30: Chapter 30 Visitors from Tehran

On the third day after returning to Khuzestan, Rafsanjani's people arrived.

It wasn't Rafsanjani himself—it was his nephew, a young businessman named Ali Akbar. Twenty-eight years old, wearing a well-tailored suit and driving a Mercedes 280SE, he had ostensibly come to Khuzestan to "inspect the construction materials market."

But Karimi had thoroughly investigated his background on the very first day he arrived in Ahvaz.

"Ali Akbar Rafsanjani, a graduate of the Economics Department at the University of Tehran, currently serves as the procurement manager for his uncle's construction company. But his real job is seeking 'potential collaborators' for Ayatollah Khomeini's underground network across various provinces. Over the past six months, he has visited Isfahan, Shiraz, and Mashhad, always under the guise of 'business inspections.'"

Karimi placed a thin file in front of Reza.

"He's staying at the Ahvaz Grand Hotel, room 312. Last night, he had dinner with three people from the Khuzestan Chamber of Commerce; they didn't talk politics at the table—it was all business. But after the meal, he met privately with the Vice President of the Chamber of Commerce, Hussein Naji, and the two chatted in the hotel cafe for forty minutes. Naji is one of ours."

"What did he ask?"

"He asked about you. He asked what you've been doing in Khuzestan, how popular you are, your attitude toward the King, and how much power you hold. Naji answered according to the script we prepared beforehand—saying you're an 'idealistic young prince' who is dissatisfied with the Americans, has done a lot of practical work for the province, but suffers from a lack of political allies."

"How did he react?"

"He was very interested. Before leaving, he left a message—'If His Highness Reza is willing, my uncle would very much like to have a chat with him.'"

Reza leaned back in his chair, his finger lightly tapping the tabletop three times.

The fish had taken the bait.

"Have Naji tell him—I'm free tomorrow afternoon. The location will be the Governors Mansion; there's no need to hide it."

"Aren't you afraid SAVAK will notice?"

"SAVAK already knows I have frequent contact with the business community—it's perfectly normal for a provincial governor to meet with a businessman. On the contrary, meeting in secret would be what arouses suspicion."

Karimi nodded.

"Additionally," Reza continued, "stand by in the next room during the meeting. If this Ali makes any suspicious moves—such as testing my military strength or asking about Cyrus Workshop—terminate the meeting immediately."

"Understood."

The next afternoon at three o'clock.

Ali Akbar appeared at the Governors Mansion on time.

He looked a bit younger than in his photos, with that characteristically "harmless" smile of a businessman on his face. But Reza noticed—the man's eyes swept across the entire room the moment he entered, lingering on the guards longer than on the furniture.

Professional habit. The professional habit of an intelligence officer.

"His Highness Reza, I have long heard of your great name," Ali spoke with a standard Tehran accent, carrying a hint of deliberate respect.

"Sit," Reza didn't stand up, merely pointing to the chair opposite him. "I heard you're here to inspect the construction materials market?"

"Yes. There have been many infrastructure projects in Khuzestan Province recently, and our company wants to expand its business here."

"Then you've found the wrong person. Bidding for infrastructure projects is handled by the Provincial Construction Bureau, not me."

Ali gave a small smile.

"Your Highness must be joking. In Khuzestan Province, the Construction Bureau wouldn't dare approve a project without your nod."

"You know Khuzestan very well."

"A businessman must understand the local 'rules.'"

Reza picked up his teacup and took a sip, not following up.

The silence lasted for about ten seconds.

Ali's smile began to stiffen slightly. He realized that Reza did not intend to follow the conventional rhythm of "pleasantries, probing, then getting to the point."

"Your Highness," Ali lowered his voice, "I didn't actually come here today for construction materials."

"I know."

"Then you—"

"Your uncle sent you to see what kind of person I am. To see if I'm worth his time."

Ali was momentarily stunned.

Then he withdrew his smile.

"Your Highness is very direct."

"I don't like wasting time. Go back and tell Rafsanjani—I know what he's doing for Ayatollah Khomeini. I also know what Ayatollah Khomeini needs right now. Money, people, and the support of local power players. I have all three. But I won't give them away for nothing."

"What do you want?"

"After the revolution succeeds, I want a position. Not a symbolic one, but one with real power."

The look in Ali's eyes changed.

This answer was too blunt—so blunt it exceeded his expectations.

Most local power players who "want to join the revolution" would first pledge loyalty, talk about ideals, and say how much they hate Pahlavi. But Reza skipped all of that and went straight to negotiating terms.

This was either a fool or a very clever man.

Ali bet on the latter.

"What kind of position?"

"At least Defense or Internal Affairs. We can discuss the specifics after the revolution succeeds. But there is one condition—I will not accept any interference with my military command from anyone other than the 'Supreme Leader'."

"This request—"

"Is not excessive. Ayatollah Khomeini understands religion, not warfare. If he wants to overthrow Pahlavi, he needs someone who understands how to fight. I am that person."

Ali fell silent.

He calculated rapidly in his mind—did this prince truly have strength, or was he just boasting?

"Your Highness, if I may be so bold—how many men do you have?"

"Enough."

"How many is enough?"

"When your uncle decides to cooperate with me, I will tell him the specific numbers. For now—all you need to know is that the armed forces I can mobilize in Khuzestan Province are more than all of SAVAK's forces in this province combined."

This was an exaggeration.

But not a complete exaggeration.