161: Chapter 158 In the chess game

February 15, 1982, a Scud missile base in western Iran.

Iran's Scud missiles were loaded onto launch vehicles.

But the missiles were not launched.

The launch vehicles moved back and forth within the base, creating the appearance of preparing for a launch. But none of the missiles were actually fired.

Iraq's satellites captured all of this from the sky.

Iraq's intelligence system saw these images.

Iraq believed that Iran was preparing for a Scud missile attack.

Baghdad.

Saddam Hussein had already left the Presidential Palace.

He was in a secret location, waiting for Iran's attack.

But the attack did not happen.

For an entire day, Iran did not launch any Scud missiles.

Saddam Hussein sat in his secret location, deep in thought.

"Why didn't Iran launch an attack?"

"Was it because Iran discovered something?"

"Or was it because Iraq's early evacuation made Iran give up the attack?"

Hassan Rajab was reporting to Saddam Hussein.

"Iran was preparing an attack," he said, "but they didn't launch."

"Why?" Saddam Hussein asked.

"Our analysis is," Hassan Rajab said, "that Iran discovered you had already left the Presidential Palace. So they gave up the attack."

"This means," Saddam Hussein said, "that the 'Eagle's' intelligence was correct."

"Yes," Hassan Rajab said.

Saddam Hussein nodded.

"Give the 'Eagle' the money," he said, "one million dollars."

"Yes."

Hassan Rajab went out.

Saddam Hussein sat in his chair, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

He finally had a reliable informant inside Iran.

But what he didn't know was that he was falling into a trap.

Ahvaz, Reza's office.

Karimi was reporting:

"Iraq has given the 'Eagle' one million dollars."

"Very good," Reza said, "the trap has been set."

"What now?"

"Now," Reza said, "we start passing false information to Iraq through the 'Eagle'."

"What kind of information?"

"Military information," Reza said. "We will let Iraq believe they know all of Iran's military deployments. But in reality, everything they know is fake."

"What specifically?"

"A few things," Reza said. "First, we let Iraq believe that Iran's air defense systems are mainly deployed in the west. But in reality, we have also deployed them in the south. Second, we let Iraq believe that Iran's Scud missile bases are near Tehran. But in reality, our bases are in central Iran. Third, we let Iraq believe that Iran's new air defense system can only handle high-altitude targets. But in reality, we are developing a system that can handle low-altitude targets."

"This information will cause Iraq to make wrong judgments," Karimi said.

"Correct," Reza said. "Iraq will formulate their strategy based on this information. But their strategy will be based on false information."

Karimi nodded.

"How should we handle Beheshti?" he asked.

"We will let him continue," Reza said. "He doesn't know that we have already discovered him. He will continue to pass information to Iraq."

"But he might pass on real information," Karimi said, "if he knows anything real."

"Yes," Reza said, "so we need to control the information he can access. We need to ensure that he can only access the information we want him to know."

"How?"

"We need to set up an information barrier around him," Reza said. "We need to make him believe that he can access all the information, but in reality, he can only access the information we let him access."

Karimi understood.

This was a very complex scheme.

It required the cooperation of Iran's entire intelligence system.

It required constant monitoring and control.

But if it succeeded, Iran would gain a huge advantage.

"I will make the arrangements," Karimi said.

"Very good," Reza said, "there is one more thing."

"What?"

"Javadi's project," Reza said. "How much time is left on his two-month deadline?"

"Six more weeks."

"Very good," Reza said. "Let him continue to struggle. When his project fails, I will deal with him."

Karimi went out.

Tehran, Beheshti's home.

Beheshti was in his study, looking at his bank statement.

One million dollars had arrived in his account.

A satisfied smile appeared on his face.

He had done it.

He had not only defeated the previous political crisis but had also built a new, more powerful network.

He had established contact with Iraq.

Iraq had given him money. Iraq had given him guarantees.

If one day, Reza wanted to get rid of him, Iraq would protect him.

But Beheshti also knew that he needed to continue to prove his value.

He needed to continue providing useful information to Iraq.

Otherwise, Iraq would stop giving him money.

Iraq would stop protecting him.

He picked up the phone and called a friend.

This friend was an official in the Iranian government. An official who could access military intelligence.

"I need you to help me with something," Beheshti said.

"What is it?" the friend asked.

"I need information on Iran's recent military deployments," Beheshti said. "I am writing an article about Iran's national defense."

"That is very sensitive information," the friend said.

"I know," Beheshti said, "but I will keep it confidential. I won't let anyone know that this information came from you."

The friend was silent for a moment.

"Okay," he said, "I will give you some information. But you must keep it confidential."

"I will," Beheshti said.

The phone hung up.

Beheshti sat in his chair, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

He was building a perfect spy network.

He could access Iran's top secrets.

He could sell these secrets to Iraq.

He could become rich, become powerful.

He could eventually replace Reza.

Ahvaz, Reza's office.

Karimi returned.

"Beheshti has contacted a friend," he said, "this friend is a government official who can access military intelligence."

"Who?" Reza asked.

"Ahmad Rajabi," Karimi said, "a deputy minister in the Ministry of Defense."

Reza wrote the name down in his notebook.

"Is he a reliable person?" Reza asked.

"He is a loyal person," Karimi said, "but he and Beheshti are old friends. He probably doesn't know that Beheshti is a traitor."

"Then how should we handle it?"

"Two options," Karimi said. "First, tell Rajabi that Beheshti is a traitor and have him stop providing information. Second, let Rajabi continue to provide information, but ensure that what he provides is the information we want Beheshti to know."

"The second one," Reza said, "but we need to tell Rajabi directly. We need to let him know our plan."

"That is dangerous," Karimi said. "If Rajabi leaks it to Beheshti, the whole plan will fail."

"I will talk to him personally," Reza said, "I trust him."

Karimi nodded.

"I will arrange a meeting," he said.

Karimi went out.

Reza sat in the office, looking out the window.

The chess game was becoming increasingly complex.

Every piece was moving.

Every piece had its own purpose.

But Reza knew that he must remain calm.

He must see the entire chess game clearly.

He must be smarter than everyone else.

He must win.

Not just this political struggle.

Not just this military war.

He must win the entire chess game.

For Iran.

For the future.

For his own destiny.

He wrote a line in his notebook:

"The chess game is not over yet. I have only just begun."

He closed his notebook and glanced at the time.

Ten o'clock at night.

He still had a lot of work to do.

He picked up a new report.

The war was still continuing.

The political struggle was still continuing.

And Reza would keep fighting.

Until the end.