Tarighian and Albert Mertens joined them in the small conference room on the ground level. Farid, his broken arm in a cast and sling, stood by the door. Tarighian took the chair at the head of the table, as expected. Mertens sat next to his second-in-command, German physicist Heinrich Eisler. Mertens was happy to have an ally in Eisler, who was ten years his junior. Despite the disparity in backgrounds and age, the two men shared similar ideologies. They were also once roommates in a mental institution in Brussels. Eisler had a habit of whittling on small pieces of wood with a Swamp Monster combat knife, which was made of 420 stainless steel, a full 1-1/2 inches wide and 1/2ch thick. Mertens knew that aside from the fact that Eisler was a brilliant physicist, he was very handy with the bladed weapon. When they lived in the institution, Eisler wasn't allowed to keep a knife. Ever since they had been "released," Eisler was never seen without it.
Tarighian, the man the world knew as Namik Basaran, stood and addressed the room. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming to Cyprus for this meeting. We praise Allah for delivering you safely and for the secure return to your posts. I thought it important that you be here in person as I outline my plans for what has been the realization of a dream. It's a dream I've had for twenty years. Now it will finally come to fruition."
He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention.
"The Phoenix is complete. It is ready, thanks to the genius of Professor Mertens." Tarighian held out his hand toward the physicist. The other men in the room turned to him and nodded, but there was no applause. These men were too serious for that kind of self-congratulatory nonsense. Mertens remained stone-faced.
"You've been wondering, I know," Tarighian continued, "what I want to do with the Phoenix. Today I shall tell you." He looked at every man in the eyes and announced, "It is time for Iraq to pay for what they did to Iran during the 1980s."
The committee heads shifted in their seats. Three of them leaned forward, their interest sparked.
"I am going to destroy Baghdad," Tarighian said softly. "And the destruction will be such that the city will be unrecognizable. Iran's revenge on Iraq will be swift and complete."
Nadir Omar cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect . . . ?"
"Yes, Nadir?" Tarighian faced his lieutenant.
"What will this accomplish for us?"
"Don't you see?" Tarighian held out his arms. "The resulting disorder in Iraq, and in the Middle East as a whole, will set the entire region against the West--in particular, against America, for not 'protecting' Iraq from terrorism. Iraq's government is made up of puppets, we all know that. The entire worldknows that. America continues to monitor the country and influence the decisions made by the Iraqi leadership. This must end, once and for all. With such a disaster occurring in Iraq under America's watch, the entire Muslim world will react. America will be driven out of Iraq and perhaps even the rest of the Middle East. And then . . . with that opening, Iran will take America's place."
Two committee heads eyed each other.
"And Iran's government knows this?" asked Ahmed Mohammed.
"Not yet, but once the deed is done, then I will reveal myself to the world. Can you see the headlines in Tehran? 'Nasir Tarighian is still alive!' My followers in Iran will most assuredly back me. They will pressure the government to do what Iran has wanted to do but hasn't dared to do for nearly two decades. Iran will invade and conquer Iraq because Iraq is weak and under Western management! The West has tried to make Iraq a democracy in the image of a Western country, but it won't and will never work. Muslims should be the caretakers of the Muslim world. My loyal armies in Iran and neighboring countries are waiting for this showdown, and the Shadows will lead them into Iraq. And we will be victorious!"
Mertens nudged Eisler under the table.
Ahmed Mohammed cleared his throat and said, "Sir, if I may be so bold as to venture an opinion?"
"Yes, Ahmed?" Tarighian acknowledged.
"I do not believe the men who have claimed to be serving Islam in the Shadows will agree to destroying a city in what is essentially a Muslim country. I herewith express my disapproval for the whole thing."
Tarighian folded his arms in front of him. There was a tense moment as he glanced at Farid, who appeared ready to do something about the insurgent. Finally Tarighian merely smiled and said, "I appreciate your candor, Ahmed. Your objection is noted. Now I would like to meet with Ahmed and Nadir to discuss the next steps. The rest of you please stay and enjoy my hospitality. I'm sure Professor Mertens will be happy to show you the completed Phoenix." With that, Farid opened the conference room door with his one good hand and made a gesture indicating that the meeting was over.
Tarighian didn't notice that Mertens and Ahmed Mohammed exchanged a look that only they understood.
THREEhours later Nasir Tarighian shut himself in his private office and stared into the mirror on the wall. He normally hated mirrors, but ever since he had resolved to proceed with the project to bring Iraq to her knees, he wanted a daily reminder of why he was doing it.
He had never forgotten that fateful day when the bombs fell in Tehran. The air-raid sirens were loud and always frightened his daughters. On that morning school had been called off and the children were at home with their mother. Tarighian was busy at a political rally protesting the war and the current government's strict religious rules. When the bombing began he left and went straight home, running the six miles to be with his family. He imagined the face of his wife and how happy she would be to see him as he walked through the front door of their lovely, two-story home. He had worked hard to give his family such a house. Nasir Tarighian had been one of the fortunate Iranians who had shared in the former Shah's wealth by advising him on a number of policies. Needless to say, Tarighian was not a fan of the Islamic Revolution and Iran's newfound religious fervor. Nevertheless he was a loyal Iranian and he hated the Iraqis for what was happening to his country.
As he ran, Tarighian remembered the night before, when he embraced his wife and children and told them not to worry. Allah would protect them. The bombs would not strike their house. They would be safe.
But he was wrong.
The bomb hit the house just before he made it home. He recollected a wave of intense heat and a deafening noise that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. He recalled flames and smoke, flying debris, and screams.
He remembered finding the charred bodies of his family in the rubble.
Tarighian looked in the mirror at his own scarred face and prayed to Allah. He admitted to his god that he knew he had not been a good Muslim. He didn't pray five times a day. He had never made the pilgrimage to Mecca. He had to forgo the more orthodox rituals of Islam in order to perpetuate the pretension of being a Turk. He had lived a lie for twenty years, and he promised to prostrate himself, confess his many sins to Allah, and reap his punishment--after he obtained his revenge.
He had seen the faces of his most trusted men in the meeting today. They thought he was crazy. They thought he was embarking on a disastrous journey. He smelled the insurgency within his ranks. But didn't this happen to all leaders at some point in their tenures?
It didn't help that an intruder had infiltrated Akdabar Enterprises in Van. Farid said it was only one man, but no one saw his face. It was unclear where in the complex other than the steel mill the intruder had been. The surveillance cameras picked up nothing out of the ordinary, although there was the odd appearance of Tarighian's exercise rubber ball in the hallway outside his office. Was that supposed to be the intruder's idea of a joke? Could he have been the American that had posed as a Swiss Interpol policeman? Surely the man calling himself Sam Fisher was dead. The men had assured him the American never came out of Lake Van.