Tehran Decree (8 page)

Most were unshaven with half a dozen cultivated
beards amongst them, their untidy appearance created an ugliness
matched only by natures tangled surrounds. The presence of
strangers in khaki track suits in the middle of no-mans-land,
suggested a possible paramilitary venture of substantial
importance. Kazeni actions only served to highlight this, as he
spread his hands in front of him taking in a 180 degree panoramic
sweep of the area.

‘This my brothers is the ideal place, we’ll do a
quick clean up of the undergrowth, then unload the equipment,’
Kazeni’s ear pricked up as his satellite phone buzzed in the glove
compartment of his SUV. He pushed his head through the open window
and plucked the mobile up.

‘Hello...’the earpiece hissed with static and a male
voice shouted excitedly.

‘You have the US president...in the name of Allah
prepare.’ The line instantly dropped out and Kazeni stared absent
mindedly at the milling throng of men around him. He looked back at
the mobile as if it were an alien instrument.

It was as if Allah had suddenly patted his back and
kissed his cheek. He dropped back in the driving seat in a trance
and pushed the mobile back in the glove box.

Strangely, he had anticipated something like this to
happen, an inner sense had warned him of something big. In fact the
preparations he was making at this very moment were based on his
intuitive abilities.

There would be time enough to reveal the great news
to his men but pressing procedures would have to be completed
first. Kazeni quickly recovered from the shock and alighted from
the vehicle a changed man ordering his men to unload the
vehicles.

The SUV’s were stripped of their cargo and the
contents placed in the middle of the small clearing.

A long row of assorted firearms lay on white linen
sheets. Habib Sharazi cast a thoughtful gaze at the array of
weaponry. He had known from the start that Kazeni was a recruitment
agent for the Islamic fundamentalists groups and wanted to see
Australia ruled by sharia law. Kazeni’s greatest wish was to see a
copy of the Koran on every school desk and in every hotel room.
Then would come the old Fascist ritual of book burning, destroying
all the bibles in the western world
--
by this simple
expedient, Christianity would be wiped from the face of the
earth.

Sharazi was no stranger to misguided militant causes
and weaponry, having witnessed his parents and two brothers shot to
pieces in Northern Iraq by over zealous US troops, during one of
their many dissident roundups. Since that time weapons had both
excited him and filled him with dread. To actually hold in ones
hand the power of life and death no matter what your status in life
was truly awesome to any young boy who had not yet developed any
deep moral sentiments.

But there was something different about these
particular weapons laying as they were
--
like pristine lamb
and lettuce on a pure white table cloth. They had a sleek beauty of
their own
--
they were all brand knew
--
just out of
their oil skins.

He went down the line identifying the different
types, at the beginning of the row were four Ingram 9 mm Mac 10’s,
possibly the worst and most deadly killing machine at close range,
then came the ugly ubiquitous AK47, a half dozen of them reposed on
the linen sheet. But the biggest surprise of all was a row of eight
Russian Dragunov sniper rifles. He recognised these from the
sprinkling of rifles he had seen on rooftops in Mosul in Iraq’s
north. They were the cream of the Russian sniper’s arsenal, it’s
development went back to the killing grounds of Stalingrad, and
incorporated all the hard learned lessons gleaned from sniper
warfare over the years. The Russians knew they had to find a flaw
in the German offensive and sniping was something they could fine
tune, which would finally outwit the Nazis.

Although the total sniper kills during World War Two
only ran into a few thousand, the overall effect was enormous,
since most of these were important officers and technicians
essential to the German Wehrmact’s long term success. The Russian’s
had hung onto their little successes however meager they seemed at
the time, and the Dragunov sniper rifle was the living proof of
this. It had been honed and perfected by hundreds of the finest
Russian snipers young and old. Life expectancy amongst the chosen
few was perilously short, and they were considered dead men
walking, but their contribution was incalculable. It was often said
by latter-day sniping experts, that it was a weapon created by
Russian dead, for the benefit of Russian living.

Sharazi held the weapon between the little fingers of
his hands -- it was relatively light and extremely well balanced,
it was simple and exceedingly accurate; an engineering work of art,
that only a true firearms aficionado could appreciate.

Then came the burning question...why did Kazany need
such technically advanced sniper rifles in Australia? Surely the
overwhelming strategy would be maximum kill rates; rather than
scoring an accurate bulls eye here and there.

Kazeni was always tongue in cheek, he rarely revealed
any of his stratagems until the last possible moment. He was a
wonderful technician and a born leader, but it was his non
communicative approach to every problem that worried Habib. Sharazi
was a born killer and would sacrifice the life of anyone for a
cause, justified or not, without giving a single word of warning --
he seemed emotionally dead...and yet, once a seed had been sown in
his cerebrum it grow until the object of his emotions totally
controlled him -- the current object was clearly Allah and all he
stood for.

Whilst this was good for the cause, it was absolute
disaster for human relationships, and wasn’t this what life was
really all about
--
effective communication and good
relationships, or at least reasonable ones? In spite of their
subtle differences the two men became good friends as far as Farid
Kazeni’s self orientated ego would allow, but the distrust remained
in limbo. Then came the strangest revelation of all...as he pulled
back the lower portion of tarpaulin a row of cardboard boxes
appeared with stenciled markings along the sides.

He read the bold print...

GRENADES (Tear Gas)

Military Grade x 24 Units.

Military type gas grenades were something new in the
Australian terrorist armory and tended to indicate close quarter
encounters. They were rarely used in bush terrain as dispersal was
a problem, especially in windy conditions, which rendered such
weapons largely ineffective. However, when used in limited spaces
and rigid confinement, they were excellent inhibitors.

It looked like Kazeni was taking no chances by
stocking up on everything he might need
--
should the chance
of kidnapping the president come his way -- perhaps he knew
something nobody else knew.

It was then Kazeni finally retrieved his senses and
decided to confide in Sharazi. He came over and slapped his friend
on the back.

‘I imagine you’re wondering why I’m going to such
lengths my friend?’ Habib decided to grab the bull by the horns and
tackle his superior directly

‘Don’t tell me we are the chosen few...’

‘That’s right Habib...the US president is coming to
Australia...we have the won the prize...Allah in his wisdom has
chosen us to carry out the task. I have suspected this for some
time.’

The news left Sharazi in a daze, half of his brain
buzzed with excitement, while the other half filled him with dread.
Kazeni patted him reassuringly on the back a second time.

‘So my friend, let us make the best of our good
fortune. This is a two pronged opportunity that Allah has
bequeathed us -- it is a chance to test my latest manual methods
and the best reason to do so -- we have been chosen to catch a
president. Grab yourself a weapon and lets get on with it.’

Sharezi went through four hours of training in the
outback, blindly following his terrorist commander, it was to be
the first of many more training sessions in the Top End
hinterland.

Chapter Fourteen

The document IN-Tray was bulging on the US vice
president’s desk and the house phone buzzed. Jenkins looked at the
pile of files and grimaced; there were more files than normal and
he suspected a rush had been instituted to get run-of-the-mill
documents out of the way before president Garner’s return to duty.
It was a known, and an assumed fact, that the vice president was
not as clued-up as the president on most current political matters,
and a covert procedure was often instituted to go around him.

The internal phone beeped and he plucked the receiver
from its rest.

‘Hello, vice president.’

‘Steadman sir...message from the CIA office Iraq. One
of the captured insurgents has broken.’

‘No kidding...and his nationality?’

‘He’s Iranian sir, after ten hours of internment he’s
revealed that the Supreme Leader of Iran is promulgating a new
decree.’

‘I see, what methods of persuasion were the CIA
using?’

‘The usual interrogation techniques sir,’ Jenkins
laughed and brushed his hair back with his open hand.

‘Really...anything significant?’

‘We have had some very useful results sir.’

‘I’ll bet you have...fill me in.’

‘Well sir, you’re not going to believe this...but the
man has revealed in depth, details of the decree.’

‘I see, what are these mysterious details Colin?’
Steadman looked up from his second cup of coffee.

‘There’s a restriction order on them sir.’

‘What sort of restriction?’

‘It’s marked for the presidents eyes only, he has
given strict orders for data of this type to be held over until his
return...please don’t ask me to overlook it sir.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, this could be an emergancy and
the president isn’t here...I am the acting president, therefore I’m
instructing you to release the details -- bring the document here
immediately.’

‘Garner won’t like it sir...shouldn’t we at least
contact him?’

‘No...you’re talking to the current president, and if
you don’t release the information I’ll have you removed from duty,’
Steadman grimaced, turned off his cell phone and thought for a
moment, then picked up a slim, A4 manila envelope from his
restricted tray and grudgingly walked the short distance into
Jenkin’s office, placing the folder on his desk. Jenkins smiled
impishly.

It had been clear since the early beginnings of the
presidency that a rift existed between Garner and Jenkins. The
president had given Jenkins the vice presidents job as a means of
placating the ambitious senator; knowing full well that his powers
would be muted. He was now beginning to realise that this was a
grave mistake, Jenkin’s had shown himself to be cunning, devious,
and opportunistic. A political hot potato, as Garner often referred
to him behind his back -- he was a man who had his own agenda and
could not be trusted to toe the line. In response Garner had
instituted a hidden procedural schedule within the White House
protocol before he left in an attempt to keep Jenkins out of the
loop.

The vice president smiled mischievously at the
secretary of state.

‘Thank you Colin, I trust you’ll keep me informed of
all matters requiring the president’s attention from now on,
otherwise, it’ll be your head on a platter,’ Steadman concealed a
disparaging smile.

‘Of course sir, that goes without saying,’ Jenkins
waited until Steadman returned to his office then opened the
envelope.

Chapter Fifteen

Jenkins perused the restricted document in awe, it
not only described in detail the Iranian leader’s decree and its
deadly conditions, but actually named some of the terrorist leaders
in the field.

One problem immediately bugged him; was the
information genuine, or was it an elaborate fake? He asked himself
the question...why would they fake it? The more he thought about it
the more it took on the colour of the truth. Perhaps in their
wisdom the Iranian hierarchy had allowed the information to trickle
into American hands for reasons of their own. This was clearly a
long shot. It wasn’t Iranian style...a bit too subtle for the
Islamic hierarchy or the extremist clique.

He pondered the different options open to him. If no
action were taken it would be an opportunity lost on complacency,
on the other hand, if appropriate action were taken it could result
in a monumental political coup. He squinted at the names and
particulars moving quickly down the text.

One particular listing stood out of the page, it was
a man by the name of Farid Hassan Kazeni, who lead an Australian
group. His mobile phone number was clearly displayed after his
name. No details of size or armament of this particular group were
given.

Although Australia had instituted an armistice on
privately held firearms some years ago there were still large
numbers of illicit weapons available on the black market. Also the
illegal importation of arms into Australia was virtually impossible
to contain, due to its extensive coastline, which presented
unlimited opportunities for budding arms smugglers as well as
illegal immigrants.

The president was in mortal danger, a tentative study
had revealed that as good as the secret service were, they would
have great difficulty in dealing effectively with an all out attack
by a well trained paramilitary force.

Equally, it would be impossible to guard the
president with an effective well armed force unless his movement
were severely limited. The secret service was simply a mobility
compromise and worked well for the average assassin, providing the
president was not unduly exposed. But the other alternative
continued to plague him, the whole message could be false, few
revelations of this magnitude had ever been hacked out of
insurgents, even those who were literally tortured to death never
revealed so much. Allah certainly had a pronounced strangle hold
over his minions.