Tehran Decree (16 page)

A sea of blackness with a fowl smelling, residual
fog, permeated the tunnel at both ends. Trapped in between was a 60
by 39 metre area of fluorescent light, augmented by car headlights.
There were now only four service agents: two in the presidential
car, and two crouching behind the black Lincoln limousine.

The president and personnel entourage had armed
themselves as a last resort using emergency weaponry carried in a
special compartment within the presidential limousine. Garner
stared bleary eyed at the latest brand new US automatic pistol
which had never been used in combat before. The point had arrived
whereby the secret service could longer effectively defend the
president. Eight months previously Garner had personally instructed
the secret service director to insert emergency weaponry within his
limousine, specifically for his own personal use, should all else
fail, little realising that he might now have to use it. He
continued to stare at the weapon with the impulsive thought of
using it on himself.

After all, it would solve all their problems in one
simple finale, since the whole damned business depended on his
being kidnapped alive.

The commander of the secret service contingent turned
around in the presidential vehicle and addressed the president.

‘It’s hopeless sir, unless we concede they’ll kill us
all one by one until they get you.’

President Garner looked at the crumpled figure of his
chief of staff and then glanced at his wide eyed security
advisor.

‘What do you think we should do guys -- shall we give
in peacefully or what?’ Ellen Monard blinked mechanically, trying
her best to pull herself together.

‘It depends what they have in mind sir...if they just
want to kill us, they would have done it by now, we’re a sitting
duck for that rocket launcher.’

The president looked at his personal secret service
agent sitting in the rear with his pistol drawn ready to defend his
boss. He put his hand on his shoulder.

I didn’t want to instigate this Steve, but I think
now is the time,’ the agent nodded knowingly, replaced his gun in
its holster and removed his jacket.

Government House Lawn

A police helicopter landed just two metres short of
the driveway on the carefully manicured lawns of government House,
Roger Jansen jumped out, laying his head low to avoid spinning
rotor blades. Seconds later he was standing in front of the defence
and police ministers with the PM shaking his hand, the FBI director
hovered sullenly in the back ground.

‘Welcome commander Jansen, we’re terribly pushed for
time so I’ll hand you directly over to Harry Lincoln the FBI
director for briefing,’ Lincoln quickly explained the situation and
the acting US presidents plan for using the marker bullets on
president Garner. Jansen couldn’t suppress a laugh and likened it
to the embedding of an identity capsule into a pet dog. In a way he
admired the Americans for their forthright objectivity and lack of
emotional sentimentality, but worried about the political and moral
implications of implanting their top politician with a device,
which spelt almost certain death for the ailing president. Still,
they had their duties and he had his, it was just a matter of
putting the two together.

The PM finally stepped forward, and took Jansen by
the arm, speaking quietly in his ear, as he lead him to the
door.

‘We are very grateful for this commander,’ Jansen
grimaced slightly.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t be asking this sir, but why
haven’t we picked them all off with sniper fire?’ The FBI director
looked meekly at Jansen and reluctantly answered his question.

‘Because commander, they thought of the idea first,
as a result the secret service has been practically annihilated by
BIB sniper fire. The president’s life is now very much in
danger...beyond that, lets just say some things are better left
unsaid,’ Jansen pursed his lips and looked straight ahead.

‘Right then -- lets do it gentlemen,’the defence
minister issued a few more instructions.

‘We’ll take you in at the old Hyde Park railway end,
there’s a disused rail tunnel leading to a steel door which opens
half way along the cross city tunnel. Its normally kept locked for
security purposes, its handy for maintenance of the tunnel and the
odd emergency. Jansen smiled wryly.

‘You mean like this one sir?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Good, well we’ve certainly got the odd emergency
sir,’chided Jansen, trying to make light of the situation. The PM
smiled a genuine smile and shook Jansen’s hand.

‘I wish you the best of luck commander, we are all
counting on you,’ Jansen raised his own feeble smile which came out
looking like a twisted grimace. The defence minister lead him into
the outer office where a police car and a sergeant stood
waiting.

‘We’ve organised sergeant June Thompson to go with
you, she has extensive experience in Sydney’s old railway tunnels.
Jansen shook hands with the forty year old female sergeant who wore
a gray denim overall, with her hair tucked under a matching ski
hat, she looked pleased to be in the loop.

They both climbed in the car and headed for northern
entrance to Hyde Park dodging a build up of traffic along the way,
Jansen ran the police vehicle up the curb and onto the park turf,
stopping the car in the middle of the Domain and cutting out
further traffic hassles.

Taking cloth kit bags from the boot, Jansen locked
the car and Sergeant Thomson lead the way across the park, and down
the subway steps, moving into a side tunnel, which came within
fifty metres of the cross city tunnel. A large rusting steel door
blocked their way.

Sergeant Thompson patted the door...’Beyond this sir,
is a partly finished passage, which leads directly into the cross
city tunnel; there’s another steel door at the end of it, there’s
no lighting beyond this point.’

‘Okay sergeant, open her up,’ Thompson inserted a key
in the large pad lock securing the door and pulled the lock from
the retaining steel flanges. They both grasped the handles attached
to the door and pulled as hard as they could -- the door barely
moved. Jansen retrieved a crowbar from his kit bag and shoved it in
the gap between the two doors.

‘You pull as hard as you can sergeant ...at the count
of three,’ Jansen counted to three and rammed the crowbar harder in
the small opening, jacking it open with all the force he could
muster. The right hand door groaned like a bass organ pipe as it
scraped along the rough cement floor -- a drastic demarcation
appeared where the concrete slab ended and raw brown earth began.
Jansen peered into the dark void and shone his flashlight down the
burrow like passage.

‘I see what you mean by an unfinished work,’ the air
was dank with an odorous tinge of mold, ancient cobwebs littered
the uneven roof and pools of moisture dotted the floor. Thompson
sniffed the air gracefully and grimaced, ’That’s residual tear gas
sir...its managed to get onto the disused tunnel.

‘You’ve better smell than I have sergeant, I can’t
detect a thing.’

‘Maybe its because your male sir...we women tend to
have a nose for scents.’

‘That’s just as well sergeant, we might just need it
at yon end,’ he pulled the lift hand door open, and they both
wearily made their way down the passage.

Chapter Thirty-two

The second steel door was coated in dowdy battleship
gray with paint peeling off in large streaks; rust stains corroded
the metal, even though this door had obviously received much better
care than its cousin. Jansen likened the rust pattern to a Jackson
Pollack painting he’d seen in a Canberra art exhibition -- nature
did have some hidden talents of her own he mused. Thompson used the
same key to open the verdigris coated padlock. Water vapour and
traffic pollution had taken its toll on the fixture. Jansen looked
solemnly at the sergeant.

‘We’d better kill our flashlights, I’d hate to get
shot at this stage.’

They struggled with the door in the inky blackness
and a shaft of fluorescent light from the city tunnel found its way
in. Reflections from off white tiles on the city tunnel walls cast
scintillating flashes of light off the steel door. Jansen crept
into the tunnel keeping closely pressed to the walls. He motioned
Thompson to follow.

The scene was absolute devastation, with twisted and
blackened vehicles running the length of the tunnel road way. It
was the equal of the worst scenes of any global war he had ever
witnessed -- a veritable microcosmic Armageddon

Mist and vapour tainted with cordite filled the air.
Bodies, most of then in black jump outfits and police uniforms,
peppered the roadway. The occasional terrorist corpse stood out by
way of its casual attire and unshaven countenance.

Jansen checked his bearings, they had obviously
entered half way along the city tunnel, and the action, if any, was
further up front. He could see two silhouetted figures approaching
and he drew his Glock pistol for the first time.

The leading figure whispered as he approached...
‘We’re police officers commander...don’t shoot.’

It was commander Steve Dennison of the federal police
who had been expecting Jansen and sergeant Thompson.

‘You’re just in time commander, we have a lull
situation, they have given us thirty minutes to.clear the tunnel or
they’ll shoot the US chief of staff, and we only have fifteen
minutes left.’

‘I see, can I speak to the leader of BIB.’

‘Yes we have him on mobile...just press re-dial,’
Jansen pressed the re-dial button and listened intently. The
earpiece crackled and an accented, impatient, male voice came over
the line.

‘Hello...we’re still waiting for confirmation of our
demands.’

‘This is commander Roger Jansen speaking, we are
conforming with your request, but we have a problem.’

‘Well you’d better bloody well solve it then hadn’t
you, or it’s good-bye to the American bigwigs.’

‘You must understand...we can’t just let you go like
that. We must at least have some conformation that you have the
American president...for all we know he may be dead.’

‘He will be if you don’t stop wasting time.’

‘Please let us see him in the flesh; we will not come
any closer than ten metres...I give you my word,’ Farid Kazeni
laughed harshly into his mobile.

‘You are in no position to demand anything commander.
Now get the fucking tunnel exit cleared or we will shoot the chief
of staff, the security advisor, and the four security agents we
have captured.’

‘Listen to me...we are both rational men, you want
the president, we accept that one hundred percent, and we are
willing to give you total freedom of action to wherever you
want...if that is Tehran, then you have carte blanch all the way
there. All we ask is that you let all other hostages free in
exchange,’ Kazeni stiffened and held his pistol to the Ellen
Monard’s head and started to squeeze the trigger. Sharazi laid his
hand softly on Kazeni’s shoulder.

‘Don’t shoot her Farid...this will only escalate
matters and harden their resolve. We have the president -- he is
our ticket to Tehran -- as long as we have their top man we will be
safe.

Kazeni stared at his number two with a mixture of
hate and frustration. He detested ambivalent situations but he knew
Sharazi was right, in spite of the standard tactics of the BIB when
dealing with hostages.

The BIB had duplicated most of the FBI procedures,
and they had taken them from FBI information releases over the
years. The important ones were rigorously applied, especially two
of them: .keep the opposition off balance by keeping communication
short and succinct, and the second was supremely simple - let them
know who was in charge.

Kazeni had smirked often enough over the FBI public
domain news issues, which revealed their tactics and methods in
most situations...they thought they were so bloody smart, but it
was collective conceit by way of bragging to the public, which gave
their secrets away.

Paradoxically, the more hostages you had, the poorer
were your chances of getting away cleanly. It was a fine balance
and anything which provoked its stability could be fatal.

Kazeni relaxed his grip on Ellen Monard and spoke
firmly into his mobile.

‘We have a deal commander, but it will be done on our
terms. You will immediately clear the tunnel exit and allow our
helicopter to land on the freeway. All hostages will be retained
until we reach the helicopter. You will allow us total free passage
out of your country and safe passage to Tehran; any interference
will result in the presidents instant death.’

‘Agreed,’ Jansen hastily replied, ‘but you must let
all other hostages free...I personally guarantee you free exit
direct to Tehran. But first we must check that you actually have
the president alive and well,’ Kazeni immediately cocked his weapon
and put it to the president’s head. Sharazi placed his arm once
again on his leaders shoulder.

‘We have the president, these extra hostages will
only slow us down. Let us now get out of here while we still can,’
Kazeni remained stony faced and shoved his weapon into the
presidents neck.

‘All right, but this guy stays glued to me dead or
alive.’

Jansen squinted at his sergeant and commander
Jones.

‘You two advance towards the president’s car and
check that he is okay, don’t go any nearer then five metres,’
Dennison pulled a face.

‘Where are you going commander?’ Jansen produced the
high power, silenced air rifle, from his back pack.

‘I’m hoping for a bulls eye...keep them occupied for
at least four minutes,’ he crouched low and scurried behind the
nearest burnt out motorcade vehicle, then made his way slowly
towards the lead car.

He could see the two terrorists near the bonnet of
the president’s large bullet proof Lincoln limousine. A tassel
haired man with gray beard had a mobile to his ear and a gun
pointing at the two US politicians. The second man was younger,
with shaved hair and pock marked face, he held the president in an
arm lock with a pistol in his back. There were two disarmed
security agents laying on the floor their hands behind their heads.
Both were bleeding from face and head wounds received from several
severe pistol whippings.