Read Online The Inca Prophecy by Adrian D'Hagé - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrian D'Hagé
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third-rate burglary into the offices of the Democratic National Committee, leading to the eventual downfall of the Nixon presidency.
O’Connor was waiting for Jafari in one of the CIA’s safe apartments at Watergate, this one with sweeping views past the Potomac’s Key Bridge to the north-west, and across Theodore Roosevelt Island towards Arlington National Cemetery and the Pentagon to the south.
After introductions were made, both men took a seat on the couch. ‘You did very well today,’ O’Connor congratulated Jafari with a grin. ‘You managed to throw off one of our most experienced operators … who right now is pretty pissed.’
Jafari nodded nervously, somewhat relieved. He had been tailed – by the CIA.
‘How do you feel about going back to Iran?’ O’Connor asked, probing for any signs of weakness in his latest charge. O’Connor had run agents out of Moscow, Beijing and the Middle East, but they had been much more experienced than Jafari and there had been more time to train them. Although they’d only just met, O’Connor was far from sure Jafari was up to the task. He wanted to be convinced.
‘I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get my country back,’ Jafari replied. His voice was gravelly, and hinted at controlled anger. ‘Ayatollah Khomeini was very strident in his criticism of the Shah. We loved him for that – everyone hated the Shah and his secret police. But when the revolution gave the ayatollahs control, they were just as brutal in repressing opposition. In the months after Khomeini seized power, almost 10 000 Iranians were murdered. We thought we would finally get democracy with the ousting of the American puppet,’ Jafari added, ‘but instead, we got another dictator in the robes of a cleric.’
O’Connor listened as Jafari vented his anger against the unrestrained power of the ulema , the religious scholars. ‘And now it’s Khamenei. The Supreme Leader has absolute power, and as you know, the Council of Guardians underneath him decide who can run for parliament and who can run for president.’
‘And anyone who doesn’t conform to the Ayatollah’s views is not allowed to run.’ It was a statement, not a question. O’Connor had studied Iran for years.
‘They have to conform to the views of the Council as well. Khomeini’s original revolution has been taken over by the fanatics who demand absolute loyalty to an Islamic government, a government that’s totally out of touch with the people,’ Jafari fumed. ‘None of us wanted to be dominated by the West, or by the Communist East, but we don’t want hardline fundamentalist Islam either.’
‘I imagine a lot of Iranians – especially women – feel the same way,’ O’Connor mused.
Jafari laughed, but it held no mirth. ‘Ahmadinejad wants separate lifts and sidewalks, designated for men only and women only. Over a thousand Iranians applied to run in the 2005 presidential election, and the Council of Guardians approved just seven candidates – all men. We might have overthrown the Shah, but as a result we’re back in the dark ages.’
‘How much do you know about the regime’s nuclear plans?’ O’Connor asked.
Jafari’s face clouded. ‘Not as much as my father did, but I’ve learned enough to know that things are about to get very dangerous, especially for the West. But a nuclear-armed Iran should concern Iranians as well.’
‘I’m not sure I follow. Retaliation if Iran strikes first?’
‘Partly …’ Jafari paused. ‘Are you familiar with the nuclear fuel cycle and heavy-water reactors?’
‘Just the basics,’ O’Connor lied easily. The Iranian might hold a Master of Science in nuclear physics but O’Connor was no slouch in that department himself.
‘The CIA will be aware that Iran is constructing a heavy-water production plant for a reactor in a remote area outside the city of Arak, 260 kilometres to the south-west of Tehran. Do you have a pen and paper?’
‘Sure,’
O’Connor was waiting for Jafari in one of the CIA’s safe apartments at Watergate, this one with sweeping views past the Potomac’s Key Bridge to the north-west, and across Theodore Roosevelt Island towards Arlington National Cemetery and the Pentagon to the south.
After introductions were made, both men took a seat on the couch. ‘You did very well today,’ O’Connor congratulated Jafari with a grin. ‘You managed to throw off one of our most experienced operators … who right now is pretty pissed.’
Jafari nodded nervously, somewhat relieved. He had been tailed – by the CIA.
‘How do you feel about going back to Iran?’ O’Connor asked, probing for any signs of weakness in his latest charge. O’Connor had run agents out of Moscow, Beijing and the Middle East, but they had been much more experienced than Jafari and there had been more time to train them. Although they’d only just met, O’Connor was far from sure Jafari was up to the task. He wanted to be convinced.
‘I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get my country back,’ Jafari replied. His voice was gravelly, and hinted at controlled anger. ‘Ayatollah Khomeini was very strident in his criticism of the Shah. We loved him for that – everyone hated the Shah and his secret police. But when the revolution gave the ayatollahs control, they were just as brutal in repressing opposition. In the months after Khomeini seized power, almost 10 000 Iranians were murdered. We thought we would finally get democracy with the ousting of the American puppet,’ Jafari added, ‘but instead, we got another dictator in the robes of a cleric.’
O’Connor listened as Jafari vented his anger against the unrestrained power of the ulema , the religious scholars. ‘And now it’s Khamenei. The Supreme Leader has absolute power, and as you know, the Council of Guardians underneath him decide who can run for parliament and who can run for president.’
‘And anyone who doesn’t conform to the Ayatollah’s views is not allowed to run.’ It was a statement, not a question. O’Connor had studied Iran for years.
‘They have to conform to the views of the Council as well. Khomeini’s original revolution has been taken over by the fanatics who demand absolute loyalty to an Islamic government, a government that’s totally out of touch with the people,’ Jafari fumed. ‘None of us wanted to be dominated by the West, or by the Communist East, but we don’t want hardline fundamentalist Islam either.’
‘I imagine a lot of Iranians – especially women – feel the same way,’ O’Connor mused.
Jafari laughed, but it held no mirth. ‘Ahmadinejad wants separate lifts and sidewalks, designated for men only and women only. Over a thousand Iranians applied to run in the 2005 presidential election, and the Council of Guardians approved just seven candidates – all men. We might have overthrown the Shah, but as a result we’re back in the dark ages.’
‘How much do you know about the regime’s nuclear plans?’ O’Connor asked.
Jafari’s face clouded. ‘Not as much as my father did, but I’ve learned enough to know that things are about to get very dangerous, especially for the West. But a nuclear-armed Iran should concern Iranians as well.’
‘I’m not sure I follow. Retaliation if Iran strikes first?’
‘Partly …’ Jafari paused. ‘Are you familiar with the nuclear fuel cycle and heavy-water reactors?’
‘Just the basics,’ O’Connor lied easily. The Iranian might hold a Master of Science in nuclear physics but O’Connor was no slouch in that department himself.
‘The CIA will be aware that Iran is constructing a heavy-water production plant for a reactor in a remote area outside the city of Arak, 260 kilometres to the south-west of Tehran. Do you have a pen and paper?’
‘Sure,’
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