Tehran Decree (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

The PM gazed out of the window looking across the
expanse of Sydney harbour, it was a view he had always loved since
he was a five year old. His mother had taken him there from their
humble weather board home in Bankstown. It was his first visit to
the big smoke, and the thrill of it still resided in his memory,
almost as clear as if it were yesterday. Sydney was at that time
the epitome of freedom, a democratic city on a quintessential
harbour; the envy of the whole world; and he had to admit nothing
had really changed over the intervening years.

He allowed himself a few more voyeuristic moments of
indulgence before turning round and addressing Jansen.

‘The situation has changed commander, we are now
looking at a grand ransom demand from the BIB,’ the PM explained in
detail what had transpired.

‘What I should make clear from the outset commander,
is the fact, that this is no longer our ball game, and we should
completely wash our hands of the whole unsavory incident.’

‘Isn’t that a bit of cop out sir?’the PM’s eyes bored
into Jansen.

‘What I’m also saying commander, is that we should
now leave the whole thing to the Americans, after all, it was their
doing which brought this thing on in the first place,’ Jansen
nodded compliantly and finished off his whisky.

‘Is this what we’re celebrating sir?’

‘Not quite...we’re celebrating the fact that we
managed to remove the terrorists from Australian soil without
incurring further fatalities. Heaven only knows what would have
happened had the army or the FBI had their way,’ Jansen refilled
his glass adding the mandatory squirt of soda.

‘In that case sir, I’ll drink to that,’ the PM
cleared his throat.

‘Still, in spite of this, we find ourselves to be the
scapegoat in this sorry little saga. The Americans haven’t said
anything yet, but when you have your political ear to the ground,
it is obvious to me that they blame us, at least in part for the
situation.

So what I’m proposing is that we help pull their nuts
out of the fire. It is about time Australia stopped being
politically correct and grabbed the bull by the horns instead of
passing the buck.

I want you and a team of SAS officers to snatch the
US president from under the noses of the BIB extremist,’ the colour
drained from Jansen’s face, and he finished his drink in one gulp,
then quickly refilled the glass, this time without the soda
water.

‘But they must be in Muscat by now sir, it’ll take us
weeks to pull a trained team together and get them to the Arabian
peninsula.’

‘Not if you pick the most experienced men you can
find from the SAS pool commander...right now! I have the utmost
confidence in the elite forces capabilities.’

‘But Muscat is thousands of kilometers away across
the globe -- God knows where they’ll be by the time we arrive.’

‘No problem commander, Muscat is 11,681 kilometers
from Sydney as the crow fly's, and the government has recently took
delivery of a Dassault Falcon 7X private jet.

Its purpose is to get VIP’s or emergency teams as
quickly as possible to any place in the world. You and your
proposed team represent an emergency team as far as Australia is
concerned. In fact you will be the first personnel to use it.

The Falcon 7X aircraft is capable of 900
kilometers/hour and has a range of 11,000 kilometers, with extra
fuel aboard, she can fly non stop to Muscat in just over fifteen
hours providing the weather holds.

The ball is in your court now commander, if you get
your team together post haste, you’ll be in time for tomorrow’s
breakfast in Muscat,’ the PM smiled politely and squinted at his
watch.

‘The clock is ticking Roger, and your plane awaits
you. So when you’re ready to go -- give me a buzz immediately,’ the
house phone rang and the PM picked it up.

‘Hello PM here..’

'Parliamentary secretary speaking sir...just had a
call from the NSW police, Clement Chester has committed suicide,’ a
flash of confusion followed by disbelief passed across the PM’s
countenance as he tried to come to grips with this latest
broadside.

‘Oh my god, that’s all we need...why on earth did he
have to do it now?

‘You know sir...the usual problems.’

‘No, I don’t know the usual problems...perhaps you
could enlighten me.’

‘Well as you know sir, he was dismissed recently from
the force and he’s taken it rather badly, according to his doctor
he was extremely depressed. Apparently he was on a course of
Prozac.’

‘When did this occur?’

‘Two days ago sir on Monday evening, his wife found
him hanging in the shed.’

‘I see...my heart feels for him and his wife.
However, it was a known fact in higher circles, that Clement was a
closet marijuana user -- I suspect it may well have tipped balance.
Even so, I’m afraid we’re going to have to

give him a State funeral right in the middle of the
worst international bloody crisis since the last world war.’

‘Do you want me to put the wheels in motion sir?’

‘Yes, go ahead, inform his wife, then continue with
the service arrangements...don’t skimp any of the formalities. Just
remember, a State funeral is a political statement whoever it
happens to be; it reminds the electorate that the government is
doing its job. And the better the funeral pomp and ceremony -- the
more it will impress the voters.’

‘Oh, and don’t forget, have a large Australian flag
draped over his coffin, after all, he did serve the country on the
front line of the police force.’

‘I’m not so sure we can do that sir, without his
wife's permission, she may have the last say,’ the PM snapped
back.

‘Well do what you can, and bear in mind, this will be
a State Government funded ceremony.’

Chapter Forty

A mere two hours had elapsed since acting president
Jenkins had held the last emergency meeting in the situation room.
The meeting now included the full National Security Council, with
newly appointed Attorney General, Claudia Lithgo, a no nonsense
former womens lobby group advocate, with a string of high profile
public service appointments to her credit. She was a natural career
woman with years and years of hands on experience in the public
arena.

She liked the fact that the assembly was on a twenty
four hour alert with staff taking strict rotating roster breaks; it
was preferable to bed sitting a lonely up market luxury flat that
she had rented for the last five years. It was a hard lesson to
learn, but money and prestige did not necessarily cure loneliness;
in some ways it worsened the situation. A powerful woman drove many
men away and she found herself constantly trying to adjust her ego
in order to gain headway with the opposite sex. Bullying merely
resulted in the same reaction from her male counterparts, worst
still, this finally banished many men from the intimate
relationship she so desperately needed.

Over the last few months she had discovered a simple
secret which seemed to resolve the situation a little. It came from
the holy bible directly from Jesus himself
...treat others as you
would wish to be treated yourself...
if only all politicians
adhered to this simple rule. She vowed to put the home truth into
practice on every possible occasion. Jenkins sat at the head of the
table gently massaging his forehead while the chairman of the joint
chiefs of staff conferred with the military chiefs on a personal
level.

After a prolonged discussion he approached the
president, said a few private words in his ear, and passed on the
notes he had been taking. Jenkins looked at each sheet in turn,
solemnly noted the contents, then picked up his mug of coffee and
drank several large gulps.

‘Your attention please ladies and gentleman, it is a
contention between the military chiefs that we skip the low level
guided drone aircraft and replace it with a MOAB GBU-43/B weapon.
For your information the contraction MOAB stands for Massive
Ordinance Air blast Bomb, or if you like, the Mother Of All Bombs.
It is a massive conventional high explosive air blast bomb, and is
the most powerful non-nuclear weapon ever designed by the United
States.’

The attorney general looked disturbed by this
revelation and leaned forward in her chair to get a more prominent
view of the president.

‘Excuse me sir, but wasn’t the drone our guidance
system for some other weapon...I mean a massive bomb is probably
the least accurate means we have at our disposal.’

‘Point taken Claudia, however you interjected a
little too soon, the bomb will be dropped at high altitude from a
C-130 some distance from the target. And...I’m sure most of you are
aware of the recent development designated as the JDAM bomb
system,’ Jenkins paused, and looked at the Navy Chief who in turn,
peered at his open information folder.

‘Thank you Mr. President...the JDAM refers to the
Joint Direct Attack Munition...sorry about the convoluted acronym,
but it comes from an initative of the US Air force and US Navy
which uses a guidance kit to convert gravity or ordinary bombs into
all weather “smart” munitions. In other words they turn an ordinary
bomb into an accurate guided missile,’ Claudia Lithgo looked
puzzled.

‘How on earth can you make a dumb bomb into a guided
missile?’

‘JDAM does this by guiding the bomb to its target
JDAM isn’t a weapon it is a bolt-on guidance upgrade for an
unguided gravity bomb. It has a range of up to 15 nautical miles
from the point of release.

The MOAB weapon we have in mind is guided by global
positioning and is extremely accurate. Also, since it only employs
conventional high explosives, it avoids the radioactive
contamination of a nuclear a device.

The C-130 transport aircraft has long range reception
facilities and will be able to pick up president Garner’s signal --
the bomber crew will simply translate the signal into GPS
co-ordinates for the JDAM enabled MOAB bomb.’

‘But what about the C-130 sir -- its a pretty big
target, the Iranian air defence will soon be onto it?’observed
Claudia.

‘The C-130 has excellent air protection against air
to air missiles and will be flying at very high altitudes; it will
be protected part of the way by fighter aircraft. Also the weapon
will be released before it reaches the actual target’ Claudia
pouted her lips and stuck her nose in the air; an indication of
dissatisfaction, and the fact that she was still not done with the
questions.

‘Is this bomb powerful enough to destroy the Iranian
power elite in one go sir?’

‘Well its blast radius is 150 yards and the massive
shock wave will destroy at least nine city blocks.’

‘When are we going to pull this off Mr. President?,’
snapped an impatient chairman of the joint chiefs.

‘The operation will commence the minute the Lear jet
touches Iranian airspace. We’re not going to be in a desperate
hurry over this thing Mr. Chairman, but what we do need is
reasonable accuracy. We’ll only get one go at this.’

Chapter Forty-one

The third round of coffee was being poured into the
cups of the National Security Council delegates when two messages
came through almost simultaneously.

Jenkins put them through to the speaker system. The
first was from the strategic air command HQ, responsible for
monitoring the Lear jet’s progress.

‘Hello Mr. president, the terrorist aircraft has
changed course it appears to be heading for Muscat International
airport. We have received no indication from the plane as to its
intentions or final destination. The BIB are not communicating with
us at the present time,’ the second message followed
immediately.

‘To American communiqué HQ message from Australian
government. Lear jet has changed course, now heading for Muscat
International airport. Terrorist demands have changed, they now
want a minimum of fifty billion dollars for the release of the
president. Apparently this also applies to the Iranian government
as well. This message has been received from Habib Sharazi second
in command BIB on an emergency line.’

Startled looks from the NSC members were exchanged
all round, finally settling on the president. Jenkins stood at the
head of the conference table, swaying slightly from side to side,
trying to take in the gravity of the two messages. His plans for
the take over of the presidency on a more permanent basis, and
political glory against the Iranians had suddenly crashed into an
impassable brick wall. This was way beyond anything he had expected
-- why had they changed their agenda so drastically. The only
Muslim terrorists he new were totally committed to the Jihad
against the west. It was unprecedented, the very idea of a devout
Muslim insurgent demanding money for the release of such an
important western figure was totally out of out of kilter with
American thinking, not to mention Islamic thoughts on the
problem.

Abduction of a head of state for money was the
ultimate self centered act of an heathen
--
the exact
opposite of a suicidal Muslim extremist
--
the bastards had
turned themselves into common criminals in the blink of an eye.
Human nature in all its greedy ramifications did inhabit Islamic
fundamentalist thinking after all.

The chairman of the joint chiefs was the first to
find his voice. ‘But this is wonderful news sir...president Garner
is saved, all we have to do is pay them off and the crisis is at an
end,’ Jenkins looked straight through the chairman, not knowing
whether to laugh or cry. In spite of the chairman’s elevated
position in the White House pecking order, the man looked like a
simpleton in Jenkin’s eyes -- he shot a despicable grimace in the
chairman’s direction.

‘Of course it’s not over, fifty billion dollars is
not exactly peanuts, it’ll make one hell of a dent in our gross
national product, and if the BIB in their misaligned thinking
increase the ransom money, then we could be paying considerably
more. In fact, there seems to be no end to what they might demand
once we start negotiating...not that we ever will.