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The Hunted

Chapter 14

Dalir as he was known on the streets of Tehran was growing hungry. Over the last few weeks, he had been eating on a regular schedule and realized he was getting accustomed to it.

He had no idea of where he was; only that he was warm, fed, and had not ingested any drugs since he got here. It was difficult at first. He saw things crawling everywhere while his body shook and sweat poured into his eyes. His intestines felt like they were doing battle with each other and he wanted to scream but a gag refused him even that release.

A man would come and inject a needle into his arm and soon after, he would enter a dream world of devilish creatures clawing and tearing at him. He had no idea how long that had gone on. However, a day came where he awoke and was no longer shaking and he became aware of his surroundings.

His shelter was a tent. It was the size of a large delivery truck and though it was stifling during the day at night he would have been cold had it not been for the blankets. His bed was a cot. He didn’t mind, compared to a truck seat or the concrete of an alley it was more than comfortable.

On the streets of Tehran, a government agency hunted the homeless children, but avoiding them was child’s play. The homeless had a better communication system among themselves than the government with all their high-tech equipment. However, he didn’t believe the people who brought him here had anything to do with that agency.

He had been homeless for as long as he could remember. The woman who cared for him, in the beginning, had died. He remembered waking one morning feeling cold, wrapped in her arms. When he looked at her face it was blue and he knew then he was on his own.

He learned to live the way all the homeless children did; hiding from the authorities, shining shoes, washing car windows at stop signs, begging, and when absolutely necessary selling himself to some disgusting pig who liked young boys.

Dalir had watched many of his young street friends get sick because of how they lived. They would shake in the night, vomit during the day, become listless; unable to eat or hide from the authorities and then one day they would just be gone, disappeared. On the street, the story was the authorities brought them to a place and mercifully gave them peace. He knew many of the sick prayed to Allah for this release.

Nights on the streets were long and like most of those he knew, he had turned to opiates to ease the boredom, self-loathing, and to feel good or nothing, for a brief period. Eventually, like so many others, he became addicted; forced to rob and steal to get the drugs he needed. After a while, he couldn’t even sell himself because the pigs wanted prettier, healthier boys.

Eventually, he would end up like so many others he knew. Dead in an abandoned vehicle, or building, his body fed on by dogs or rats until the government cleanup crew came and disposed of his body.

Dalir, his name meant brave one, had come to welcome the idea, and for a brief moment, believed that it had finally happened. The last thing he remembered before becoming aware of his new surroundings was inserting a needle into his arm in an old abandoned building.

Then something was thrown over his body and rough hands were carrying him. It was over and for the first time since he had lain in that woman’s arms so long ago, he had felt peace. The feeling ended when he woke here with those things crawling everywhere.

He had yet to be allowed outside by those who fed and watched over him. Still, he had come to realize he was no longer in Tehran or even in Iran. The language spoken by the men here was different. He had seen a flag fluttering outside too and the flag had the Star of David on it.

Even living on the street in Tehran, one heard the constant rumors of an impending attack by Israel or the United States. This caused little anxiety for people like Dalir. An attack was unlikely to change anything for them. When you already have nothing…

He was sure he was in Israel and for the last two weeks, he had been trying to figure out why. The tall man who always spoke with him in Farsi was referred to as Seren and had a blue stripe on his uniform. His voice was easy and calm and put Dalir at ease. When he would ask this man where he was he was told that he was safe and more would be explained in time.

Unknown to Dalir, seven other men, much like him occupied their own tents at Ktziot Prison. Ktziot was located in the Negev desert not far from Beersheva. Like Dalir they had also been told that more would be explained in time.

***

Seren, Ariel Peled, felt nothing for the eight Iranians being held in eight separate tents here at Ktziot prison. If he and his men had not picked them off the streets of Tehran probably half of them would already be dead.

The one he had just told to be patient had a needle in his arm when they found him. His clothes were in rags, and he smelled of urine and feces. If it hadn’t been for the Vaseline under their noses the stench would have been unbearable.

The flying tiger pin he wore identified him as a member of the Sayeret Golani as were his men. His father, Shimon Peled an enlisted man, had also been a member and had fought in the Second Battle of Mount Herman on the Syrian, Lebanese border in the Yom Kippur war of 1973.

In 2006 Seren Peled, and his men underwent their baptism of fire, in the Second Lebanon War. They had infiltrated into many Lebanese neighborhoods killing members of the Hezbollah leadership and destroying thousands of rockets ready to be fired into Israel.

They had given no quarter. They were not there to take prisoners nor did they. Their training had taken place over a two-year period and only a small select few had finished. Those that did were their countries first line of defense against, terrorists and they operated both inside and outside of Israel.

Their training included HALO jumps, demolitions, escape and evasion, survival, and intelligence work. They had learned how to work as a team, avoid detection, stay alive, and complete the mission.

The last one was three weeks ago. They had returned from Iran with eight individuals who would help ensure the safety of Israel.

They were soldiers. It wasn’t their job to determine policy or get mired in the politics, their job was to carry out the orders by those who had all the information.

Seren Peled had never married. His life belonged to his country. A family required commitment, time at home to be a husband and father and his position did not offer those things. Therefore, he had abandoned that idea long ago.

There had been a woman, she told him she understood and was willing to accept that. He knew she meant it too but he also knew that in time she would come to regret that promise and would slowly learn to resent him, perhaps even hate him and he couldn’t stand for that to happen.

She was married now with children and when he saw her on occasion, he knew he made the right decision and suspected she knew it too.

The next part of this operation would begin in two days. The eight Iranians they had saved from the streets would play a lead role.

***

At the Saudi Embassy on №1 Niloufar Street, Boustan Street, Pasdaran Avenue in Tehran, a cadre of men were meeting in an upstairs office. The room had just been swept for any listening devices.

The meeting was vital to the Kingdoms' security. The head of Al MukhabaratAl A’amah had arrived from Riyadh the day before to be briefed on the operation currently taking place.

Omar al-Alhazmi sat in one of the ornately decorated chairs with the high backs, looking about the room and waiting for his boss to come in. The room smelled of roses. Four other chairs, all occupied but one completed the circle. Roses, the cause for the smell lay on a table in the center of the chairs. On the table were two glass bowls, filled with dates, a Dallah, and five funjal’s.

Each of the men was covered in a white thawb. On their heads, they wore the keffiyeh. All were members of Saudi intelligence.

The room was small compared to those in Riyadh. It was comfortable though with a plush Persian rug on the floor and tasteful pictures on the wall. The green flag of Saudi Arabia stood just behind the circle of chairs. The white-centered script acknowledging their belief in one God. The sword beneath the script honored Abd-al-Aziz, the first Monarch of Saudi Arabia.

They were meeting to discuss Storm, the code name for the ongoing operation. It was crucial that each phase happened at exactly the right moment. His team had just launched Trojan and he was here to brief their boss.

They had placed the Trojan in a small apartment above a cafe on Gandhi Street, here in Tehran It was within two blocks of an Islamic Republic of Iran broadcasting station, and was now fully operational.

It was an older technology but still very effective and easy to use. The Mossad’s Psychological Warfare Unit, LAP, had used it during the nineteen-eighties to make it appear as if Libya were transmitting terrorist orders to its Embassy’s around the world.

The Reagan Administration used this information to justify an airstrike on Tripoli, dubbed Operation El Dorado Canyon.

Today the device, nicknamed Trojan, would act as a relay station for misleading transmissions created by the psychological warfare unit of Saudi intelligence. These transmissions were intended for American listening stations.

It was simple really. An audio statement of disinformation, originating from a ship at sea could only be picked up by the Trojan. The Trojan would then rebroadcast the transmission on another frequency; one used for official business by the enemy state or country. This transmission would then be picked up by the Americans. The enemy country would vehemently deny any knowledge of these transmissions. It would be to no avail.

The September 11 attacks on the United States, changed how American citizens viewed the world. Omar al-Alhazmi knew it now took very little to scare them. The twenty-four-seven news channels in the United States, in order to garner ratings, played on those fears.

The men meeting in the Saudi Embassy in Iran knew this would be easy. The door opened and the head of the Kingdoms' intelligence agency entered the room. His dress was identical to theirs. Beginning from the right he greeted each of them in turn with the words, “Al Salam Aleikum.” Each of the men he greeted, responded in kind.

Before he sat, he took the dallah in his left hand and a funjal in his right and poured each of them a coffee. As he handed each their coffee he said, “tafaddal.”

After pouring for himself he set. “What we are undertaking here is of the utmost importance to our country gentlemen. The time is not far off in the Middle East when being a Shia will be a horrible thing.”

He paused looking at each of them in turn. “The United States can no longer be counted on. The current administration has shown itself to be weak and indecisive. We must therefore act with other like-minded governments to stiffen the American’s spine, and ensure their participation.”

He looked to Omar, with a nod granted him permission to inform the group of the latest developments. Omar looked to the other men in the room. He said simply, “The Trojan has been set. The transmissions will encounter the ears of those we need the most.

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