Tehran Decree (10 page)

He will be in the right rear seat of the second car
sitting next to the defence secretary...’ The transmission ceased
abruptly and Kazeni looked open mouthed at his satellite phone.
Allah had perpetuated another message.

This was incredible, it was all beginning to happen,
never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that he would finally
be the chosen one, let alone receive a direct communication like
this out of the blue. The message was simply and succinct, and
contained all the necessary information to enable the BIB to abduct
the US president on his visit to Sydney.

Who would imagine that such a message could be so
casually relayed, in of all places...a Macdonald’s restaurant.

He glanced around at the people munching away at
their fast food meals
--
his hands began shaking
uncontrollably. He had to get home and seek privacy in his rear
garden shed; he had less than a week to mount the most important
hit any group had ever made in the history of modern Islam. Even
9/11 would pale at the side of the trial and subsequent execution
of the US president by the supreme council in Tehran. It would be
total fulfillment for the Supreme Leader and the Islamic
council...and he, Farid Kazeni, would be the hero who was about to
perpetuate it.

With his initial plan of using new tactics gleaned
from videos on the US secret service, and the Russians, with their
wonderful Dragunov sniper rifles
--
nothing could prevent
his ultimate success. The amazing serendipity of the occasion was
yet another act of Allah
--
no less!

Chapter Eighteen

Kazeni checked his mobile phone data
--
to his
amazement the call came from America, somewhere in the Washington
area. Then he recalled the number of possible active terrorist
groups in the USA and beamed
--
who else could possible
obtain such detailed intel at such short notice?

He thanked Allah yet again for the gift of memory and
the ability to remember word for word any call which was repeated.
He wrote the message down in order, and sketched a map of the
Sydney area, marking each place where the motorcade would stop.

He went slowly through the diagram, vividly imagining
the surroundings of the Sydney Business District at each stop, and
conjured up the peculiarities of the area.

Sydney was such a dynamic city and by 2.30 p.m. it
would normally be seething with tourists and shoppers, but the
presidential route would be carefully screened off from the public
masses by lines of police and concrete barriers. A procedure which
in fact would aid the terrorist rather than foil them. Such
arrangements tended to restrict the visiting dignitary to a
particular time and place; virtually imprisoning the US president
within the city. As a protective mechanism it was very restrictive
compared to a free lance militia group who literally had the run of
the city.

The police cordons and concrete barriers would show
the exact path to be taken by the motorcade. Details of the
motorcade timing would enable the BIB to locate the exact position
of the presidential limousine at any given time, providing the
security service and police stuck to their duty schedule, which was
almost a forgone conclusion anyway.

Kazeni scanned the diagram dozens of times estimating
the difficulties which might be encountered at each venue of the
president’s tour. Non of the motorcade stops lended themselves to
an easy adduction, there were too many avenues of possible
presidential escape, which would undoubtedly be checked out by the
US secret service. He placed his mobile in his inside pocket and
buckled himself in the driving seat of his Mercedes coup, than made
his way along Circular Quay to Government House.Parking a short
distance away, he surveyed the impressive building, it looked like
a prize turkey just waiting to be plucked and stuffed, but this was
an illusion
--
within twenty four hours it would be
impossible to get within fifty metres of the place. Police were
already tentatively erecting huge metal restraining barriers around
the streets. He moved on along the Quay and over to Darling Harbour
where more police activity was taking place. The Maritime Museum
would be riddled with Secret Service and police officers and would
be an absolute potential nightmare for any budding
insurrectionist.

After this visit the motorcade would head for the
Western Distributor, enter the cross city tunnel, and exit at the
airport south transit road.

Kazeni continued through the city tunnel and on
towards the airport turn off, then drove all the way to the
airport. He sat in the international lounge and sipped a cup of
coffee and went through the motorcade run again in his head. There
didn’t seem to be any simple way a successful abduction could take
place en route. He walked around the International airport section,
sitting at various food and coffee shop outlets, looking for ways
and means of a quick presidential heist and getaway.

However one looked at it, it would be touch and go,
there were too many obstacles, too many unknowns, and too many
people. It had to be done away from the airport in a safer
contained area, a trap, where uninterrupted negotiations could be
carried out if necessary.

He got back in his car and retraced his way, going
back and forth several times, looking at fine detail, examining
obstacles, and most of all, possible dead ends.

There was only one place a successful abduction could
take place, and that was in the middle of cross city tunnel near
Hyde park. If both ends were blocked, they would have the US
president and security officers bottled up, and at their mercy. No
force on earth could change it once the situation was accomplished
-- the whole thing would be a fait accompli. It reminded him of his
humble studies in antiquity and the great generals of the past. The
one that stood out most was Hannibal, who coined the phrase,
‘we
will find a way, or make one
.’

The US secret service based their protection methods
on an advanced force of trained officers, who swept the path in
front of the presidential motorcade, clearing the way of potential
hazards, while keeping a reserve contingent in and around the
motorcade, shielding the president. It was high security on the run
and America’s answer to mobile protection. In theory this was a
good basic security method but had a number of faults.

The plain facts were: even if presidents were closely
surrounded by the best agents the US could muster, they would still
not be totally protected. Total mobile protection was impossible,
and any attempt to achieve this, would at best, only be a
compromise.

Like any mobile object with its own built-in armament
there would be weak points. The best armoured tanks in the world
could still be immobilised by the manual attachment of a suitably
powerful magnetic mine.

There were many other examples of powerful edifices
being destroyed by taking advantage of their hidden weaknesses. It
wasn’t so much the amount of armament protection, but the
application of devious disabling techniques which defeated the
enemy.

Chapter Nineteen

Police HQ Sydney

Police commissioner Chester signed his last official
document, attached it to the requisite folder, and placed it in his
OUT tray. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, now he could do
some free thinking of his own before his next interview with the
media.

He could have done without the US president’s
impromptu visit, not to mention all the other state leader’s
coincidental arrivals
--
the security involved was a bloody
nightmare. Not just because of budding terrorist groups either, the
US president always carried his own secret service detachment with
him wherever he went, and unless things were handled very
discreetly, clashes often occurred between the secret service and
the security forces of other countries.

The Australian federal government and police
commissioner had agreed on a number of past occasions that the
Secret Service be allowed to control the immediate ground in front
and behind the motorcade, thus creating an American security bubble
around the president, while the federal police handled the
peripheral environs.

The Apex meeting held in Sydney a few years ago was
still fresh in his mind. The security was massive and it locked up
the city for five days creating one headache after another. Back
then the motorcade had twenty vehicles, and a thousand security
personnel, but with the current situation being low key, it had
been reduced to ten vehicles and less than three hundred security
people.

The commissioner's mobile beeped and he pressed the
speak button.

‘Hello commissioner here.’

‘Inspector Jarvis speaking sir...the president is
leaving Government House in the next three minutes.’

‘Good...we’re on the last leg then... maintain the
high level security
--
once we get the motorcade to the
airport and the president back on Air Force One we can relax a
little
--
keep up the good work.’

There’s just one other thing sir, one of the US
veteran services groups has contacted us, they have bitterly
complaining that the airport security is total and there’s no way
they can give the president a good send off. The Australian vets
would also like to cheer the US commander in chief.’

‘Sorry Jarvis, we can’t do much about airport
security around the US contingent, that’s their baby.’

‘One of the vets spokesman suggested the tunnel turn
off to the airport might be a good place sir,’ the commissioner
blew a stream of hot air through his lips, then stared at a
detailed map on his personal monitor, tracing the route with his
extended finger. He moved backwards in his swivel chair balancing
the pros and cons of the suggestion.

Head of state visitations were always a compromise
between Go and No-Go situations and it was this that vexed Chester
so much. You couldn’t beat the total lock down method applied
without reservation, only this method could guarantee a high degree
of safety, but it was ultimately the public and the polliticians
who dictated the situation, he was merely a puppet.

Chester threw his hands in the sir and conceded it
was better than a lot of winging vets and sympathetic do-gooders
clamoring for tabloid headlines after the event.

‘All right, providing they don’t get too close to the
police cordon, or the Secret Service officers.’

‘There’s no way they could do that sir, the barriers
there are at least three metres high and quite a distance from the
highway. The motorcade would pass without even seeing them...they
would be left out in the cold.’

‘You’re not suggesting we move the barriers for a few
disgruntled veterans are you inspector
--
we’re not in the
business of promoting minority groups
--
our job is
security...i.e. protection of the US president’

‘They’re hardly a minority group sir, there are many
thousands of our own veterans as well as many others from overseas
countries. They do have a significant political clout and media
representation. Any denying of their representation might be seen
as heavy handed police tactics. It could be blown out of all
proportion by the Veterans Organisation.’

‘That may well be inspector, but we can’t just let
them take over.’

‘Well I thought we might remove just one barrier sir
at the airport exit road and then place a few police officers
around them...sort of fence them in with a human chain
instead.’

‘All right...do it, but it’s against my better
judgment, and as soon as the motorcade passes close it up
again.’

‘Understood sir,’ Chester pressed the end-call button
on his mobile and mouthed a few chosen words to himself.

‘Bloody vets, always after something, you’d think we
owed them the ruddy world,’ Chester hadn’t spent three decades in
the police force without learning something about the public at
large. He had spent most of that time putting members of the public
right and heading off problems created by misinformed, egotistical
politicians.

When things went wrong it was nearly always some
inconsiderate rat bag trying to get their own way.

Chapter Twenty

Kazeni parked his BMW near Rushcutters Bay and
strolled to the small unpretentious park surrounding the Bay’s
waterline. He had often went down to the area in earlier days and
enjoyed the company of fellow joggers. His favourite stint was to
jog up the steep, stone steps, at the west side of the park, which
lead up to Potts Point and Kings Cross until it tired him out, then
relax completely on his back in the soft grass. There were several
grand houses and apartments along the way, and an intimate view of
the harbour with its row upon row of top class racing yachts, which
added to the exciting aura he felt every time he visited the place.
The small nautical enclave was home to many craft who were not only
contenders, but winners and runners up, in the world renowned
Sydney to Hobart yacht race.

It was special, and he would sit for hours on a
summers day taking in the prestigious surrounds, and pretend he was
a tycoon lounging in his own back yard. Whenever he wanted to think
or dream away his worries, this was his ultimate little paradise,
it had all the ingredients in the correct proportions.

There were a number of iconic places in the Sydney
environs, all of them memorable and enigmatic in some special way,
but for him Rushcutters Bay Park held the trump card. It was a
little park by any standards, a patch of green graced with some of
the worlds best racing yachts as a backdrop. It was a direct front
to Sydney harbour and a buffer to several contrasting suburbs. To
the north west was the notorious Kings Cross and Darlinghurst, with
the eastern aspect being dominated by the well heeled suburb of
Double Bay. But the US president wouldn’t be visiting any of these
areas. It was nice to dream and revel in these fascinating suburbs,
but cold reality now dictated that he immerse himself in less
prestigious places.