Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 05 Read online

  “That seems to be the reason for all that has happened in the past few hours, General—you were unprepared,” Nateq-Nouri said. “You were unprepared for the assaults on Bandar Abbas or on the Khomeini carrier group, unprepared for the attack and assault on Chah Bahar. . . So, you have a theory as to how all these attacks made it through your vaunted defenses, General?”

  “The same as the mysterious unidentified aircraft that ‘attacked’ Bandar Abbas, sir—they were cruise missiles, decoys, launched by American stealth bombers,” Buzhazi said. He could see Nateq- Nouri, Foruzandeh, and most of the others roll their eyes in exasperation. “Yes, stealth bombers, gentlemen. The same as was reported by the MiG-29 pilot over the Gulf of Oman with the American KC-10 aerial refueling tanker. The Americans are conducting illegal, warlike reconnaissance flights over our country with stealth bombers, launching sophisticated decoy missiles over our forces that fool our air defenses into thinking we are under massive attack so we quickly expend all our weapons.”

  “I see, I see,” Defense Minister Foruzandeh said scornfully, clearly unimpressed by Buzhazi’s explanation. “We are all going to blame this on shadows of steel, on bombers loaded with intelligent cruise missiles that fly with complete impunity over our radars and missile fields. General, you have said yourself that the American stealth program is a sham, a program foisted on the American people to benefit the aircraft manufacturers and to bankrupt the former Soviet Union by forcing them to spend billions on weapons to defeat them.”

  “The American stealth bombers and their new generation cruise missiles are real, Minister,” Buzhazi said. “That is what I have been trying to prepare our country to defend itself against! ”

  “This testimony will make fascinating reading at your court-martial, General.”

  “Do not threaten me, sir!” Buzhazi shouted. “If you wish to relieve me of my office—if you have the stomach to try to remove me— you may do it at any time.” Nateq-Nouri looked as if he were ready to kill his military chief of staff with his bare hands. “But you may not threaten me with punishment for trying to do my duty! ”

  “It has been how you have tried to ‘do your duty’ that has bankrupted our country and forced us to the brink of war with the Americans,” Nateq-Nouri said angrily. “It will continue no more. Dr. Velayati.”

  Ali Akbar Velayati, the Foreign Minister, held up a communique, nestled in a blue diplomatic folder. “A message from the American Secretary of State,” Velayati said to Buzhazi and the rest of the Defense Council, “received late last night. The United States accepts in principle the Islamic Republics proposal to ban all land- attack warships from the Persian Gulf, including aircraft carriers, and to allow the Islamic Republic to maintain an equal number of warships in the Persian Gulf as Gulf Cooperation Council warships.”

  “How dare they issue a statement like that, after wantonly attacking our air defense forces as they did last night?” Buzhazi retorted.

  “Silence, General Buzhazi,” President Nateq-Nouri ordered. “Continue, Dr. Velayati.”

  “The United States wishes to schedule a summit of all interested nations for this September, where a treaty will be signed,” the Foreign Minister went on. “Secretary of State Hartman further recommends that this proposal be extended to the boundaries of the Gulf of Oman and the Gulf of Aden west of the sixtieth meridian ... ”

  “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 trut
h!” 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—”

  “Silence, or you will be returned to your prison cell,” Kalantari said. “Answer my questions. What kind of ship is this Valley Mistress?”

  “It’s a rescue-and-salvage vessel,” White responded. “We can raise small ships, recover items from deep water, tow large vessels, conduct major power-plant and hull repairs afloat or—”

  “What were you doing in the area shadowing our aircraft-carrier group?”

  “I run a salvage operation, Your Honor,” White said. He cracked a thin smile and shrugged, giving the council members a sheepish expression. “Frankly, Your Honor, your ships were in pretty poor shape, and you were pushing them hard. My ship can ... er, could take any one of your ships in tow, including your carrier, and we can fix any power plant with the exception of course of your nuclear stuff. We’re pretty good at minor repairs, too—motors, engines, appliances, electronics. Plus, we carry a goodly amount of supplies— oil, gasoline, diesel, frozen food, electronics, videotapes—and many vessels invite us to trade with them. But I never came near you guys, Your Honor. Usually if someone needs help, we’ll come running, but we never approach unless waved in because we’re afraid of making you nervous, and you got all the guns. I swear, we never—”

  “If I may, Your Holiness?” Buzhazi asked. Kalantari raised a hand, permitting him to continue the questioning. “Do you also carry Stinger antiaircraft missiles as part of your ‘rescue’ inventory, Mr. White?” Buzhazi asked through the interpreter.

  “Stingers? I don’t know anything about any Stingers, Sir....”

  “Our patrol helicopter observed two Stinger missile launches coming from your ship, Mr. White ... or should I say, Colonel Paul White,” General Buzhazi interjected. Reading from a folder handed to him by an assistant, he continued in a loud voice: “Colonel Paul White, supposedly retired United States Air Force. Your last military assignment was the 675th Weapons Evaluation Group, Hurlburt Field
, Florida, as an engineer working on weapons and equipment for secret special operations units—this Hurlburt Field is very close to the American special operations headquarters in Florida and the United States Air Force’s special operations wing at Eglin Air Force Base. Six months after your official retirement in 1990, you are manifested as the purser aboard the salvage vessel Valley Mistress as you transit the Red Sea, and later as you transit the Strait of Hormuz, destination Bahrain, just before the start of hostilities against Iraq...”

  “Hey, General, everyone knew a war was starting in the Persian Gulf—I wasn’t alone,” White said. “Lots of opportunities for a good salvage company, as long as no one confuses you for a warship and puts a bomb down your stacks.”

  “How does a retired Air Force officer secure a position on a salvage vessel sailing through the Middle East?”

  White shrugged again and replied, “I needed the work, and they needed an electronics guy. Lots of jobs were opening up before the war—even in Iran. Everyone knew the shit. .. er, pardon me, sir, everyone knew there was going to be trouble.”

  “It seems your Valley Mistress was right on the spot in many such conflicts,” Buzhazi went on. The rest of the Council, except Nateq- Nouri, were fixed at absolute attention. “Your ship was in the Philippines before the start of hostilities with the Chinese; in the Yellow Sea just before the accidental conflict between North and South Korea involving the hypersonic Aurora spy plane; in the Baltic Sea just before the start of hostilities between the United States and Russia over Lithuania; in the Adriatic during the recent Marine invasion of Bosnia; and even in the Bosporus just before hostilities between Ukraine and Russia.”

  Buzhazi gave the folder back to his aide. “In each one of these incidents, Colonel White, the United States had sent secret paramilitary and special forces troops into the area to conduct espionage, demolition, search-and-destroy, sabotage, assassination, and kidnapping missions. In several such instances, helicopter-borne forces appeared out of nowhere, and it was determined in some situations that the aircraft could have come from nowhere else but your ship. Your ship, it has quite a large helicopter platform, does it not?”