Free Under Siege by Keith Douglass Page B

Second, you have seven standby cargo ships in ports around the world. Each ship holds military supplies, food, ammunition, hardware, vehicles, clothing, even a postoffice, and a complete field hospital. There is enough goods and material there in each ship to supply a fighting regiment of seventy-five hundred men for a month. Those ships are to weigh anchor within two hours and move toward Iran. Once there in the gulf, they are to tie up three ships at the Iranian port of Bandar-e-Bushehr, and the other four at Bandar-e-Abbas.
    “The ships and their cargo become the property of Iran, to do with as the government pleases. The United States will also send by ship to those same two ports a hundred million tons of food for the Iranian people. Those are my only conditions for the release of Mrs. Hardesty.
    “I am not making these demands for Iran alone, but for all Muslins all over the world who the United States has swindled, cheated, threatened, and made war against during the past fifty years. The United States will not threaten or harm New Namibia. Their officials have no knowledge or any part in the detention of the American First Lady. If the U.S. does not start shipment of these items within a week, the First Lady will remain as the guest of Allah’s Dagger until the goods and ships arrive. Each week the ships don’t arrive, I will cut off one finger of the First Lady and send it to you. I will contact you again after twelve hours. At that time I expect to have total acceptance of my demands.”
    He snapped off the set before the president could reply.
    “Now, Mrs. First Lady, we will see how much the president of the United States cares for you—or find out if you are just another political toy that he manipulates.”

7

    Bakhtaran, Iran
    General Tariz Majid eased into a soft chair in his temporary headquarters and watched a television set. It was rimed to Abu Dhabi, the Arabic-language network.
    “Our reporters continue to monitor the massive buildup of forces along the Iraq/Iran border. Sources say more than fifty thousand troops and at least three hundred tanks and armored personnel carriers are in the immediate area. Iran says that they are in the middle of an extended military exercise to test mobility and that it has the inherent right to move its troops and equipment anywhere in its own country that it wishes.”
    He snapped off the set. It had been a long struggle, mostly political, but now the hour was at hand. He had been a loyal soldier for almost thirty years. Now was the time for him to make his statement. He moved his right hand and winced. Was it physical or still mostly mental? He had no idea. The pain was real enough. It had started the night he had been wounded in the Iran/Iraq war twenty years ago.
    Those nights and days of terror and death still haunted him as nothing else could. The glory of the drive into Iraq, then the blistering, drenching, inhuman attacks with poison gas on his men—he watched his brigade wither and die in front of his eyes. No more than two hundred out of twelve thousand remained alive after it was over. At leastthat’s the way he remembered it. He rubbed his face with his left hand and closed his eyes. Those visions would never leave his mind. He could see the men now gasping and dying. His own driver died and the car ran off the road. He had to drive himself the last fifty miles, fleeing as fast as he could to get back across the border into Iran.
    His two sons, both captains in the tank division, died in that monstrous attack, and the army lost hundreds of its brightest, most able officers and men. Now was the time for revenge. He took out his wallet and removed the pictures of his family. His two sons, and his wife and two daughters. Both were married with families of their own. He would gladly die to protect them. Now he might die avenging the deaths of his sons. If so, it would be worth it.
    Two weeks ago he had carried out the final tests. It had been in a remote