The Red Cell by André Gallo (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

—Thomas Twetten

Former Deputy Director Operations, Central Intelligence Agency

Iran has been at war with the United States since the 1979 Ayatollah Revolution, when it held American diplomats hostage for 444 days. The Red Cell attempts to provide a fictional but realistic glimpse into the covert war that never reaches the general public’s awareness.

PROLOGUE

Karbala, Iraq

BBC—Thousands of Shias will flock to Karbala today on the day of Ashura, which commemorates the martyrdom of Hussein, grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, killed by a pretender to the leadership of Islam. In the belief of Shias, Hussein should have succeeded his father Ali as the next Imam. The split between Sunnis and Shias is often dated to this event, which is considered the foundation stone for the Shiite faith and which occurred in the year 61 of the Muslim calendar (October 2, 680 A.D.).

The little girl watched from her window as the poster of a man’s head, mouth open in agony, eyes looking up to Allah, blood on his forehead, moved slowly past in the midst of thousands of marching men who covered the broad avenue and both sidewalks. She barely noticed the black pole smeared with red on which the head was fixed and she hardly registered the saddled but riderless white horse behind the garlanded poster or the green Islamic flags. She searched the moving crowd for her brother.

Her lips formed the cadenced sounds coming from the marchers, “Oh Hussein, oh Hussein, oh Hussein, oh Hussein…” in endless repetition, each incantation punctuated by the hollow sound of the men beating their chests with their fists in unison. The rhythmic sound and gestures had slipped the men into a hypnotic trance. Bare-chested true believers flagellated themselves with small blades attached to chains and cords they flicked over their shoulders and rendered their backs bloody. And none could resist the opportunity to curse Israel and America.

“Come help,” called the girl’s mother, who was dressed in a black shador like the other women in the room. Framed pictures of Hussein in a green cape who bore a striking resemblance to Jesus took the eye away from the peeling white paint.

They walked to a cradle, the mothers or sisters of martyrs or of male relatives soon to be martyrs, filled with candies, sweets, and toys. “Here take a corner.” Her mother gave the girl a cloth and together they stretched it over the canopy. “This is for Hussein’s infant son.” She looked at her daughter. “He was killed before he could sleep in it.”

The other women gathered around the cradle and listened, though they sobbed quietly.

“A hundred thousand of Yazid’s soldiers surrounded Hussein, May Allah Bless Him and his seventy-two warriors, right here in the desert where this city was later built. It was a battle between good and evil. Our people were dying of thirst but, when Hussein walked out from his camp and held his son above his head imploring Yazid’s troops for water for all the children, an arrow pierced his son’s neck.” She touched her throat and grimaced.

The women howled in grief. The little girl clung to her mother in fear.

“Afterward, Imam Hussein’s stallion, Lahik, dipped his head in the Imam’s blood and went back to the camp where he hit his head on the ground and shed tears.”

The mourning women beat their breasts and wailed. Another of them took up the story through her tears. “At the same time, two doves dipped their wings in Hussein’s blood and flew to Medina and then to Mecca where everyone understood the signs and cried.”

“And Hussein’s daughter Sukeyna, poor child, searched the battlefield for the body of her father,” a third woman said. “Hussein’s struggle, May Allah protect him, was a struggle against injustice, tyranny, and oppression, a fight that will only end when revenge…”

An explosion overwhelmed and shut out all other sounds, interrupting her. The walls of the house shook and rumbled. Before anyone could react, another blast, louder and closer, broke the momentary silence that followed the first and shattered the window sending shards of glass flying like arrows through the shadors into soft flesh. The girl felt her mother’s blood on her face as both were knocked to the floor.

Outside, men ran toward side streets. Others, veterans of the Iraq-Iran war, had hit the ground immediately. In front of a public building blood and body parts were still flying through the air together with pieces of the car that had concealed the bomb. Many of those lying face down were killed by mortar rounds flying in over the roof tops.

AL JAZEERAH—Karbala, Iraq. Insufficient security measures by occupying American troops allowed a car bomb, several suicide bombers and a mortar attack to kill over 200 and wound 1000 more during the traditional Shiite holiday of Ashura. An American spokesman in Baghdad denied the security lapse had been planned.

BBC—A coordinated attack allegedly designed to fuel a religious war between Iraqi Sunnis and Shias killed over one hundred and fifty and wounded five hundred Shia pilgrims in the holy city of Karbala in Iraq today. Al Qaeda in Mesopotamia is believed to be responsible for the carnage.

1. Old Executive Office Building, Washington

When Steve Church drove out of his office’s underground parking onto 17th Street, Northwest, the sudden eruption of white fumes from a motorcycle in his rearview mirror awakened his operational awareness, which had been dulled by a year heading the White House’s Intelligence staff. As he headed south toward Constitution Avenue, he kept an eye on the two bikers, both in black leather, who were sharing a midsize Japanese motorcycle now two cars behind him. With a threatening roar, the bike moved up a car closer, straddling the white lane divider. At the same time, the driver lowered the black visor of his helmet like a knight preparing for battle, while