Siavash Mostofi was bored, but he didn’t show it. He had visited the oil complex several times and yet another tour didn’t excite him. However, the Supreme Leader’s bidding had to be obeyed.
He listened politely as the senior most official in the IOTC building, Vice President Hassan Ghafoori, showed him and Nassour around the offices and introduced him to several people. He stifled a yawn and looked alert as the man briefed them in his fancy office over chai, about the terminal’s pumping capability, the number of ships that could be serviced. The oilman was directly appointed by Bijan Noori, the Petroleum Minister. He didn’t want his cabinet friend to know he was disrespectful to his appointee.
‘You are security cleared, aren’t you, Hassan?’ he congratulated himself on remembering the man’s name.’
‘Yes, agha,’ the official said deferentially. ‘You can ask me anything, and I will know about it.’
‘I need to meet your security chief. He will look after us for the rest of our time here.’
‘Of course, agha. I’ll get Colonel Mojtaba Baramaki to meet you.’
‘Fool,’ Mostofi cursed the man when they were alone. ‘I told him that I didn’t want these briefings. But these executives, they never learn. They want to show how important they are.’
He and Nassour got to their feet when Ghafoori returned with a uniformed man in tow. The officer stood ramrod straight when the executive introduced them.
‘Agha,’ the colonel saluted smartly, ‘how can I serve you?’
Mostofi gave him a small smile. This was more like it. One military man greeting another, no time wasting. He hadn’t met the colonel before, but the respect and awe in the colonel’s eyes was apparent. ‘I want to tour the terminals.’
‘Of course, agha. Come with me.’
‘Mojtaba,’ he said briskly once they were away from the pesky vice-president, deliberately using his first name to show his friendliness. ‘I am short of time. I want to see what the Chinese have done. How they have camouflaged the entire station. You get what I am saying?’
‘Of course, agha.’
‘Just like I said,’ Broker said in satisfaction as he tracked Nassour’s progress. ‘They have come out of the office building and are heading to the terminal. They seem to be in some kind of vehicle, going by their speed.’
He and Roger, by themselves, on a dirt track, a kilometer away from the surrounding wall of the complex. To their left, a few hundred meters away, the waters of the Persian Gulf lapped at the island’s shores. A rocky beach, a few rundown huts, several fig trees. In the distance was the loading terminal, jutting out. A large pipe and several smaller ones ran by its side, monitoring equipment dotting the entire drive. Two vessels were berthed at the terminal, with a few crew members and IOTC officials near the ship.
Broker had paid the cab driver to disappear. ‘Government work,’ he had told him in an official tone. ‘You can’t see what we will be doing. I will call you when we have finished.’
The driver seemed to be only too happy to take their money and vanish.
‘There,’ Roger pointed to a collection of rocks on the shore. ‘We can launch the bird from there.’
Sand crunched beneath their feet as they moved swiftly to the water’s edge. Roger kept watch, not that there was much to see in the remote location, while Broker launched the drone.
‘You think it’ll have enough range?’ the Texan asked.
‘Yeah. Those batteries are fully juiced up. Meant for long flights. I reckon we are two or three kilometers away from those ships. Mostofi’s vehicle should be coming down that roadway,’ Broker pointed to the concrete extension that connected the loading terminal to the island.
Meghan and Beth had seen to it that they had familiarized themselves with images of the loading terminals. Photographs that surveillance satellites, CIA and various other outfits had gathered, that the Agency had access to.
‘First time we’ve launched that bird in daylight, this close to hostiles,’ Roger chewed on his gum as he squinted at the drone, which soon disappeared from sight. ‘I hope Meg and you are right,’ he said feelingly. ‘That it won’t be detected by the Iranians. That oil terminal will be packed with surveillance.’
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ Broker grinned. ‘If soldiers come hotfooting, we’ll know we’ve been made.’
Roger glared at him balefully and then at the sea. If soldiers did come their way, there was no escape for them.
He sighed and hoped his friends were right and kept watching the dusty track while Broker manned the craft.
‘Impressive,’ Mostofi said when Baramaki took them as close to the ships as possible and then inside the huts where the pumps worked. The crew and oil company workers had boarded the nearest vessel at a discreet hand signal from the security chief. No heads peered from the decks at them.
The Quds boss exchanged a look with his aide. He wants to impress us, show that he’s got a tight grip on security. Mostofi brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead and wiped his palm against his trousers. He didn’t mind the security chief’s behavior. He had done the same when he was a junior officer, in the presence of his superiors. Not having any witnesses was good. The fewer people who knew of his visit, the better.
The colonel impressed him even more when he didn’t drown them in statistics. He had sensed the Quds officers weren’t interested in those. He went to a large pipe that was trembling slightly on its supports from the flow of oil.
‘See this, agha,’ he shouted over the din of the equipment, as he pointed to its paint, peeling, flaking, showing the brown and black surface of the metal beneath.
‘What are we looking at?’
‘That’s the original paint, agha. When this terminal was built. It has been coated several times since, all with the same shade.’
‘When was the last paint job?’
‘Two months ago.’
‘Are you sure?’ Mostofi asked him doubtfully. ‘That pipe, in fact everything around here looks like it hasn’t seen fresh paint for years.’
‘Come closer,’ Baramaki smiled. ‘Feel it.’
Mostofi placed a palm on the pipe which was warm to the touch. He peeled at a flake of paint which came away easily. He stared at it, puzzled. That coloring, that shade … ‘it looks as if it is peeling,’ he looked up in astonishment.
‘It is falling off in many places, agha,’ Baramaki grinned broadly. ‘But that paint also gives the same effect. It is a blend that, when applied to any surface, will look as if it is falling away. It is meant to make the equipment look old. Actually, everything here is just a few years old. We replace parts whenever maintenance cycles come up. The replacement parts look old because that’s how they are painted to look, but they are brand new.’
Mostofi looked around him in wonderment. He went to a large pump and touched it. Yes, the same peeling, flaking look and feel. Every piece of equipment sported the same look.
‘This is what the Chinese contractors did?’
‘Yes, agha.’
‘Why them? Why couldn’t we use our own people?’ he asked even though he knew the answer. He wanted to see how much the colonel knew.
‘Using them helped us go around the American sanctions, agha. Besides, they have the money and are the only other country to stand up to the Shaitan.’
‘Well put,’ Mostofi complimented him. That vice president would have spent hours explaining. ‘How did you pull this off? American satellites are always up there,’ he pointed to the sky. ‘They will have spies in our country. They might have informers in the complex as well.’
‘No, agha, there is not a single spy on Kharg Island,’ the colonel said confidently. ‘Every worker, every contractor is screened, has to go through several checks. There is no leak here.’
‘As for carrying out the work,’ the security chief continued, ‘they did the work at night, especially those times when visibility was low. Mist. Cloud cover. When the satellites couldn’t have clear sight.’
‘But what about the American ships? They always have a few in the Persian Gulf. They could have launched drones.’
‘Range, agha. We too have drones that are as sophisticated as theirs. I am sure you’ll know this better than me,’ he slyly referred to Mostofi’s organization, ‘but there is no drone that has the kind of range needed for close surveillance.’
‘Yes,’ he held a hand up to stifle Nassour’s objection, ‘I know they have Predators and Reapers, but those aren’t for low surveillance. This paint job can only be detected at very close range. Not from any kind of flying object high in the sky. Besides, if the Americans or British knew, don’t you think the whole world would have known by now?
‘You are right. You have done a very good job, Mojtaba, I’ll mention your name to the Supreme Leader when I meet him.’
The colonel beamed and looked around to check that no one was in earshot. ‘Why did we have to do all this, agha? Why this disguise?’
‘I don’t know Baramaki,’ Mostofi lied smoothly. ‘Only the Supreme Leader knows and he does not share all his secrets.’
‘Please let him know this secret is well kept.’
‘I will do that. Habib,’ Mostofi jerked his head at his aide who understood the command.
The Quds boss stood back with the security chief while Nassour unloaded his camera and took several pictures of the painted equipment. Mostofi grunted in approval when he saw the photographs in the display and nodded at the colonel. His job was done.
They went to the vehicle and started the return trip.
‘I wonder what they were doing inside that hut?’ Broker spoke to himself.
‘What was that?’ Roger joined him and peered over his shoulder at the screen in the older operative’s hands.
‘Mostofi and Nassour. They were with Baramaki, the security head. They went inside that hut, were there for a while. That’s them, now.’
They watched as the drone relayed high-definition, real-time video to the screen. The three men climbed into the vehicle which started and sped down the concrete track towards the island.
It came to a halt abruptly when it was midway.
‘Now, what?’ Broker wondered.
‘Let’s take some pictures here too,’ Mostofi told his aide. ‘That pipe is out in the open,’ he pointed to the large tubular structure that ran on its own supports by the side of the track. ‘Anyone can see it from the air, even the American satellites and drones. The Supreme Leader will like those pictures. And, Habib,’ he instructed Nassour when his man jumped out, ‘bring some of those flakes as well.’
‘That’s Nassour who’s got out. He’s taking pictures of that pipe.’
‘Perhaps they want to win photography awards,’ Roger said sarcastically.
Broker glared at him and then turned back to the screen. ‘Now, he’s peeling paint,’ he relayed in amazement.
‘Mostofi’s picked up new hobbies,’ the Texan said. ‘Paint flakes and photography. Pretty soon he’ll have an exhibition for his collection.’
Broker gave him a withering look as he zoomed the drone’s camera to get close-ups of the men as Nassour pocketed several flakes. He tracked the men until they climbed into the vehicle and left towards the island. He navigated the UAV to return while his friend summoned the driver. When the man appeared, he directed him to return to the entrance.
‘Why there?’ Roger asked him softly.
‘I want to see if anyone comes out with them.’
The driver parked their vehicle outside a restaurant and stepped out for a smoke while Broker and Roger remained inside.
‘They’re still inside,’ the elder operative checked his screen. ‘Probably meeting other officials.’
Fifteen minutes passed. The driver had moved on from his cigarette and was wolfing down jigar, liver kebabs, from a street shop.
‘Don’t say it,’ Broker told Roger when the Texan looked longingly at the food. ‘We can’t go out. Mostofi might appear any moment.’
The Quds boss showed up moments later. His vehicle rolled to the gates which slid back on its rollers. A second vehicle behind it.
Mostofi’s ride turned on the road and stopped. A suit, Ghafoori, the vice-president, hustled out of the second car and hurried to Mostofi’s rolled down window. He bowed and shook the agency head’s hand. A third vehicle joined them. Baramaki got out of it and he too did the hand-shaking ceremony.
A loud honk from an approaching SUV. Its driver leaned out and yelled at Mostofi’s driver, told him to get out of the way. Ghafoori looked up at the commotion, said something hurriedly to Mostofi and Baramaki and ran to the SUV. He returned with a Chinese businessman in tow.
Mostofi and Nassour got out of their vehicles and greeted the new arrival. They made small talk, shook hands, got into their ride and drove away while the Chinese man entered the oil complex.
‘You got all of that?’ Broker asked as their cab followed the Quds vehicle at a discreet distance.
‘Yeah,’ Roger patted his camera. ‘You recognize that dude?’
‘Nope, but it’s likely to be someone important.’
‘Mostofi’s collecting friends too,’ Roger grinned.
‘You’ll have to start, too,’ Broker growled at him, ‘if you don’t ditch the funny act.’