131: Chapter 128 Mahdawi

July 26, 1981, Ahvaz.

Mahdavi had flown from Tehran after a three-hour drive, followed by a forty-minute ride in a military jeep from the airport to the headquarters. His suit was wrinkled by the time he entered, but his tie remained straight.

Reza met him in his office without Karimi present; it was just the two of them.

Mahdavi was forty-seven years old, with a background in the administration of Khuzestan Province. He had served as a local administrator in Abadan for five years and remained in his post after the revolution, overseeing the worker resettlement process during the nationalization of the oil refinery. The materials he brought filled half a briefcase, but Reza glanced at them and did not ask him to open it.

"I want to ask you a few questions first," Reza said. "They aren't in the documents."

"Please, go ahead."

"What is the current population of Basra?"

Mahdavi answered quickly: "The population before the ceasefire was approximately eight hundred thousand. About two hundred thousand evacuated during the war, so there are probably six hundred thousand in the city now. There is a continuous influx of returning residents, and it is expected to approach seven hundred thousand within a year."

"What about the water supply?"

"There were three water treatment plants before the war. Two were destroyed in the fighting, and currently, only the one on the south side is operational. The water supply is less than forty percent of the city's total demand."

Reza noted this in his mind and continued asking: "Electricity?"

"Iraq blew up two substations when they retreated. Currently, power is being supplied via temporary lines from Abadan, mainly covering the northern city and the commercial district. Most of the southern city has not yet been restored."

"Schools?"

"There are forty-one primary and secondary schools in the city. Before the war, there were about eighty thousand students. Currently, about twenty schools have resumed classes, with fewer than twenty thousand students. The reason is that many teachers have left; some evacuated during the war, and some are unwilling to continue teaching under Iran's jurisdiction."

Reza paused at this last sentence: "What is the approximate percentage of those unwilling to teach?"

Mahdavi hesitated for a moment: "That number is not easy to calculate—"

"Estimate it."

"Roughly one-third to one-half of the teachers have obvious resistance. They aren't openly refusing; they are dragging their feet on reporting for duty, or if they do report, they are very perfunctory in their teaching."

"That is because they consider themselves Iraqi," Reza said. "Not because they are lazy."

"Yes." When Mahdavi said those two words, there was a hint of caution—he was testing this man's attitude toward the matter.

"Then don't force them for now," Reza said. "Forcing them will only make them leave, or stay and tell the children good things about Saddam Hussein. Let them come, pay them a normal salary—a little higher than in the Saddam Hussein era. Not much, twenty percent higher is enough. Let them judge for themselves."

Mahdavi took out his notebook and began to write.

"Write this down: this is not preferential treatment; this is an investment," Reza said. "A teacher receiving a salary from Iran is much less likely to speak about Iraq in the classroom than a teacher without a salary."

"Understood."

"Water supply is the most urgent," Reza said. "Within three months, I want both water treatment plants repaired. Submit the budget to me, and I will get it approved through parliamentary channels."

"Three months is very tight—"

"I know. So start now. Waiting for my approval is just a financial formality; you should mobilize the building materials and workers first. If the financial approval gets stuck, I will find a way for the initial funding myself."

Mahdavi looked up and glanced at him.

"By 'finding a way yourself,' you mean—"

"There is a batch of Iraqi oil assets in the ceasefire reparations. The first batch has already begun to be delivered, and the cargo is at Abadan Port. A portion of that oil is something I specifically demanded at the negotiating table. Nominally, it is 'frontline military logistics reserve funds,' but in reality, I intend to use it for infrastructure construction in Basra. President Mousavi knows about this, but he wants to see results and doesn't want to manage the process."

Mahdavi turned these words over in his mind, clarified the sequence of events, and then wrote it down in neat handwriting.

"Very well," he said. "Within three months, both water treatment plants will be completed; I guarantee it. What about the power?"

"Electricity is slower than water supply. Do water supply first, and then schedule electricity. If you do both at the same time, you won't have enough manpower, and it's better to do one thing well than to do both poorly."

"Understood."

"Port of Basra," Reza said. "The port hasn't officially restarted since the ceasefire. What is its current status?"

"Most of the terminal infrastructure is intact and wasn't hit during the fighting. But the port management personnel have fled, shipping routes are severed, and the registration system for ships entering and leaving the port needs to be re-established."

"Restarting the port," Reza said. "This is even more urgent than the water supply, but they can be treated as equal priorities. A functioning port is the lifeline of Basra. Merchants need it, supplies need it, and more importantly—the residents of Basra will see goods coming in, see the market coming to life, and they will know that following us means, at the very least, they won't go hungry."

"Restarting the port requires coordination between multiple departments: customs, maritime affairs, and commerce—"

"Go to Mousavi; he is good at these things. Have the Presidential Palace coordinate it. You are responsible for the on-site execution."

Mahdavi wrote down two full pages of notes.

Reza checked the time and stood up: "You will stay here tonight and leave for Basra early tomorrow morning. I will have Rajai meet you. You two can discuss the division of labor yourselves, and tell me the result when you're done."

"Rajai..." Mahdavi paused. "What is his attitude toward the intervention of my administrative team?"

"He won't welcome it, but he will cooperate," Reza said. "I will give him a heads-up in advance. Rajai is a professional; he knows that after winning a war, someone still has to manage the city. He can't do this himself, so he will give you space."

"What if he gives me trouble?"

"Tell me," Reza said. "But first, make sure you haven't crossed his boundaries. His boundary is military security; as long as you don't touch that line, he won't come looking for trouble with you."

Mahdavi closed his briefcase, stood up, and shook hands with Reza.

His hand was cool, with a weak grip—the hand of someone who had spent a long time sitting in an office. But his gaze was steady—not the gaze of someone sent to spy, but the gaze of a person who wanted to get things done.

That was Reza's assessment of him as he saw him out.

Karimi was waiting in the corridor and only entered after Mahdavi's figure disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

"How was it?"

"He'll do," Reza said. "Arrange for him to go to Basra and notify Rajai."

"Rajai already sent a telegram yesterday asking about it. He said he heard an administrator was being sent over and wanted to know what you meant by it."

"Reply to his telegram and say: Mahdavi is responsible for civil administration, and you are responsible for military affairs. Both lines report to me. Each does their own job without interfering with the other. If there is a conflict, call me."

"Understood." Karimi paused. "There is one more thing, it's a bit urgent."

"Speak."

"Saddam Hussein submitted a statement to the United Nations this morning, requesting confirmation of the validity of the ceasefire agreement, while also proposing—the two-year negotiation period for Basra should be calculated from the date of the initialing of the agreement, not the date of its formal signing."

Reza calculated the time.

The agreement was initialed on April 30 and formally signed on May 15, a difference of fifteen days. If calculated from the date of initialing, the deadline for the negotiation period would be brought forward by half a month.

Half a month is not long, but Saddam Hussein bringing this up at this juncture wasn't really about those fifteen days—it was a probe to see Iran's reaction speed and firmness on the matter.

"Contact Rafsanjani and have him officially respond to the United Nations on behalf of Iran: the negotiation period is calculated from the date of formal signing; this is explicitly stated in the terms of the agreement, and there is no room for discussion," Reza said. "The reply must be sent out today. Do not let this matter drag on overnight at the United Nations."

"Understood."

"Additionally," Reza said. "Issue an order to the Karimi intelligence network. This move by Saddam Hussein is a probe signal; there may be similar actions in the future. Have all informants remain vigilant. Any internal Iraqi discussions regarding the terms of the ceasefire agreement must be reported immediately."

Karimi left.

Reza stood in the office for a while, looking at the map of Basra on the wall.

The outline of the city looked like an irregular hand, with Shatt al-Arab flowing past on the right side, the Fao Peninsula at the southernmost tip, and Baghdad at the edge of the top left corner of the map.

This map hadn't been changed since the ceasefire, but the red lines representing the front lines were no longer important—what mattered was that dashed line. The dashed line marked "two-year negotiation period," drawn on the administrative boundary of Basra, looked understated, yet it was the heaviest thing on the entire map.

He picked up a pen and wrote two numbers in the blank space on the map:

600,000—the current population of Basra.

700,000—the projection for one year later.

These seven hundred thousand people were the votes for a referendum.

With every water treatment plant repaired, every school reopened, and every cargo ship brought into port, more of these seven hundred thousand people would cast their votes in a rather uncertain direction.

This was the real battlefield. The guns had fallen silent, but the war was not yet over.