Tehran Decree (4 page)

This also had analogous connotations to the German
Death Squads (the Einsatzgruppen) who operated in the rear of the
German army during the second world war. Then there were the
American black opps groups and the huge security firm known as
Blackwater, as well as numerous others masqurading as security
organisations, supposedly guarding western buildings and diplomats
in Iraq. Latest estimates by the Iranian foreign office put the
number of armed security contractors working in Iraq at 20 - 30,000
personnel.

All terrorists groups all over the world aligned with
Islam were to be advised of the decree and its implications were to
be put into effect immediately. It was to be expected that certain
secret Muslin groups in the US might eventually kidnap the
president just as soon as a window of opportunity occurred.
However, other groups in other countries would also get their
chance if the president went abroad. Al Zandi was acutely aware
that Islam had already given the US a bloody nose in the 9/11
fiasco.

Uncle Sam would not tolerate another gross
humiliation on the world stage. The Supreme Leader was digging a
very big hole which would eventually cave in, burying the Iranian
leadership and countless innocent people. One didn’t taunt one’s
enemy and give him no where to hide.

Chapter Five

Australia

Recovery was slow for Sharazi but at least he had rid
himself of the terrible confinement of Lexton detention Centre. It
had cost him dearly, with a permanently scared body and face, and a
deformed left hand, but thanks to Allah, he still lived. Mere
cosmetic failings were as nothing in the sea of life and greater
things would be accomplished -- he was sure of that.

He soon realised that the past events were more than
just a skirmish with fate. In hospital he was a freer man and his
injuries conjured up extra perks; sympathy and consideration
abounded from nursing staff, and unexpected official visitors. Some
of them had actually come from the federal government, desperate to
smooth over his ill treatment, and ward off any political
embarrassment to the ruling party. Grass roots politics and public
sympathy made a wonderful mixture, one feeding off the other. It
was a win-win situation boosting the poles, giving the public what
they wanted and serving the Islamic cause by helping Sharazi get
back on his feet.

They offered him a compensation package which would
partly pay for any further cosmetic surgery. However, as with most
government initiatives there was a catch, the money could only be
spent on medical fees paid to a listed physician specified by the
government. The official documentation had named three specialists
carefully chosen by government consultants. He was about to consign
the forms to the waste bin, when three blurred figures appeared at
the entrance to the ward, and came towards him.

Sharazi sat up awkwardly and peered through swollen
eyes at the three men now standing at his bedside. Two of them were
typical white male bureaucrats with lightweight pressed suits and
polished patent leather shoes. Well shaven and groomed to the hilt
-- he was clearly a special case.

The third person was very different, he wore a plain
robe, headdress and leather sandals, so typical of his Iranian
homeland, Sharazi’s curiosity ran wild and he uttered a few phrases
in Farsi, the common Iranian language, through bruised lips. This
instantly shocked the robed man, and he held up his hand -- then
looked at the two white officials.

‘Please Habib, speak English if you can, we must
confer in the common tongue of this country,’ one of the officials
smiled in an effort to put Sharazi at ease.

‘We understand your predicament,’ he said, ‘and have
allowed a fellow Muslim cleric to confer with you. This would
normally be strictly off limits to an illegal immigrant, but there
seems to be some confusion in your case. Our interpreter,’ he
pointed to the man in the turban, ‘Farid Hassan Kazeni, will ask
you a few questions about your past and fill you in on future
arrangements. We will leave you to confer for thirty minutes then
we will return,’ the two white officials left the hospital ward and
walked back to their car.

The turbaned man peered with small brown eyes for a
few thoughtful moments at the battle scared young man
--
as
if trying to assess his future potential.

‘I don’t know if you realise it Habib, but you are an
extremely lucky young man. You could easily have died from your
wounds, in fact, we had another man who did a similar thing, and
died within hours of contacting the razor wire.’

‘I see...death of a thousand cutts then,’ Sharazi
mumbled offhandedly.

‘Exactly...that’s where you were lucky, your injuries
were not quite as great and your treatment was very swift and
thorough. You owe the Australian authorities your life’ Sharazi
grimaced.

‘If it wasn’t for the Australian authorities I would
be here in the first place...I owe them nothing,’ Kazeni frowned,
his high forehead creasing in alarm.

‘It might be better if you stopped thinking and
obeyed your basic inclinations Habib,’ Sharazi raised a belated
smile.

‘Which are?’

‘Humility...eat your humble pie and fall in line with
the authorities...that way you will make life a lot easier and you
will be able to think more clearly about your future.’

‘Which is?’

“That is what we are about to discuss,’ Kazeni opened
a folder he was carrying and produced an official looking printed
sheet. His voice dropped slightly and he moved closer to the
bed.

‘We haven’t got much time, so if you can fill in that
government question form while I brief you in on the exact
situation here, we’ll be able to make some progress,' Sharazi
squinted at the form and frowned at the personal nature of the
questions.

‘Don’t worry about the questions...just tell them
what they want to know, or rather, what you think they want to
know. It’s just a formality, a bit of government red tape, the form
will be buried in some dusty government archive and hopefully never
see the light of day again.

In the mean time, don’t tread on their toes, it’ll
only make things worse later. Now I don’t know if you realise it,
but there will be a general election in Australia within the next
month. This is why the government has eased up on the extreme
treatment of illegals, particularly doubtful cases such as
yourself. I know you speak Farsi and you are an Iranian national
--
but I don’t know what your political inclinations are. I
need to know now... you can trust me...I will swear to Allah if you
wish...so please be

as open and extreme as you like. Whatever you pass on
to me will never leave my lips,’ Kazani looked him hard in the
face.

‘To whome do you owe allegeance Habib?’ Sharazi
shuffled painfully beneath the sheets of his bed.

‘Arrik Akkabar...Allah is Good...Iran’s glory has
always been its culture...whatever form that might take,’ said
Sharazi earnestly.

‘Give me your hand,’ Kazani pushed a small business
card into his palm.

‘Secrete that in your bed...when we leave, go to the
toilet, memorise the relevant details and phone number, destroy the
card, then contact me when you get out of here.’

Chapter Six

The tension in Brigadier Arash Al Zandi’s brain was
almost unbearable, a conflicting military order was the worst
nightmare for any commander to enforce, particularly when it pushed
the world into a possible nuclear Armageddon.

Zandi, in his mid-forties, his jet-black hair combed
straight back, had supported the new hard line regime because he
thought the Muslim world needed to reassert itself in the face of
ever increasing US global dominance.

But this radical decree had gone beyond all rational
expectations
--
one could only push the American aggressors
so far as past events had shown only too well.

Al Queda had started this horrific, so called holy
war, in the name of hard line Islam, much to the consternation of
the moderate Muslim countries.

It wasn’t so much the actual attack of 9/11 that
worried Al Zandi, but the American reaction to it, which had
brought down all hell on Afghanistan and Iraq. This would pale at
the side of an all out attack by the US on Iran. So far the
Americans had delivered their foreign policy with one hand tied
behind their backs, and in some cases two hands. A blatant nuclear
confrontation with the worlds greatest nuclear power was shear
suicide and would lead to the total destruction of Iran and most of
the population.

In spite of all these recriminations Al Zandi’s
choice was very bland and simple: either carryout the given orders,
or be summarily executed for refusing to enforce them.

He reread the main outlines of the decree and marked
off the orders he had to carry out, then keyed-in an unlisted
number on his secure phone line and slowly reiterated the orders to
his subordinates, taking great care to remove all emotion from his
voice.

The higher up you were in the pecking order the more
likely your head would be lopped off should an error occur
--
the humble soldier in the field was a safer option. A
rigid protocol towards ones duty was the only safe line to take in
such cases for both soldier and commander. His orders would now
enable a direct attack on the US forces should they stray, by
design or chance, into Iranian territory; the order included
nuclear retaliation.

Strangely, his actions reminded him of a piece of
covert advice given to him by his father who was also a higher
ranking officer in his day. The words burned into his brain...
‘learn how to suffer fools in very high places and your head
will be saved,’
his father had spoken the words to him during
his time at the officer training school, when things became tough
and insubordination had crossed Al Zandi’s mind. It had saved him
from many awkward impasses with superior officers and politicians
alike. But now the words were beginning to ring hollow...perhaps it
was time to revolt against such fools in high places and treat them
like the fools they really were.

Cutting the phone off, he instantly realised he had
become nothing more than the Supreme Leader’s unwilling executioner
--
this would be the last time such an order would be
relayed through him. This time the price for saving one’s head was
too high. He suddenly felt extremely vulnerable and terribly alone
-- Iran was unsafe and unreliable -- no one could be trusted, least
of all any of his military cronies. He’d forgotten what real
friendship was all about, and camaraderie between fellow officers
was non existent, he now believed that ninety percent of the time
it paid to be a skeptic rather than a believer. This was extremely
dangerous thinking in an Islamic Republic where total obedience in
the armed forces to the Supreme Leader was of paramount importance.
Continual turmoil between beliefs and political commitment were
beginning to take their toll on his sanity.

Chapter Seven

Sharazi had to admit Australia was a good place to
live, freedom and opportunity were virtually unprecedented compared
to life in Iran, but his mission was clear cut. Allah was the
dominant force in his life, in fact, he had already reiterated many
times that he lived because Allah deemed this to be so. How else
could he have been spared the terrors of the Lexton detention camp?
Then there was the general election which had finally freed him
from captivity by the infidel authorities.

He now had a furnished flat and was able to earn a
modest living by working two part time jobs in the fast food
industry. All of these fortuitous things were not merely chance --
there had to be a higher power involved behind the scenes.

Today would be his full initiation into the Black
Islam Brigade BIB, who rigourously taught the Jihad using Osama Bin
Ladin’s basic teaching methods taken directly from his Jihad
manual.

Farid Kazeni would be his guide since he was familiar
with the manual and knew it page by page. He had been working on
the manual over the years, updating, improving, and adding new
ideas, all with Osama’s blessing.

Weapons and their strategic use in opposition to the
infidels was his latest chapter. It was written in theory, but it
now had to be proved in practice, and Australia offered some of the
best practice terrain in the world, as well as an unprecedented
degree of security. Thousands of square kilometers of remote
unmonitored hinterland existed -- a virtual carte blanche for
covert military manoeuvres.

Kazeny was more than eager to try out some of his
revolutionary ideas in the terrorist paradigm, but he needed the
sure backing of devoted and well trained fighters. Only when they
had thoroughly mastered the principles of the Jihad Manual would
they become trusted Mujihadeed warriors.

It had become apparent that the manual lacked certain
subjects that the Muslim world had so far chosen to ignore. Kazeny
had realised in recent years that far too much dependence had been
placed on Allah and his protective cloak. It was often assumed that
Allah would protect any righteous Muslim who prayed religiously and
obeyed his teachings; this was a case of blind faith.

In the Christian religion it was a case of God
helping those who helped themselves. Hateful though it may seem,
Muslim leaders would have to adopt this stratagem, as well as other
seemingly distasteful ideas. This would form part of his next foray
into Qsama’s Jihad Manual, hopefully, with the leaders full
blessings. It was an area where he would have to tread very
cautiously; a degree of totality would have to be surrendered if
Islam were to dominate the world. Perhaps the truly committed
warriors would be granted certain exemptions in the eyes of
Allah.