Strike Force

“A call from Secretary of State Carson, sir,” Minden replied, releasing the dead-man’s silencer button on the handset, his eyes darting over in McLanahan’s direction. “There’s an Iranian general by the name of Buzhazi…that asked to talk with McLanahan. He says it’s urgent.”

“Buzhazi? Hesarak Buzhazi?” McLanahan exclaimed. “The ex-chief of staff of the Iranian armed forces?”

“What in hell’s going on, Carl?” the President asked.

“The State Department verifies that the call is coming from a secure official government telecommunications facility from Qom, Iran, relayed via satellite phone through the Swiss embassy in Washington,” Minden said. “But we have no way of verifying if it’s really Buzhazi.”

“I thought Buzhazi was dead,” Vice President Hershel said. “Wasn’t he executed by the Ayatollah or the Iranian Revolutionary Guards after the attacks in the Straits of Hormuz? Can you bring us up to speed, Patrick?”

“Yes, ma’am. Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi was the chief of staff of the Iranian military and head of their Revolutionary Guards Corps, the Pasdaran, several years ago. He tried to close off the Strait of Hormuz between the Persian Gulf and Gulf of Oman by ringing the shipping lanes with anti-ship missiles, with bombers carrying supersonic anti-ship missiles, and even using an ex-Russian aircraft carrier. We slapped him down pretty hard, and he was removed from his post — permanently, I thought. We had no hard evidence that Buzhazi had been executed; we thought he was driven deep underground or escaped Iran to a neighboring Arab country. We were surprised when he turned up as the commander of the Basij, their volunteer federal paramilitary force. Command of the Pasdaran was turned over to a deputy.”

“Why is he calling you, McLanahan?” National Security Adviser Sparks asked.

“I have no idea, sir.” Sparks scowled, not sure if he should believe him and deciding to check that out for himself.

“I remembered talking to the cocky bastard,” the President said acidly. “He can lie and deceive with the best of them. If he thinks he speaks for the Iranian government, he’s up to something. I want to find out what.” He turned to Patrick. “Talk to him, Patrick, but don’t give him anything until we get a chance to check out whatever he says.”

Jonas Sparks didn’t like junior staffers like McLanahan taking over his responsibility, and he decided to move quickly before this got completely out of control. “Mr. Minden, route the call to my office and I can take it in there.”

“No, take it here,” the President said. Minden shook his head in surprise: the President never allowed any business other than his own done in the Oval Office — the place always seemed a madhouse, but the chaos always centered on him. “Patrick, talk to him. I’d like to hear what that bastard has to say.”

The chief of staff looked warily at Sparks, worried that the President’s most senior advisers were being displaced by McLanahan, but right now powerless to do anything. He hit a second line button: “Signal, this is the chief of staff, verify that the voice translators are functioning and sending the real-time transcripts to the Oval Office…very well.” He went over to a hidden credenza beside the President’s desk, withdrew a tablet computer, logged in, inspected a script streaming on it, then hit the speakerphone button and motioned to McLanahan with a reluctant nod.

“This is General McLanahan in Washington,” Patrick said. “To whom am I speaking?”

In a thick Middle East accent but in very well-spoken English a young man replied, “Good evening, sir. My name is Kamran Ardakani, and I am a student of theology and government at the Faqih Sayyed Ruhollah Khomeini Library of Jurisconsult in Qom, in the Islamic Republic of Iran. I am translating on behalf of General Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi, the officer in charge of the military force here.”

“How do I know you are translating for Buzhazi?”

There was a rather long pause; then: “The general tells me to tell you that he knows that your black friend Briggs sent the assassin to kill him and that she begged for mercy like a diseased whore before he executed her…may Allah have mercy on her soul.”

“It’s fucking him all right, the bastard,” Patrick said. Over ten years earlier, Patrick and a task force from the Air Force, Marine Corps, and Iranian anti-government groups attacked Iranian military targets throughout the country before the Iranian military, led by Buzhazi, could completely disrupt shipping through the Persian Gulf. The last target was Buzhazi himself, led by a female commando from the Gulf Cooperative Council’s special operations military force by the name of Riza Behrouzi. Hal Briggs had worked very closely with Behrouzi and formed a personal bond during the operation — but she was killed during the assassination attempt, and Buzhazi escaped. “So what does he want?”