Siavash Mostofi didn’t know it, but he had done exactly as Zeb had predicted. He had stayed back at the garrison and surveyed it in the light of the morning and then had headed back to his residence.
Over a shower and a big breakfast, he had rehearsed what he would tell the Supreme Leader and had then called his office for an appointment.
He wasn’t nervous when his vehicle entered the compound and cleared security. He had met the leader several times and they enjoyed an excellent relationship.
He followed an aide who took him inside the building, cool and quiet, through several hallways to an office with an ornate door.
The aide knocked on it, opened it, ushered him in and left quietly. Walnut floor. Dark curtains. Dim lighting.
The Supreme Leader sat on a throne. That was the only description for the gold-plated, velvet-cushioned chair. He sat on a small dais and nodded regally at Mostofi who approached him, bowed, kissed his hand and sat on a chair at a lower level.
‘You had a setback,’ the leader said. A statement, not a question.
‘Yes, agha,’ the Quds boss said respectfully. ‘It is not a big one.’
‘Five missiles striking Shahriar Garrison is not a big setback?’ the cleric raised a bushy eyebrow.
Mostofi wasn’t surprised by his comment. He has a network of spies and informants all over the country.
‘The camp is still standing, agha. Whoever attacked us, didn’t destroy us completely. We will rebuild and come out stronger.’
‘Do you know who’s behind it?’
‘Mossad, agha. Only they could have carried this out.’
‘Not the Americans?’
‘No, agha. They would have used a Predator or a Reaper drone to wipe out the camp. I am certain this was the act of the Israelis.’
‘Are you planning retaliation?’
‘I am thinking about it, agha,’ he replied, even though he wasn’t considering it. Attacking Israel had to be done by proxies and he wasn’t ready for that yet.
‘What about the Shaitan?’ the leader demanded. He hated America with a passion; he believed that country was the root of evil and corrupted Iranian society and its people. He denounced it in his public speeches at every opportunity, calling it by the Persian name for the devil. ‘Your last mission wasn’t successful. You promised a bigger blow than Nine Eleven. Nothing happened.’
Mostofi winced inwardly. That operation still hurt. ‘I have learned from my mistakes, agha,’ he said humbly. ‘I went over the details of that event,’ he chose his words delicately. He wanted the leader to forget that fiasco as quickly as possible; referring to it in non-military terms helped.
‘What did you learn?’ the most powerful man in Iran asked, his eyes hawk-like as they studied the Quds boss. There might be trust between the two men, but Mostofi knew the cleric could replace him just by snapping his fingers.
‘There was no need to make it such a spectacular attack. That got noticed. Besides, too many people were involved.’
‘I thought only you knew of the plan.’
‘I meant the agents, agha,’ Mostofi said smoothly. He hadn’t told anyone of the Chinese and Russian support. ‘Too many of them were involved.’
‘Do you have something for me other than words?’
The Quds boss took a deep breath. The leader could fly into a rage if his demands were not met. People got arrested and killed when he was in such moods.
‘Agha, the way to destroy the Shaitan is not militarily. It is economically.’