The Disciple

Habib Sultani almost said, “Makes you wonder whose side God is on,” but he didn’t. That remark would have driven Ahmadinejad right over the edge. What he did say was, “You may have my resignation, if you wish.”

Ahmadinejad was tempted-Sultani could see it in his face. Yet Sultani’s departure would not make the armed forces more capable or efficient, nor would it stimulate the Americans to behave themselves. As Ahmadinejad saw it, Iran had to cooperate with the holy warriors if it hoped to have any influence with them, and influence with them was more important than the good graces of the Americans and Europeans, who were, after all, on the other side of the world. “The holy warriors are right here, or just down the road,” he had once remarked. The hard fact that in this small world the Americans and Euro pe ans were also “just down the road” was something the president chose to ignore.

The mottled red in Ahmadinejad’s face faded by degrees. While this transformation was occurring, not a word was spoken in the cabinet room. Most of those present looked at their hands or focused their eyes on the wall-or infinity, which was visible from here. Several shuffled through the papers they had brought with them.

When the president was again in control of himself, he went to the next item on the agenda, which was the economy. Foreign goods were scarce, and inflation was rampant. Critics said that the lack of foreign goods in the shops and stores was due in large part to the international sanctions foreign governments had placed on Iranian banks and international trade due to Ahmadinejad’s nuclear ambitions, and the inflation was due to the government’s easy credit policies, low interest rates and subsidized gasoline prices. The president saw it differently. Today he began outlining new government initiatives to address these problems.

When the meeting was over, Ahmadinejad signaled to Sultani to remain as the other ministers filed out. When they were alone, he asked, “Why were the Americans not detected?”

“Three helicopters-one witness said two, one said four-flew very low to and from Tabriz. They probably flew too low for the radars to detect, and it is possible they used the Americans’ secret technology, this ALQ-199, to hide the machines.”

“The Bushehr reactor-it is surrounded by troops,” Ahmadinejad mused.

“Troops, and layers of radar defenses directing antiaircraft artillery and missiles. Still, with the ALQ-199, the Israelis penetrated a similar protective cocoon to bomb the Syrian reactor.”

“We don’t protect the processing facility,” Ahmadinejad said. The processing facility was the place where enriched uranium was refined into weapons-grade plutonium.

Sultani cocked his head. “The decision was made several years ago to disguise that facility, to keep it hidden. If the enemy doesn’t know where to find it, it will be safe.”

“If they don’t know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What if they do know?”

“Then they could attack it with commandos or with an air raid.”

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad tapped his fingernails on the table as he mulled the problem. “The Americans could bomb the reactor today with a B-1 stealth bomber, and we wouldn’t see the aircraft on radar, isn’t that correct?”

“It is,” Sultani acknowledged.

“So the only airplanes the technology protects are conventional airplanes, such as those flown by the Israelis, who don’t have stealth bombers.”

Sultani nodded.

“To preserve the peace, the Americans would send the Israelis to do their dirty work.” The expression on Ahmadinejad’s face was not benign. “We must learn the Americans’ secret.”

Sultani nodded again. “Our best hope is the Russians. They have an extensive intelligence network in America. They will buy or steal the secrets and pass them to us.”

“The Russians,” Ahmadinejad said with a sneer. “They are as bad as the Americans. Infidels, criminals, assassins, cheats… They have wanted access to a warm ocean for four centuries and would do anything necessary to get it. They would topple this government and enslave the Iranian people if they could. Don’t ever forget that.”

He rapped once on the table, then continued. “We need to know how to see American and Israeli planes so that we can defend ourselves. Iran must protect itself from its enemies. The events last night proved that beyond any doubt.”

The president of Iran took a deep breath and exhaled. “Get that technology any way you can.”

They discussed other matters for a few moments. When they finished, as the president gathered up his papers, Sultani asked, “Have you ever wondered if we are on the wi

“We are on God’s side,” Ahmadinejad declared. “The Devil has arrayed his forces against us, but the way to Paradise is always there, always open for us. All we need is the courage to fight God’s battles.”

As he rode back to the Defense Ministry, Habib Sultani reflected on Ahmadinejad’s last comment. The president was not a man given to speaking in metaphors. The way to Paradise? What way was he referring to?

Despite the heat, Sultani felt a sudden chill.

Herman Strader stood in front of the huge covered bazaar in central Tehran and looked around without enthusiasm. Beside him his wife, Suza

Herman, a building contractor back home in Bridgeport, Co

Oh well, Herman reflected as he reached for a cigar, then remembered where he was, Suza

Herman Strader sighed and pulled a map of the city from his hip pocket. He and Suza

Suza

In the afternoons when he finished his work at the mapmakers, Mustafa Abtahi liked to walk the streets of Tehran. After his hours at the drawing board, he thought the geometry of the streets had a certain beauty. His employer had a map of New York City, and when he had a few minutes, he liked to study it, comparing it to the hodgepodge of streets that formed this ancient city. New York was much newer, of course-thousands of years newer. It would be so wonderful to actually see it, to walk the streets, to hear all the languages spoken around him, to see the beautiful women and tall buildings and smell the smells…

Dreaming these thoughts, he almost bumped into a couple standing on a street corner. As he started to apologize, he saw that they were studying a map. A map of Tehran. One of his maps.

Now he took them in. Western dress, a couple in their fifties, perhaps, a man with a plain, strong face and a striking woman. Not beautiful, but with a strong, clear face, a face to match the man’s. They were a nice couple. Now they smiled at him and said something in a strange language.