Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (212 page)

“Do not change the subject, Buzhazi,” Noshahr snapped. “Your unit's sneak attack cost us the lives of six of our best agents. We demand reparations, and we demand that you withdraw your troops from the slums and alleys and confine your activities to the
avenues, highways, and the airport. Or, better yet, place yourself and your troops under the command of the council of war, which is the legitimate and rightful government of Persia, and we shall ensure that you shall not interfere again with our anti-terrorist missions.”

“We bear equal responsibility for their deaths, Lord Chancellor,” Azar said.

“You don't have to apologize for the war council's mistakes, Azar—”

“You will address Her Highness properly, Buzhazi!” Noshahr ordered. “You dare not speak to the princess as if she is a commoner!”

“She's not my princess, Noshahr,” Buzhazi said, “and I don't take orders from pretend generals or defense ministers like you, either!”

“How dare you! The
Shahdokht
is the rightful heir to the Peacock Throne of Persia, and you will address her as such and show her the proper respect! And I will remind you that I am the appointed chancellor of the Qagev court, royal minister of war, and marshal of the council of war! Have some respect for the office, even if you have no respect for yourself!”

“Noshahr, a year ago you were hanging out in the casinos in Monaco and making up stories about leading freedom fighters against the Pasdaran while trying to boink old rich ladies for their money,” Buzhazi said. “In the meantime your loyalists were being captured and tortured because you couldn't keep your drunken mouth shut about their identities and locations—”

“That is preposterous!” Noshahr sputtered.

“The Pasdaran spies in Monaco, Singapore, and Las Vegas were getting a constant stream of information about your network just by sitting near you in the casinos, bars, and whorehouses you frequented, listening to you spin your wild stories about single-handedly freeing Iran.”

“You peasant! You insolent pup! How dare you speak to
me
like this!” Noshahr cried. “I serve a king and his queen, directed twenty million loyalists around the world, equip and organize a fighting
force of half a million, and have kept the royal treasury safe and secure for the past twenty years! You are little more than a thief and murderer, disgraced by your own words and actions over two decades, and demoted and humiliated by the government you served and then betrayed. You are spurned by your fellow citizens, and you lead by nothing more than fear of the next murderous rampage you will embark on, like the hideous massacre at Qom. You dare call yourself a Persian—!”

“I don't call myself anything
you
call yourself, Noshahr!” Buzhazi shouted. He turned to Azar, his eyes blazing. “I won't have anything to do with you or your so-called court, Princess, as long as
he's
in charge. I'm not in the mood for playing dress-up and kings and castles.”

“General—”

“Sorry, Princess, but this is a huge waste of my time,” Buzhazi said angrily. “I've got a war to fight. This imbecile who calls himself a marshal and minister of war doesn't know which end of a rifle to point at the enemy. I need fighters, not popinjays. I've got work to do.”

“General, please stay.”

“I'm leaving. Good luck to you and your pretty little court jesters, Princess.”

“General, I said
stay
!” Azar shouted. She whipped off the dark cap, letting her long
mun
whip in the air. The Persians in the room were stunned into silence by the sudden appearance by the symbol of royalty in their midst…all except Buzhazi, who was stunned instead by the young woman's commanding tone of voice: part drill sergeant, part disapproving mother, part field general.

“
Shahdokht
…Highness…my lady…” Noshahr sputtered, his eyes fixed on the dark shining flowing locks as if a golden scepter had just appeared before his eyes, “I think it is time for us to depart and—”

“You will stay and shut your mouth, Chancellor!” Azar snapped. “We have important business to discuss.”

“We cannot conduct business with this…this terrorist!”
Noshahr said. “He's nothing but an old tottering fool with delusions of grandeur—”

“I said,
we
have business to discuss with the general,” Azar said. This time the word “we” coming from her lips had a different meaning: it no longer referred to
him,
but clearly indicated the imperial “we,” meaning
her
alone. “Be silent, Chancellor.”

“Be…
silent
…?” Noshahr gurgled, his mouth opening and closing indignantly. “Pardon me,
Shahdokht,
but I am the Lord High Chancellor of the royal court, the representative of the king in his absence. I have full and sole authority to negotiate and make agreements and alliances with friendly and allied forces.”

“Not any longer, Chancellor,” Azar said forcefully. “It has been a year since anyone has heard or seen the king and queen. In the meantime the court has been run by appointed servants who, although true and loyal, do not have the interests of the people in mind.”

“I beg your pardon,
Shahdokht
—!”

“It's true, Chancellor, and you know it,” Azar said. “Your primary objective has been the organization, security, and placement of the court, in preparation for running the government upon the return of the king and queen. You have done a fine job of that, Chancellor. The court is safe, secure, well run, well financed, and is ready to administer this country when the time comes. But right now the people don't need or want an administrator—they want a leader and a general.”

“I am the rightful leader until the king returns,
Shahdokht,
” Noshahr insisted. “And as minister of war and marshal of the council of war, I am the commander-in-chief of our military forces. There are no others permitted.”

“You're wrong, Chancellor…
I
am,” Azar said.

“
You?
But that…that is highly irregular,
Shahdokht,
” Noshahr said. “A proclamation of death or abdication has not yet been made. A council must be convened, composed of myself, the religious leaders, and representatives of the eleven royal houses, to investigate the likely whereabouts of the king and queen and decide what actions to take. That is impossible and unsafe to do in time of war!”

“Then, as heir apparent, I will make the proclamation myself,” Azar said.

“You!”
Noshahr repeated. “You…that is…pardon me for saying so,
Shahdokht,
but that is an insult to the memory of your blessed father and mother, our beloved king and queen. They may be still in hiding, or perhaps injured and healing, or even captured. Our enemies could be waiting for you to do such a thing and then reveal that they are still alive, hoping to throw us into confusion and rebellion against the court and royal family. You cannot…I mean, you
should not
do this,
Shahdokht
—”

“I am no longer
Shahdokht,
Chancellor,” Azar said. “You will hereby refer to me as
Malika
.”

Noshahr gulped, his eyes bulging. He stole a glance back at his bodyguards, then back at Azar, studying her carefully, trying to decide if she meant what she'd just said and if she would back down or compromise if confronted. “I…I am afraid I cannot allow that, Princess,” he said, after finally summoning up enough courage. “I have a responsibility to the king and queen to safeguard and preserve the court. In their absence, and without guidance from a council of the royal houses, I'm afraid I cannot do as you wish.”

Azar lowered her eyes, nodded, and seemed to even sigh. “Very well, Chancellor. I see your point of view.”

Noshahr was filled with relief. He would certainly have to deal with this young Americanized upstart, and soon—she obviously had aspirations far beyond her years, and that could not be tolerated. But he was willing to act the supportive and protective uncle—all the better to keep an eye on her while he…

“I see it is time to take back the throne,” Azar said. In a blur of motion, she suddenly whipped the German-made Heckler & Koch HK-54 submachine gun up and steadied it from her hip…aiming it squarely on Masoud Noshahr's chest. “You are under arrest, Chancellor, for defying my authority.” She turned to the Persian bodyguards behind Noshahr. “Guards, place the chancellor under arrest.”

“This is preposterous!”
Noshahr screamed, more in shock and surprise than anger. “How
dare
you?”

“I dare because I am the
Malika,
Chancellor,” Azar said confidently, “and the throne has been vacant long enough.” She looked past Noshahr to the bodyguards, who still had their guns slung on their shoulders. “Guards, place the chancellor under arrest. He is forbidden to make any communications with the outside.”

“They won't follow you, Azar Assiyeh,” Noshahr said. “They are loyal to me and to the king and queen, the
rightful
rulers of Persia. They will not follow a spoiled, bewitched brat from America.”

Azar glanced around the conference room, noting that neither Lieutenant Colonel Najar nor Major Saidi, her longtime aides, had raised their weapons—they were unslung, but still pointing at the floor with safeties on. The same with Hesarak Buzhazi and his bodyguard, Major Haddad, and the chief of the infantry brigade based at Mehrabad Airport, Colonel Mostafa Rahmati, both of whom had accompanied them on this diversionary mission. She was the only one with her weapon raised.

“I gave an order, Master Sergeant: Place the chancellor under arrest,” Azar commanded. “Allow no outside communications. If he resists, bind and gag him.” Still no one moved.

“Master Sergeant…all of you, it is time to make a decision,” Azar said, affixing each of them with a steady gaze, hoping to hell her hands wouldn't start shaking. “You may follow Chancellor Noshahr and continue on with this so-called revolution as it has been for the past year, or swear loyalty to me and to the Peacock Throne, and follow me in taking back this country for a free Persian republic.”

“Follow
you
?” Noshahr sneered. “You're just a girl. You may be a princess, but you're not a queen—and you're
certainly
not a general. The loyalists won't follow a girl into battle. What will you do if no one chooses to accept you as queen?”

“Then I will abdicate my title and join General Buzhazi's forces,” Azar replied, to the absolute amazement of all. “It is time to join forces and fight as one nation, and if it won't be done under the
Qagev banner, it will be under the general's flag. If you're ready to take me and my followers, General, we're ready to join you.”

“That won't be necessary,” Hesarak Buzhazi said…and to everyone's great surprise, he unslung his submachine gun, held it before him with arms outstretched…and dropped to one knee before Azar. “Because I am surrendering command of my forces and pledging my loyalty to the
Malika
Azar Assiyeh Qagev, the rightful queen of Persia and mistress of the Peacock Throne.”

Azar smiled, silently praying that she wouldn't keel over from the surprise or burst into tears herself, then nodded. “We are pleased to accept your oath of loyalty, Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi.” She kissed his forehead, then put her hands on his shoulders. “Rise, sir, take your weapon, and assume leadership of the ministry of war and the council of war of the royal court of Qagev, and command of the combined forces of the Democratic Republic of Persia…
Marshal
Buzhazi.”

“Thank you,
Malika,
” Buzhazi said. He turned to Noshahr. “My first official act shall be to offer an appointment to Masoud Noshahr as deputy minister of war, vice marshal of the army, and my representative to the court. Do you accept?”

“You want
me
to serve under
you
?” Noshahr asked, even more shocked now than before. “You take my position and then you want me back? Why?”

“The queen is a good and astute judge of character, Noshahr,” Buzhazi said. “If she says you have served the court well as chancellor and prepared it to lead the country when the time came, I believe her. I want you to keep on doing your job, the one you're best at. Prepare the court to rule a constitutional monarchy, and keep supplies and equipment flowing to my troops. I need someone to represent me in Tehran, because I'll be in the streets suppressing this insurgency and restoring security to the country. That's what I'm good at. And as vice-marshal, you will answer to
me
. Screw up, and you'll have to deal with
me
. Do you accept?”

For a moment Buzhazi thought Noshahr was going to say something crude or insulting; instead, he did something Buzhazi never thought he'd do: he saluted. “Yes, sir, I accept.”

“Very good, Vice-Marshal. I want a meeting of the council of war set up immediately.” He turned to Azar. “
Malika,
with your permission, I'd like to appoint Lieutenant Colonel Najar as my chief of staff and promote him to full colonel. Major Saidi will remain as your aide-de-camp.”

“Permission granted, Marshal,” Azar said.

“Thank you,
Malika
. Colonel, work with Vice-Marshal Noshahr to set up a meeting of the war council. Major Haddad is hereby promoted to lieutenant colonel and will be in charge of security.” To Azar he said, “
Malika,
I would like you to attend the war council meeting and provide your input on resources and personnel we may be able to recruit from the streets of Tehran and the surrounding towns and villages. We'll need every helping hand we can find to make this work.”