Bamahfuz
had received the bad news with ill grace. He threw a precious Chinese porcelain
vase across the room. It exploded against the wall. He was angry and
frustrated. He summoned Abu Sameer to his home, and lectured him on the
importance of stopping the cavers from reaching the City. The two of them sat
on cushions in his majlis and discussed the crisis. Bamahfuz ate dates and slurped
sweet tea. Abu Sameer took no food or drink. His face was inscrutable.
“I don’t
think we can stop them,” said Abu Sameer. “There are not enough of us. Our
opponents are very powerful. They control the City and the momentum is on their
side.”
Bamahfuz
shook his index finger at Abu Sameer.
“I have
interests to protect!” he shouted. “I cannot allow the Americans and their
allies to gain access to the City. If necessary, I will send troops into the
caves to stop them. Iran will help us!”
Abu Sameer
thought silently for a moment, and then said: “You may have to do that.”
Ehsan
joined the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution for two principal
reasons. Of course, he believed in promoting the faith and the revolution. He
was too young to remember the Shah or the age of imperialist domination, but he
had listened to the mullahs in school and had learned about the glorious return
of Imam Khomeini, the ouster of the traitorous Shah and the humiliation of the
diplomats of the Great Satan, America. The second reason was that he needed the
income. His father had died of a prolonged and painful cancer, and his mother
was still raising a brood of boys and girls younger than he. They lived in a
cramped apartment in downtown Tehran. It wasn’t much, but it was home, and
Ehsan missed it. He also missed his rambunctious brothers and sisters, and the
soulful eyes of his mother. Ehsan felt it was his duty to support the family,
as his father had done. He didn’t have a college degree, so the Revolutionary
Guards seemed to be the best option. After rigorous and seemingly endless
combat and survival training, he was now a proud private first class and served
in an elite unit of military “problem solvers.”
Ehsan found
little that made sense about his current assignment. He and his fellow Guards
were on a clandestine mission whose purpose remained a mystery. They were ten
of Iran’s best fighters, the equivalent of America’s Special Forces or SEALs.
They had traveled secretly by sea aboard a nondescript tanker from the port of
Bushehr in the Persian Gulf, through the Strait of Hormuz, around Arabia and
into the Red Sea, disembarking secretly at night on the southwestern Saudi
coast not far from Jizan.
It was
close to dawn when they entered the cave. Ehsan’s sergeant had received their
orders from agents of Salem Bamahfuz, a Saudi businessman and friend of Iran.
They were to locate and kill a group of American intruders and their lackeys. The
Iranian force had entered through a different cave opening, but they knew where
they were going, and where they would intercept the infidels. The mission was
straightforward and simple. He checked his AK-47; he was proud of the sturdy
semi-automatic rifle, and cared for it as if it were his own child. Ehsan
adjusted the lamp on his helmet and took a deep breath. Let’s get this done, he
thought. As the strike team moved deeper into the tunnels, he tried to stay
focused on the mission, on his surroundings – it was so important to stay alert
to potential threats – but his mind began to wander back to Tehran, his life
there. He thought about Farahnaz, the beautiful, dark-eyed girl who lived with
her parents on the third floor of his apartment building, who often looked at
him and smiled as they passed on the staircase. His dream was to someday marry her
– if he could find the courage to speak to her father.
Eventually,
the strike force reached an immense bronze doorway that lay open to them, and
beyond it a cavernous “amphitheater.” They hid behind large boulders and
surveyed their prey – the group of Americans and Saudis, settled at a campsite
in the middle of the cavern.
From the
moment when Ehsan heard the order to attack, until all of the Americans and
Saudis, including the Marines, were dead, barely ten minutes passed. The assault
was a blur. Ehsan fired repeatedly at the enemy. The American soldiers were no
match for the much larger and better-armed Iranian force. Ehsan’s heart pumped,
adrenaline surged through his body. His bones shook with the unceasing stream
of gunfire. He brought down one of the women – the one known as the “professor”
– and several of the men. Blood sprayed as the bullets ripped through flesh. He
heard screaming, shouts, gasps and cursing in English. Then it was over. As the
echoing roar of the weaponry faded away, Ehsan’s sergeant quickly surveyed the
carnage, noted the stillness of the bloody bodies, and then signaled his team
to withdraw the way they had come. No time to think about what had just
happened. Move, and move quickly….
It was hard
not to reflect on what had just happened, but Ehsan consciously kept it out of
his thoughts. The job was done, and all that mattered was getting home. He
focused on the tunnel through which they ran. Suddenly, they were confronted by
a rock wall straight ahead, as the tunnel turned sharply to the right. Ehsan
did not remember such a turn from their earlier entry. There had been some
gentle curving of the tunnel, but no right angles. He wondered if somehow they
had taken the wrong exit from the “amphitheater.” But the sergeant said
nothing, the troops hurried on down the tunnel, and no one else seemed to
notice….
Another 30
minutes passed and they had not reached the cave entrance. The sergeant raised
his hand and the team stopped. He adjusted the lamp on his helmet and shone the
light on a chunk of rock that protruded from the wall, like hawk’s beak.
“We passed
this rock before,” the sergeant said.
Others
agreed that they had seen the “beak” earlier. Ehsan himself had missed it. His
mind was zeroed in on the charms of Farahnaz, and he had noticed little of his
surroundings, apart from the strange turn, which he now realized they had
passed a second time.
“Do you
remember that right-angle turn we took?” he said aloud, looking at the
sergeant. “I don’t remember that on our way in to the amphitheater.”
“You’re
right,” said the sergeant. “We’re in the wrong tunnel.”
“But how
did we get here?” asked one of the soldiers. “I’m pretty sure we left the
amphitheater through the same tunnel that brought us in.”
The
sergeant was starting to perspire. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and
looked at his men.
“Something
is very wrong here. Let’s backtrack a bit. Keep an eye on the walls, and see if
there are any hidden exits.”
As they
trudged back, studying the cave walls for openings, Ehsan experienced a new
feeling, something completely alien to him. He felt claustrophobic, as if he
were trapped in a confined space that was somehow becoming smaller. From the
looks on the faces of his comrades, they were having a similar experience. This
is not good, Ehsan thought. It is not good at all....
Back in the
“amphitheater,” globes of light of various colors were moving over the dead
bodies, methodically, purposefully, as if studying each shape, perhaps
measuring it. There was absolutely no sound in the immense stone chamber, as
the globes did their work. One by one, the bloody bodies began to dissolve. The
bloodstains sizzled softly and evaporated. Before long, the chamber was
pristine, as if no one had been there.
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