The ultimate insult: as the senior officer in charge of all of Iran’s nuclear weapons, Badi was assigned as the second in command and chief tactical officer aboard the
The blow to Iran’s military and the mullahs’ plans to dominate the entire Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea region was severe, especially for the defeated and disgraced chief of staff Buzhazi, but for Muhammad Badi the episode was his ticket to the top. The Supreme Defense Council realized that everything Badi had been saying was true: it would take Tehran years, perhaps decades, to match American military power in the Middle East, so why waste the resources to try to do so? Instead, build small tactical nuclear weapons, place them in the hands of Pasdaran special operations forces around the world, and challenge the Americans in the one area they were not prepared to handle — guerrilla warfare.
That’s exactly what the Supreme Defense Council decided to do, and they placed the program in Muhammad Badi’s hands, along with a fast promotion and almost unlimited money and authority. While Buzhazi was sweating away in the Iranian hinterlands trying to teach young Iranian men and women to fight like Persian soldiers instead of common street thugs, Badi was the master of the Pasdaran…and the nuclear arsenal that was secretly being assembled.
“I just thought I’d relieve you of some human garbage, Muhammad,” Buzhazi said. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“If you feel the need to show off your big bad commando skills in front of my men and these other prisoners, Hesarak, be my guest,” Badi said. “Are you quite through now?” He turned to the master sergeant. “Sergeant, what in hell are these prisoners doing out of their cells?”
“I…er, the general, he ordered them brought here, sir.”
“The general, eh? General Buzhazi is a prisoner here, Sergeant — perhaps one small step up from that dead officer lying there, but only just.”
“But I…Sir, I received no orders regarding the general except that he be held here. I received no list of charges, no sentencing order, no…”
“Are you this stupid every day, Sergeant, or is today something special?” Badi asked. “Buzhazi is an enemy of the republic and is considered a traitor and possibly a spy, assisting terrorists to enter the country and attack military bases. He deserves to be hung naked by his thumbs for the rest of the year, but that decision will be left to the Supreme Defense Council. Until then, he will be placed in isolation and monitored twenty-four-seven. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any more words that the general utters in your’s or your men’s presence is to be recorded and transmitted to me immediately, to be collected and used against him at his court-martial — if he’s still alive when it commences. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now get that piece of diseased meat out of here, put those other prisoners back in their cages, then place yourself on report. I will escort the general to his cell — after we have a little chat. Get moving.” The master sergeant barked orders, restraints were placed on General Buzhazi, and Badi took him by the arm and led him out of the briefing room. As they walked down the corridor, Badi remarked, “I see the old Buzhazi charm is still working. Don’t tell me — it was your superior powers of persuasion that prompted one of the most senior soldiers at Doshan Tappeh to not only let you out of your cell but to let three others out as well.”
“It’s called ‘leadership’—treating a soldier like a fellow warrior instead of an idiot,” Buzhazi said. “You should try it some time.”
“Actually, I’m sure it was our fearless leader Yassini’s fault for not leaving specific instructions regarding your arrest and detention,” Badi conjectured.
“Another example of poor leadership: blaming others for your own failures,” Buzhazi said. “Fattah and Tahmasbi were just following orders.”
“Who?”
“Yet another example of poor leadership — you don’t even know the names of your key personnel, not even the master sergeant on duty. And it’s ‘master sergeant,’ Muhammad, not ‘sergeant.’ Calling Fattah a ‘sergeant’ is an insult to his years of service.”
“I guess I’m getting quite a lesson in leadership from you this morning, aren’t I, Hesarak?” Badi said. They approached the office of the security detachment commander, where another very large guard resembling Tahmasbi, except perhaps bigger and meaner-looking, was standing at attention. Badi told the security commander he needed his office, and he motioned for Buzhazi to step inside after he had departed.
Buzhazi stepped to the center of the room. “So what brings the chief of the Pasdaran to the dog pens, Muhammad? I would think you’d want to distance yourself from me as much as possible.”
“I’ve had little trouble doing that since I worked on your headquarters staff, Hesarak,” Badi said as he moved to sit behind the security commander’s desk, leaving Buzhazi standing before him. He started drawing geometric shapes on the polished sandalwood desk before him. “My investigators collected sixteen bodies from the disaster at Orumiyeh, Hesarak. Most died in the truck bomb explosion and the gunbattle that followed; several others had burns and other serious injuries but had a single shot to the head, execution-style.”
“A dead Kurd is a good Kurd.”
“I didn’t say all were dead, Hesarak,” Badi said. “A few were still alive and even conscious.”
“Good. Make them talk. We’ll find out where their base or home cities are and launch a punitive attack immediately.” He looked at Badi suspiciously. “You know, Muhammad, I’m very suspicious about the details of that attack.”
“Oh?”
“It was almost perfect…too perfect,” Buzhazi said. “My Internal Defense Force personnel at Orumiyeh were the best of the best — the showpieces of my new force.”
“Looks like they weren’t as good as you thought, eh, Hesarak?”
“The Border Defense Battalion was specially trained to detect and repel foreign invaders, especially Kurdish terrorists, because of their location so close to Kurdish-controlled territories…”
“Guess they screwed up — the outcome of your vaunted leadership skills, no doubt.”
“Security was airtight,” Buzhazi went on. “I’ve encountered some experienced and excellent Kurdish soldiers, but this attack was uncharacteristically precise, fast, and lethal, even for the most highly trained Kurds I’ve ever known.”
“What are you getting at, Hesarak?”
Buzhazi looked carefully at Badi, then shrugged. “I don’t know, Muhammad. I have nothing. I might still be in shock — I can’t concentrate on any details. All I can see when I think about it is body parts scattered around me like ripe fruit fallen from trees in an orchard.”
“Well, concentrate on this for a moment, Hesarak,” Badi said. “The men we are questioning have already given us a great deal of information, almost all of it corroborated with each other and with intelligence information we’ve already received — such as the number in their attack squad.”
“That could be useful — or it could be a lie,” Buzhazi said. “If it’s a lie, we can use it against them in later interrogations. However, I’d be cautious of exactly-matching responses, Muhammad — they could have been coached as a group to give false or misleading information.”
“I don’t think so,” Badi said. “They told us other interesting pieces of information — such as some of them were captured by your men.”
“My men? I came to Orumiyeh to preside over a stand-up ceremony for a border defense unit — I didn’t bring any men. I didn’t even bring…”
He didn’t hear him coming until it was too late. While Buzhazi was distracted, Badi’s bodyguard had closed the office door, withdrawn a metal baton, and swung it full force, striking him in the right kidney area. Buzhazi’s
