“We’ll see what kind of stomach they have for fighting.”
“You’re insane, Hesarak, insane,” Yassini chuckled. “Look, my friend, I think you’ve made your point here. The best thing you can do now is to get out and survive. I don’t know if what you’ve begun will lead to the downfall of the clerics, but alive and in exile in some other country will be better for your supporters and your cause than being dead and forgotten. Take your impressive victories and get out, while you can.”
“What is it you want, Hoseyn?”
“Simple: I want the hostages,” Yassini said.
“Because then you’ll be the hero, their savior, right?”
“What the hell do you care, Hesarak?” Yassini asked perturbedly. He shrugged, then said, “Their precious Pasdaran couldn’t save them — maybe if I lead them out of there and back to Tehran, they’ll think more of the regular armed forces and less of their ideological goon squads, and restore the military to its proper role.”
“So you do believe the Pasdaran is misguided and out of control.”
“I believe in me, Hesarak, and the forces under my command,” Yassini snapped. “Exacting your revenge on the Pasdaran is your battle, not mine. I’m here to protect my country and my government from all enemies, and right now that includes you. If the Pasdaran can’t stop you, it’s my duty to make sure the job gets done.”
Buzhazi nodded, falling silent. The two men looked at each other carefully, sizing up each other’s words and mannerisms. Then Buzhazi said, “Let’s get down to it, Hoseyn.”
“Whatever you say, Hesarak,” Yassini said. “This deal is between you and me. Tehran thinks I’m coming down here tomorrow morning to take personal command of the forces that will pry you out of Qom, dead or alive. I’m here early and without the interim Supreme Defense Council’s notice or authority as a colleague, a fellow soldier of Iran, and someone who has learned and studied under you and now has the opportunity to repay you for your dedicated years of service to our country.
“Let us speak like men and warriors, Hesarak,” Yassini went on, pointing to his right eye, a symbol that he was pledging to tell the truth. “The Pasdaran number approximately one hundred and fifty thousand. You have taken perhaps three percent of that number out of action — an impressive feat, but not nearly enough for your mission to succeed. You and I both know this to be true.
“You may get some regular army soldiers and perhaps even some Pasdaran to join you, but how many? Five thousand? Ten thousand at the very most? Even if you get fifteen thousand to join you, you are still outnumbered almost ten to one. You cannot hope to win, my friend. It is a simple numbers game. The Pasdaran may not be the best infantry fighters in the world, but they don’t have to be — the numbers are against you. You could be the greatest battlefield commander on Iranian soil since Alexander the Great, but even he had a massive army and access to all the supplies his forces needed. You have neither.
“Here is what I propose, Hesarak, and if you were smart and truly cared for the soldiers in that compound, you would accept immediately,” Yassini went on. “You must release the clerics and politicians you hold hostage. That is nonnegotiable. I trust you have not harmed them — they are politicians and may be your ideological adversaries, but they are not combatants. You are too honorable of a soldier to harm unarmed noncombatants.”
“And the second step?”
“There is no second step today, Hesarak,” Yassini said. “Release the hostages to me. As you can see, I have no army behind me — yet. In twelve hours I’ll have one special ops brigade ready to go, with another on the way. By dawn I will present my assault plan to the interim Supreme Defense Council for approval, and shortly after that I will begin to retake the Khomeini Library by force. If you or anyone else still in that compound tries to resist when I come in, I’ll slaughter every last one of you.”
“What about the Pasdaran in Qom?”
“My plan only involves the regular army and air force, not the Pasdaran,” Yassini said. “I think after their earlier debacle they’ll be happy to turn over this operation to the army. They’ll stay away from this part of the province — I can guarantee it.”
“So you don’t like the Pasdaran either,” Buzhazi observed. “You think they’re corrupt and ineffectual, as I do.”
“The Pasdaran will fall because of their own mistakes and blind ideological allegiances, not because I’m fighting them,” Yassini said. “As incompetent as I think they are, I’m not stupid enough to take them on directly, like you.”
“So you’ll simply let us escape?”
“I have no idea what you are doing or where you go, Hesarak, because officially I’m not here,” Yassini said. “All I know is that any of your forces still in that compound by tomorrow afternoon will be either dead or my prisoner.”
Buzhazi was silent for a few moments, then nodded his head. “I understand, Hoseyn,” he said. “I thank you for your fairness and honesty.”
“Don’t thank me, General — just get the hell out of here. Go to France; go to South America; go to Indonesia, I don’t care, but just go. Don’t ever come back. You’re an old man — let the younger men fight. Become their inspirational leader from the comfort of a secure hideout someplace where the Pasdaran or their death squads can’t reach you, or at least you can see them coming. Just don’t set foot in Iran ever again, because if I’m still in charge of the armed forces — which I fully intend to be — I’ll bury your bullet-ridden body so deeply in the desert that it’ll take scientists a millennia to find your bones.”
“I understand your warning, Hoseyn.”
“You’d better do more than that, Hesarak.”
“And I have a word of warning for you, my friend: keep the gates of your bases locked and guarded, and don’t let anyone in — especially Pasdaran,” Buzhazi said. “Don’t go back to Tehran or the Ministry of Defense — I suggest the alternate command center at Mashhad or someplace where Pasdaran forces aren’t heavily concentrated. Whether I’m dead or alive, whoever is in charge of the regular army will be blamed for everything I’ve done. Protect yourselves at all times. Trust no one.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, General — worry about yourself. Get out while you still can. This is my final warning.”
Buzhazi nodded again, then saluted. Yassini shook his head, puzzled and amused by the older officer’s weird schizophrenic personality swings between seemingly sociopathic mania and by-the-book military bearing, but he returned the salute. As Buzhazi turned and started walking to his armored car, he added, “And Hesarak? Remember, don’t harm one hair on those old men’s heads, or all bets are off.” His voice got louder and more strident as Buzhazi continued to walk away. “Understand me, Hesarak? Not one hair mussed up, or they’ll be after both our skins.” But Buzhazi and Sattari returned to their vehicle with their bodyguards and were gone without saying another word.
“Sorry son of a bitch,” Yassini mused. “It’ll be too bad to see that proud old neck stretched at the end of a rope, but that’s what he’s destined for.” He waved for his bodyguards to return to the helicopter. He chased the pilot out of his seat and strapped himself in, preferring not to think of the meeting with Buzhazi but to concentrate on something else for a while — time enough to think about how he was going to get those clerics and politicians out of the Khomeini Library alive once he got back to Mehrabad. Flying was always a good way to help him clear his mind before making tough decisions.