Quest for Honor by David Tindell Read Free Book Online Page A

think about the danger. He was a military man, after all, whose profession by definition was dangerous. Yet, sometimes late at night, as he lay in bed with his wife gently snoring beside him, the thoughts crept back to him, and on those nights he had difficulty getting to sleep.
     
    The reception for the mullahs was held in the officers’ dining room. The general had invited his staff to attend, and he saw them mingling diplomatically with the guests. A table had been filled with delicacies and tea was served in small cups. The military men seemed rather taken aback by how much the mullahs ate, especially the one who had requested kahle pache, a traditional Persian breakfast soup of sheep’s head, brain and hooves. Fazeed had consumed it on occasion as a child but now preferred more modern fare, although of course he never ate bacon.
    The man from the Defense Ministry appeared by his side. “This has gone very well, General. My compliments to you and your staff.”
    “You are welcome, sir. The test was indeed flawless.” He had received a report from the ship in the target area: the Shahab-3’s dummy warhead had impacted right on target. The general decided to venture a question. It was a bit risky, and he had learned from his father that a general always had to consider political implications when dealing with Tehran, but he felt himself to be on fairly solid ground, considering how the test had gone. “Mr. Jafari, I noticed when the guests arrived, there were no introductions. Some of these gentlemen I recognize, but some I do not. The man in the sunglasses, for example.”
    Jafari looked away, toward the mullah in the Ray-Bans, who was picking a piece of bread from a basket as he held a teacup in the other hand. “With respect, General, our guest has requested that his identity remain confidential. For the time being.”
    “I see.” The general decided to take another step. He could almost hear his father recommending caution. “I heard one of the mullahs call him ‘al-Qa’im’. Does that mean what I think it means?”
    Jafari was silent for a moment, and Fazeed knew he had cut very close to what he suspected was the truth. “You may draw your own conclusions, General,” the Defense Ministry man said. “That does not mean they would be correct.”
    “I see,” the general said.
    After a moment, Jafari looked at his watch. “I’ll be escorting our guests back to Tehran shortly,” he said. “Might I have a word with you in private? I have an update on a subject of…mutual interest.”
    The general knew exactly what he was talking about. “Of course. Let’s go to my office.” That was only about twenty steps away, and with every step Fazeed fought harder to keep his anxiety level under control. He had thought that after six months, he would be able to discuss this topic without apprehension, but that was not so, not yet. They reached his office. Once inside, they sat in adjacent chairs next to the coffee table. The general’s desk dominated the other end of the room. As they sat, the general looked up at the portrait of his father that hung proudly on one wall, and he prayed to Allah for some of the old man’s strength.
    “The ships are ready to sail,” Jafari said without preamble, and the general could not suppress his intake of breath.
    A half-hour later, the general shook hands with the mullahs and Jafari as they prepared for the short ride to the airstrip. The Defense Ministry official’s grip was firm and his eye contact said much more than the platitudes they were exchanging. As the general watched the two Land Rovers drive off, he reflected again on what he had been told in his office just a few minutes before. Part of him was filled with pride, for his role in the mission, delicate and hazardous as it had been, was now successfully completed. He was also concerned for his old friend and colleague, a Navy admiral who now was in charge and who now would have to rely on the professionalism