‘We need one agent,’ Mostofi addressed his aides in the small office that had been secured for their meeting. ‘Someone who can pass for an American, and speak the language perfectly.’
He nodded when his men straightened in excitement. ‘You all have run missions. I am sure you have a list of operatives who you think are the best. This person should be able to work alone, should know America well. Yes,’ he nodded when he saw the expressions on their faces. ‘I know that will be a shorter list, but I am sure you know such operatives.’
‘We do,’ they chorused.
‘What’s the mission, agha?’ Nassour asked.
‘It’s to strike in America, as you might have guessed. It will be a suicide mission.’
No reaction from his aides. Every operative that came out of the training camps was ready to kill himself.
‘Present me your best person. I will interview them, assess them and choose one man.’
‘When will this happen, agha? The strike, I mean,’ Vahdat queried.
There was almost a visible shiver of delight in the room when he mentioned the date.
‘In either Washington DC or New York,’ Mostofi explained. ‘We can decide that later.’
‘Will it involve guns? Explosives? Suicide vests?’
‘No. The operative will be armed and should be ready to defend himself, but the attack will not involve those kinds of weapons.’
‘Will someone important be killed?’
‘No, that’s not the goal,’ he said, enjoying the way they were probing, trying to get the meat of the mission from him.
‘Oh, it will be like an attack in a crowded place? Like one of their big box stores or Times Square?’ Tehari scratched his head.
‘Yes, something like that.’
‘How will our man kill if he doesn’t use weapons?’
Mostofi said nothing, smiling slightly as they tried to work it out for themselves. It was Nassour who first got it.
‘That meeting you set up for all of us at MUT, the university,’ his aide slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘They’ve developed a weapon there! It’s a—’
‘Not here,’ the Quds boss cut him off quickly. The building was highly secure and Miri would have had it checked before the meeting, however, Mostofi was taking no risks. ‘You’ll find out at the university. We don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘The operative has to be selected, will have to familiarize himself with the weapon, go to America … you know how it goes.’
‘That weapon alone, agha,’ Nassour said dubiously, ‘it won’t bring down our enemy. It will damage them for sure—’
‘You don’t know anything about the weapon. You’ll see what it can do at the university. Besides,’ he said wolfishly, ‘who said that’s the only strike we will carry out? On the day of my speech,’ he stood proudly, ‘I will announce that we will pump out more oil. Three-four times more than what we are currently doing.’
He waited for it to sink into them. Nassour, again, was the first to react. ‘That will sink oil prices. It will destroy America’s oil industry. I see the brilliance in your plan, agha. You are a genius.’
Siavash Mostofi basked in the admiration of his men for several moments and then glanced at his watch. ‘Get me your candidate choices at the earliest and be prepared for the university visit.’
His next meeting was with Salman Poozesh, the Finance Minister.
They met in an office next to the President’s, just them, no aides.
‘Walk me through the modeling again,’ Mostofi told him once they had embraced and had gotten the small talk out of the way.
Poozesh was one of three ministers who knew about the oil attack. Sayyadi, who was in charge of Foreign Affairs and Bijan Noori, who oversaw the petroleum ministry, were the other two. Mostofi had checked out the men thoroughly and only when he was satisfied with their loyalty, had he confided in them. They had responded enthusiastically. All of them shared his hatred for America. They accepted his authority without question, knowing that he had the blessings of the Supreme Leader.
‘It will work,’ Poozesh concluded after explaining the economics of the oil attack. ‘We will be affected, there’s no doubt about that. Those low oil prices will affect our economy. Millions will go into poverty; entire industries will go bankrupt because a lot of our revenue will disappear.’
Mostofi nodded. He was aware of the downside of his plan. ‘It will be worth it, however. Once America is destroyed, we will regain our spot as the leader of the Islamic world. OPEC will respect us for the attack we have pulled off. We can dictate oil prices. Our economy will recover.’
‘Yes, but let’s also not underestimate America,’ Poozesh cautioned. ‘It will retaliate. It will place more sanctions.’
‘We have lived for so long with those, we can take whatever they throw at us.’
‘They might attack us militarily. Declare war.’
‘Let them do it. That’s the best way to unite our country.’
They went over objections over and over again, an exercise they conducted every time they met. The Finance Minister sat back, finally, his shirt sticking to his chest with sweat, despite the aircon.
‘You think we can pull this off, Siavash?’
‘Yes, brother,’ Mostofi assured him. ‘On the day of my speech, our country will be reborn.’
He didn’t mention the second prong in his plan, the suicide killer.
Only he and his aides would know about that.