The Disciple

The tension rose as the moment approached. Sultani turned back to his binoculars and looked again at the upright missile.

Ghasem seemed to sense his mood. “It will work as it should, Uncle,” he said softly, so only Sultani could hear.

Ahh, faithful, loyal, brilliant Ghasem.

“The ships downrange are in position,” Ghasem continued. “The ship with the bad radar has it working again. The airplanes are almost in position. The radar station on the coast is in telephone communication. All is in readiness.”

“Very good. And the Americans?”

“Their carrier is a hundred miles away from the target area.”

Close, but not too close, Sultani thought. Of course, the Americans know we are going to launch these missiles and are observing. They will get an eyeful.

“Even the sun is at the proper angle,” Ghasem added.

“Thank the sun,” Sultani said as the radio a

Sultani heard only the whisper of the breeze in his ears as he stared at the missile.

The first glimmer of fire from the exhausts came precisely when the a

The fire grew rapidly to a focused flame, almost as bright as the sun. The wave of sound washed over them, a deep booming thunder, forcing Sultani to momentarily abandon the binoculars.

His eyes refocused in time to see the missile rising above the launcher, accelerating against the hazy shape of the distant mountains. Then it was above the mountains into the deep blue of the sky, the sun full upon it.

“Go,” he heard Ghasem shout.

The missile accelerated as it raced into the sky. The sound was dropping in intensity, which was welcome. Then, twenty seconds after liftoff, when it was very high and its exhaust a brilliant baby sun, the missile began to tilt to the southeast.

Sultani grabbed the binoculars on his chest and raised them to his eyes. He had a moment of trouble locating the missile, then he had it. He thumbed the focus knob, bringing it into sharp relief.

He watched the missile through the binoculars until all he could see in the southeastern sky was a dot of moving light. Then, finally, even that disappeared.

The sound was still audible, though, a whisper now. Then it, too, faded.

Ghasem smiled broadly.

Dr. Hosseini-Tash approached Sultani. “Minister, we need to talk,” he said.

Habib Sultani nodded, and the two men walked away from the group for a private conversation.

Ghasem was looking at the now empty launcher, watching the crew prepare it to be driven away, when he felt someone at his elbow. It was Major Larijani. He didn’t bother to introduce himself but said, “I understand your grandfather has written a book.”

Ghasem looked blank. Then he said, “When he was young?”

“No. He has just finished it.”

Ghasem looked Larijani full in the face. “What is it about?”

“I think you know.”

Ghasem focused on the man’s eyes. “I know nothing about it,” he said. “Perhaps you should talk to him.”

“Oh, I shall. I shall.”

As the CIA had predicted, the Iranians fired nine missiles that day. All were successfully launched and raced away over the horizon. The Shahab-3 flew 1,150 miles and missed its target by twenty miles. The others flew shorter distances and hit closer to their aiming points, with the closest being a short-range missile that missed by only four miles.

The Iranians kept that information to themselves. Sultani didn’t mention it that evening when he had a press conference in the ministry to a

After Amadinejad made his statement, a reporter asked, “Do you expect the Israelis and Americans to attack Iran?”

“Of course not,” the president responded. He knew how to tell the big lie, and he wanted to reassure the Indonesians that all was well. God’s soldier had it well in hand. “Any talk about such an attack is complete foolishness, a joke. Iran’s nuclear program is for the peaceful production of electric power. We have explained that again and again.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Even the American CIA has said we do not have a nuclear weapons program.”

Jurgen Schulz returned to Washington just in time to get the news. He went straight to the White House and was ushered into the Oval Office.

“Tell me about your trip,” the president said.

“I gave Ahmadinejad the letter. The next morning the chargé and I went back to his office, and he denounced the letter as an ultimatum. Threw a duck-fit, ranted about Zionist imperialism and the sovereignty of the Islamic Republic, which was protected by God. He also made some interesting predictions about the future of America, which is, as you are well aware, the enemy of God.”

“I see,” the president muttered.

“Never had an experience like that before,” Schulz admitted. “How Eliza Ortiz puts up with that crap is beyond me. By the way, she wants a transfer. The Holy Joes over there treat her badly. As for me, I couldn’t wait to get the hell outta there.”

“Umm,” the president said.

That evening a small delegation of the senior House and Senate leaders called on the president at the White House. They had telephoned and asked for an appointment and had been given this hour.

When they arrived, they found the president and Jurgen Schulz huddled with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Howard Young. The three ceased their conversation when the senators and representatives were shown in.

After the social pleasantries, a White House staffer briefed the group on the events of the day. Almost everything she had to say had already been on the television networks and the Internet, and the congresspeople knew most of it. If they were learning anything new, they never let on.

“We want to know,” the senator who headed the Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs said to the president, “how the administration plans to react to Iran’s missile tests.”

“Our policy hasn’t changed,” the president said. “We are carefully monitoring events in Iran.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. Nine missiles? An eleven-hundred-mile shot? They never did that before.”

Congressman Luvara weighed in. “I’m very concerned that the administration is going to take steps that will escalate into a war with Iran, and even worse, send a billion Muslims all over the world rampaging on some kind of suicidal jihad.”

Another congressman, who represented a district on the Upper East Side in New York City, ignored Luvara. “I’m concerned that the administration is going to dither and wring its hands while the Iranians launch a bunch of missiles with nuclear warheads at Israel.”

Another senator asked, “What precisely is going on in Iran? Are they or are they not manufacturing nuclear weapons?”

Dr. Schulz tried to field that one. “The CIA-” he said and was rudely cut off by three of Congress’ finest speaking at once.

“We don’t want to hear about the damn CIA.” “Those idiots!” “Damn keyhole peepers listening to cell phone conversations-what the hell do they know?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the president said, trying to calm them down. The two ladies in the group visibly stiffened. “And ladies,” he added, unapologetically. “Iran has had a missile program for years. Everyone in this room has been briefed on it on a regular basis. This nation and our allies have done everything short of a physical blockade to prevent the Iranians from enriching uranium. At first they denied they were doing it, then they lied about it, repeatedly, and finally they admitted what we knew to be the truth. They have a major enrichment program. They have publicly refused to stop doing it.