Tehran Decree (12 page)

The whole event would be a battle of police
manipulation, extracting personnel from one place, and using them
to plug up another more demanding area. It was a vexatious case of
robbing Peter to pay Paul. Chester switched from one camera to the
next as the presidential party progressed. His mobile buzzed and he
pressed the answer button.

‘Hello HQ...Chester here..’

‘Commander Denison, district four sir...we have a
problem...two of the tunnel distributor air exhaust vents are not
working.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Near the airport turn-off sir.’

‘Good, that’s some way off yet, the presidential
party has just entered the Maritime Museum, so you’re looking at
another hour or so before they get anywhere near the turn-off. Get
the RTA workmen onto it...keep me informed.’

‘Right away sir.’

Chester was a no nonsense commissioner and would not
suffer fools gladly. He was product of the NSW Police Academy and
believed strongly in keeping order at all costs, even to the point
of man handling the public should they threaten to cross the line.
He decried the softening up of control to political correctness and
had clashed many times with the police minister. His greatest enemy
was own wariness and his once fine police mind had given way to
irascibility, which served to cover up his ever increasing
indecision and lack of control. He had over heard comments from his
front line commanders on a number of occasions who had stooped to
calling him ‘Chester the Jester’ behind his back.

The presidential visit was a chance to show his
doubters that he could handle such an important occasion, just as
he did the Apex meeting a few years back. He switched to the
Maritime Museum CCTV camera and watched the president making his
speech.

President Garner leaned in towards the ships bell
donated by former president Bush and openly admired the artifact,
then praised the Australian people for their steadfast and resolute
commitment to the coalition of the willing and the cause of
freedom. He began to sway a little as an attack of dizziness caused
him to grip harder on his nearest security officer’s arm; hardly
noticeable to the general public, but Chester spotted it
immediately.

He continued speaking forcefully then suddenly
stopped in mid-sentance after a muscle contraction rippled up his
oesophagus and dumped a quantity of undigested acidic food into his
mouth cavity. This was the very thing he feared the most and he
quickly used his handkerchief to remove the offending food debris.
It was time to cut the speech short and get back to the safety of
his limousine, where everything was on hand, including motion
sickness pills and bigger vomit bags.

Waving, and forcing a contorted smile, he spoke a few
words of farewell and abruptly turned towards the entrance, walking
steadily, trying to keep his balance, after another dizzy spell
suddenly erupted.

The New South Wales Premier looked agog at his
presidential counterpart who’s rapidly receding rear surged towards
the large exit doors. He held out his right hand displaying a gold
miniature of Bush’s ships bell

waving it for all he was worth. A secret service
agent grabbed it and ran after the president. This was one
political memento the president just had to have for the sake of
entente cordial with Australia.

Chester stared at the CCTV screen, looking at a
blurry image of a wobbly president, and checked his watch
--
the top man was leaving too early, he should be there for at least
another fifteen minutes -- his mobile rang.

‘Hello Chester here.’

‘Change of plan sir, the president has a slight
sickness and will not be stopping in the tunnel to inspect the
facility,’ Chester broke a sigh of relief; it would never do for
the US president to have a choking fit in a tunnel filled with
carbon monoxide gases. Under normal conditions the air conditioning
was barely adequate anyway. Chester felt a little easier knowing
the visit would end just a little sooner than expected.

‘Okay, keep a close watch on the presidential party,
let me know the minute they enter the western distributor tunnel,’
Chester’s curiosity got the better of him and he stopped the tape
on camera number one and rewound it a few frames, then replayed it
in slow motion. He studied the president closely watching his every
move and facial inflection. From many years of past experience
watching peoples behaviuor during police line-ups, and interviews,
Chester had developed the ability to understand peoples body
language for what it was, and the president was acting most
strangely for a public figure.

So the great man had problems -- was it something he
had eaten at the conference table or just the simple psychological
excitement of the event. The difference was important -- if it was
the food, then it could well be an Australian problem. The
politically correct inquiry that would surely follow would be a
ruddy nightmare. Chester secretly hoped it might be a mild heart
attack, self centred though the thought was, it would keep himself
and the authorities out of the shit.

Chapter Twenty-four

The presidential motorcade slowly pulled out of
Darling Harbour and headed toward the city tunnel. A man along the
way in faded blue jeans and a shabby duffle coat spoke into his
mobile.

‘Yes, I was right Farid, the motorcade is heading for
the tunnel entrance right now.’

‘You’re sure, our quarry seems to be rushing things,
either that, or I’ve got the wrong schedule, maybe something else
is bugging them...what is his problem?’

‘The president may be ill, his performance at the
Maritime Museum was below par, he cut it short and coughed into his
handkerchief.’

‘What’s your estimated time of arrival in the tunnel
Habib?’

‘The motorcade seems to have speeded up...at this
rate they’ll be in the tunnel in the next ten minutes.’

‘Right, give the last car five minutes into the
tunnel then fire your RPG’s up their assess and bring up your
men...I’ll alert the vets group at the airport turn off.’

Commissioner Chester watched the motorcade enter the
tunnel and looked at his duty sergeant.

‘When are these bloody Yanks going to learn that a
motorcade, however well armed it is, is a prime target...they’re
sitting ducks. If the rag tag Afghan rebels can finish off dozens
of Russian armoured columns, what can a group of determined
insurgents do to a presidential motorcade?’

The appearance of the Americans set Chester thinking
and he wondered about the type of man Garner was. Since when did a
US president worry about its allies to the degree of making an
extremely dangerous trip, costing thousands of dollars, just to
receive their reassurance that it was okay to nuke the Iranians. It
didn’t make a lot of sense to a free thinking man like Chester. At
least on the surface it tended to show that Garner was a good man
and probably cared about other nations and their people...or did
he? Perhaps this was just a bit of baloney and a smart propaganda
exercise.

Trouble was, having a good man with scruples as
president, wasn’t always a good thing. The time would come when the
USA needed a president who could wield a big stick and actually use
it, without worrying about collateral damage. Compassion was one
thing, but US political security was quite another. But...there was
another more obvious reason for his unprecedented trip. Perhaps the
man felt so insecure in his reasoning, that he had to get world
approval before he could act.

Chester’s mobile crackled.

‘Hello HQ here, Chester speaking.’

‘The motorcade is nearly half way through the tunnel
sir.’

‘Okay continue monitoring,’ Chester turned to his
duty officer.

‘We’re in luck Sergeant, the president has a bug and
they’re cutting back on the timing, they’ll be out of the
distributor in ten to fifteen minutes,’ Chester’s mobile continued
buzzing.

‘Hello Chester...’

‘Hello sir, we’ve got problems with the air
ventilation shafts...all of them are out of order.’

‘What...that can’t be...whats the bloody
problem?’there was a pregnant silence.

‘They’ve been interfered with sir.’

‘What do you mean interfered with commander?’

‘The two that have just been inspected have hardened
cement all over the fan motors and blades...they’re useless.’

‘For fuck sakes commander, get your men onto this,
someone is trying to stuff the ruddy system up. Take another ten
men from barrier duty and get them into the tunnel pronto,’ this
was the first hiccup that pointed to possible trouble along the
way; suction fans didn’t grow cement vests on their own, especially
in a sensitive area on the presidential route.

Chester barked another order down the phone.

‘Seal off the tunnel completely from the
public...now!’

Chester felt the first pangs of fear raising slowly
in his chest they were the sort of feelings that gave an elderly
man a cardiac arrest. It was one thing Chester had noted in his
long career as a front line policeman and later as a commissioner.
Panic drove rough shod over the heart muscle causing it to beat
faster to keep up the pace, and if it didn’t keep up it became
erratic, and if this continued too long, the heart finally gave up
the struggle. It was a fight or flight adrenaline pumping situation
which was strictly for the younger, fitter policeman. The only real
answer was to quit the situation immediately and find a calm
environment. Toilet facilities were ideal, in fact, more often than
not, the only way out of an impossible situation was behind locked
doors with ones head between the knees, but this was the equivalent
of running in the face of the enemy -- a court marshal offence in
the military

Chester sat down and deliberately calmed himself with
direct suggestions and a special cigarette he kept for such
occasions. He lit the reefer and blew smoke at the no smoking sign
muttering under his breath..

‘Stuff the political correctness...this is strictly
medicinal.’ At the start to the cross city tunnel the police cordon
closed in preventing any other traffic from gaining access.

Police barriers were being hastily moved in position
to completely block the entrance from the general public.

In a ground floor car park two blocks away two SUV’s
with heavy steel bull bars were revving their engines. Habib
Sharazi gave the signal over his mobile for his men to move in.

They drove the short distance to the tunnel
scattering several police officers who got in the way. Then revved
up even more, smashing through the metal barriers the police had
just erected, they were no match for the heavy bull bars which
easily swept them aside.

The two SUV’s charged into the tunnel stopping some
thirty metres from the last presidential vehicle
--
two men
jumped out of the SUV-- each man fired a rocket propelled grenade
into the rear of the motorcade.

The last two vehicles shot in the air in a fiery
cascade and landed upside down, scattering astounded secret service
agents in all directions. Two of the vehicles burst into flames
creating toxic black smoke, apart from a rolling fire ball, it was
possibly the worst hazard encountered in a confined tunnel. One of
the US agents had the forethought to quickly apply a portable CO2
extinguisher to the fires. Heavy black smoke would have effected
everyone in the limited space rendering most weapons less
effective.

Several of Habib’s men took up well protected
positions at the side of the tunnel and deliberately avoided firing
at the agents until the fires were out, then began to pick off the
US agents, one at time, with their Russian Dragunov sniper
rifles.

At police HQ Chester keyed in the chief US security
officer’s mobile number in the lead car. ‘Hello sir...Chester
here...just checking, is everything okay there.’

‘Yes everything is just fine commissioner, we’ll be
out of the tunnel in the next five minutes.’ The chief was about to
close the line when an enormous rumbling sound came from the rear
of the convoy. Bits and pieces of hot metal bounced off the walls
filling the tunnel area with sparks and black smoke. A blast of hot
air charged through the tunnel severely vibrating the line of
remaining security vehicles. The chief turned in his seat straining
his neck
--
he looked hard at his second in command.

‘We’re being hit.’

‘Looks like it sir...what do you think?’

‘We make a run for it
--
it would be madness
to take them on in this tunnel
--
heaven knows what weaponry
they might have. We’ll be out in no time the exit is just up
ahead.’

At the distributor exit the group of war veterans
were getting ready to cheer their president, and the police line
eased off slightly, to allow them to get a better view of the
limousines when they exited the tunnel entrance.

Instead of waving flags the veterans produced Uzi
machine pistols hidden in their jackets and sprayed the police line
with nine millimeter rounds, sending police officers to the
ground.

Farid Kazeni charged into the tunnel waving his men
on. Once inside they applied special eye drops to their eyes and
donned respiratory face masks. Three of the terrorist stood just
inside the tunnel and repeatedly fired batches of tear gas grenades
into the blackness of the tunnel exit. Clouds of dense white smoke
filled the entrance reducing visibility to near zero.

The American security chief in the lead car touched
his blue tooth earpiece and gave an order to the motorcade.

‘We’re going to make a run for it, after three counts
I will accelerate, follow me as closely as you can.’

The chief counted to three into his blue tooth head
set and put his foot hard on the accellerator
--
almost in
the same instant he stamped on the brakes as hard as he could. A
mere thirty metres away a ghostly line of a dozen terrorist emerged
from the opaque white gas cloud, with RPG grenade launches pointing
directly at the motorcade.