60: Chapter 57 Bakhtiar's Chips

October 5, 1978, Tehran.

Karimi chose to meet Bakhtiar in the back room of a bookstore. The owner was a distant relative of Karimi's, and the shop usually sold religious texts and classical Persian literature. The back room had a few chairs and a tea table used to receive "important guests"—a definition that had quietly shifted over the past few years from "wealthy booksellers" to "revolutionary thinkers," but the owner never asked questions, only poured tea.

Bakhtiar was thirty-seven, a Tehran-based contact for one of Ayatollah Khomeini's core liaisons during his exile in Paris, responsible for coordinating organizational mobilization across cities in the country. He looked ordinary and spoke slowly, but every word hit the mark; he was the type of person who could remain clear-headed in chaotic situations.

After Karimi finished conveying Reza's message, Bakhtiar was silent for about a minute, then said, "His Highness wants to make contact with the Mentor?"

"Not contact," Karimi said, "but to establish an information channel so that both sides know what the other is thinking."

"What is the point of this?" Bakhtiar asked directly, "His Highness is a member of the royal family."

"His Highness is a man ousted by the royal family," Karimi said, "there is a difference."

Bakhtiar was silent for a while longer. Karimi didn't rush him, just sat there, drinking tea.

"On the Mentor's side," Bakhtiar finally spoke, "there is no shortage of supporters. Every day, various factions come knocking—merchants, soldiers, intellectuals—everyone wants a slice of the pie in the future new Iran. The Mentor is not a man without discernment; he has seen too many of these types." He paused, "What can His Highness offer that the Mentor doesn't have?"

Karimi relayed the exact words Reza had instructed him to say before he left: "The oil workers in Khuzestan, and the ability to make these workers act in synchronization at critical moments."

Bakhtiar's eyes flickered slightly.

He knew the weight of this statement better than anyone. Demonstrations in Tehran could be suppressed by numbers, students could be dispersed, and intellectuals could be arrested, but if the oil workers went on a general strike, the country's economic lifeline would be severed—the Pahlavi regime's finances were highly dependent on oil exports; a one-month shutdown could cause a crisis in the royal family's cash reserves, and a three-month shutdown would mean the military's wages couldn't be paid.

This was a real nuclear weapon, not one in the rhetorical sense.

"How does His Highness prove he has this ability?"

"There is no need to prove it now," Karimi said, "when the time comes, it will naturally be known."

Bakhtiar put down his teacup, stood up, and said, "I will take this message to Paris; the outcome depends on the Mentor's wishes."

Karimi nodded, saying nothing more.

Bakhtiar walked to the door, paused, turned back, and asked a question, "His Highness, what does he actually want?"

Karimi thought for a moment and said, "An Iran not dominated by outsiders."

Bakhtiar stared at him for two seconds, then left.

Karimi sent back the details of the meeting. Reza read them in Ahvaz and wrote a line in his notebook: "Bakhtiar, usable, but not to be trusted deeply—his loyalty belongs first to Ayatollah Khomeini, and only then to Persia."

Reza had been clear about this from the beginning, which is why the message he sent through Karimi was designed—no talk of ideology, no talk of political stance, only a specific, verifiable thing that the other party needed most right now.

He did not fully reveal the card of the oil workers, only showing a corner, letting the other party estimate the value of this card themselves.

True negotiation is not about making an offer, but letting the other party guess your hole cards and then name their own price; the result of that is often higher than if you had made an offer yourself.

But the ultimate purpose of this channel was not to cooperate with Ayatollah Khomeini, but to figure out his boundaries—what he could accept, what he could not, who he feared most, and who he relied on most. This information was what Reza truly needed; the most dangerous enemy at the poker table is always the one whose hole cards you cannot fathom.

Another matter was moving forward in parallel during October.

Iskandari's workshop team had spent nearly three weeks completing the full set of tests for the six new gyroscope components, and the precision was a level higher than Fatima's requirements—this exceeded Reza's expectations. He specifically had someone pass a message to Iskandari, saying two words: "Well done."

Iskandari was the type of engineer whose sensitivity to money was far lower than his sensitivity to recognition. Upon hearing these two words, it is said he was silent in the workshop for quite a while, then went to find Fatima to say he wanted to optimize the parameters for the next batch one more time.

Fatima wrote this detail in her report to Reza, with only one note: "Iskandari is in good state, no need to worry."

Seeing this, Reza felt that besides her technical skills, Fatima also had an accurate judgment of people, it was just that she didn't usually show it.

On October 15, Najjari sent back the conclusion of Mousavi's report: The activity rating of the Khuzestan Province governor remained "low risk," no special handling was needed in the near term, and routine surveillance was recommended.

Low risk.

Reza read this conclusion twice, then closed the file and said one thing to Hassan: "The scalpel made a cut, but it didn't hit the bone."

Hassan asked, "Then can we speed things up a bit?"

"Yes," Reza said, "but not across the board. Speed up at specific points, maintain the original rhythm elsewhere; we cannot let the overall frequency of actions change suddenly, that would be too conspicuous."

He took out the dark blue notebook, turned back to the page with the four tasks that must be completed, put a checkmark after the first three, and then looked at the fourth.

Deal with Miller.

The three words added below: Not kill.

Below this, he wrote a few more words: "Timing: within one month before the revolution; Method: cause his information sources to be systematically distorted, making Washington make erroneous judgments at critical nodes."

He had been thinking about this for a long time, the plan had taken shape, but execution required a trigger, an event large enough to completely shift Miller's attention away from Reza.

That event, Reza knew when it would come and from what direction.

He just needed to wait.

On October 20, Hemmati sent a short message from Abadan, not through Karimi's channel, but by entrusting a message to a merchant in Ahvaz. The content was very short: "Jalali was arrested yesterday by SAVAK on charges of distributing Ayatollah Khomeini's tapes. He is currently being held at the Abadan branch. He has a family of five, with three children."

Reza read it and was silent for a few minutes.

Jalali was one of the young people in the Workers Union who advocated for a strike. Hemmati had mentioned him, saying his anger was real, but he couldn't control his anger. Now, that anger had sent him into the interrogation room of SAVAK.

This incident itself was not a variable in Reza's plan, but the chain reaction it brought was—Jalali's arrest would further intensify the emotions within the Workers Union; the anger of those young people would find an outlet, and Reza did not yet have deep enough control over Hemmati's line to guarantee that the outlet would be in a controllable direction.

He had someone take a letter to Najjari, phrased very plainly, simply asking if SAVAK's activities in Abadan had recently escalated, and if it was possible to find out about the detainees at the branch.

After sending the letter, Reza waited two days, and Najjari replied: "The Jalali case is a direct directive from Tehran headquarters, executed by the branch. It belongs to the nationwide unified purge against grassroots organizers after Black Friday. The Abadan branch has already detained seven people this week, with another three under surveillance. The case level is not high, but I cannot intervene directly; it would cause unnecessary attention."

The meaning was clear: I cannot help with this.

Reza finished reading the reply, sat in the room for a while, then called for Hassan and said one thing: "Go to Abadan, find Hemmati, and tell him that if Jalali's family has any needs, the province can help. Children's tuition, family living expenses—they don't need to worry about that. Also, tell him, don't make a scene about Jalali's matter for now, and don't let people in the Workers Union cause trouble. When the time comes, I will have a way."

Hassan asked, "Do you really have a way?"

"Not now," Reza said, "but there will be."

Hassan nodded, not asking further.

This was the tacit understanding they had developed over the more than three years of being with Reza—if Reza said there would be, then there truly would be. Hassan didn't need to know the details; he only needed to execute the step in front of him.

After Hassan left, Reza opened the dark blue notebook again and wrote a line in the blank space: "Jalali, tool or pawn, depends on the timing."