shall then seek a new treaty to limit similarly the number of attack planes over the Persian Gulf region.” Buzhazi was completely speechless—he was watching his newly redesigned military going right down the drain.
“As proof of our good intentions and our desire for peace and prosperity,” Nateq-Nouri went on, “I am ordering that the aircraft carrier Khomeini and the destroyer Zhanjiang be returned immediately to the People’s Republic of China. Their presence only exacerbates the tensions in the region. In return, the United States has promised not to send another aircraft carrier or marine aircraft assault ship into the Persian Gulf or Gulf of Oman. We are most heartened by these developments and feel this is the beginning of a new era of peace.”
“Peace! What peace?” Buzhazi exploded. “Did you not hear what I have said, Mr. President? I believe the United States overflew our country, violated our sovereign airspace, and attacked our cities and our aircraft carrier with stealth aircraft and cruise missiles. In return, we are agreeing to disarm ourselves? Sir, the Americans attacked our aircraft carrier because they knew what kind of threat it was to their security and the security of their Gulf Cooperative Council and Zionist lackeys. We cannot surrender to their blackmail and threats!”
“It is already done, General—I have so ordered it,” Nateq-Nouri said. “That monstrosity has always been an embarrassment to the Islamic Republic, General. The money we spent in so-called training can better be spent on our cities, on the needed infrastructure in the remote provinces, and on our people. We can spread the Islamic revolution easier with well-educated, successful citizens than we can by force. It is so ordered.”
One of the Imams, the Ayatollah Bijan Kalantari, raised his hand, and a crier behind the Imams ordered silence. “General Hesarak all-Kan Buzhazi,” the old man said in a deep, surprisingly strong voice, “the loss of prestige in the eyes of the true believers around the world has offended the Faqih, and he has demanded an explanation. You may speak in the presence of Allah, his servants of the Leadership Council, and all those true believers present here, and may you be struck down by the hand of the righteous if you do not tell the truth.”
This was it, Buzhazi thought as he got to his feet. His days were numbered, his replacement was present, and the firing squad was undoubtedly waiting outside for him—his fate would be decided by the words he was to say right now “Our aircraft carrier, the city of Bandar Abbas, and the Chah Bahar Naval Base were attacked by the air and naval forces of the United States,” Buzhazi said in a firm, loud voice, pointing a finger directly at a stunned President Nateq-Nouri, “as part of a conspiracy between our traitorous pro-West, pro-Zionist President, Ali Akbar Hashemi Nateq-Nouri, the American Central Intelligence Agency, the Gulf Cooperative Council states, and the United States government. Before Allah and all of you, I swear this is true—and I have proof.”
The cabinet chamber exploded in bedlam. Nateq-Nouri was on his feet in indignation, sputtering unintelligible words, shooting a shocked expression all across the room because, to Buzhazi’s surprise, the allegation had hit home. The president looked as if he were ready either to kill Buzhazi or run out of the room like a madman—and the image was not lost on the rest of the Supreme Defense Council. Everywhere Nateq-Nouri looked, he saw another confused and suspicious face staring back at him.
“Admit it!” Buzhazi shouted at Nateq-Nouri. “Admit the truth!
Admit that you conspired with the United States to dismantle the Islamic Republic’s navy!”
“You will be silent!” Nateq-Nouri shouted at Buzhazi. “I will not dignify such outlandish claims with a denial! You are a liar and an inept despot seeking only glory and power for yourself-“
“Admit the truth!” Buzhazi interjected. “Admit that you have been keeping regular contact with members of the U.S. State Department and the American President’s National Security Advisor, informing him of our nation’s military secrets and operations and in return receiving favors and tribute from the Turkish and American governments!”
“That is another lie, Buzhazi!” Nateq-Nouri shouted. But his denial was not as strong as the first, and came after a brief hesitation, and that silenced the chamber almost as quickly and as surely as if Nateq-Nouri had admitted his guilt. Nateq-Nouri quickly added, “Well-known associates of members of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have had brief contacts with American bureaucrats, yes—but that is because we have no embassy in Washington, and a more direct form of communication was deemed necessary. That is all.”
“So you deny that your so-called associates—spies in your employ—spoke directly with General Philip Freeman, the American President’s National Security Advisor and overseer of American Central Intelligence?” Buzhazi asked.
“General Buzhazi, you are creating some kind of wild conspiracy fantasy. These were routine back-channel informational not government contacts by Iranian loyalists, and you know it. I will not tolerate this,” Nateq-Nouri said angrily. “I am the President and commander in chief, and I order you to be silent or I will place you under arrest. I do not report to you, only the Faqih and the people …”
“Very inspirational, very touching, Mr. President,” Buzhazi went on, “but you refuse to answer my question or refute my charges.
Are you or are you not in contact with the American Central Intelligence authorities? Are you or are you not working in concert with the corrupt and immoral United States and the Arab traitors to Islam in the Gulf Cooperative Council, to preserve your own power and position at the expense of the Islamic Republic of Iran’s military forces? Did you or did you not know that the Khomeini battle group would come under attack, but did nothing to stop it and even ordered me to withhold my defensive forces and even to dismiss me, so that the attack against us could succeed?”
“Silence, General, or I will have you placed under arrest!”
Nateq-Nouri shouted. “I will not tolerate this any longer!
The Ayatollah Kalantari held up his hand, and the crier shouted the order, “Silence all, the Imam shall be heard!” The cabinet room immediately fell silent.
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” Kalantari said, in a low, barely audible voice. “The charge of conspiring with the Americans and the Gulf Cooperative Council, two of our chief adversaries, is a serious one. General Buzhazi risks much by leveling such a charge against you. If he is proved false, he is disgraced before the Supreme Defense Council and is subject to immediate imprisonment.
Although the general is still your subordinate and faces disciplinary action if he wears the uniform but does not obey your command to be silent, we wish that this matter be resolved. We wish to hear your response to these charges.”
“My response is that General Buzhazi is a liar, and is levying these charges merely to cover up his desperate attempt to precipitate a war with the Gulf Cooperative Council and the United States, his failed military operations, and to try to avoid demotion or dismissal,” Nateq-Nouri said. “I strongly deny all his charges, and as commander in chief I hereby relieve him of command of the Pasdaran and the armed forces of the Islamic Republic.”
The Imam turned to General Buzhazi and said evenly, “General, you may speak. President Nateq-Nouri has denied your charges. Under pain of dismissal and disgrace, you must prove your allegations. What is your response?”
“Here is my response, Your Holiness,” Buzhazi shouted, raising a hand. The doors to the Cabinet chamber swung open, and two armed guards escorted a prisoner inside. The man wore a green-and-yellow prison jumpsuit and was chained at the wrist, ankle, and neck, plus handcuffed in front of his body for added effect. Both eyes were swollen and discolored, and his fingers were heavily bandaged. The barefoot prisoner walked with a great deal of pain.
“This man was pulled out of the Strait of Hormuz on the night of the enemy reconnaissance on the Khomeini carrier group,” Buzhazi shouted, pointing a finger at the man in chains. “He was aboard the vessel that shot down two of our carrier-based fighters that evening. We have reason to believe that this man’s vessel was the launch and control vessel for a small but sophisticated stealth reconnaissance aircraft that was photographing the Khomeini carrier group and was in fact passing along information to the American CIA, forces of the Gulf Cooperative Council, and Israel.
Our fighters sank his vessel, but not before several of his fellow crewmen abandoned the ship and escaped safely to the United Arab Emirates.”
Buzhazi looked at his prisoner and smiled eerily. “We recovered several bodies as well, some of whom appear to be American military personnel, possibly American Marines.” The prisoner closed his eyes, as if in great pain; the assembled men noticed this and nodded, as if he had just admitted the fact. “Their clothing had been carefully stripped of all identifying tags. My staff says this is a typical procedure for a spy vessel.”
The Ayatollah Kalantari motioned for the guards to bring the prisoner forward, toward the Cabinet table; room was made for him at the table, and he stood before the Imams, battered and weak but head erect, staring at the clerics and the others assembled around the table. “Your name, sir?” Kalantari ordered. “You have permission
