Ted Halstead - The Saudi-Iranian War

The Crown Prince smiled. “The one that the Qataris gave him in 2017, worth about half a billion dollars?”

Enes nodded. “Yes, that one.”

The Crown Prince looked thoughtful. “And Bahrain?”

When Bahrain’s Shi’a majority had overthrown their monarchy, their royal family had also sought sanctuary in Ankara. Refuge had been offered deliberately, for precisely this moment.

“The Americans plan to return to their naval base in Manama, and the new Bahraini government has agreed. There the Americans will ensure Bahrain never poses a threat to the Kingdom. From that base, the US Navy will also inspect any ship approaching Yemen with the capacity to carry ballistic missiles, to make sure the Iranians keep their promise not to supply them to the Houthis.”

Enes paused. “The Bahraini royal family will be welcome to live out their lives in comfort in Turkey.”

The Crown Prince grunted. He was sure the Bahraini royals would be paying dearly for the privilege.

Enes handed a flash drive to the Crown Prince, who looked at it curiously.

Enes said, “I was given this by the Americans. They say it includes the names of all the Shi’a in your Eastern Province who have been killed by Saudi forces over the past several years, as well as supplemental documents confirming their deaths. I was told to remind you that the Americans declined to intervene in Libya until Qaddafi declared he was planning to wipe out the residents of his eastern province, Benghazi. They wish to remain your ally, but even for allies, there are limits.”

The Crown Prince scowled, but for several moments said nothing.

Finally, he said, “Increase the reparation amount to two hundred billion dollars. In return we will allow all of the Qatari royal family except the Emir to return to Doha, and trust the Americans to oversee the transfer of all Qatari military assets to us. We plan to focus our military efforts on bringing peace to Yemen, and will not undertake any punitive action in the Eastern Province. We will also end construction on the Salwa Canal, both now and in the future. If you agree, I will take this proposal to my father.”

Enes nodded. “Agreed. Please let me know what he says.”

They both knew this was only for show. The King only had a matter of months at best to live, and had transferred nearly all power to his favorite son.

Enes hesitated, and the Crown Prince’s eyebrows rose. “Something else?”

Enes shrugged, and said “It’s none of my business, but I heard the address from Iran’s Supreme Leader, and his offer of compensation. I had an idea I thought you might like.”

The Crown Prince made a “come on” gesture with his hands. He was actually curious.

“Well,” Enes said, “you could ask the Iranians to pay for a desalination plant producing fifty percent more water than the one they destroyed. As well as provide all the workers. To encourage quick completion you could also refuse to allow any Iranians to make the pilgrimage to Mecca except the workers you decide are the top ten percent performers, until the plant is completed to your satisfaction.”

The Crown Prince smiled. “I like your idea. I may just use it.” With a few changes, he thought, like requiring double the water production from the new desalination plant.

Enes rose. “Your Majesty, I am happy that your wisdom has found a way to peace after all this bloodshed.” Moments later the Crown Prince was alone with his thoughts.

Before he had become Crown Prince he had argued strenuously against the Salwa Canal, saying it would earn the Saudis new enemies, and achieve none of its goals. He had no idea then just how right he was, but ending the project would not only save money.

No, it would also show the Saudis were capable of mercy. As would allowing the Qatari royals’ return to Doha, with the obvious exception of the Emir.

Yes, he thought, my decisions will make a nice contrast with my predecessor’s murder of Jamal Khashoggi. That Kashoggi’s death took place at a Saudi consulate in Turkey, the country which had just helped to broker a deal to prevent the start of a wider war, helped drive the point home a little deeper.

Roya Maziar looked up from her station, and her pulse quickened as she saw Colonel Arif Shahin walking towards her. On the one hand, she was annoyed with herself. She was not a schoolgirl, to swoon when a handsome boy paid her attention.

On the other, maybe she should start listening to her instincts, unless she wanted to let her mother pick her husband.

“I am glad to see you again,” Roya said, looking Arif straight in his eyes.

Arif looked at her thoughtfully, and nodded. “I as well. I wanted to be sure you had recovered from the terrible experience you had last week.”

“I am fine. Have all of those responsible for killing my friend and the Supreme Leader been brought to justice?” Roya asked, her dark eyes flashing. Arif had no doubt what she meant by “justice.”

“Yes,” Arif replied, adding, “I placed many of those criminals in custody myself.”

“Good,” Roya said emphatically. “I’m certain there is a special place in hell for people who could be so cruel to those who are both innocent and defenseless.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Arif said gravely.

“Now that we have that cleared up, I’m glad you came by because it saves me the trouble of finding you,” Roya said.

“Oh?” was all Arif could manage in response.

“Yes,” Roya said, “my mother insists you come for dinner. She says it is to thank you for saving my life, and that under no circumstances am I to take no for an answer.”

“I see,” Arif said seriously, but with a humorous twinkle in his eye. “Of course, I was simply doing my duty. But as an officer, I recognize a valid order when I hear it.”

Then he quickly wrote on a piece of paper, and handed it to Roya. “This is my personal cell phone number. Like the official number I gave you before I will answer it at any time, day or night. Unlike the other one it is not monitored by my superior officer, so you may also text me with personal messages. Like, for example, the place and time you wish me to come for dinner.”

Arif and Roya smiled at each other, as Roya thought to herself that she had to remember to remind her mother that the dinner was supposed to have been her idea.

Anatoly Grishkov was welcomed into the office of FSB Director Smyslov with one of his usual bear hugs, this time followed by a pat on the back.

Then, Smyslov led Grishkov to the same red leather couch where he had learned about the mission he had finished last month.

“I am glad that at least one of you survived this last adventure, and that we were able to give you a month to spend with your family,” Smyslov said as he looked Grishkov over. “From what I read in your report, either your guide in Iran, the Iranian border guard force, or an Iranian nuclear weapon could have easily cost me both of my best agents.”

Grishkov shrugged. “If I were really one of your best agents, Vasilyev would be sitting here beside me.”

Smyslov shook his head vigorously. “Nonsense. Vasilyev knew what needed to be done, and that it was a one-man, one-way mission. The Saudis gave us the weapon to study, which was after all the very least they could do.

Our scientists say the device would have detonated if sea water had not infiltrated the casing, which happened due to water pressure. The depth for that to happen would not have been sufficient if you had both merely dropped it off the end of the pier. If you had been in the truck as well when Vasilyev drove it off to gain those extra meters of depth, all you would have accomplished is your own needless death.”