22

“What kind of event?” the president demanded.

“An attack, Your Excellency.”

“Tell me.”

“Apparently the Zionists opened fire on a Hezbollah unit near the security fence. From what I hear, Hezbollah forces returned fire and fought back valiantly. They destroyed three Zionist vehicles and killed many.”

“How many?”

“I don’t have a number yet. But I must tell you this—the Zionists have begun a blistering assault on the entire area. Bombing. Shelling. Ground forces and mechanized units have crossed the border. I hate to have to bring you such developments when we are all rocked by the Holy One’s passing, but I felt you needed to know immediately.”

“A war with the Zionists—now?” asked an indignant Afshar. “Did you authorize this? I certainly did not.”

“No, of course not,” Entezam said. “Why would I?”

“The timing could not be worse.”

“I agree, Your Excellency, but Sheikh al-Hussaini insists that he did not authorize the attack. He said that he and his men were blindsided by this.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“I’m simply relaying what he said.”

Dumbfounded, the president looked over to Dr. Abbasi, who also looked aghast but said nothing, then back at Entezam. “Who fired first?” Afshar demanded. “The Zionists or the Hezbollah unit?”

“The Sheikh says it was the Zionists.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Honestly, Your Excellency, I don’t know what to believe.”

“Why would Prime Minister Eitan order such an attack, especially now, while they are trying so hard to wrap up peace talks with the Saudis?”

“It makes no sense.”

“Isn’t Whitney, the U.S. secretary of state, heading to the region this weekend?”

“I believe so.”

“Then why trigger a new war on the eve of her arrival?”

General Entezam paused a moment.

“What is it?” asked the president. “There’s something troubling you.”

“There is,” the IRGC commander admitted. “Something doesn’t smell right. The Zionists are sick, cruel, evil people. But as you suggest, they have no reason to launch a war right now.”

“Maybe it’s just a soldier or two that got trigger-happy.”

Entezam shook his head. “I doubt it. Their forces are very disciplined, especially on that border. They know how many missiles we have supplied Hezbollah with, missiles aimed at their schools and hospitals and airports and population centers. And even if one soldier did go off and began shooting and a brief firefight erupted, why would the Zionists escalate matters? Why scramble fighter jets? Why send in ground forces? Unless . . .”

“Unless what?” the president asked.

“Unless Hezbollah grabbed hostages,” Entezam said. “That’s the only explanation for why the Zionists are going crazy.”

“So you think the Sheikh’s forces fired first.”

“I’m starting to.”

“And you think they ran an operation to grab some Zionist hostages?”

“Can you see another explanation for what’s going on?”

“Not immediately, no. But why would the Sheikh take such an action without our authorization—without even discussing it with us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out.”

“I will, Your Excellency,” said the general. “But we can’t let it seem like there is any daylight between us and the Sheikh in this fight, can we?”

“Of course not,” Afshar said. “Certainly not today of all days.”

“Precisely,” said Entezam. “I can make the Sheikh understand how deeply disappointed we are. But we still have Zionists pounding southern Lebanon. The Sheikh cannot unsheathe Hezbollah’s missile force without our authorization. Usually that authorization would come from the Supreme Leader. Now it will have to come from you. What do I tell him? Should he stand down, or do you want him to go to war?”

“War is not in our best interest at the moment,” the president said. “Don’t we have enough on our plates? A state funeral to hold. A nation in mourning. The search for our next Supreme Leader. The upcoming test of our newest ICBM. The list goes on and on.”

“All true,” Entezam agreed. “But perhaps we should see this as an opportunity.”

“How so?”

“Wouldn’t the chance to drag the Zionists into a shooting war with an Arab state be useful?” Entezam asked. “Wouldn’t the images of hundreds, maybe thousands, of dead Lebanese women and children inflame the Arab world against the Jews? Couldn’t that light up the Palestinians? What if a Third Intifada were unleashed? What if Hamas and Islamic Jihad began firing rockets at Israel from the Gaza Strip? What if the Palestinians in Jordan began to turn out in the streets, demanding the king abrogate his wicked treaty with the Jews?”

Afshar considered, saying nothing.

“There is something else,” the IRGC commander added.

“What’s that?” asked the president.

“The more we can stoke the flames of Arab rage against the Zionists, the more pressure we can build against the Saudi royals to abandon their fool’s errand and call off their peace talks with the Zionists once and for all.”

“The Saudis have already crawled into bed with the Jewish dogs,” Afshar said. “Why would they slink away now?”

“Perhaps the royals are rethinking that sick spectacle they put on in Jerusalem,” Entezam replied. “They have already had their engagement party. Why else have they not consummated the relationship?”

“You think they’re looking for a way out?”

“I do,” Entezam confirmed. “And I would suggest that a bloody, messy, ugly, protracted war between the Zionists and Lebanon just might prove to be the straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back.”