Avi ben Jakob, still titularly a military officer–he was wearing a uniform now– was deputy chief of the Mossad. He wondered how far he could go, but with his job title, that was really for him to decide.
“We are not pleased at all by the development.”
“Historically,” Colonel Magruder observed, “Israel has had a working relationship with Iran, even after the Shah fell. That goes all the way back to the Persian Empire. I believe your festival of Purim results from that period. Israeli air force pilots flew missions for the Iranians during the Iran-Iraq war and–”
“We had a large number of Jews then in Iran, and that was intended to get them out,” Jakob said quickly.
“And the arms-for-hostages mess that Reagan got into went through here, probably your agency,” Magruder added, just to show that he, too, was a player in the game
“You are well informed.”
“That’s my job, part of it anyway. Sir, I am not making value judgments here. Getting your people out of Iran back then was, as we say at home, business, and all coun-
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tries have to do business. I’m just asking what you think oftheUIR.”
“We think Daryaei is the most dangerous man in the world.”
Magruder thought of the eyes-only brief he’d had earlier in the day about the Iranian troop movements into Iraq. “I agree.”
He’d come to like the Israelis. That hadn’t always been true. For years, the United States Army had cordially disliked the Jewish state, along with the other branches of the service, mainly because of the corporate arrogance adopted by the small nation’s senior military officers. But the IDF had learned humility in Lebanon, and learned to respect American arms as observers in the Persian Gulf War–after literally months of telling American officers that they needed advice on how to fight first the air war and then the ground war, they’d quickly taken to asking, politely, to look over some of the American plans because there might be some few minor things worthy of a little study.
The descent of the Buffalo Cav into the Negev had changed things some more. America’s tragedy in Vietnam had broken another type of arrogance, and from that had grown a new type of professionalism. Under Marion Diggs, first CO of the reborn 10th United States Cavalry, quite a few harsh lessons had been handed out, and while Magruder was continuing that tradition, the Israeli troopers were learning, just as Americans had done at Fort Irwin. After the initial screams and near fistfights, common sense had broken out. Even Benny Eitan, commander of the Israeli 7th Armored Brigade, had rallied from the first set of drubbings to finish his training rotation with a pair of break-evens, and come away thanking his American hosts for the lessons–and promising to kick their asses when he returned the next year. In the central computer in the local Star Wars building, a complex mathematical model said that the performance of the Israeli army had improved by fully forty percent in just a few years, and now that they again had something to be arrogant about, the Israeli officers were showing disarming
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humility and an almost ruthless desire to learn–ever signs of truly professional soldiers.
And now one of their head spooks wasn’t talking about how his forces could handle anything the Islamic world might throw at his country. That was worth a contact report to Washington, Magruder thought.
THE BUSINESS JET once “lost” in the Mediterranean could no longer leave the country. Even using it to ferry the Iraqi generals to Sudan had been a mistake, but a necessary one, and perhaps the odd covert mission was all right as well, but for the most part it had become Daryaei’s personal transport, and a useful one, for his time was short, and his new country large. Within two hours of seeing his Sunni visitors off, he was back in Tehran.
“So?”
Badrayn laid out his papers on the desk, showing cities and routes and times. It was mere mechanics. Daryaei looked the plans over with a cursory eye, and while they seemed overly complex, that was not a major concern for him. He’d seen maps before. He looked up for the explanation that had to come with the paperwork.
“The primary issue is time,” Badrayn said. “We want to have each traveler to his destination no more than thirty hours after departure. This one, for example, leaves Tehran at six A.M., and arrives in New York at two A.M. Tehran time, elapsed time twenty hours. The trade show he will attend–it is at the Jacob Javits Center in New York–will be open past ten in the evening. This one departs at 2:55 A.M., and ultimately arrives in Los Angeles twenty-three hours later–early afternoon, local time. His trade show will be open all day. That is the most lengthy in terms of distance and time, and his ‘package’ will still be more than eighty-five percent effective.”
“And security?”
“They are all fully briefed. I have selected intelligent, educated people. All they need do is be pleasant en route. After that, a little caution. Twenty at once, yes, that is troublesome, but those were your orders.”
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“And the other group?”
“They will go out two days later via similar arrangements,” Badrayn reported. “That mission is far more dangerous.”
“I am aware of that. Are the people faithful?”
“They are that.” Badrayn nodded, knowing that the question really asked if they were fools. “The political risks concern me.”
“Why?” The observation didn’t surprise Daryaei, but he wanted the reason.
“The obvious question of discovering who sent them, though their travel documents will be properly prepared, and the usual security measures put in place. No, I mean the American political context. An unhappy event to a politician can often create sympathy for him, and from that sympathy can come political support.”
“Indeed! It does not make him appear weak?” That was rather much to swallow.
“In our context, yes, but not necessarily in theirs.”
Daryaei considered that and compared it with other analyses he’d ordered and reviewed. “I have met Ryan. He is weak. He does not deal effectively with his political difficulties. He still has no true government behind him. Between the first mission and the second, we will break him–or at least we will distract him long enough to achieve our next goal. After that is accomplished, America becomes irrelevant.”
“Better the first mission only,” Badrayn advised.
“We must shake their people. If what you say of their government is true, we will do such harm as they have never known. We will shake their leader, we will shake his confidence, we will shake the confidence of the people in him.”
He had to respond to that carefully. This was a Holy Man with a Holy Mission. He was not fully amenable to reason. And yet there was one other factor which he didn’t know about. There had to be. Daryaei was more given to wishes than considered action–no, that wasn’t true, was it? He united the two while giving another impression entirely. What the cleric did appreciate was that the American government was still vulnerable, since its lower house
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of parliament had not yet been replaced, a process just beginning.
“Best of all merely to kill Ryan, if we could. An attack on children will inflame them. Americans are very sentimental about little ones.”
“The second mission goes on only after the first is known to be successful?” Daryaei demanded.
“Yes, that is true.”
“Then that is sufficient,” he said, looking back down at the travel arrangements, and leaving Badrayn to his own thoughts.
There is a third element. There had to be.
“HE SAYS HIS intentions are peaceful.”
“So did Hitler, Ali,” the President reminded his friend. He checked his watch. It was after midnight in Saudi Arabia. Ali had flown back and conferred with his government before calling Washington, as one would expect. “You know about the troop movement.”
“Yes, your people briefed our military earlier today. It will be some time before they are ready to make any threat. Such things take time. Remember, I was once in uniform.”
“True, that’s what they told me, too.” Ryan paused. “Okay, what does the Kingdom propose?”
“We will observe closely. Our military is training. We have your pledge of support. We are concerned, but not overly so.”
“We could schedule some joint exercises,” Jack offered.
“That might only inflame matters,” the Prince replied. The absence of total conviction in his voice was not accidental. He’d probably fielded the idea in council himself and gotten a negative reply.
“Well, I guess you’ve had a long day. Tell me, how did Daryaei look? I haven’t seen the guy since you introduced him to me.”
“His health appears good. He looks tired, but he’s had a busy time.”
“I can relate to that. Ali?”
“Yes, Jack?”
The President stopped then, reminding himself that he