacked by the air and naval forces of the United States,” Buzhazi said in a
firm, loud voice, pointing a finger directly at a stunned President
Nateq-Nouri, “as part of a conspiracy between our traitorous pro-West,
pro-Zionist President, Ali Akbar Hashemi Nateq-Nouri, the American Central
Intelligence Agency, the Gulf Cooperative Council states, and the United States
government. Before Allah and all of you, I swear this is true—and I have
proof.”

 
          
The
cabinet chamber exploded in bedlam. Nateq-Nouri was on his feet in indignation,
sputtering unintelligible words, shooting a shocked expression all across the
room ...

 
          
.
. . because, to Buzhazis surprise, the allegation had hit home. The president
looked as if he were ready either to kill Buzhazi or run out of the room like a
madman—and the image was not lost on the rest of the Supreme Defense Council.
Everywhere Nateq-Nouri looked, he saw another confused and suspicious
face—staring back at
him.

 
          
“Admit
it!” Buzhazi shouted at Nateq-Nouri. “Admit the truth! Admit that you conspired
with the United States to dismantle the Islamic Republic’s navy! ”

 
          
“You
will be silent!” Nateq-Nouri shouted at Buzhazi. “I will not dignify such
oudandish claims with a denial! You are a liar and an inept despot seeking only
glory and power for yourself—”

 
          
“Admit
the truth!” Buzhazi interjected. “Admit that you have been keeping regular
contact with members of the U.S. State Department and the American Presidents
National Security Advisor, informing him of our nation s military secrets and
operations and in return receiving favors and tribute from the Turkish and
American governments!”

 
          
“That
is another lie, Buzhazi! ” Nateq-Nouri shouted. But his denial was not as
strong as the first, and came after a brief hesitation, and that silenced the
chamber almost as quickly and as surely as if Nateq-Nouri had admitted his
guilt. Nateq-Nouri quickly added, “Well-known associates of members of the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs have had brief contacts with American bureaucrats, yes—but
that is because we have no embassy in
Washington
, and a more direct form of communication
was deemed necessary. That is all.”

 
          
“So
you deny that your so-called associates—spies in your employ—spoke directly
with General Philip Freeman, the American Presidents National Security Advisor
and overseer of American Central Intelligence?” Buzhazi asked.

 
          
“General
Buzhazi, you are creating some kind of wild conspiracy fantasy. These were
routine back-channel informational nongovernment contacts by Iranian loyalists,
and you know it. I will not tolerate this,” Nateq-Nouri said angrily. “I am the
President and commander in chief, and I order you to be silent or I will place
you under arrest. I do not report to you, only the Faqih and the people ...”

 
          
“Very
inspirational, very touching, Mr. President,” Buzhazi went on, “but you refuse
to answer my question or refute my charges. Are you or are you not in contact
with the American Central Intelligence authorities? Are you or are you not
working in concert with the corrupt and immoral
United States
and the Arab traitors to Islam in the Gulf
Cooperative Council, to preserve your own power and position at the expense of
the Islamic Republic of Iran’s military forces? Did you or did you not know
that the
Khomeini
battle group would
come under attack, but did nothing to stop it and even ordered me to withhold
my defensive forces and even to dismiss me, so that the attack against us could
succeed?”

 
          
“Silence,
General, or I will have you placed under arrest!” Nateq-Nouri shouted. “I will
not tolerate this any longer! ”

 
          
The
Ayatollah Kalantari held up his hand, and the crier shouted the order, “Silence
all, the Imam shall be heard! ” The cabinet room immediately fell silent.

 
          
“Excuse
me, Mr. President,” Kalantari said, in a low, barely audible voice. “The charge
of conspiring with the Americans and the Gulf Cooperative Council, two of our
chief adversaries, is a serious one. General Buzhazi risks much by leveling
such a charge against you. If he is proved false, he is disgraced before the
Supreme Defense Council and is subject to immediate imprisonment. Although the
general is still your subordinate and faces disciplinary action if he wears the
uniform but does not obey your command to be silent, we wish that this matter
be resolved. We wish to hear your response to these charges.”

 
          
“My
response is that General Buzhazi is a liar, and is levying these charges merely
to cover up his desperate attempt to precipitate a war with the Gulf
Cooperative Council and the United States, his failed military operations, and
to try to avoid demotion or dismissal,” Nateq-Nouri said. “I strongly deny all
his charges, and as commander in chief I hereby relieve him of command of the
Pasdaran and the armed forces of the Islamic Republic.”

 
          
The
Imam turned to General Buzhazi and said evenly, “General, you may speak.
President Nateq-Nouri has denied your charges. Under pain of dismissal and
disgrace, you must prove your allegations. What is your response?”

 
          
“Here
is my response, Your Holiness,” Buzhazi shouted, raising a hand. The doors to
the Cabinet chamber swung open, and two armed guards escorted a prisoner
inside. The man wore a green-and- yellow prison jumpsuit and was chained at the
wrist, ankle, and neck, plus handcuffed in front of his body for added effect.
Both eyes were swollen and discolored, and his fingers were heavily bandaged.
The barefoot prisoner walked with a great deal of pain.

 
          
“This
man was pulled out of the
Strait of Hormuz
on the night of the enemy reconnaissance on the
Khomeini
carrier group,” Buzhazi shouted, pointing a finger at the
man in chains. “He was aboard the vessel that shot down two of our carrier-based
fighters that evening. We have reason to believe that this man’s vessel was the
launch and control vessel for a small but sophisticated stealth reconnaissance
aircraft that was photographing the
Khomeini
carrier group and was in fact passing along information to the American CIA,
forces of the Gulf Cooperative Council, and
Israel
. Our fighters sank his vessel, but not
before several of his fellow crewmen abandoned the ship and escaped safely to
the
United Arab Emirates
.”

           
Buzhazi looked at his prisoner and
smiled eerily. “We recovered several bodies as well, some of whom appear to be
American military personnel, possibly American Marines.” The prisoner closed
his eyes, as if in great pain; the assembled men noticed this and nodded, as if
he had just admitted the fact. “Their clothing had been carefully stripped of
all identifying tags. My staff says this is a typical procedure for a spy
vessel.”

 
          
The
Ayatollah Kalantari motioned for the guards to bring the prisoner forward,
toward the Cabinet table; room was made for him at the table, and he stood
before the Imams, battered and weak but head erect, staring at the clerics and
the others assembled around the table. “Your name, sir?” Kalantari ordered.
“You have permission to speak.”

 
          
His
order was translated by his crier, and the response translated for the Council:
“My name is Paul White,” the prisoner replied. “I’m the executive officer and
purser of the
S.S.
Valley
Mistress.
Look, Your Honor,
I haven’t been able to call my family and tell them I’m all right, and I
haven’t been allowed to call the
U.S.
consulate. Your jets sank my ship, several
members of my crew are dead, and I demand to know—”

 
          
“Silence,
Mr. White,” Kalantari said through his translator. “You will be allowed to
contact your family only after your identity and purpose for your voyage have
been confirmed.”

 
          
“But,
Your Honor, I was nowhere near your aircraft carrier,” White interjected. “My
ship was at least fifty miles away—”