Birjanshah City
Khorosan Province, Iran
April 16, 5:30 A.M.
Shortly before sunrise, Gilles pulled off the road. He drove a short distance over the hard ground and stopped the SUV just beneath the top of a hill. The three men got out of the vehicle. They stretched their stiff backs, arms, and legs. Their bodies ached with weariness from the long drive. They had been bouncing across the rugged landscape for more than ten hours, with only the short interlude of Kharzai’s death occurring in the midst of the trip.
Karl had tried to sleep during the ride but found all of his attempts at rest useless. Every time he closed his eyes, Kharzai’s dying expression would appear in his mind. His face slid down the Nissan’s window, smearing the glass with blood and jolting Karl back to a frightened consciousness. So, rather than try to sleep, he quietly watched the terrain pass by as they traveled. Throughout the drive, his mind wandered back and forth from past to present.
They stood at the base of a rocky knoll with sparsely scattered clumps of dry grass bursting in rough-looking patches from the stony ground like the bristles of an angry hedgehog threatening to pierce anyone who dared to pet it. Liam led the way to the top of the hill, with Gilles and Karl following. Before breaking over the crest, the broad-shouldered Irishman motioned with his thick hands for them to get low. They bent over, reducing their profiles as they approached the top. Once they were far enough to see over the hill to the town below them, they stopped and lay on their bellies, further obscuring their shapes from anyone who might happen to glance up.
In the broad valley that stretched before them lay a sleepy little city. Resting quietly in the early morning’s gray light, it covered an area of land about five kilometers long and five kilometers wide. The space was filled with tightly packed buildings of various shapes and sizes. The largest, Karl saw, were four stories high, although the vast majority of the structures were limited to one or two levels. Nearly all of the buildings had flat parapet roofs, many with miscellaneous pieces of furniture on top: tables, chairs, and such. In the heat of summer, people in this part of the world often slept outside. They would lie with their children on the tops of their houses to get a measure of relief from the intense heat that built up on the inside of the brick buildings. With no air conditioning, the interiors could rise to oven-like temperatures as they absorbed the sun’s radiation all day long.
It was mid-spring, though, and while the days were already scorching hot, it was still cool in the darkness of evening and early morning. Therefore, the rooftops were clear of people. Most of the population was still tucked comfortably away in their beds.
From their vantage point atop the hill, they could see clearly the sprawling layout of the city below. It was a more modern-looking place than the previous village they had visited. The streets were laid out in a fairly organized pattern of straight lines and logical, consistent widths capable of handling trucks and large vehicles. This was not a common occurrence in the Middle East, particularly outside of the major metropolitan areas. Many of the cities were built and rebuilt over thousands of years of occupation. The builders simply added on to the existing patterns of narrow winding roads that were originally designed for foot or animal traffic. Not so here, though; this was a young place, built with automobiles in mind. Most of the streets were paved; some even had lines painted down the middle. High curbs butted up to wide sidewalks on the main thoroughfares, allowing for safe pedestrian traffic.
An adequate amount of electric lighting shone from poles scattered throughout the city. Karl noticed a good number of fireplugs on the sidewalks. Numerous buildings had TV antennas jutting high into the profile of the cityscape. On a couple of them, he could even make out the shape of satellite dishes all pointed to the same spot in the sky above.
“Man,” Karl whispered, “they even have Dish Network all the way out here.”
In spite of the paved streets, modern lights, and various communications accoutrements, the city still had the aura of an ancient town. It looked like a city that had reluctantly followed time into the twenty-first century. The architecture of the structures, especially along the edges of the city where the streets ended, had a feel as if it had witnessed the invasion of Genghis Khan eight hundred years earlier. Its mud, brick, and stucco-plastered buildings were plopped down in the midst of a vast semi-arid desert terrain. Karl imagined a horde of Mongol cavalry charging across the grasslands in formation, intent on ransacking the city.
At the early morning hour, there were very few signs of movement. An occasional figure moved in the glow of street lamps, walking along the sidewalk, or sweeping dirt from in front of shops out into the street. Karl saw one figure carrying an armload of what appeared to be brooms. They were preparing for the start of their business day. The city was oblivious or unconcerned by the news of imminent war.
The three men lay there for nearly twenty minutes. They said nothing as they scanned all the approaches to the city in the early twilight. As the first stray bits of sunlight peeked over the horizon in a pale reddish purple glow, Liam broke the silence.
“Karl,” he whispered, “we don’t know what we are going to find in this place. This city is called Birjanshah. There is a man named Faisel we are going to see. He is our main contact in this town. He owns a small fabric store that he runs with his daughter Esther and his nephew Manoosh.”
He pointed out a small building. Karl peered through the pair of binoculars Liam had given him from the Nissan. He could just make it out from the light of a nearby street lamp. The shop sat on the main thoroughfare a short distance from the entrance to the city on the four-lane highway that cut the town roughly in half. It had a purple sign that had red Farsi script running its length.
“The family can be trusted; they are agents that have worked with us for many years. Since we were ambushed back there at Harmesh, though, we can’t be sure of anything or anyone else. You and I are going to get down there before business opens and meet with them. Gilles is going to stay up here and be the over-watch covering our backs. If anything goes wrong, he should be able to get in and help us, or at least warn us.”
“How will he warn us?” Karl queried. “Do you have radios?”
“No, sorry, but we have no such convenience,” Liam answered. “The VEVAK scan the airwaves for standard radio signals around here and our high-frequency-encrypted radios have been out of service for a while. No batteries. Budget cuts and such, you know. We have to do it the old-fashioned way and hope for the best.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you speak French or Russian?”
“I speak pretty good French, but no Russian,” Karl replied.
“Good,” said Liam, “that’s perfect. Our cover has been as French fabric merchants. We buy and ship large quantities of Persian cloth and woven materials made by the locals. In the event we are approached by anyone, you will be my new sales rep brought in from France two weeks ago to help me with some large orders I had made. Due to the outbreak of war, you are stuck here.”
Karl nodded. He hoped he would remember the information. He hoped even more that he would not have to use his cover. He had studied French in high school and college. The first time he had to use it on a long-term basis was as part of a UN Peacekeeping mission to Haiti in the late eighties. Most recently, he had used the language to serve a whole series of French executives and movie stars who took part in several StrataCorp flights. Many of the rich tourists told him that his accent sounded native. He hoped they were not pulling his leg, since his life might now depend on it.
They scooted back down the hill to the Nissan. Liam opened the hatchback and pulled a bundle of clothes from a canvas bag that lay next to the food box and water bags.
“Change into these pants and shirt,” he said as he handed the bundle to Karl. “They were Kharzai’s. You are about the same build, so they should fit you well enough. They’re a bit dirty. Sorry if they smell a little, but we hadn’t been able to get to the laundry yet. Regardless of the odor, it definitely will be a lot less obvious than what you’ve got on.”
Karl hadn’t thought about it, but he was still wearing his StrataCorp flight suit. He would doubtless have drawn considerable, unwanted attention if he tried to walk through the Iranian town in a blue jump suit with a large American flag on the shoulder and the gold StrataCorp logo emblazoned on his left breast. He took the bundle Liam handed him and quickly changed into the khaki trousers and white button-down shirt. His own shoes, a brown suede work boot, were fine.
“We will take the vehicle, but leave some food and water for Gilles.”
Karl offered Gilles one of the MRE food packs from his survival bag. The Frenchman reached out and thankfully accepted the heavy plastic package. The MRE, or Meal Ready to Eat, was originally designed in the 1970s for the military as a lightweight replacement for the old canned C-Rations that had been the staple food of soldiers in the field for more than four decades. MRE packs contain several different items including a high calorie entrée, hard tack crackers, a tube of peanut butter, candy, or other desert, juice powder, dried fruit, instant coffee, powdered cocoa, a tiny bottle of Tabasco sauce, matches, hand sanitizer, and a small amount of toilet tissue. The toilet paper was presumably enough to take care of the waste that would be created from the food in the packet, but as many soldiers have lamented in the field, it is a very small amount.
All of the food in the MRE totaled about three thousand calories, enough to sustain one person for a day. There was also a considerable amount of starch added to the entrees to ensure that the diner felt full for a while after eating the fairly small portions from the little plastic and foil bags. Most agreed that it wasn’t too bad of a meal, unless you happened to have a preference for food with good flavor and pleasant texture, in which case, it really sucked.
Gilles read the black stamped letters on the front of the bag, smirked and said, “Mmmm, ‘chicken and rice with crackers,’ one of my favorites. It is not the fine Parisian cuisine I am accustomed to, but it will do. Merci.”
Although Karl assumed the Frenchman was being humorous, Gilles’s lack of a smile gave no indication of any inclination towards comedy. Gilles set the food pack down next to a bag of water he had taken out of the SUV. Then he looked up at Karl. “Let me hear your French.”
“Mais bien sur. Je suis un homme de la cote Mediteranean, de la ville de Marseille, mais je me prefere le vin délicieux de la region de Bordeaux. Parce que, je pensé, les raisins semblent plus fort dans cette region. L’Iran est une belle nation, mais pour ma retraite, l’île du Fiji est plus belle.”
“Good enough, you have a passable accent. Many Iranians speak French,” Gilles said, “so you should be able to get by if we get separated, but don’t trust anyone, do you understand? You are in hostile territory wherever you go.”
Karl studied the Frenchman’s face in the twilight. Even after driving through the countryside the entire length of the night, Gilles seemed to be unfazed. He was almost robotic, his mood and expressions never changing, no sign of fatigue appearing in his eyes.
For that matter, both men were wide awake and fully alert. Liam had been able to take a few catnaps while Gilles was driving, but never slept deeply for more than ten minutes at a time. These special operations types were, it seemed to Karl, made of different physical material than most of the rest of the human species. They were capable of going a hundred percent for days on limited food and rest, pushing their bodies and minds beyond the accepted limits of mortal men and still come out running faster and fighting harder than a dozen average men.
“Let’s head out,” Liam said. “Put your weapons under the seat. Hopefully we won’t need them.”
The sun had started to peek over the horizon. Fingers of warm orange fire reflected brilliantly against puffs of cottony clouds scattered across the morning sky. He and Karl got into the vehicle and crossed back to the highway. The quality of the road into the city of Birjanshah improved as they drew closer to the relatively civilized area. It flattened and evidence of regular maintenance became more obvious. Half a mile from the city entrance Karl heard the morning call to prayer. It roiled the air with shrill tones that would surely wake anyone within a mile of the minaret. Surprisingly, when they entered the edge of the city, it was still quiet as if everyone had slept through the blaring atonal voice that cried out praises to their God.
“How could anyone sleep through that?” said Karl.
“When you hear it five times a day from birth,” Liam replied. “you start to tune it out.”
About a hundred meters past the first buildings, Karl saw the purple sign of the shop the Irishman had pointed out. Liam pulled the SUV into an alley beside the fabric store, stopped the vehicle, and put it in park. He paused, looking in the mirrors and glancing at shadows before turning off the engine. They waited in the silence. The alley extended the length of the building and spilled into a narrow back street. The light of the rising sun shone against the top edges of the opposite facing buildings. A door near the end of the shop wall opened. A figure half-emerged from the door and beckoned them. They rose from the SUV and walked towards the door. When they drew close, Karl was surprised to see a beautiful woman smiling back at them.
“Liam! Your journey was safe, my prince?” she said in perfect French.
“Esther, you are lovely as always,” Liam replied. “Your bright smile warms my heart every time I see you.”
The exchange surprised Karl. He wondered if she and Liam were romantically involved. If they were, he thought, Liam was certainly a lucky man. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. They entered the house and she closed the door behind them. She locked the bolt then turned back towards them. Esther smiled at Liam but did not acknowledge Karl. She led them down a short hall. Liam spoke as they walked.
“This is Karl.” He motioned to the astronaut. “He was the pilot of the spacecraft that crashed in the desert yesterday and sent the world off in this whole mess. Karl, this is Esther; she is one of the few people you can trust without question in this city.”
“Good day, ma’am. I am pleased to meet you.” Karl inclined his head towards her in a slight bow.
“You certainly brought us all a lot of trouble, didn’t you?” Her voice was icy.
“I can assure you, it wasn’t my intention.”
“Intentional or not, fate has brought you to us. Now, many will soon die.”
Karl could think of no response to that. He did not want to argue with a person in whose hands his life now lay. In spite of her coldness, Karl found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. She wore the mandated clothing style for a woman, as dictated by the Iranian religious leadership. While not nearly as restrictive as the infamous burqa, Iranian women’s clothing was much more conservative than the fashions of the west. Unlike Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan, women were given a bit more freedom in Iran. At least as much freedom as their husbands or fathers allowed. They were not restricted to black or blue garments that hid their entire shape. Although they were required to cover every bit of skin on the woman’s body except for the face and hands, the clothing was allowed to have color.
A traditional Persian hijab wrapped Esther’s head and hung over her shoulders and back. Short locks of brown hair hung from beneath the scarf and fell in graceful curls at the sides of her forehead. Even with her body masked by the loose-fitting outfit, her movements were gracefully feminine. Her tanned skin was smooth, flawless. Perfectly proportionate cheeks and eyebrows framed almond-shaped dark brown eyes that sparkled as if they had a power source of their own.
Karl snapped his gaze ahead as he realized that she had noticed him staring at her. They stepped into a warmly lit room. It had a calm, welcoming feeling. The furnishings were old, but appeared to be good quality, made of dark, rich wood. They were thick and strong-looking. Intricately designed tapestries hung from two walls. On the other walls hung several framed black and white photographs, one of which looked like a family portrait, and an oil painting of an attractive young woman. Along one wall stretched a long couch, small tables at each end. A matching cushioned chair sat at a right angle to the couch. Between them was a bare wooden coffee table. Beneath the painting of the woman, a square table was pushed against the wall, bounded by three straight-backed wooden chairs. Soft yellow light glowed on its surface from a lamp that reminded Karl of one his grandmother had in her living room when he was a child. A few pieces of mail in opened envelopes leaning against the lamp. A collection of books with French and Farsi titles on the spines was stacked to one side.
Liam told Esther what had happened in the previous twenty-four hours. Her expression was hard, serious. She seemed apathetic even when he told her of Kharzai’s death. It felt like a military debrief session, factual, statistical, cold and heartless.
“Do you know who betrayed you?” she asked.
Liam said, “It had to be someone who knew our code system for the message-house and knew where we were going be last night. That leaves only a couple people.”
An older man walked into the room from behind one of the intricately woven curtains. The geometric design rippled as the man let the curtain fall back to its place. He appeared to be in his sixties. He was thin. Dark, tanned skin stretched tight over his jaw, loosened near his eyes, and was piled with deep horizontal wrinkles across his forehead. His body was conspicuously fit. He reminded Karl of an aged marathon runner who moved with a comfortable grace, a relaxed and friendly body language. His personality was at once disarming and tenacious. Karl was drawn to the older man’s eyes. Dark emerald green, they flickered with fiery light, just like Esther’s. An intelligent mind lay behind those eyes, and beyond that, no little degree of pain.
“Greetings, my son,” he said in French as he embraced Liam, placing a customary kiss on each side of his face. “I heard what you were telling my daughter as I dressed. Poor Kharzai, he was like my own blood. May his soul be at peace in the arms of the Living God and may his killers find the mercy of that same God before they are judged.”
“Good morning, my father,” Liam replied.
Raising an arm towards Karl, Liam introduced him to the old Persian. “Faisel, this is Karl. His arrival was quite unexpected, but given the circumstances, he has agreed to stay and work with us. He will be with me for the foreseeable future. Karl, this is Esther’s father, Faisel. He is the owner of this shop, and one of the finest fabric merchants in all of Persia, if not the whole of the Middle East. “
“Liam, do not boast about me,” the old man humbly corrected Liam. Beside Faisel, the Irishman looked like a giant. “I am but a man blessed by God for the time being. All is temporal though, according to his grace.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Karl bowed slightly and extended his hand in greeting.
“That is not how we greet a brother here,” said Faisel with a kind smile. He reached with both arms and took Karl in an embrace then kissed him on the cheeks. “If you are going to be here for a while, you should make a concerted effort to try to act like one of us so you don’t stick out too noticeably. Gentlemen, let us sit and talk.”
He took Liam by the hand and led them to the furnished end of the room.
“There is much to discuss, my son. I am sorry to say that our previously arranged plans must be put on hold until things are safer. The timing is just not right, and we do not want to spoil the spirit of such an event. I hope you understand.”
Liam nodded to him and said, “Of course, I understand. It wouldn’t do to proceed in light of the current situation; I am sure all of the guests will be quite understanding as well. I had assumed you would feel this way, and so resigned myself to that probability.”
Faisel motioned with his hand towards the table. He said something in Farsi to Esther and she walked quietly out of the room through the curtain by which her father had entered. Karl’s gaze unconsciously followed her as she left and the three men sat down at the table.
“So, Liam, what has your command told you to do?”
“We were ordered to activate the resistance and start a general mayhem and destruction insurgency. So that is what we plan to do. First, though, I have to find who the leaks are and eliminate them. With Kharzai dead, that is going to be much more difficult, but must be done before we move on to anything else.”
The old man nodded and said, “I do not know who betrayed you, but there have been several agents of the regime milling around the city. They have been all over Birjanshah. It has been very difficult to communicate with our network; they are watching everything.” He emphasized the point with a sweep of his hand. “I do not think they are aware of me in particular, but they certainly seem to think there is some kind of counter-government operation going on here in this city.”
He leaned forward, putting both of his elbows on the table, lowering his voice as if to ensure no one would hear what he was about to say. “Liam,” he continued, “there is something going outside of the city. North of town, there is a new military group in the area; we verified who they are only yesterday. An air force wing with some fighters has moved to the old airfield. There are many soldiers guarding them as well. I am not sure what they are doing, but it is not a standard unit. There is something very different about them. They are unlike any fighter wing I have ever heard of.”
“Is that so?” Liam queried. “What kind of fighters are they?”
“A couple of the newer MiG31s and some older MiG27s,” Faisel said. “At first, I thought they might be a new air defense unit against the coming American invasion. But, from information we have recently discovered, I do not think this is the case. Manoosh has told us that there are no unit markings or tail numbers. All writing and insignia are gone from them. And, more ominously, they are painted black, totally black on all sides. They are obviously at the airfield for a specific purpose. I fear in my heart that it may be some kind of a martyr squadron.
“Liam,” his voice dropped to a strained whisper, “I believe they may be here to run a suicide bombing mission with those jets, perhaps with chemical weapons or even nuclear.”
“You may be right,” Liam said. “It is certainly unusual to paint them black and remove their numbers. They do not wish to identify them with any particular squadron or command. When did you first know of their arrival and how many are there?”
Faisel pointed to a calendar on the wall behind the table. “They arrived four days ago. There were less than a dozen of them. Manoosh is at Haran’s farm now. They are checking into it further. We should hear from him later this afternoon.”
As he spoke, Esther entered the room again with a tray of small loaves of fresh brown bread and very dark, steaming tea. She set it on the table and began to pour the hot black liquid into delicate-looking white china teacups and set them in front of each man.
Karl again caught himself staring at her. This time, she looked back at him, directly into his eyes. A strange flash of electricity seemed to burst against his senses the moment their eyes met. He felt suddenly embarrassed. She quickly looked away. By the way they’d greeted each other at the door, Karl had first assumed her to be Liam’s girlfriend. After hearing what her father had said about changing their previous plans he had now drawn the conclusion that she must be the Irishman’s fiancée.
“Karl,” Faisel said. “Tell me about yourself. Are you married?”
Karl’s face reddened. Esther quickly turned towards her father, an expression somewhere between anger and embarrassment on her face. Liam grinned. He lifted his cup and sipped at his tea to hide the widening of his lips.
“No sir,” Karl replied clumsily. He felt his face flush. “I have watched several of my friends fumble through years of wedded lunacy only to end up with divorce papers and more years of misery, alimony, and child support payments than they could handle. Some of them were foolish enough to put themselves through it three or four times.” He shook his head and raised his hand in a gesture as if waving away the very thought of marriage. “No, I always told myself that marriage was not for me. Jets and spaceships seemed to be a much more stable venue to stick with, and at least until yesterday’s unfortunate events, that was still the case. Besides, as time is an unforgiving companion, I have a feeling I may have let myself get too old now to even consider it.”
“Too old?” the old man interjected. “Too old for marriage? I would say you are at a prime age. You are certainly at a prime age.” He shifted his eyes across the table to Liam. “My daughter is my most precious jewel. I do not intend to give her to just anybody.”
Esther’s cheeks blushed an even deeper pink. She looked down at the floor.
Karl looked at the Irishman and spoke to Faisel, “So then, do I assume correctly that Liam is to be your son-in-law?”
“What?!” blurted Liam as he shot upright in his chair, nearly spilling the piping hot tea on himself. “I’ve got a wife and two little ones, four and seven years of age, back home in Antrim already. I’m sure my significant other would be quite ready to ring my bell with an iron pan at hearing that sort of news. Whatever in the God-blessed world gave you such an idea?” he asked incredulously.
Esther’s eyes widened. She started to say something but then changed her mind and shut her mouth again. Faisel laughed aloud. Karl was confused.
“Well, I thought Faisel was saying that...” he stammered. “The greeting you each gave one another when we arrived...I thought...the canceled event...”
“The exchange you heard at door, my friend, was a pre-arranged code. Esther indicated by calling me ‘prince’ that the house and area were safe, they were not being watched at the moment, while I replied by saying ‘warms my heart’ that something had gone wrong on our end.”
He continued, “It was not a greeting of lovers, it was merely a salutation of spies. And I think you misunderstood what Faisel and I were discussing. The event we had planned was not a wedding. It was a trade show we had scheduled for the various cloth merchants of the province next month. We were bringing businessmen from around the country to show their fabrics and tarps off.” He smiled and nodded towards Karl. “Regarding him giving his daughter away, he was not referring to me by any means. She is quite available, my space-traveling friend. She is quite available indeed.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything about that.” Karl was quite embarrassed now. “I was...I mean...she seemed...”
The old man smiled and looked at the middle-aged astronaut. “Your eyes tell a different story than your lips, my son. They asked the question, and I gave an answer to that question. My daughter is unwed.”
“Father!” Esther protested. “Please!”
“What, my daughter? Is it not so?”
She turned and quickly left the room, not looking back at any of them.
Faisel smiled and shrugged. He turned and continued speaking to Karl, “God recently gave me a dream that she will soon be discovered by the man who will be her husband. Do not be embarrassed or concerned about being pressured into anything you do not want or feel that you are not prepared for. The choice, after all, is not yours to make. Only God can make the future come to fruition. We will find peace in it when we allow him to guide us. And who is to say, but perhaps God has led you to this place and time for more reasons than you can yet understand?”
Faisel raised his tea towards the discomfited astronaut.
Karl smiled uneasily, his face a deep red, and returned the gesture. He then lifted the tea to his lips for a sip. He winced when it touched his lips, the black liquid still near boiling temperature.