Strike Force

“At the very least, we can find out what else you might know,” Badi said. “As I said, as we go on, you’ll be most anxious to tell us all sorts of things. This I guarantee. Good-bye, Hesarak. This will probably be the last time I see you with all of your faculties still intact.” Badi patted Buzhazi’s face, then motioned to the bodyguard. “Have the general taken to an interrogation room and prepared for his ‘debriefing.’ Have them notify me immediately when he breaks.” The bodyguard nodded and opened the door for the general…

…and Badi saw a man in light gray fatigues, desert combat boots, and the blue beret of the Iranian Air forces standing in the doorway. Behind him stood three soldiers, similarly dressed, carrying automatic rifles. “What is this?” he shouted.

“Greetings, General Badi,” the first soldier said — and in the blink of an eye he raised a sound-suppressed Russian Makarov automatic pistol, fired three shots just past Badi’s left ear and directly into the torturer’s face, then pushed Badi inside and closed the door, leaving his three soldiers to guard the outside. The soldier dumped Badi to the carpet with a kick to the side of his left knee. The Pasdaran general screamed aloud at the pain and shock of the sudden attack. “Who in hell are you?” he cried.

“You don’t recognize me, General?” the soldier asked. “You took great delight in ruining my career about eleven years ago.” He tossed a set of handcuff keys to the Pasdaran commander, then pressed his pistol against his forehead. “While you’re thinking, release General Buzhazi, now.”

Badi crawled over to Buzhazi and unlocked the handcuffs; Buzhazi grabbed the keys and released the waist chain. “Now I remember…Sattari. Mansour Sattari, Buzhazi’s chief of staff.”

“Very good, General,” the young officer said. After the handcuffs were removed, Sattari had Badi place them on himself, then helped Buzhazi to his feet and waited until the injured general was able to stay on his feet by himself. “If the general is injured, Badi, you die right here and now.”

“Killing me won’t help you get out of here,” Badi said. “There are over a thousand armed Pasdaran guards here.”

“Your security force here at Doshan Tappeh is exactly three hundred and fifteen soldiers per shift, Badi,” Sattari said. “I brought a team of just a hundred lightly armed Internal Defense Force soldiers and killed or captured every one of the guards on duty already. Your day shift got too cocky and overconfident, Badi — they obviously thought no one ever wants to break into a Pasdaran compound, especially at daytime.”

“You won’t get out of here alive, Sattari.”

“We’ve got units monitoring the eight other Pasdaran bases in the city, and if they move on us they’ll be neutralized as well. We’ll be out of here before any other security forces arrive — and you’ll be long dead.” He raised the pistol.

“Wait,” Buzhazi said. He took the pistol from Sattari’s hands. “I think it’d be better to put him on trial for the murders of all those men and women in Orumiyeh. We have positive proof that the men we captured alive were Pasdaran?”

“No question, sir,” Sattari said.

“All your evidence could’ve been faked with ease,” Badi said. “Besides, the Supreme Defense Council won’t accept any evidence you give them. They’ll blame it all on internecine rivalry and warfare and send us both on our ways — except the Pasdaran will be after you and all the traitors who joined you as soon as the Council adjourns. You might as well use this temporary advantage to flee the country, Buzhazi, before you are publicly executed for treason — by me.” Sattari and Buzhazi looked at each other — obviously the very same thought had crossed their minds. Iran was no place for them now, and it was too late to turn back. “The Basij have no hope of eliminating the Pasdaran, Hesarak. It was created solely as a means of providing the Pasdaran with cannon fodder so the Iraqis would waste their bullets on them and allow the Pasdaran to attack during the War of Glorification. Your Basij forces will always be nothing but cannon fodder.”

“We took your headquarters with little trouble,” Sattori said.

Badi ignored him. “With you in temporary control of this base, you can hijack an aircraft that will easily take you to Africa, Europe, or Asia. Better get out now, while you can.” He smiled as he watched Sattari silently pleading for Buzhazi to agree, and he saw Buzhazi’s eyes start to dart back and forth as his mind examined his options over and over again…

…milliseconds before Buzhazi said, “No, Mansour. We continue as planned,” then fired three bullets into Badi’s brain.

Sattari spit on the nearly headless corpse and nodded. “Good riddance. That should’ve been done years ago.”

“We’re committed now, my friend,” Buzhazi said, checking the pistol, accepting a full magazine from Sattari, and reloading it. “Let’s avenge the deaths of our brothers in the Internal Defense Forces, and then let’s get this revolution started.”

CHAPTER 2