Free End Game by Dale Brown Page B

path that led to the front door.A servant met them, bowing with the proper respect before leading them through the portico out into a garden where his host was waiting.
    â€œCaptain Sattari,” said Jaamsheed Pevars, rising as they entered. “I greet you on your great success.”
    As Sattari started to take his hand, he saw Pevars was not alone. The captain immediately stiffened; visitors generally meant trouble, usually from the imams who were constantly demanding more progress. But the man with his back to him was not one of the black robes. As he turned, Sattari was startled to see it was his father. Smiling broadly, General Mansour Sattari clasped the younger man to his chest.
    â€œCongratulations on your success,” said the general.
    â€œThank you, sir. Thank you.”
    â€œAnd Sergeant Ibn. How are you?”
    â€œFine, General. Happy to see you.”
    â€œAnd I you. Are you watching over my son?”
    â€œThe captain needs no one to oversee him.”
    The general beamed. A servant came with sparkling water, setting down a large glass for the visitors.
    â€œA great success,” Pevars said. “You have proven the concept. Now it is time to push the Indians further.”
    â€œWe are prepared.”
    â€œAre you?” said the oil minister. “There have been questions.”
    â€œQuestions?” said Sattari. He glanced at his father. Was that why he was here? Did the general doubt his own son?
    â€œSome of the black robes are demanding a return on the investment,” said Pevars. “The price of oil has sunk so quickly lately that they are becoming concerned. The timetable—”
    â€œWe’re completely ready.”
    â€œThe sooner you can press the attacks and instigate the conflict, the better,” added Pevars. “The commodities market shrugged off the attack.”
    â€œThey will not be able to ignore the next one.”
    â€œMy son is wondering why I am here,” the general toldPevars. “And I should explain to him. Some of the imams in the council want to make sure the Indians are punished. And they want the war between the Indians and Pakistan to show that the Chinese cannot be trusted.”
    â€œI can’t guarantee a war,” said Sattari. “The idea was to affect oil prices, not start a war. I have only a small force, four small aircraft and one large one, all primarily transports. I have one old ship, a hulk that just today we have covered with new paint. My four midget submarines are useful as transports but carry no weapons besides what a man can hold. I have thirty-six commandos. All brave men, all ready to die for Allah and Iran. That is the sum of my force.”
    â€œYou were chased by the Americans,” said his father.
    â€œYes. They complicated our escape.”
    The Americans were a great enemy of Sattari’s father. A year before, a small force of commandos and aircraft had attacked one of the general’s installations in the North, destroying a secret antiaircraft laser he had developed. The strike had lessened his influence in the government; naturally, he wanted revenge.
    â€œThere was a rumor that you ran from them,” said Pevars.
    â€œWho said that?”
    â€œOne of the black robes,” said his father.
    So that was what this was about. Sattari guessed that the imam had a spy aboard the Mitra who had radioed back a report of the action before they reached port.
    To be called a coward after the success of his mission! That was typical of those fellows. It was a favorite tactic, to tear down everyone else.
    But did his father think he was a coward? That was an entirely different matter.
    â€œI did not run,” Sattari said. “Exposing our force would have been idiocy. Worse than cowardice.”
    â€œI’m sure,” said the general. “Do not let lies depress you.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œSome sweets,” said the oil minister. He clapped