27

HEZBOLLAH HEADQUARTERS, BEIRUT, LEBANON

The Sheikh was not accustomed to such a dressing-down.

The only consolation was that Ja’far ibn al-Hussaini had taken the call in a secure chamber off the main war room. He had been alone. And he still was. Outside the door, two dozen of his most loyal generals and aides manned laptops and phone banks and were monitoring and coordinating every move of all Hezbollah operatives and outposts. Well, almost every move. At least none of them had overheard General Entezam’s tirade or seen the look of horror on al-Hussaini’s face.

He could not remember the last time he had felt such fear. It was not simply rare for him. It was unheard of. His sheer courage on the battlefield and his utter devotion to Allah and the Supreme Leader were the very reasons he had been chosen to succeed Hassan Nasrallah and lead the Party of God. At least seven other Hezbollah commanders were older and more experienced than he. Yet he and he alone had been the Grand Ayatollah’s choice for leadership.

Now his mentor and patron, Hossein Ansari, was gone.

Now someone under his command, one of his own senior operatives, had gone rogue.

Now he and his men were going to war.

And he had no idea why.

If this were not enough, the commander of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps—suddenly the most powerful man in Tehran—was furious with him, demanding he provide information that al-Hussaini neither had nor knew how to get, and point-blank threatening his life should he fail to obey Tehran’s every command down to the smallest possible detail.

The Sheikh finally set the phone back in its receiver and turned to stare at the door of his compartment. What was he supposed to say to the men on the other side?

TEHRAN, IRAN

Dr. Haydar Abbasi knew full well the risk he was taking.

Still, he had no role in planning the funeral. It was not his responsibility to inform the nation about the death of the Supreme Leader. His superiors had no expectation that he was going to be back in his office working on the latest upgrades to Iran’s ICBM program. The entire country was heading into a period of mourning. Government offices were going to be closed. All work on the rocket engines and guidance systems would grind to a halt. And besides, they had already made enormous progress over the past year.

Pulling into the parking lot behind his apartment complex, he shut down the engine of his Volkswagen Passat, closed and locked the doors, and headed up to his flat on the ninth floor. As was his habit, he closed all the curtains, switched on his radio to a station playing Persian love songs, turned up the volume, and unplugged his landline phone before entering the walk-through closet. There, he shoved aside a number of suitcases and various boxes filled with books and clothes and other household goods and lifted one of the floorboards. He found the satellite phone right where he’d left it, powered it up, dialed, and gave his clearance code when prompted by the voice on the other end. Then he relayed a single sentence to his handler.

“The leader is dead.”

BEIRUT, LEBANON

The Sheikh opened the door and cleared his throat.

All activity in the war room came abruptly to a halt. All conversations ceased. Those on the phone apologized to their interlocutors, promised to call right back, and hung up.

When all eyes were upon him and a hush had settled over the room, al-Hussaini spoke in a calm and measured tone.

“Someone has broken the chain of command,” he began. “I gave no order to any of our forces to engage the Zionists. Nor did any of my commanders. Can there be a greater breach of trust—a more serious violation of our protocols—than this? I can scarcely think of one.”

The Sheikh scanned the war room, looked each officer in the eye. In each he saw concern. In none, however, did he see fear.

Spotting one of his generals sitting at his workstation before a bank of three computer monitors, he walked over and put a hand on the man’s back, patting it gently. This commander, now in his midforties, was responsible for the Nasser Unit, overseeing all operations south of the Litani River. He was a legend in the hierarchy of the Hezbollah and revered among his men.

“Trust is all we have in this work,” the Sheikh continued. “And trust is not something that comes with a man’s rank. It comes with a man’s faithfulness to his responsibilities. It is not granted. It is earned. When someone does his job day in and day out and can always be counted on to maintain the highest standards, then he earns our respect and our praise.”

The Sheikh could see his men nodding in agreement.

“And yet when a unit leader commits treason against our party and against Allah, should not his superior be held accountable?”

At this, al-Hussaini reached under his robes, drew his sidearm, aimed it at the commander’s head, and fired.

The man never saw it coming. His monitors splattered with blood and brain matter, he slumped to the floor as everyone in the room stared in shock.

“One of our units has gone rogue,” the Sheikh explained. “This unit has taken hostages without authorization. And they have forced my hand and led us into war with the Zionists. I want to know who they are. I want to know where they are. I want to know who they are holding and why. And then I want them brought to justice. You have two hours. Get to it.”