101: Chapter 98 Double Game

November 16, 1980, 3:00 PM, Tehran.

The Iranian Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.

When Reza arrived, the French Foreign Minister, Ponce, had not yet arrived. Bani-Sadr was already seated in the main chair of the meeting room, his face wearing a look of deliberate solemnity.

"Your Highness," Bani-Sadr said, "the French are here to discuss two things. First, French oil interests in Iran. Second, French oil interests in Iraq."

"They are businessmen," Reza said. "Businessmen are always talking about interests."

"But we are politicians," Bani-Sadr countered. "Politicians talk about principles."

Reza didn't respond. The divergence between him and Bani-Sadr no longer needed to be expressed in words—one was a pragmatist, the other an ideologue. The pragmatist thought about how to secure the most benefits, while the ideologue thought about how to uphold the most principles.

At 3:15 PM, Ponce arrived.

He was in his fifties, tall, with graying hair, wearing a deep blue suit. His gait carried the peculiar elegance of a French diplomat.

"Mr. President," Ponce shook hands with Bani-Sadr. "Your Highness," he turned to Reza, holding the handshake for a second longer than he had with Bani-Sadr.

This detail did not escape Reza's eyes.

The first half of the meeting consisted of standard diplomatic rhetoric. Ponce expressed France's concern over the situation in the Persian Gulf region, while Bani-Sadr reiterated Iran's insistence on territorial integrity. The two spoke for forty minutes without saying a single thing that was truly useful.

Then, Ponce said something that changed the atmosphere of the meeting: "Mr. President, I would like to speak with His Highness alone for a few minutes."

Bani-Sadr's expression changed. He looked at Reza, then at Ponce, and finally said, "Very well."

He stood up and led the other members of the Iranian delegation out of the meeting room.

Only Reza, Ponce, and a French translator remained in the room.

"Your Highness," Ponce said in French, "I'll be brief. France does not wish to see Iraq completely defeated in this war, but neither does it wish to see Iran weakened. A balanced Persian Gulf is most beneficial to French interests."

"And your meaning is?"

"It means France is willing to help Iran, but not for free. We need Iran's guarantee that French companies will enjoy priority in the Iranian and Iraqi oil sectors after the war."

"Is that something I can decide?" Reza asked.

"Not now," Ponce said, "but in the future, you can."

This was stated too bluntly. Reza was silent for two seconds before saying, "Mr. Ambassador, you are being very direct."

"I am a diplomat," Ponce replied. "A diplomat's duty is to speak bluntly at the appropriate time. I believe now is that time."

Reza looked at him, quickly assessing the situation. The French were betting that he would become Iran's supreme decision-maker in the future. It was a big bet, but the fact that the French were willing to place it meant they had enough information to support that judgment.

"Fine," Reza said, "I agree. If I am able to have a say in Iran's oil policy in the future, I will give priority to French companies. But I have three conditions."

"Please, speak."

"First, France provides me with the complete technical data for the Mirage F1 fighter jet. Second, France helps me establish a production line for MILAN anti-tank missiles in Khuzestan. Third, France supports Iran's position in the UN Security Council."

Ponce noted these down in his notebook and then said, "The first and second points require approval from Paris. The third point, I can agree to now—France's position in the Security Council has always been balanced, and it won't change because of this."

"That's enough then," Reza said. "I'll wait for your news."

After Ponce left, Bani-Sadr returned to the meeting room.

"What did he say to you?" Bani-Sadr asked.

"We talked about oil," Reza said. "The French want Iranian oil."

Bani-Sadr stared at him for a few seconds, trying to judge from his expression whether he was lying.

"Your Highness," Bani-Sadr said, "I hope you remember that you are working for Iran, not for the French."

"I have never forgotten that," Reza said. "The question is, who are you working for?"

Bani-Sadr's face froze.

On November 18, Reza received a reply from the French embassy in Ahvaz.

Paris had agreed. The Mirage F1 technical data, the MILAN missile production line, the Security Council support—all of it was granted.

But there was one additional condition: Reza had to pay 120 million dollars in technology transfer fees within six months.

Reza handed the telegram to Fatima: "120 million. Is it worth it?"

After reading it, Fatima said, "The Mirage F1 technical data is worth 50 million, and the MILAN missile production line is worth 70 million. The price isn't cheap, but it's not overly expensive either."

"Where will the money come from?" Hassan asked.

Reza smiled. "It will come from the Iraqis."

"What do you mean?"

"The Zubair Oilfield Pump Station is in our hands. The pipelines controlled by the Pump Station transport about 300,000 barrels of oil per day. The price per barrel is currently 35 dollars. You do the math—how much money is that per day?"

Hassan calculated in his head. "Ten million dollars."

"Correct. That's 300 million dollars in thirty days," Reza said. "Every day the Pump Station is in our hands, we have ten million dollars in income. This money is enough to pay the French technology transfer fees and still have a large amount left over."

"But that oil belongs to Iraq," Hassan said.

"It's ours now," Reza said. "The rule of war is—what you take is yours."

November 20, the Pump Station.

The day after Reza returned to the Pump Station, Karimi intercepted a key piece of intelligence.

Rashid, the warehouse manager for Iraqi Southern Military District, had followed instructions and installed Fatima's seals and filters onto some of the new weapons. The first batch of treated equipment included forty T-72 Tanks, twelve Mi-24s, and five hundred AT-3s.

"Forty tanks, twelve helicopters, five hundred missiles," Hassan said. "That's enough to give the Iraqis a real headache."

"It's not enough," Reza said. "Tell Rashid to continue. Process as many as possible. Ideally, we want every T-72 to be using our seals."

"Can he do it?"

"He can. But he needs time. He said it will take at least two months to process everything."

"We don't have two months," Reza said. "Saddam Hussein's offensive could start as early as late January. Tell Rashid he has only six weeks. After six weeks, regardless of how much has been processed, he must evacuate."

"Evacuate?"

"Yes. Once the mission is complete, he can no longer stay in Iraq. Send him and his younger brother to Europe together."

On November 25, Reza received a piece of intelligence that surprised him.

The Soviets didn't want to meet him; they wanted to meet his 'agent'.

"What does that mean?" Reza asked Karimi.

"The Soviet Ambassador in Tehran said they want to meet with your person in Ahvaz. Not with you personally, but with one of your representatives."

"Why?"

"Because if they meet with you personally, it's too easy to be noticed. But if they meet with your representative, there can be a plausible explanation—Soviet advisors inspecting weapon systems, meeting with local technical personnel."

Reza thought for a moment and said, "Let Fatima go. She is a technician; meeting with the Soviets won't attract attention."

"She speaks French, not Russian," Karimi noted.

"The Soviets have translators."