come gunslinging for the fastest sniper in Dodge.” He lanced Hamadeh with a parade-ground stare. “The less said about this the better, but if anything does get out, your people did it.”
“Understood, Colonel.”
“Akhmed is dead?”
Hazim stood immobile in the small room. Esmaili could read the disbelief on the boy’s face. “He and Basaam have not returned. And you saw nothing of them?”
Hazim shook his head. “No, Teacher. After I shot the militiaman, we were going to displace when we heard three shots, close together. We moved back to the planned rendezvous but Akhmed and Basaam were not there. With more Druze in the area, we thought it best to return.”
Esmaili almost laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.” He thought for a moment. “If Akhmed had not wanted to spread his experience among our shooters, you would still be with him. Be thankful for that, and remember the lesson.”
Hazim went off to prepare for afternoon prayers while Esmaili and Azizi took a walk. The liaison officer spoke first. “You know, of course, that we can only pray that both are dead.”
“I know, brother.” Esmaili nodded toward the newcomers. “Both of them knew of our… visitors. But they had not been told the details.”
“We shall have to discuss this situation with the imam, but I believe the plan must proceed, especially with the weather in our favor.” He stopped and turned to his colleague. “And you, brother, will play a most important part.”
36
Imam Sadegh Elham determined that the time was right. Facing the nine selected men he had assembled, he spread his hands wide.
“My brothers, my warriors, I must beg forgiveness from some of you.” He allowed the sentiment to hang suspended in the evening air. As a priest and an orator he had long since learned the emphatic benefit of silence.
“I confess before God that I have been required to deceive you as to your true mission. And security requires that all of us keep secret what I am about to reveal, even from the fighters who will attack the Druze villages. But I have consulted with the learned scholars in Tehran, and they tell me that a deception in advancing the jihad is permissible under special circumstances. To do otherwise would have placed our holy mission in serious jeopardy. Nonetheless, I accept whatever judgment God holds against me.”
Seated in the front row, Esmaili thought:
Elham unrolled a map of Lebanon and extended it at arm’s length. One of his acolytes accepted the paper and held it for the audience.
“You have been led to believe that we were planning for a long-range rocket attack against the Zionist state. Much of our work has been seen in that light, without actually saying so. That was part of the plan drafted by our Islamic leaders, commanders, and scientists. Many of you provided security to the surveyors who seemed to be preparing launch sites for rockets to destroy the putrid Jewish nation. Others prepared storage places safe from aerial observation. All of that work was what our Russian friends call ‘disinformation.’ In its own way, it represents as righteous a contribution to the global jihad as the martyrs who carry explosives strapped to their bodies.”
Esmaili glanced to either side, curious as to how the rhetoric was being received. He noted that more of the youngsters paid strict attention than the older, presumably more cynical men.
Elham got down to details. “The deception and actual mission were both conducted by the planners in Tehran, blessings and peace be upon them. They felt it advisable to show some degree of activity in this area to justify the effort to secure additional ground. The Zionists and the Americans would inevitably see some activity here, from their airplanes and satellites, and draw the obvious conclusion— we were planning rocket or missile attacks sometime in the future. But all the while, the true mission went forward.
“The weapon of holy vengeance is not borne upon any rocket, my brothers. In fact, some of you shall have the high honor of escorting the device.” He turned to Modarresi Ka’bi, one of the latecomers from Tehran. He was a slightly built man, apparently in his early thirties. He reached into a large duffel bag and, with difficulty, produced a rectangular shape. Murmurs coursed through the audience — some jihadists knew what they were seeing.
Ahmad Esmaili had already guessed.
Elham was speaking again. “This is our weapon, my brothers. It is one of two purchased at considerable cost in blood and treasure, and its useful life is limited. But when it is delivered to its destination, it will destroy the target in an atomic fireball!”
The room erupted in shouts and barks. Men leapt to their feet, dancing with joyful surprise. They seized one another and embraced excitedly, screaming
Ahmad Esmaili played his part, singing the praises of all involved while taking in the scene. He tried hard to appear as elated as the others, but doubted that he convinced any skeptics.
Elham waved down the celebrants, most of whom now realized they had been selected to die. The couriers from Tehran — Ka’bi and Jannati — already had made that leap of faith.
The cleric expounded upon the jihadists’ weapon. “A one-kiloton yield can destroy most of an area seven square kilometers. Therefore, your targets have been chosen with that fact in mind. Azizi and I shall brief each team independently to further preserve security. But some things will be obvious to you now: the attacks on the Druze villages will deceive the Zionists into focusing their attention there, while our teams make their way to the frontier.
“Each weapon has two specialists assigned to it. If something befalls one, the other can still activate it. Though these devices have timers for delayed detonation, we dare not trust them. Therefore, our four technicians have already pledged themselves to die in the certainty that each bomb explodes.”
Elham turned his gaze to the other five men. “Those of you honored with the task of escorting the weapons to their targets also are known for your devotion to God. You will stand here tonight in the presence of your comrades and pledge your own devotion to the task, as befits a warrior selected for so critical a mission. You are to accompany your assigned specialists to the site selected for destruction, and no doubt most of you also will enter Paradise.”
The imam pointed to Fida, whom Elham had not seen in weeks. “Fida, my brother, stand.”
The veteran jihadist quickly stood, hands at his sides.
“Do you swear before these men and before God that you will ensure the success of this mission with your life?”
“I do!” The voice was strong and clear. The face bore a tight smile.
“Esmaili, stand!”
The Hezbollah veteran rose to his feet, striking a confident pose.
“Do you swear before these men and before God that you will ensure the success of this mission with your life?”
“Imam, I swear it!” A decisive nod of the head added emphasis.
Elham proceeded down the line, man by man.
Ahmad Esmaili remained standing until the last fighter was sworn. When the ritual was ended, he was pleased.
He looked outside and noted the lowering gray clouds. It was not hard to interpret the meaning: the attack would come before the weather improved.
Mordecai Baram made no pretense of subtlety. He walked up to Michael Derringer and handed him a
