71: Chapter 68 Making the Move

The method of issuing the statement was decided by Reza himself: to be broadcast nationwide via Khorasan Radio.

Khorasan Radio was not an official radio station of Iran; it was a commercial station with signal coverage in the eastern border regions. Usually, its influence was limited, but in the current extraordinary times, all mainstream stations were broadcasting speeches by Ayatollah Khomeini. Reza chose this fringe channel precisely because of its marginality—it wouldn't make the Khomeini camp feel this was some kind of confrontational political manifesto, yet it could still be broadcast and heard by those who needed to hear it.

The content of the statement was very short, totaling less than three hundred words, and Reza recorded the audio himself.

In the recording, his voice was calm, without any inflammatory tone, simply stating facts:

"Over the past three years, Khuzestan Province has experienced the most severe economic exploitation and political marginalization in Iran. This land is home to the largest number of oil workers and farmers in Iran, yet their voices have never been heard by Tehran. Today, Pahlavi is gone, and a new political landscape is forming. At this moment, the people of all ethnic groups in Khuzestan Province have expressed their stance through legal procedures: the issue of oil sovereignty is not one that can be easily glossed over by any new regime with the words 'the big picture'; it must be addressed head-on."

"As the governor of Khuzestan Province, I have a responsibility to convey this voice at this historical moment. I am not calling for division; I am calling for justice. I call upon all political forces about to participate in the construction of the new Iran to face the stance of Khuzestan squarely, and to face the demands of the people on this land squarely."

"Finally, I want to say one thing to everyone who cares about the future of Iran: a revolution cannot just be a process of overthrowing the old order; it must be a process of establishing a new contract. A revolution without a new contract is merely changing the group of people who suffer."

The recording was broadcast, with a total duration of less than four minutes.

After it finished playing, Hassan asked him, "Should we wait for a reaction?"

"Wait," Reza said, "but not while sitting here."

Next, he did something that Hassan had not expected—he made a direct phone call to the Motahari Mosque, requesting to speak with Ayatollah Khomeini himself.

The person on the other end of the line heard this request, and their first reaction was to refuse. But Reza did not hang up; he simply waited. After about three minutes, the voice on the other end changed. It was a voice Reza had never heard before, but there was something in the tone that made one instinctively alert—composed, precise, with the interval between every word seeming as if it had been calculated.

"Your Highness, Ayatollah Khomeini is not accepting direct calls at the moment," the voice said, "but I can convey your request. If you have specific matters that need to be communicated, you can contact us through official channels."

Reza asked directly, "Who are you?"

"I am in charge of the Ayatollah's schedule," the voice said, "My name is Khamenei."

Reza paused for half a second at this name, then said, "Please convey to the Ayatollah that I look forward to discussing the future of Iran with him in person at an appropriate time. My position remains open, and my information channels remain open."

Khamenei noted this down without making any promises, simply saying "I will convey it," and then hung up.

Hassan had remained silent the whole time, and only after the phone hung up did he ask, "That person just now—"

"It's not important now," Reza said, "but it will be important later."

He did not explain what was hidden within that sentence.

On January 29, Ayatollah Khomeini publicly declared the Bakhtiar cabinet an "illegal government," demanding that the people of the country disobey all orders from this government. On the same day, large-scale demonstrations occurred in Tehran, with the number of people estimated to exceed one million. The entire administrative system of the city had effectively ground to a halt that day.

On the evening of January 29, Karimi sent word: there was a response from the Khomeini camp.

It was not a direct meeting, but an invitation—Ayatollah Khomeini was willing to meet Reza Pahlavi on February 1. The meeting place would be the Motahari Mosque, and the time would be that afternoon.

Hassan's first reaction was regarding safety: "The situation inside the mosque is unknown. If you go in alone—"

"Not alone," Reza said, "you are coming in with me."

"They won't agree to that—"

"They will," Reza said, "because they need to see that I am not coming to cause trouble."

The preparation work he did that night was simple: he brought a document. It was not for Ayatollah Khomeini, but to carry with him in case he needed to show it at a critical moment—that document was a copy of the memorandum on oil transactions between the Pahlavi regime and the United States, which he had obtained from a CIA agent three years ago. It had been reorganized by Reza, with the time, amount, and American person in charge of each transaction marked.

This document was the card Reza had kept hidden the longest in the entire chess game, and now, it was time to reveal it.

February 1, 2:00 PM.

Reza and Hassan walked through the streets of Tehran, heading toward the Motahari Mosque.

The streets along the way were full of people, but not the chaotic kind of crowd—it was a kind of spontaneous order. People were chatting on the street, exchanging news; some were distributing food and water, others were posting Ayatollah Khomeini's newly released statements. The air was filled with a strange sense of excitement, as if the entire city was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Walking to the entrance of the mosque, someone was waiting for them. It was not Khamenei, but Bakhtiar.

Bakhtiar said a few words briefly: "The Ayatollah is waiting for you inside, Your Highness. There will be no one else inside, only the Ayatollah himself and a recorder. Your attendant may enter, but must stop at the door."

Hassan looked at Reza, waiting for his decision.

"Hassan, wait for me here," Reza said, and then said to Bakhtiar, "Let's go in."

Entering the mosque, passing through the prayer hall, and entering a small reception room through a side door—Reza saw Ayatollah Khomeini for the first time.

He was seventy-eight years old, thin and small, sitting on a low chair, wearing a traditional white robe and turban. In front of him was a cup of tea, the kind without sugar.

Reza sat down opposite him, and the two looked at each other from a distance of less than a meter.

Ayatollah Khomeini spoke first, in Persian. His voice was not loud, but every word was very clear:

"Your Highness, please tell me, what have you come here for?"

Reza did not engage in small talk and said directly:

"To ensure that Iran's revolution does not become another version of being manipulated. I have come here to let you know that Khuzestan Province has stated its position, and this position does not represent the ambition of a prince; it is the true demand of the people on that land. I am not here to ask for a position; I am here to negotiate a condition."

Ayatollah Khomeini's eyes did not leave Reza, and he asked, "What condition?"

"Oil sovereignty must be confirmed by the constitutional framework of the new Iran, not covered over by a piece of paper from the provisional government. Khuzestan's stance must be written into the foundational documents of the new political order." Reza paused for a moment, "This is my condition, and it is also the value I can bring to you—not my stance, but the true stance of the people of the land behind me."

Ayatollah Khomeini was silent for a while, picked up the teacup, took a sip, and then put it down, saying something that made it impossible for Reza to fully judge its true meaning in that instant:

"Your Highness, you are more clear-headed than I imagined."

Then he asked a second question, "After oil sovereignty, what else do you want?"

Reza's answer was short: "Give me a position where I can get things done, a position that does not need to be covered over by anyone's will, a position where I can step forward to handle practical matters when Iran needs it."

This request, Reza knew, was the most critical step in the entire chess game—he did not ask for supreme power, he did not ask for religious authority; he asked for a position where he could "get things done." This phrasing was vague enough that anyone could fill in whatever they wanted to see, but it was also precise enough that any clear-headed politician could understand what he meant:

He was not here to beg; he was here to negotiate a division of labor.

Ayatollah Khomeini stared at him for a long time. There was something in that gaze—not hostility, not suspicion, but the instinctive judgment made by a person using decades of experience when seriously scrutinizing another person—whether this person was controllable or uncontrollable, short-sighted or long-term, whether he was acting for himself or for something else.

Finally, Ayatollah Khomeini said:

"The revolution is the affair of all Iranians, not a tool for any one person, nor the private property of any one group. If Your Highness is truly acting for the good of Iran, and not for yourself or the circle you were born into, then in this revolution, there will naturally be a place for you."

This statement was open-ended; it did not promise any specific position or power, but it did not close any doors either—Ayatollah Khomeini used a principled statement to catch the ball, while also keeping the power of definition in his own hands.

Reza stood up and said, "Thank you for your time, Ayatollah. I look forward to this 'natural place' being clearly seen when the time comes."

Ayatollah Khomeini did not stand up to see him off; he simply sat there and nodded.

When Reza walked out of the mosque, the sunlight hit him. The streets of Tehran were full of people, all heading in the direction of the Motahari Mosque. They were there to see Ayatollah Khomeini, not to see Reza.

Hassan was waiting at the door. Seeing Reza come out, he did not ask "How did the talk go?" because he saw an expression on Reza's face that he had rarely seen—it was not victory, not frustration, but the kind of calm that appears after a person has finished walking a very, very long road and has finally arrived at a place where they can catch their breath.

"Let's go," Reza said, "there is still a lot to do."

He walked toward the car parked at the corner of the street without looking back, but he knew that from today on, in the entire political landscape of Iran, there was one more name that could not be ignored.

It was not a name that could be simply defined by any label—not prince, not governor.

It was Reza Pahlavi.

This name would slowly ferment in the power center of Tehran, until it grew into a shadow that no one could bypass.