Tehran Decree (19 page)

‘Now what is it that you couldn’t tell me over the
phone my friend?’ Harold lowered his head as if in mock
despair.

‘I have a burgeoning problem which is eating the hell
out of my viscera.’

‘Nothing can be that bad surely...have you tried
sodium bicarbonate?’ Wiseman ignored the frivolous but well
intended remark.

‘He’s virtually changed the government from top to
bottom,’ Feltnam listened attentively and continued with his
jocular remarks.

‘Who has...I’ll have him court marshaled
immediately,’ Feltman then laughed openly in an attempt to defuse
the serious atmosphere.

‘It’s no laughing matter George...we’ve got problems.
The real president is in the hands of terrorists about to be put on
trial for his life in Iran. The White House chief of staff and the
presidents security adviser have all been written off, and the
secretary of state has been relieved on serious charges of
treason...who the hell is next?

I tell you George, this bloody acting president is
systematically replacing all the senior members of the cabinet
--
now he’s bringing in his own ‘Yes’ men. All this, and not
a primary election in site, hardly democracy is it?’

‘It’s real politics Harold...ours is not to reason
why, we’re here to simply defend the USA as the president sees fit
and he is the commander in chief.’

‘I know, that’s what worries the shit out of me. He’s
already deployed a secret weapon without directly consulting
us.’

‘What would that be?’

‘The DS302 micro homing bullet...its an advanced
marker for a military strike.’

‘Its the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘That doesn't surprise me George, it is, or was, a
profoundly secret device. I know he’s the commander in chief, but
if he’s going to keep ignoring his generals superior professional
knowledge, he’ll end up duplicating Hitler. While that doesn't
really bother me, what does, is the fact that he’ll drag us all
down with him. Don’t forget the patsy in these things is always a
senior military man. I know he hasn’t done anything blatantly
illegal yet, but he sure is skating on thin ice.’

‘But you’ve got to admire the man Harold, he’s using
his powers to the hilt and then some, he’s quite the most dynamic
president ever to occupy the White House.'

‘He’s also the one of the most frightening and
corrupt presidents to occupy the White House.’

‘Aren’t they all corrupt in some way...this is
Machiavellian politics, he does this because he can, and the
president can be a bloody tyrant if he chooses to be.’

‘May I suggest that you open your eyes George...the
bloody man is single and openly fraternises with the junior admin
staff.’

‘All the better Harold, perhaps he’s looking for a
suitable partner in his presidential quest.’

‘That I can understand if the junior staff were
females but he seems to fancy the younger men too. The last thing
we want is a bloody sex scandal involving the presidential

office whether it be hetero or homosexual.’

‘Aren’t you going a bit overboard Harold, after all
the man is only human, and don’t forget sex is merely a normal
bodily function like urination, defecation or sneezing.’

‘Well if you feel that way I’d close your eyes George
for what is coming, because it could just stretch your mind to
breaking point -- the bigger the man, the bigger the fuck-up. And
don’t forget, once he gets enough cronies behind him, he’ll perform
a top down clean out that’ll make the shit house cleaner
cringe.

My advice to you George is watch your back if you
value your position. Destroy every piece of info and file that
might incriminate you in any way, that even includes e-mail's and
dodgy coffee club payments.

The man is a bloody parasite -- you may recall from
your basic biology schooling the parasitic wasp, which lays its
eggs in the caterpillar's body -- they hatch and eat their host
alive. That’s what Jenkins is doing to the American political
system.’

‘I think your taking this far too literally Harold;
my advice is to take a good holiday, go to Tahiti, or Hawaii and
relax, forget all about politics for the next three weeks,’ Wiseman
collapsed in his chair and stared at the ceiling reflecting on his
friends remarks. Perhaps his companion was right, even if going on
leave at such a critical moment in time might mean his removal as
chief of the Air Force.

Maybe it was time he considered retirement, politics
had become a rat racy shooting gallery, with himself now in the
firing line.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Tehran, Iranian Military HQ

A fine sweat had built up on Brigadier Al Zandi’s
face as he worked through his exercise routine on his three
thousand dollar tread mill. The machine was a state of the art
apparatus imported direct from the UK ordered directly from a
health magazine he regularly subscribed to. He had lovingly
assembled it piece by piece and built his daily exercise routine
around it. The elaborate contraption dominated his office
space.

A great fan of all things quintessentially British,
he had noted the recent phenomenal strides they had made in the
sporting arena -- beating some of the best athletes in the world
during the Olympic Games, after a lack luster fifty years in the
doldrums. This was the sort of progress he liked to see in a
country which had previously lost its standing in world athletics.
It was good to see any country doing well in any endeavor, even if
that country was a potential enemy.

A word in his ear by one of this close friends living
in London, told him that fifty percent of the British success had
been attributed to this same tread mill, with its electronically
tuned exercise routines. The machine could also be programmed to
ones metabolism and physiological needs on a weekly basis.

The phone on his desk rang repeatedly but Al Zandi
ignored it, concentrating on the rhythm set by his machine, which
stipulated no interruptions were to be allowed during exercise. It
was three hours later, during a computer filing transfer procedure,
when the phone rang again. He allowed three rings then picked up
the receiver.

‘Hello, Brigadier Al Zandi speaking.’

‘Hello, General Hakem Gamela...where have you been,
I’ve been trying to contact you urgently.

‘I’m sorry sir, but I’ve had a bad attack of
diarrhea.’

‘I see...well you’d better get rid of it before we
decide to get rid of the person harbouring it.’

‘Yes sir, I have consulted the doctor.’

‘Good, now for your information Al Zandi, the decree
has been changed. Apparently the supreme leader in conjunction with
the Iranian president have reached a more satisfactory conclusion
on the conditions of the decree. This has also been sanctioned by
the National Security Council.

Just about now you should find a revamped version in
the e-mail box of your computer,’ Al Zandi clicked on his mail and
scrolled down the list clicking on the e-mail marked ‘Decree
Mod.’

He looked long and hard at the message; his eyes
brightened, the content was much more logical and he could see the
mitigating input of the security council and possibly the
president. But it was still extremely confrontational, and in his
eyes...quite mad.

It had taken a long time but he was beginning to see
why the western leaders and the Iranian leadership could not get on
with each other. The Arab world lacked a certain entente cordiale.
It was surely time for a drastic change in policy, if we really
wanted to defeat the western democracies, the Muslim hierarchy had
to beat the West at their own game.

A shrill noise came over his receiver as General
Hakem Gamela whistled hard down the phone line. Al Zandi quickly
pulled it away from his ear.

‘Are you still there Zandi...or have you had another
attack of diarrhea,’ Zandi rubbed his ear and squinted menacingly
at the receiver. This was the very thing that was wrong with the
whole Iranian system, too much hate and antagonism...they couldn’t
get on with each other let alone foreign nationals.

‘Yes sir, I’m still here,’ Al Zandi added hastily

‘Good, this still means you have to keep a ridged
watch on the border areas
--
make sure your men are up to
the job.’

‘Yes sir!’

Chapter Thirty-eight

Government House NSW

Defence Minister Bruce Jones looked grimly at the PM.
‘These men have killed dozens of our own police and American
security agents, kidnapped the US president, destroyed at least
eight highly expensive limousines and we let them go sir!’

‘We had no choice Bruce
--
it’s basically an
American operation and they must ultimately call the shots, they
will of course be shadowing the Learjet.’

‘A fat lot of good that will do, it might have made
more sense to shoot them all, including the president -- it would
at least have prevented a world wide trial and further humiliation
on an unprecedented scale. They’re going to execute the president
anyway,’ Jone’s mobile buzzed and he flopped into one of the comfy
leather chairs adjacent to the long table before answering.

‘Hello police minister Jones here,’ Jone’s hand
tightened around his mobile as the call continued. His face
lightened, then darkened, and he stared at the floor as the caller
terminated the connection. He folded his mobile, dropping it in his
jacket pocket, then looked solemnly at the PM.

‘Everything has changed sir...that was a call came
from the BIB Lear jet, Kazeni has done a back flip...he wants to
sell the president back to the highest bidder his bottom price is
fifty billion US dollars. He’s staked out Iran and the US to bid
against each other.

‘Really, well that’s a turn up for the books -- an
Iranian sponsored terrorist group holding their hostage up for
ransom to the Iranian government. My, my, heads will roll should
the Iranians ever catch up with them.

Actually it doesn’t surprise me, what does surprise
me is why he didn’t try it on much sooner.’

‘You know how it is with these hot headed
fundamentalists sir, he’s just figured out how valuable his catch
is...it’s policy on the run.

The Lear jet is landing at Muscat in the next few
hours and they’re taking the president to a hiding place on the
outskirts of the city.Habib Sharazi has promised to keep in touch
with us.’

‘Right, better inform the Americans, they look like
being up for a another hefty bill.’

‘No doubt this will annoy them even more sir.

‘I’m sure it will, the BIB have beaten the best
security organisation in the world and made mugs of the Americans
on the international stage. The Yanks are now looking in our
direction, they probably think its our fault, and I’m inclined to
agree.’

‘We did our best sir...well at least some of us
did.’

‘There lies the problem Bruce...our best was not good
enough..’

‘However, ours is not to reason why, we may not be
totally powerless,’the PM pressed his re-dial button and Jansen’s
mobile lit up.

‘Hello Jansen here.’

‘Hello commander, PM...can you get to government
house as soon as possible?’

‘Yes sir, I’m on my way,’

The PM looked mischievously at his defence minister.
‘On second thoughts we might just delay informing the Americans of
the change in plans until we’re up and running.’

‘Is that wise sir, we’re already straining the
leash.’

‘It is very wise Bruce...sometimes golden
opportunities come our way and if we don’t grab them instantly they
are lost forever. So, the sooner we get organised the better,
hopefully it will make us look good in their eyes...then we’ll tell
them’

The PM sat down with the defence and police ministers
while a disgruntled US ambassador and FBI director left for the
American Embassy without being told of the latest change in
terrorist plans. Jansen made the short trip to government house in
record time, in a flashing police car driven by an experienced
police driver.

He burst into the meeting room on his arrival to find
the three men in deep discussion. The conversation stopped
instantly and all eyes turned toward him. The PM smiled
enthusiastically which immediately put Jansen on his guard.

‘Come in commander...take your coat off and join us,
we were about to drink to our recent success ’Jansen peered
suspiciously at the three political heavy weights, and gingerly
arranged his coat around the back of a well appointed leather
chair, while the PM poured out three double whiskies from a bottle
of Johnny Walker. He squirted a modicum of soda water in the third
glass and handed it to the commander.

Jansen’s face took on a surprised frown; the PM
seemed to have his measure in the drinks department, which was both
good and bad. Good because paying attention to ones personal habits
was a sign of respect -- bad because familiarity tended to breed
contempt. Secretly, Jansen despised most politicians, it was a
profession that brought out the worst in human propensities. There
was a time when had considered joining their ranks until he
realised how corrupt politics and politicians could be. There were
very few, if any, governments in the world who could truthfully
boast that they were free of corruption.

The term had come up so often in his business
dealings that had decided to pin the term down once and for all.
The Macquarie Dictionary listing gave an all embracing definition
as follows: dishonest; without integrity; guilty of dishonesty;
debased in character; deprived; perverted; wicked; putrid;
infected; tainted...and so it went on, and on, and on.

With all these definitive words it was clearly very
hard to be free of corruption. But Jansen knew instinctively what
corruption really meant within government circles and could detect
it the minute it reared its ugly head.