175: Chapter 172 Hussein

11:00 PM.

Reza personally called that fellow countryman.

"Hussein," he said.

"Your Excellency Reza."

"I need you to do something," Reza said, "something dangerous."

"What?"

Reza explained the situation.

After listening, Hussein remained silent for a moment.

"This means," he said, "I may be assassinated."

"Yes," Reza said, "but we will have Special Forces protecting you. Our goal is to catch the agents, not to let you get hurt."

"What if they don't use guns but use a bomb instead?"

Reza was silent.

"We will do our best to protect you," he said, "but I cannot guarantee your safety."

Hussein thought for a while.

"I'll do it," he finally said.

"Why?" Reza asked.

"Because," Hussein said, "if you die, Iran will fall into chaos. If I die, it is just one less engineer."

Reza closed his eyes.

"Hussein," he said, "thank you."

"For Iran."

The call ended.

Reza sat in his chair.

He had made many decisions.

But this was one of the hardest.

He was sending a friend to act as bait.

If Hussein died, he would never be able to forgive himself.

But he also knew that he had to do this.

If he went himself, he would die.

If he died, Iran would lose him.

Iran could not lose him.

At least not now.

The war was not over yet.

12:00 AM.

Reza was in the underground command center.

He had not closed his eyes for a day and a night.

But he could not sleep.

He had to ensure everything was in order.

Fatima walked over.

"You need to rest," she said.

"I don't have time," Reza said.

"You haven't slept for forty-eight hours," Fatima said, "if you don't rest, you will make mistakes."

Reza looked at her.

There was concern in Fatima's eyes.

It was not the concern of a subordinate for a leader.

It was something else.

Reza suddenly felt a complex wave of emotions.

He and Fatima had known each other for three years.

They worked together.

They had been through a lot together.

He had never thought about their relationship.

But now, he could feel that Fatima's feelings for him were more than just that of a subordinate to a leader.

And as for him regarding Fatima—he also had special feelings.

But he could not let these feelings affect his judgment.

"I will rest for a few hours," he said, "if anything happens, wake me up."

"Okay."

Reza walked to a simple small room.

There was a bed in the room.

He lay down.

But he did not fall asleep immediately.

He was thinking about many things.

He thought about the future of Iran.

He thought about the war.

He thought about all the decisions he had made.

Finally, he fell asleep.

And while he was sleeping, the agents from Iraq were already in Tehran preparing their assassination operation.

...

March 15, 1982, 8:00 AM.

Hussein was wearing Reza's clothes.

He stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself.

The makeup artist was adjusting his beard.

"Very similar," the makeup artist said, "people ten meters away won't be able to tell."

Hussein nodded.

His hands were trembling.

Not because he was afraid of dying.

It was because of the importance of this role.

If he played the part well, the agents from Iraq would reveal themselves and be caught.

If he didn't play the part well, the agents would discover it was a trap and escape.

He had to play Reza well.

The makeup artist left.

Karimi walked in.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I'm ready," Hussein said.

"We have set an ambush at the scheduled inspection site," Karimi said, "twenty Special Forces soldiers. There are snipers on all the rooftops within one hundred meters of you."

"If the agents shoot—"

"Our men will immediately counterattack," Karimi said, "but you must drop to the ground immediately. We have prepared a bulletproof vest, but it cannot stop all bullets."

"I understand."

"Also," Karimi said, "if you see anyone suspicious, tell us immediately via the walkie-talkie. We will react immediately."

"Okay."

Hussein put on the bulletproof vest.

He walked out of the room.

The motorcade was ready.

Three armored vehicles, protecting the front and back. The one in the middle was for Hussein.

He got into the car.

The motorcade set off.

Tehran, a hospital that had been attacked by missiles.

(Iraq had launched a small-scale missile attack some days ago. This hospital was hit.)

There were many people on the street.

Reporters, citizens, hospital staff.

They were all waiting for "Reza."

Among the crowd, there were four agents from Iraq.

They had been carefully selected. Everyone had undergone rigorous training. They had been lurking in Tehran for several months, waiting for this opportunity.

Each person had a different role.

One played a reporter.

One played a citizen.

One played hospital staff.

The fourth played a soldier of the Revolutionary Guard.

There was no contact between them. If one of them was caught, the others would not be affected.

But they all received the same order—to kill Reza when he appeared.

...

9:00 AM.

The motorcade arrived at the hospital.

Hussein got out of the car.

He was wearing Reza's clothes. His pace was exactly the same as Reza's. His expression was also exactly the same.

He walked toward the entrance of the hospital.

The crowd cheered.

"Reza! Reza!"

Hussein raised his hand and waved to the crowd.

He walked toward the hospital.

As he walked, he observed his surroundings.

He saw a reporter. This reporter was taking pictures.

But Hussein felt that the reporter's gaze was not quite right.

He said through the walkie-talkie: "I see a suspicious reporter, in front of me to the left, about ten meters away."

"We see him," Karimi's voice said.

Hussein continued walking.

He walked past the "reporter."

Suddenly, a beam of light came from the "reporter's" camera.

It was not a camera.

It was a handgun.

But before the reporter could fire, a sniper's bullet hit him in the head.

The reporter fell.

Panic broke out.

"Assassin!" someone shouted.

The crowd began to scatter and flee.

But there were still three agents.

The second agent—the one playing the citizen—pulled out a handgun.

He fired at Hussein.

But at the same time, a Special Forces soldier lunged at Hussein and tackled him to the ground.

Bullets flew over their heads.

The Special Forces soldier fired at the agent from the ground.

The agent was hit and fell.

But there were still two left.

The third agent—the one playing the hospital staff—had already grabbed a real doctor as a hostage.

He held the handgun against the doctor's head.

"Let me go!" he shouted, "otherwise I will kill him!"

The Special Forces soldiers surrounded him.

But they could not shoot. If they shot, the doctor would die.

Hussein climbed up from the ground.

He looked at this agent.

He made a decision.

"I am Reza," he said, walking toward the agent, "let the doctor go. Take me, I will go with you."

The agent looked at Hussein.

There was hesitation in the agent's eyes.

If he captured Reza as a hostage, he might be able to escape Tehran. If he succeeded, this would be a greater victory than an assassination.

"Come here!" the agent said.

Hussein continued to walk toward him.

But when Hussein was still five meters away from the agent, he suddenly fell to the ground.

The agent was stunned for a moment.

At that very moment, a sniper fired.

The bullet hit the agent's shoulder.

The agent's handgun dropped.

The doctor ran away.

The Special Forces soldiers rushed up and tackled the agent to the ground.

Take him alive.