Vulcan's Fire

After the dawn prayer, Salat-ul-Fajr, the Hezbollah leader reckoned that the rest of the morning belonged to him. But Elham had not dismissed the assembly. Instead, he launched into a philosophical discourse — the closest oration to a sermon that Esmaili had heard in several months.

Today’s lesson centered upon the distinction between defensive and offensive jihad.

Elham began, “Defensive jihad is always justified since by its nature it preserves Islam from the aggressions of the unbelievers. Theoretically, defensive jihad is justified by bringing infidels into The Faith, as The Prophet Himself did. However, since the last caliphate in Turkey in 1924, there is no supreme leader of The Faith to sponsor offensive jihad.” The discourse continued along those lines for several minutes.

Esmaili was unaccustomed to philosophical debate, being far more familiar with violent confrontation. But his tactician’s mind defaulted to the analytical mode that had kept him alive in the region’s worst conflicts. “Imam, please excuse me if I fail to understand something. It appears that we believers are placed in a dilemma. If The Faith is to expand to all the corners of the earth, it must be done by offensive jihad. But lacking a caliphate authority, that jihad cannot be implemented. So how is The Faith to achieve its rightful place in the world?”

Elham squirmed on his cushion, looking as if a needle had found its way into his posterior. He peered at the questioner with an ill-concealed mixture of curiosity and resentment. At length he found his tongue.

“We must find the middle path, neither violating The Word nor giving the unbelievers too much latitude. For instance, the Koran prohibits torture, mutilation, and burning prisoners alive. Muslims must not pillage homes or the property of noncombatants. Enemy crops, trees, and livestock are immune except as food for the army of Believers. Neither kill a woman, child, or aged man. But those who would strangle Islam must be scourged and destroyed. That is the way to convert the world to The Faith.”

Esmaili nodded as if absorbing the priest’s wisdom. Not by conviction but by coercion, he thought. Well, if that was the method, so be it. Ahmad Esmaili would play his role, just as he had since the Iraq war. But he fully intended to witness the end of the current mission just as he had the miserable conclusion to that sorry affair in 1988.

Afterward, while Tawfiq oversaw the morning’s training, Elham drew Esmaili aside. For once the imam seemed almost relaxed. He even laid a hand on the leader’s arm. “We are going to survey certain areas in preparation for the mission. I will have qualified men here within a few days.”

“Yes, Imam.” Esmaili hoped that he could elicit additional details. “How may we assist you?”

“We shall require security for the surveyors, who will operate in some fairly remote areas in this region. I estimate that only one or two days will be required for each site. There will, however, be several locations.”

“Very well. I will assign qualified men as soon as we know how many teams are needed.”

“Brother, your commitment is noted. And gratefully received.” Elham almost smiled: a ghosting, ephemeral curvature at the ends of the mouth.

When Elham departed — he seemed to glide across the ground, barely raising his sandaled feet beneath his robe — Esmaili went in search of Fida. Since meeting him, the man had proven competent within certain limits, and was reliable thus far. Esmaili decided to feel him out.

“I have just spoken with Imam Elham. He instructs me — us — to provide security for some surveying crews.”

Fida perked up. “Surveying? Well, that might explain it.”

“Explain what, brother?”

Fida looked around, ensuring privacy. “My cell has received information, or rumors, that the rocket force may use this area.”

“Yes, I have heard the same thing.” Recalling his speculation with Azizi, Esmaili was pleased with their powers of deduction. He knew that Fida was unlikely to ask about sources.

“Well, then. It seems that possible launch sites are to be examined and surveyed. That would make perfect sense, because…”

“Exact firing positions and level ground would be necessary.”

Fida nodded. “Just so.”

Esmaili’s risk assessment mode was activated in the left lobe of his brain. At first he had envisioned a suicide mission of some kind. Now it appeared that the upcoming operation was likely to draw Israeli air strikes. He had survived far worse. Among other things, Saddam’s artillery had been purchased on a massive scale. And that did not include the poison gas.

For the first time in days, Ahmad Esmaili felt the onset of something like relaxation.

SAFED, ISRAEL

Colonel Yakov Livni entered Major General Moshek Brafman’s office without knocking. He did not even indulge himself the pleasure of having Gabriella announce him.

The special operations commander stood inside the door and pointedly cleared his throat. Brafman looked up, saw what he saw, and politely dismissed his chief of staff. The colonel got the hint and closed the door as he left.

“What is it, Yakov?”

Livni plodded the few steps to the desk and sat down. “Realtime intelligence. It looks as if Hezbollah knows about the SSI mission.”

Brafman took off his reading glasses and plopped them onto the desktop. “Tell me.” When he got no immediate reply, the brigade commander leaned forward. “Signals intelligence, obviously. So tell me, Yakov!”

Livni leaned back, folding his hands over his bulging stomach. “I can neither confirm nor deny. But you grasp the essentials, as usual.”

“Actually, I am patiently waiting for Colonel Livni to tell me— General Brafman — what they know. Details, Yakov! I have people at risk up there.”

“As do we all.” Livni rubbed his stubbly face and licked his lips. He wanted to ask for some wine but knew the general to be sadly deficient in appreciating such things.

“All right, General. Our sources”—he arched his eyebrows— “are more than halfway convinced. They have Hezbollah reports that Druze militia units in southeastern Lebanon are going on increased alert, and seem to know or at least suspect that third-party nationals will be involved. I don’t know how else to interpret that information.”

Brafman stood up and began to pace. “How many times have we been down this road? I keep telling the army staff that sometimes we need unfiltered information, the raw data. At some point we have to be able to form our own opinions about intelligence from above.” He looked at his colleague, as if inviting agreement. Receiving none, he asked, “Is Sol Nadel cut into the loop? I would think that the brigade commander supporting the operation should be told.”

Livni spread his hands, as if to say they were tied. When Brafman glared at him, the spec-ops officer finally relented. “There may be a leak in Kara’s organization. That’s speculation. But right now it’s as good an explanation as anything.”

Brafman did some mental mastication. “Well then, are you going to tell Kara?”

Another set of arched eyebrows.

Brafman felt a shiver between his shoulder blades. “Are you trying to say that it might be Kara?” He was on his feet again. “I don’t believe it!”

“Actually, neither do I. Apart from the fact that I’ve worked with him for years, he’s far too dedicated to his cause. His people. In that regard, he’s a lot like us.”

Brafman spun on a booted heel. “The hell he is! He’s as likely to fight us as help us.” The general snorted. “You of all people should know that!”

“General, sit down. Take off some of the strain.” Livni forced himself into an even more relaxed posture. “Look, I’m not taking anything for granted. After all, Major Ayash is in Beirut with the American Leopole right now. I’m certainly not going to put them in danger by withholding information. I’m just advising you of the situation.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “I’ll keep you advised. General.”

Brafman smiled at last. “Good day, Colonel. And kiss Rachel for me.”

A broad male-bonding wink. “I’d rather kiss Gabriella — for me!”