2034: A Novel of the Next World War(68)
Farshad became defensive. He offered other words, like miscalculation and unintentional, to describe what the Russians had done in the Barents Sea. But he knew they were lies and soon retired them, drawing silent and resigning himself only to, “How did you figure out that I was on the Rezkiy?”
“You just told me,” Patel replied.
Farshad smiled. He couldn’t help it; he liked this wily old man.
Placing Farshad on the Rezkiy was a simple act of deduction on Patel’s part—Farshad had flown through Moscow, and how many Iranian liaison officers did Tehran have assigned to the Russian fleet? Not many. Patel now asked his Iranian counterpart to engage with him in a similar deductive exercise. The Indian government, Patel explained, wanted its ship back from the Revolutionary Guards. Patel understood that unlike the Russians in the Barents Sea, the seizure of the privately owned tanker was an actual miscalculation that had led to an impasse between their two governments. After laying out the facts as he saw them, Patel expounded on “the unique position of our two countries.”
According to Patel, arbitration of the Sino-American War now fell to India. Among the nations of the world, events had conspired to make New Delhi the best interlocutor between Washington and Beijing, and it would take Iranian cooperation as well. Only their countries had a chance of ending the hostilities. He alluded to “sweeping actions” his government might be called upon to take in the coming days. “Without our intervention,” Patel explained, “the Americans will counterstrike, and the Chinese will counterstrike the counterstrike. Tactical nuclear weapons will turn into strategic ones. And that will lead to the end. For all of us. . . . But our intervention can work and will only work if it’s allowed to unfold freely, if no other nation interferes.” Patel turned to Farshad. Like a spouse begging their partner to give up a lover, he said simply, “When I say interference, I’m talking about the Russians.”
Farshad understood. He knew that Patel saw the Russians clearly, just as he and his government saw them clearly. Farshad found himself thinking of Kolchak, who could trace his lineage to the Imperial Navy, his ancestors having served on both the tsars’ dreadnoughts and on the Soviets’ guided missile cruisers. Within four generations Kolchak’s family had veered from imperialist to communist to capitalist—at least the current Russian version of capitalist. Did this mean that Kolchak’s character, and that of his ancestors, was unprincipled and opportunistic? Or did it simply mean that he came from a people who had always done what they must to survive?
“The world is in disarray,” said Patel, who took another sip of his tea, placing the cup delicately on its saucer. “Do you think the Russians won’t continue to take advantage of that? Do you think they’ll stop with a ribbon of land in Poland?” Patel didn’t wait for an answer; instead, he began to shake his head at Farshad. “You’re next. The Strait of Hormuz is next.” Patel then explained, in great detail, a Russian plan to seize Larak and Hormuz Islands, two rocky, treeless outcroppings strategically positioned in the center of the strait. “From those islands, their fleet could close down all maritime traffic. They could choke off the export of oil from the Gulf, skyrocketing the price of Russia’s own oil. A nice little piece of extortion, don’t you think?”
Farshad had drawn silent. Eventually, he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought you’d be grateful,” scoffed Patel. “You should be.”
Farshad allowed the silence to return between them, and in that silence was an affirmation that he, like Patel, understood that nothing was granted for free. If this information was true, there would be a price associated with it. If it were a lie, Patel wouldn’t ask him for a thing. Farshad sat on the love seat and allowed the old admiral to make his request. “We need your help,” Patel eventually said. “First, we need our tanker released. Its seizure has caused quite a stir here, and that has been, well . . . embarrassing for us. However, and more importantly, when our government takes decisive action, it’s very probable that the Pakistanis might use that as an opportunity to stir up trouble, perhaps an attack on Kashmir, or some domestic terrorism sponsored by one of their ISI surrogates. When it comes to the Pakistanis, emotions run very high in our country. Perhaps you can understand how this would prove a—how shall I put this?—a distraction.”
Farshad understood. Certain national identities were defined by certain national antipathies. What was more Persian than hating an Israeli? More American than hating a Russian? Even if Patel wouldn’t divulge what “decisive action” his country was planning to take, Farshad understood that like a pack of distracted children swarming a soccer ball, a crisis with the Pakistanis might prevent the politicians in New Delhi from acting strategically. What Farshad didn’t understand was how he and his country were in a position to forestall Pakistani aggression.
“The Pakistanis won’t move without Beijing’s approval,” Patel stated flatly. “You’ve got the ear of the Chinese. Convince them to keep their Pakistani allies on a leash. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?”
“And the Russians?” asked Farshad.
Patel gathered their two empty cups of tea and disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a thick manila folder. “Our intelligence services have intercepted their plans,” he said. “It’s all here.” Patel handed over the folder, which detailed how a Russian Spetsnaz division, supported by a carrier battle group, would seize the two lightly defended Iranian islands in the strait. The entire operation would take a single day. Farshad skimmed the documents with a growing sense of alarm. There wasn’t much time to avert this disaster, a week at best.