Chasm Waxing: A Startup, Cyber-Thriller (41 page)

“
Iran is a different
story. The Internet is still wide open. Iranian
forces are
doing nothing to
hinder the agitators. No police. No military. Our Iranian
analysts
believe
this can mean only one thing. The Ayatollah is in
trouble.”

*

Shields told everyone in
the SWARM Op Center that the ‘highest levels of government’
approved of their actions.
This
was
not entirely
accurate
. The $100M purchase of
Swarmbots used black budget funds. It was classified. Only people
read into SWARM were aware of the Swarmbots new
lethal
capabilities. Shields
wanted to prove the success of the program before he briefed
anyone, including POTUS. His greatest fear was a leak.

Patton didn’t follow every
order, but he achieved results that saved lives. He was one of the
best Generals in American history.
Such
was Shields’ inner dialogue. Hitler did refer to
Patton
as the
‘crazy cowboy.’

9:00 a.m., Monday, November 16, 2020 -
Tehran, Iran

Supreme Leader’s
Office

Commander Muhammad Rahmati entered the
office of the Supreme Leader. He mechanically plodded forward to
greet Ayatollah Alireza Saatchi. The Assembly of Experts had
recently elected the Ayatollah. Saatchi was only the third man to
serve as Iran’s Supreme Leader.

The
60-year-old
cleric was a
staunch hardliner.
He
chaffed at the Western influences
he
felt were
infiltrating Iran, especially as a result of the increased
prosperity from the nuclear deal and removal of sanctions. The
Ayatollah
relentlessly
admonished Iranians
not to sell
out the Revolution.
This attitude clashed with the majority of the population and the
Revolutionary Guards, including General Farhad Javan.

The office
was spartan.
Three pictures of the Supreme Leaders hung side-by-side on
the wall. Ayatollah Saatchi sat in a wooden, high-backed chair. It
had decorative padding—the only vibrant thing in the room. He wore
the clerical uniform of a black turban and black robe. The
black
turban
denoted the fact that he was a direct descendant of the
Prophet Muhammad. Behind the Supreme Leader, stood an Iranian flag
attached to a pole. The flag hung limp.

General Javan sat on a
small Ottoman, about a yard away from Saatchi. Javan
was dressed
in
full uniform. Medals and ribbons hung from his chest. The
atmosphere was tense.

Rahmati bowed down to kiss
the Ayatollah’s left hand. Then, he rose to kiss both of Saatchi’s
cheeks. He greeted General Javan and sat next to him on the
Ottoman. Rahmati had been whisked out of Damascus to make
the
three-hour
flight to Tehran. After the pre-dawn journey, he was
rushed
from the airport
to see Saatchi.

One thing that Rahmati
didn’t miss about Tehran was its terrible traffic. And this time,
the trip from Damascus to Tehran made him feel more like a
prisoner,
than a
Commander. Rahmati’s handlers worked diligently to keep him hidden
from the Iranian public.

“
Commander Rahmati,
you’ve
done an excellent job
in
Syria. Your military success has
exceeded my expectations. The Revolution and the Iranian people are
proud of you. You’ve achieved our goal of turning Daesh’s
recruiting upside down. We have more fighters joining us in
Syria
than
them.
” Saatchi
smiled fakely at Rahmati. Rahmati smiled fakely
back.

Saatchi continued,
“However, I’m concerned about some of the propaganda you’ve
released. While I understand your intent, I’m not sure our people
do—especially our young and impressionable students. Your comments
have stirred unintended problems for our Islamic Revolution. We
both know that you’ve sworn an oath
to God
to protect
the
Revolution.
This includes
my
protection. Now, I want to give you a chance to clarify your
views.”

Rahmati studied the
Ayatollah. He then looked to gauge Javan’s reaction. Rahmati
answered politely, but sternly, “My views are consistent with the
Revolution. They’re
consistent
with the Persian Empire’s
history of greatness. They’re also consistent with public opinion.
And they’re
consistent
with the views of the Revolutionary
Guards."

Saatchi pursed his lips and gazed into
the distance. Rahmati concentrated on the Ayatollah’s personal
stench to avoid thinking about what was next. Time stopped. But the
Commander knew he had the Ayatollah in a vice grip—as long as Javan
didn’t waver.

Whoever controlled the Revolutionary
Guards controlled Iran. If the Revolutionary Guards didn’t order
the protection of the Ayatollah, he was a dead man. On the other
hand, with proper protection, Saatchi’s next utterance could order
Rahmati’s execution.

The Ayatollah cleared his
throat.
“I’m recalling
you from Syria. I’m going to give you the
opportunity to appear on state TV and clarify your position. I need
you to emphasize your support for the
will
of God and the
Revolution.”

Rahmati stared through the Supreme
Leader.

“
And, I have something to
offer in return,” said Saatchi, in a calculated tone.

Again Rahmati glanced at
Javan. Operation THUNDERCLAP was moving
exactly
as they’d planned. When
Rahmati approached Javan over a year ago, he was confident that he
could articulate a message that would resonate across the Middle
East. He also knew that Javan was keen to put the Iranian economy
on firmer footing—with the help of Western investment.

“
Commander, after you
clarify your position in support of your Supreme Leader, and remind
all Iranians that God ordained our Revolution; I’d like you to
advance the Islamic Revolution along another avenue. I want you to
serve as the Prime Minister of Iraq.

“
The current Prime
Minister has agreed to step down and support you. It’ll take a few
days to work everything through the Iraqi bureaucracy and get
the
Parliament
to confirm you, but it should all be taken care of by
Wednesday or Thursday. If you agree to my conditions, you’ll be
sworn in on Friday—in Baghdad. Muhammad, you can do so much good
for our Revolution in Iraq.”

This was
not the offer Rahmati or Javan
anticipated.

Both expected the
Ayatollah to call for snap elections in Iran. Then, Rahmati could
run for
President. And
Javan could forcefully
urge
the Ayatollah to modify the
constitution. Without a
change
to
the
law
,
the
Presidency of Iran was largely a
figurehead
position. All the power
in Iran was vested in the Supreme Leader. From the corner of his
eye, Rahmati saw a smile on Javan’s face.

Rahmati agreed to Saatchi’s deal.
After over 40 years, Muhammad Rahmati was going home.

*

Javan drove Rahmati
northward, to the offices of Abdullah Rahmati’s high-tech
conglomerate in downtown Tehran. Northern Tehran
lay
under the
shadow of the Alborz mountain range. On this day, the mountains
were covered with a thick blanket of glistening snow. The mountains
made Rahmati think of his mom. He wished she were alive to share
this moment.

As you drove further
north, Tehran became prettier.
Rahmati and Javan had plenty of time to absorb the beauty of the
mountains. Traffic was terrible.
Tehran’s
geography closely resembled the city of Los Angeles, as L.A.
was hemmed in by
the San Bernardino mountain range.

“
You know, I’ve
been shot
at by
Jews, Daesh, and all over the Middle East. What scares me the most
is driving the streets of Tehran,” joked Rahmati.

General Javan laughed. “Well, let’s
just hope that Imam Saatchi doesn’t try to shoot you.”

The two were ecstatic over
the results of their meeting with the Supreme Leader. As Prime
Minister of Iraq, Rahmati could implement his vision more quickly.
He’d possess more autonomy than if he stayed in Iran. They also
believed that if the demonstrations continued, Saatchi would be
forced to call early elections
anyway
.

“
Would you run for
President?” asked Rahmati.

“
I don’t think I’ll ever
get approved by the mullahs.” Javan was referring to the Iranian
Assembly of Experts, a group of 86 clerics that elected the Supreme
Leader. They also determined who could run for the Presidency. The
Assembly operated somewhat like the College of Cardinals, the
Vatican group who elected the Catholic Pope.

“
I have more power as head
of the Revolutionary Guards, than as President. I’m going to
continue to turn the screws. Iran needs to embrace the future. The
donkey riding mullahs are relics of the past. The Revolution
occurred 41 years ago. The nuclear deal was a step in the right
direction, but we had to fight tooth and nail—even for
that.

“
A lot of my Guards were
opposed to the deal. They were making a fortune from smuggling
restricted items. It might have been good for them, but it wasn’t
healthy for all Iranians. The release of our billion dollars frozen
in American
banks,
and the new oil agreements have helped stabilize
our economy. But we need much more.” Javan was a graduate of the
London School of Economics.

“
We have an incredibly
young, technically adept, hard-working population.
Their
creativity
needs avenues for expression. All Iranians need to make a lot more
money. Besides that, I can’t wait to get away from that Imam. Do
you know that all he eats is garlic, green onions, and
yogurt?
His
breath makes me want to puke all over his nasty, dyed beard. Who
knows what lives in that thing.”

Rahmati chuckled. “Maybe
he can
sell
Ayatollah cookbooks. Or, I can see it now,
The Ayatollah Diet
.
He’ll be a better author than
ruler
of this country. The mullahs have
run Iran into the ground. I totally agree, we need to get rid of
all the clerics.

“
Once your Guards
see that the entire economic pie will grow, and that they’ll all
get richer; they’ll fall in line.
Now that
I’ll be Prime Minister of Iraq, we can work on making this region
the heart of the world again. Our land gave rise to the Babylonians
and Persians. It was the center of the House of Islam for thousands
of years.”

“
You forgot the Ottomans,”
teased Javan.

“
We all have a black sheep
in the family,” said Rahmati, grinning. “Today, our region is a
pathetic excuse for what we can become. If we play our cards right,
we’ll be the future rulers of Iran, Iraq, and the entire fertile
crescent, inshallah—a new Islamic empire. Now, let’s get some
more
good
news about AVICENNA.”

*

Rahmati, Javan, and CEO
Hamid Gilani gathered around a half-moon shaped conference table.
The meeting room had a panoramic view of downtown Tehran. The
skyline was eclectic and impressive. Hamid wore charcoal-gray
pants, with a black turtleneck. He looked like an Iranian Steve
Jobs.
He
contrasted noticeably
with
Rahmati and Javan’s drab,
army-green uniforms.

“
Muhammad,” said Hamid,
“I’m not sure if you’ve been able to see your father
yet,
but he’s so
proud of you. I visit his house twice a week. All he talks about is
how his superstar son
is
destined
for greatness. We watched your
last A-Scope broadcast. After
he
finishes
talking about
you, Abdullah
peppers me
with the questions regarding AVICENNA.”

Muhammad
Rahmati
howled.
“At 89, my dad’s mind is still very
sharp
. Thank you for sharing that with
me. And thank you for checking in on him. Now tell me about
AVICENNA.”

“
As you’re very well
aware,” said Hamid, “RTC has worked on AVICENNA for the last 25
years.” RTC stood for Rahmati Technology Conglomerate. “Today, I
can report to you that Suleiman is fully operational. It slices
through public key encryption, like scissors through tracing
paper.