Parthia Major
23-12-2004, 18:34
Spring Palace, Ispahan
As the delivery truck drove away from the Palace, the two men inside exchanged glances of relief. Both were in fact agents of SAVAK and they knew that had an enemy faction inside the secret police discovered the plot, instead of driving away safely they would be suffering through a long and painful death. Now, however, they could be certain their plan had gone undiscovered, and that their bomb would decapitate the most dangerous enemy faction. Of course, innocents would be killed, but the ailing Shah’s succession had to be assured on the best of terms-and murdering innocents was hardly anything new for agents of SAVAK.
Elsewhere
The border guards had come in the middle of the night. Apparently, somebody at the depot was on the other side’s payroll, but he wouldn’t be able to deal with them. Despite his resolve and training, he couldn’t hold back a scream as the lead pipe came down on his already shattered elbow. He couldn’t see through the blindfold, but he could imagine the tall SAVAK colonel, with a brace of border guards at his back, smirking as he raised his hand to signal his torturer to stop.
“You know, you only have to tell us what that explosive was for and the pain will go away. Remember, it is up to you to decide how much you suffer.”
“You bastard…you’ll just…shoot me anyway!” he gasped out.
He felt the slap on his face, and then heard the colonel ordering the interrogation to resume. As a bulwark against the pain, he held up the certainty that he needn’t resist forever; the bomb would blow at 10 AM, and once it did, nothing he knew would be of use to his torturers. He would welcome the bullet in the head as a relief from the sheer physical agony. But he had no way of telling how long had elapsed since they had burst into his house, and he knew that time seemed excruciatingly slow when subject to terrible pain, so he held out as best he could as he sunk into a red whirlwind of pain. It didn’t surprise him how effective the torturer could be, even without most of his tools; he’d done it himself, more than once. Nevertheless, as the pain kept coming, his determination and sanity began fraying, first at the edges and then in their very essence. Eventually, it was little more than a broken wreck that gasped:
“Mercy...they’re going to blow the Princess up…her morning briefing…today…please stop the…the pain!”
There was little more than a dull thud as the silenced pistol fired. The colonel was already running up the stairs with his men as the dead body collapsed on the floor; while the match fell into the gasoline, the colonel was already on his radio, talking urgently.
Spring Palace, Ispahan
General Ali Qajar smoothed out a crease in his uniform, and then smiled to himself in the mirror. In truth, he had good reasons to be happy with his life: he was still young enough, and he was already commander of the Imperial Guard; he had a beautiful and loving wife, which he could hear just now stirring in bed; and he was the chief lieutenant and informal chief-of-staff of the Shah’s only child. If he escaped the blades of assassins, then he would be able to live a comfortable and dignified life, ending amidst piles of honours with a position as one of the most important men in court. With such happy thoughts beaming in his head he set off for the Princess’ Thursday morning briefing, striding confidently through the gilded corridors, acknowledging the court’s major personages with a nod of the head as he passed. He was nearing the former reception salon that had been recuperated in recent times to serve as the Princess’ briefing room when one of his Guardsmen literally ran into him. As the soldier noticed his General, he snapped to attention and saluted, before blurting out, obviously out of breath:
“Sir, we were looking for you…Colonel Abadi called up the Guard’s HQ, he says there’s a bomb that’s going to go off at the Princess’ briefing!”
The General, at first irritated that the man had spoken to him without waiting to be addressed first-a flagrant breach of etiquette-rapidly forgot his indignation as he rapidly took charge of the situation.
“Quickly, man! Get an explosives disposal team in there! I’ll go warn her Highness!”
The soldier nodded, to breathless to answer properly, and hurried off to obey the order, while General Qajar dashed off into the corridors leading to Princess Yasmina Zahedi’s apartments. He met her coming out of a turn and came to skidding halt in front of her, completely ignoring the etiquette that would have had him going down on both knees and bowing to the ground.
“Your Highness! A friend in SAVAK gave me warning of a bomb planted to kill you at the briefing! I’ve got a bomb squad underway, but you’d better get to safety…”
As the delivery truck drove away from the Palace, the two men inside exchanged glances of relief. Both were in fact agents of SAVAK and they knew that had an enemy faction inside the secret police discovered the plot, instead of driving away safely they would be suffering through a long and painful death. Now, however, they could be certain their plan had gone undiscovered, and that their bomb would decapitate the most dangerous enemy faction. Of course, innocents would be killed, but the ailing Shah’s succession had to be assured on the best of terms-and murdering innocents was hardly anything new for agents of SAVAK.
Elsewhere
The border guards had come in the middle of the night. Apparently, somebody at the depot was on the other side’s payroll, but he wouldn’t be able to deal with them. Despite his resolve and training, he couldn’t hold back a scream as the lead pipe came down on his already shattered elbow. He couldn’t see through the blindfold, but he could imagine the tall SAVAK colonel, with a brace of border guards at his back, smirking as he raised his hand to signal his torturer to stop.
“You know, you only have to tell us what that explosive was for and the pain will go away. Remember, it is up to you to decide how much you suffer.”
“You bastard…you’ll just…shoot me anyway!” he gasped out.
He felt the slap on his face, and then heard the colonel ordering the interrogation to resume. As a bulwark against the pain, he held up the certainty that he needn’t resist forever; the bomb would blow at 10 AM, and once it did, nothing he knew would be of use to his torturers. He would welcome the bullet in the head as a relief from the sheer physical agony. But he had no way of telling how long had elapsed since they had burst into his house, and he knew that time seemed excruciatingly slow when subject to terrible pain, so he held out as best he could as he sunk into a red whirlwind of pain. It didn’t surprise him how effective the torturer could be, even without most of his tools; he’d done it himself, more than once. Nevertheless, as the pain kept coming, his determination and sanity began fraying, first at the edges and then in their very essence. Eventually, it was little more than a broken wreck that gasped:
“Mercy...they’re going to blow the Princess up…her morning briefing…today…please stop the…the pain!”
There was little more than a dull thud as the silenced pistol fired. The colonel was already running up the stairs with his men as the dead body collapsed on the floor; while the match fell into the gasoline, the colonel was already on his radio, talking urgently.
Spring Palace, Ispahan
General Ali Qajar smoothed out a crease in his uniform, and then smiled to himself in the mirror. In truth, he had good reasons to be happy with his life: he was still young enough, and he was already commander of the Imperial Guard; he had a beautiful and loving wife, which he could hear just now stirring in bed; and he was the chief lieutenant and informal chief-of-staff of the Shah’s only child. If he escaped the blades of assassins, then he would be able to live a comfortable and dignified life, ending amidst piles of honours with a position as one of the most important men in court. With such happy thoughts beaming in his head he set off for the Princess’ Thursday morning briefing, striding confidently through the gilded corridors, acknowledging the court’s major personages with a nod of the head as he passed. He was nearing the former reception salon that had been recuperated in recent times to serve as the Princess’ briefing room when one of his Guardsmen literally ran into him. As the soldier noticed his General, he snapped to attention and saluted, before blurting out, obviously out of breath:
“Sir, we were looking for you…Colonel Abadi called up the Guard’s HQ, he says there’s a bomb that’s going to go off at the Princess’ briefing!”
The General, at first irritated that the man had spoken to him without waiting to be addressed first-a flagrant breach of etiquette-rapidly forgot his indignation as he rapidly took charge of the situation.
“Quickly, man! Get an explosives disposal team in there! I’ll go warn her Highness!”
The soldier nodded, to breathless to answer properly, and hurried off to obey the order, while General Qajar dashed off into the corridors leading to Princess Yasmina Zahedi’s apartments. He met her coming out of a turn and came to skidding halt in front of her, completely ignoring the etiquette that would have had him going down on both knees and bowing to the ground.
“Your Highness! A friend in SAVAK gave me warning of a bomb planted to kill you at the briefing! I’ve got a bomb squad underway, but you’d better get to safety…”