Shadow Command

Noshahr, obviously unaccustomed to much physical exertion, was out of breath from their fast walking pace and from climbing stairs instead of taking elevators. He stripped off the jacket and cap and removed the tie as if they were burning his skin with acid, then snapped his fingers to one of the other men in dark suits, one of his real security guards, who went to fetch his ankle-length fur and leather coat. “It was nothing but a petty parlor game that fooled no one.”

“We had better hope it worked, Lord Chancellor,” another of the “security guards,” Princess Azar Assiyeh Qagev, said. Instead of handing her weapon off to a guard, she unloaded and cleared it herself, then began field- stripping the weapon for inspection and cleaning. “The insurgents penetrate our network deeper and deeper every day.”

“And we capture and kill more of them every day as well, Highness,” Noshahr reminded her. “God and time are on our side, Princess, have no fear.” Finally his attention was drawn to the weapon disassembly going on in front of him. “What in the world are you doing, Highness?” Noshahr asked in amazement as Azar’s deformed but obviously skilled fingers worked the seemingly hidden levers and pins of the weapon. He squinted uncomfortably at the princess working with the submachine gun and nodded to a bodyguard, who went over to the princess, bowed politely at the waist, then reached out to take the gun parts from her hands. She gave him a stern expression and a slight shake of her head, and he bowed again and backed away. In seconds the submachine gun lay in pieces before her on the table.

“You don’t carry an unknown or unfamiliar weapon into battle, Lord Chancellor,” Azar said. “How do you know if the thing will work when you want it to? How do you even know if it was loaded if you don’t bother to check?”

“We carried those things for show, to fool any insurgents who may have been watching us,” Noshahr said. “I don’t care what shape it’s in. That’s why we have trained guards with us. Princesses are not supposed to be handling dangerous weapons.”

“It’s not dangerous now, Lord Chancellor — it looks like it’s in good shape to me,” Azar said. She began to reassemble the weapon. In less than thirty seconds it was back together, loaded, cocked, and safed, and she slung it over her shoulder. “I don’t carry weapons for show.”

“Very impressive, Highness,” Noshahr said, hiding his astonishment with a bored and unimpressed expression. He turned to Buzhazi. “We’re wasting time here. Now that we have played along with your charade, General — putting the princes in considerable danger, I will maintain — shall we get down to business?”

“Let’s,” Buzhazi responded, using the same haughty country-club tone of voice as Noshahr. “I asked you to come here to talk about coordinating our efforts against Mohtaz and his foreign insurgents. Last night’s gun battle with what turned out to be your assassination squad must never be repeated. We need to start working together.”

“The fault was completely yours, General,” Noshahr said. “Your troops did not allow our freedom fighters to identify themselves. They had just come from a successful raid on an insurgent hideout when your men opened fire. My men discovered more than three dozen high-explosive devices ready for the streets, including a dozen suicide bomber vests and explosives disguised to look like everything from telephones to baby carriages.”

“I’ve had that bomb-making factory under surveillance for days, Noshahr,” Buzhazi said. “We were waiting for the master bomb-maker to arrive to arm those bombs. What good does it do to kill a bunch of low-level know- nothing worker bees and let the chief bomb-maker himself escape? Now it’ll take us another month or more to locate the new factory, and by then they’ll have fabricated another three dozen or more bombs to use against us.”

“Do not change the subject, Buzhazi,” Noshahr snapped. “Your unit’s sneak attack cost us the lives of six of our best agents. We demand reparations, and we demand that you withdraw your troops from the slums and alleys and confine your activities to the avenues, highways, and the airport. Or, better yet, place yourself and your troops under the command of the council of war, which is the legitimate and rightful government of Persia, and we shall ensure that you shall not interfere again with our anti-terrorist missions.”

“We bear equal responsibility for their deaths, Lord Chancellor,” Azar said.

“You don’t have to apologize for the war council’s mistakes, Azar—”

“You will address Her Highness properly, Buzhazi!” Noshahr ordered. “You dare not speak to the princess as if she is a commoner!”

“She’s not my princess, Noshahr,” Buzhazi said, “and I don’t take orders from pretend generals or defense ministers like you, either!”

“How dare you! The Shahdokht is the rightful heir to the Peacock Throne of Persia, and you will address her as such and show her the proper respect! And I will remind you that I am the appointed chancellor of the Qagev court, royal minister of war, and marshal of the council of war! Have some respect for the office, even if you have no respect for yourself!”

“Noshahr, a year ago you were hanging out in the casinos in Monaco and making up stories about leading freedom fighters against the Pasdaran while trying to boink old rich ladies for their money,” Buzhazi said. “In the meantime your loyalists were being captured and tortured because you couldn’t keep your drunken mouth shut about their identities and locations—”

“That is preposterous!” Noshahr sputtered.

“The Pasdaran spies in Monaco, Singapore, and Las Vegas were getting a constant stream of information about your network just by sitting near you in the casinos, bars, and whorehouses you frequented, listening to you spin your wild stories about single-handedly freeing Iran.”

“You peasant! You insolent pup! How dare you speak to me like this!” Noshahr cried. “I serve a king and his queen, directed twenty million loyalists around the world, equip and organize a fighting force of half a million, and have kept the royal treasury safe and secure for the past twenty years! You are little more than a thief and murderer, disgraced by your own words and actions over two decades, and demoted and humiliated by the government you served and then betrayed. You are spurned by your fellow citizens, and you lead by nothing more than fear of the next murderous rampage you will embark on, like the hideous massacre at Qom. You dare call yourself a Persian—!”

“I don’t call myself anything you call yourself, Noshahr!” Buzhazi shouted. He turned to Azar, his eyes blazing. “I won’t have anything to do with you or your so-called court, Princess, as long as he’s in charge. I’m not in the mood for playing dress-up and kings and castles.”

“General—”

“Sorry, Princess, but this is a huge waste of my time,” Buzhazi said angrily. “I’ve got a war to fight. This imbecile who calls himself a marshal and minister of war doesn’t know which end of a rifle to point at the enemy. I need fighters, not popinjays. I’ve got work to do.”

“General, please stay.”

“I’m leaving. Good luck to you and your pretty little court jesters, Princess.”

“General, I said stay!” Azar shouted. She whipped off the dark cap, letting her long mun whip in the air. The Persians in the room were stunned into silence by the sudden appearance by the symbol of royalty in their midst…all except Buzhazi, who was stunned instead by the young woman’s commanding tone of voice: part drill sergeant, part disapproving mother, part field general.

“Shahdokht…Highness…my lady…” Noshahr sputtered, his eyes fixed on the dark shining flowing locks as if a golden scepter had just appeared before his eyes, “I think it is time for us to depart and—”

“You will stay and shut your mouth, Chancellor!” Azar snapped. “We have important business to discuss.”

“We cannot conduct business with this…this terrorist!” Noshahr said. “He’s nothing but an old tottering fool with delusions of grandeur—”

“I said, we have business to discuss with the general,” Azar said. This time the word “we” coming from her lips had a different meaning: it no longer referred to him, but clearly indicated the imperial “we,” meaning her alone. “Be silent, Chancellor.”

“Be…silent…?” Noshahr gurgled, his mouth opening and closing indignantly. “Pardon me, Shahdokht, but I am the Lord High Chancellor of the royal court, the representative of the king in his absence. I have full and sole authority to negotiate and make agreements and