Two committee heads eyed each other.
“And Iran’s government knows this?” asked Ahmed Mohammed.
“Not yet, but once the deed is done, then I will reveal myself to the world. Can you see the headlines in Tehran? ‘Nasir Tarighian is still alive!’ My followers in Iran will most assuredly back me. They will pressure the government to do what Iran has wanted to do but hasn’t dared to do for nearly two decades. Iran will invade and conquer Iraq because Iraq is weak and under Western management! The West has tried to make Iraq a democracy in the image of a Western country, but it won’t and will never work. Muslims should be the caretakers of the Muslim world. My loyal armies in Iran and neighboring countries are waiting for this showdown, and the Shadows will lead them into Iraq. And we will be victorious!”
Mertens nudged Eisler under the table.
Ahmed Mohammed cleared his throat and said, “Sir, if I may be so bold as to venture an opinion?”
“Yes, Ahmed?” Tarighian acknowledged.
“I do not believe the men who have claimed to be serving Islam in the Shadows will agree to destroying a city in what is essentially a Muslim country. I herewith express my disapproval for the whole thing.”
Tarighian folded his arms in front of him. There was a tense moment as he glanced at Farid, who appeared ready to do something about the insurgent. Finally Tarighian merely smiled and said, “I appreciate your candor, Ahmed. Your objection is noted. Now I would like to meet with Ahmed and Nadir to discuss the next steps. The rest of you please stay and enjoy my hospitality. I’m sure Professor Mertens will be happy to show you the completed Phoenix.” With that, Farid opened the conference room door with his one good hand and made a gesture indicating that the meeting was over.
Tarighian didn’t notice that Mertens and Ahmed Mohammed exchanged a look that only they understood.
Three hours later Nasir Tarighian shut himself in his private office and stared into the mirror on the wall. He normally hated mirrors, but ever since he had resolved to proceed with the project to bring Iraq to her knees, he wanted a daily reminder of why he was doing it.
He had never forgotten that fateful day when the bombs fell in Tehran. The air-raid sirens were loud and always frightened his daughters. On that morning school had been called off and the children were at home with their mother. Tarighian was busy at a political rally protesting the war and the current government’s strict religious rules. When the bombing began he left and went straight home, running the six miles to be with his family. He imagined the face of his wife and how happy she would be to see him as he walked through the front door of their lovely, two-story home. He had worked hard to give his family such a house. Nasir Tarighian had been one of the fortunate Iranians who had shared in the former Shah’s wealth by advising him on a number of policies. Needless to say, Tarighian was not a fan of the Islamic Revolution and Iran’s newfound religious fervor. Nevertheless he was a loyal Iranian and he hated the Iraqis for what was happening to his country.
As he ran, Tarighian remembered the night before, when he embraced his wife and children and told them not to worry. Allah would protect them. The bombs would not strike their house. They would be safe.
But he was wrong.
The bomb hit the house just before he made it home. He recollected a wave of intense heat and a deafening noise that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. He recalled flames and smoke, flying debris, and screams.
He remembered finding the charred bodies of his family in the rubble.
Tarighian looked in the mirror at his own scarred face and prayed to Allah. He admitted to his god that he knew he had not been a good Muslim. He didn’t pray five times a day. He had never made the pilgrimage to Mecca. He had to forgo the more orthodox rituals of Islam in order to perpetuate the pretension of being a Turk. He had lived a lie for twenty years, and he promised to prostrate himself, confess his many sins to Allah, and reap his punishment — after he obtained his revenge.
He had seen the faces of his most trusted men in the meeting today. They thought he was crazy. They thought he was embarking on a disastrous journey. He smelled the insurgency within his ranks. But didn’t this happen to all leaders at some point in their tenures?
It didn’t help that an intruder had infiltrated Akdabar Enterprises in Van. Farid said it was only one man, but no one saw his face. It was unclear where in the complex other than the steel mill the intruder had been. The surveillance cameras picked up nothing out of the ordinary, although there was the odd appearance of Tarighian’s exercise rubber ball in the hallway outside his office. Was that supposed to be the intruder’s idea of a joke? Could he have been the American that had posed as a Swiss Interpol policeman? Surely the man calling himself Sam Fisher was dead. The men had assured him the American never came out of Lake Van.
Enough of that, Tarighian told himself. Think of the matters at hand. Should he do something about the negativity within his organization? What could he do at this point other than continue on the course he was on? No, he shouldn’t worry about his own men. They would continue to obey him, he knew that. They would remain loyal. He had instilled devotion in them. After all, he was the source of the Shadows’ funding; he was their lifeblood. He was Nasir Tarighian and they viewed him as a prophet. It was he who would lead the Islamic nation out of the depths of misery and to a superior position in the world arena.
This was his destiny.
Mertens and Eisler finished leading the tour around the facility and watched as the committee heads immediately got on cell phones to their lieutenants back at their respective bases. Mertens pulled Eisler to the side and said, “I told you. He’s quite mad.”
“I didn’t believe it until now,” Eisler said. “What are we going to do?”
Mertens shook his head. “I don’t begrudge Tarighian his desire to seek revenge on Iraq. But it’s a personal vendetta. He wants to avenge the deaths of his wife and children. It has nothing to do with Iran. He’s delusional to think that Iran is going to back him on this. He was exiled from his country a long time ago. What makes him think he’ll gather support now? Just because he’s a cult hero, a mythological warrior? He’s insane.”
“Do you have a plan?”
Mertens put his hand on Eisler’s shoulder and said, “Yes. I do. And so does Ahmed Mohammed.”
27
Armed with Third Echelon’s revelations about Namik Basaran, I head out of Baku in the Pazhan to the address I found in Zdrok’s safe. The built-in GPS in the OPSAT leads me to a heavy industrial area south of the city on the Abseron Peninsula, probably the most polluted part of Azerbaijan due to the predominance of petrochemical plants and oil refineries. The land itself is semidesert, the earth is scorched by oil, and derelict derricks stand like forgotten sentinels amidst a panorama of desolation. The images invoke a bizarre postapocalyptic hell on earth.
The sun is setting as I reach my destination. I’m surprised to see that the building is a
I wait until it’s completely dark, but the night sky tends to glow from the fires of the surrounding refineries. There’s not much I can do about it, so I hope for the best and leave the Pazhan dressed in my uniform. I make my way around to the back of the building, where I find a loading dock with a long ramp inclining toward it, a large folding steel door, and an employees’ entrance. A vast, flat field stretches three hundred feet or more behind the building and I’m perplexed as to why nothing is built there. No time to wonder about that now.
The lock picks work easily on the employee door and there are no burglar alarms. Too simple. I utilize the corner periscope to peek through the door before opening it wider. This part of the building is a warehouse, of course, full of boxes and crates with the diaper company logo on them. Work lights illuminate the place much too brightly for my taste. I scan the ceiling and corners and see in the mirror a lone surveillance camera trained at the door. Damn. There’s no way I can get inside without it seeing me, even if I blast it with the Five-seveN. I have to figure out something else.
