Ted Halstead - The Saudi-Iranian War

Smyslov’s bushy eyebrows flew upwards. “Most unusual. That would require waiving the usual security screening. She is from a country we don’t consider exactly our friend. Do you think that wise?”

Dmitry responded, “I understand your concern, and to some extent I share it. However, the circumstances of her defection suggest she’s unlikely to be an Iranian agent. It appears they tried hard to kill her. Anyway, I think a normal security review would add little to what we already know.”

Smyslov grunted, and sat quietly for a moment. It was true they were hardly going to learn more from the Iranian authorities, or her deceased husband.

“So, what makes this particular recruitment so urgent?” Smyslov asked in a voice that to Dmitry’s dismay was carefully neutral. He thought, incorrectly, that this showed Smyslov thought it was a bad idea.

Nothing to do but soldier on, Dmitry thought. Aloud he replied, “We have nobody with a knowledge of nuclear physics who is a native speaker of Farsi, and who is also fluent in Urdu. You know about my background as an agent in South Asia, and our long-standing focus on Pakistan’s nuclear weapons. When I was there, I would have given a great deal to have such a resource available. I think some risk to take advantage of this opportunity is justified.”

Now Smyslov nodded, and leaned back in his chair. After tapping on his desk a few times, he suddenly leaned forward and glared at Dmitry. “And what makes you think it so important that we have such a resource in Pakistan at this particular time? What, exactly, have you heard, Dmitry?”

Of all the reactions Dmitry had imagined, this was not one of them.

Bewildered, he answered honestly, “I’ve heard nothing, Director. I just thought this defector was a windfall we’d be foolish to overlook.”

Smyslov’s glare persisted for several more seconds, and then he leaned back in his chair again. “Very well. I believe you. Does this person even want to be an agent?”

Dmitry shrugged, and replied, “We’ve not asked in so many words, but the handler I assigned her thinks she would be willing. Of course, she’s highly intelligent, and the report on her escape from Iran appears to show her instincts are good.”

Smyslov nodded absently, and asked, “When you say she’s fluent in Urdu, could she pass as a native speaker?”

Dmitry frowned, and rocked his right hand back and forth. “Only by claiming to be from the region of Pakistan bordering Iran, Balochistan. She has a definite accent. However, from my own time in Pakistan I think if she said she was from Balochistan, she could pass casual scrutiny.”

Smyslov nodded and then handed Neda Rhahbar’s file back to Dmitry, saying simply, “Approved. Keep me advised of her progress.”

As he walked out of Smyslov’s office, Dmitry realized that their meeting had little to do with whether Neda Rhahbar would go through training as an agent. Instead, it was about whether Dmitry knew about something going on in Pakistan that he shouldn’t.

Dmitry was glad he hadn’t asked.

Enes Balcan had no formal title in the Turkish government. He had something much more important — the Turkish President’s complete trust. His carefully tailored suit and impeccable grooming perfectly matched his dark good looks. Never married, he had never been lonely.

Enes’ intelligence and common sense were unquestioned, but not the main reason he had risen so far in Turkey’s government. Instead, it was his total confidence. Enes never made a promise he could not keep. He knew the President’s thinking, and never needed to bother him with details.

The stakes had never been higher. But Enes knew in his bones this would be his greatest triumph.

The Saudi Crown Prince glowered behind his vast wooden desk. There had been no traditional welcome, no pleasantries. Enes had been delivered to the seat in front of the Crown Prince like a sack of mail, and for several minutes been ignored while the Prince pretended to review documents.

Enes had said nothing, but simply waited.

Finally, the Crown Prince spoke.

“So, you must already be tired of your guests. Two royal families must be quite a handful. Well, don’t worry. We’re ready to take them off your hands, and give each the welcome they deserve.”

Enes had no doubt that he was absolutely sincere. He also knew that the Saudis would waste no time restoring the Bahraini royal family to power. Just as he was sure that any Qatari royals foolish enough to set foot in Riyadh would be publicly executed.

“Actually, I am here to make a proposal that I hope you will agree is mutually beneficial. We have also discussed it with our mutual ally, the United States, and have their full support.”

Enes saw with satisfaction that this statement had caused the Crown Prince to hesitate, and visibly rethink his approach.

The Crown Prince sat back and said, “Very well. You have my attention. Make your proposal.”

Enes nodded. “First, Qatar will hand over all military assets to the Saudi government, and will have no military in the future, only a police force.”

The Crown Prince shook his head. “In less than a week Qatar will be a Saudi province, and we can collect those military assets.”

Enes nodded. “You can easily defeat whatever military forces remain in Qatar. But I’m sure you know that you will take casualties. And fighting them will force you to destroy their equipment, rather than adding their weapons to your own forces. Plus, we are offering you the chance to obtain all of the Qatari aircraft that flew to Turkey after the conflict. Just send pilots to fly them from Turkey.”

The Crown Prince shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Continue.”

“Al-Jazeera will cease broadcasting permanently.”

Now the Crown Prince actually laughed. “Al-Jazeera’s studios in Doha are on the list of structures to be leveled once we annex Qatar. I think that will end their broadcasts quite effectively.”

Enes shook his head. “Ending Al-Jazeera’s broadcasts was one of the chief demands of your government for ending the blockade of Qatar, and we both know why. Our government has promised to provide Al-Jazeera broadcasting facilities, and nearly all of its journalists are now in Ankara. Thanks to the Internet, Al-Jazeera’s programs will continue to be seen throughout the Middle East, and indeed throughout the world. Unless you agree to our proposal. May I continue?”

The Crown Prince was clearly having trouble keeping his temper, but finally managed to nod.

“Qatar will pay one hundred billion US dollars in reparations.”

The Crown Prince sneered. “About a third of the money in Qatar’s Sovereign Wealth Fund? Very generous! I think we’ll prefer to seize Qatar’s oil and gas production, and see how much that gets us. Plus whatever we find in Qatar’s banks.”

Enes nodded. “The Americans have already said publicly that they would impose sanctions on you if you seize and attempt to sell Qatar’s oil and gas. Also, Qatar’s banks are empty, with all their assets digitally transferred to Turkey days ago. Still, we can return to this topic.”

The Crown Prince shrugged, but said nothing.

“The Americans plan to return to Al Udeid air base just south of Doha, and from there will both once again support your campaign in Yemen with mid-air refueling, as well as provide an on-site guarantee that Qatar will never again threaten Saudi Arabia.”

Now the Crown Prince nodded. Losing American mid-air refueling support after the Qataris kicked them out of Al Udeid had been a heavy blow. It would be nice to have it back. He gestured for Enes to continue.

“I was only authorized to offer you reparations of one hundred billion dollars. I think I can persuade all concerned to increase that to one hundred fifty billion dollars. Also, as a gesture of our sincere desire for a peaceful conclusion to this conflict, my President has authorized me to offer you his personal aircraft.”