Solomon's Gold

CHAPTER 9

The headquarters of Iran's Ministry of Intelligence and Security in downtown Tehran had the look of a place you didn't want to visit. It wasn't that the building was particularly threatening in itself, although it was true that it wouldn't win awards for aesthetics in an architectural competition. There was something about the way it looked that seemed to lack the human touch. It presented a high, flat wall of brown stone, accented with rectangles of white. The building looked as though it had been designed by a machine. Rows of faceless windows marched in perfect symmetry across the façade.

In case an observer doubted he was looking at something that was none of his business, all he had to do was note the concrete barriers painted in green and white blocking traffic approaches to the building, or count the guards wearing berets and carrying submachine guns that patrolled the area.

MOIS was the most powerful ministry in the Islamic Republic of Iran. It fell under the general heading of Iran's national security establishment. At the head of that establishment was the Supreme Leader. Beneath him was the Supreme National Security Council. Below the Council were MOIS, the Ministry of Defense, and the Ministry of the Interior. Of the three, MOIS was by far the most feared.

MOIS was responsible for all foreign intelligence, counterterrorism and internal security. To that end, the ministry had created one of the most efficient intelligence networks that had ever existed, backed up by a ruthless and brutal secret police force. Sometimes MOIS was referred to as VAJA. Whatever one called it, it was not something Iranians talked about openly, if they knew what was good for them. VAJA was the secret weapon of the Supreme Leader and the Council, responsible for all covert operations against the hated West and anyone who dared to preach moderation within the country.

In a large office on the top floor of the headquarters building, two men sat discussing one of those operations. One of the men wore the black robes and white turban of a cleric. His face had the jolly appearance of someone who was well pleased with himself and his position in life. His beard was streaked with gray. Square, gold-rimmed glasses reflected glare from the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. His name was Babak Fahrad. Fahrad was a man to be reckoned with, a close advisor of the Supreme Leader.

The second man wore the uniform of a general in the Revolutionary Guard. It was in his office that the men were meeting. General Abbas Javadi was someone who liked his food, and it showed. He was overweight, his face round and slightly unpleasant, his eyes dark and beady. Receding black hair was slicked back from his forehead. His lips were swollen and purplish, a sign of bad digestion. His cologne could not quite hide his sour body odor.

Javadi's role was roughly equivalent to the Central Intelligence Agency's director of clandestine operations. He monitored and directed covert activities against the enemy. He was meeting with Fahrad to discuss Operation Sword of Justice, an operation so secret that only the Supreme Leader, Fahrad, Abbas, and the unit in the field knew about it.

On a low table before the two men was a tray with a pot of tea and two cups. Fahrad picked up the pot and poured a cup.

"Tea, General?"

"Thank you, Excellency."

Abbas took the cup. The two men sipped at their tea.

"The Supreme Leader is most interested in the progress of the operation," Fahrad said. "What news shall I bring to him?"

"As you are aware, Excellency, the conference of the Jews is still two weeks away. Everything is ready. The package will arrive in New York shortly. It will be installed ahead of the conference, but before security has been put in place."

"You are confident in the capabilities of your team?"

"I am. The team leader, Dayoud, is personally known to me. I chose him because of his exemplary record and his willingness to martyr himself if necessary. In his particular case, I hope it is not necessary. He is intelligent, a valuable asset."

"As God wills," Fahrad said. "What about the rest of his team?"

Abbas shrugged. "They are expendable. It is unlikely they will return home. We cannot risk them ever talking about the operation. They have prepared themselves for martyrdom."

"Ah."

"There has been an interesting development," Abbas said. "An artifact has been discovered. I see the hand of Allah in this, guiding us. His gifts are many."

Fahrad sipped his tea. "What kind of artifact?"

"A scroll. Written by the Jew king, Solomon."

"Go on."

"I instructed Dayoud to obtain this scroll. He succeeded. It is written in the ancient language of the Jews and is in code, but my people have cracked it. It contains partial directions for finding a hoard of gold the Jew king Solomon set aside to maintain their godless temple. I want to follow up on it."

"Nothing must jeopardize the operation," Fahrad said.

"There is no conflict," Abbas said. "The two are only coincidentally related."

"It would truly be a gift if this treasure of the Jews could be found and used against them. What could be more appropriate?"

"What indeed? That is my thought as well, Excellency."

"Very well. You have permission to explore this possibility."

Fahrad stood. Abbas rose with him.

"Update me regularly on the progress of the operation, and of any further developments concerning this artifact."

"Of course."

Fahrad stepped forward and embraced Abbas.

"God go with you."

"And with you, Excellency."

Abbas watched the door close behind Fahrad and went back to his desk. He thought about the operation in America and imagined what would happen when it succeeded.

The thought brought a huge smile to his face.