in the 1990s, the Soviet government was behind a disinformation campaign called Operation Infektion,” Wallace recalled. “Phony scientific papers accused America of creating HIV/AIDS as a part of our biological weapons program at Fort Detrick. Your own director of the KGB later admitted it was a propaganda campaign. Where is your evidence for this new charge?”
“The proof is obvious,” the foreign minister said, crossing his arms indignantly. “This virus is man-made. We did not create it. Who else has the capacity for making such a pathogen? Only you, you Americans, in your death labs at Fort Detrick.”
“Those were shut down years ago,” Wallace pointed out.
“So you say.”
“Americans are dying at a far higher rate than Russians,” Wallace observed. “Many on our side of the fence suggest that it was the Russians who created Kongoli. Otherwise, how could you have engineered a vaccine that provides some degree of immunity for yourselves?”
“This is no surprise,” the foreign minister said. “Russian medicine is far more advanced than in the West.”
“And yet, American and European scientists who have examined your vaccine find it ineffective. They say all pandemics vary in their virulence across continents.”
“They must say something to explain their failure to produce an effective vaccine,” the foreign minister said. “Total lie. Fake news.”
* * *
—
AS SOON AS PRINCE MAJID entered the naval headquarters command center in Al Jubail, north of Ras Tanura, he recognized the dangerous dynamic in the room. His uncle, Prince Khalid, the elderly minister of defense overseeing the plans was among the most pious members of the royal family, appointed to his position largely to appease the clerics. The generals in the bunker were trying to skirt his influence, but Khalid was a foolish old man bent on making a reputation. Like many senior princes, he harbored dreams of becoming king before he died.
Majid looked around to see if there was anyone who could restrain his impulsive uncle. There was no one. The officers were deferential, and they looked to Majid with silent pleas in their eyes. Majid did not pretend to know anything about the conduct of war—he was there to advise on the health of the troops—but he was the only other member of the royal family present. General al-Homayed of the National Guard took Majid aside and whispered urgently in his ear. “He intends to strike Tehran and Isfahan immediately,” he said.
“Why the cities?”
“They are less defended than the bases, and he hopes to destroy the population.”
“Does the king know?”
“Prince Khalid says so, but we wonder.”
“The crown prince?”
“Unfortunately, he agrees with this decision.”
Majid reeled. There was no one to appeal to, except his uncle, who was standing over a topographical map of the Gulf, wrapped in self-importance, with the Iranian and Saudi forces arrayed in their battle order before him. Republican Guard fast-attack boats, armed with missiles, were swarming the Saudi fleet and had already sunk a frigate and two corvettes. The Ghawar field was in flames. The latest Hawk antimissiles had been ineffective against swarms of Iranian drones. Meantime, the Saudi thrust into Iran had been swiftly repelled by Russian anti-aircraft defenses. “Our F-15s have succeeded in reaching Arak and bombing the reactor and heavy-water plant, but at a very great cost,” the air force general who was conducting the briefing said. “We also see landing craft forming up at Bandar Abbas.”
“But where are the Americans?” Majid asked.
“They are coming!” Prince Khalid exclaimed. “We must first provoke the Russians into the field. We have the promise of the American president that Iran will be destroyed. Russia cannot save her.”
“This action should not be taken before the king gives his consent,” Majid said in alarm. “It is not only a war crime to attack the population, it is a crime against Islam. It means there will be no end to this war until both nations are extinguished.”
“I have been entrusted with the decision,” Prince Khalid said imperiously. “The king has given me full authority to defend our sacred land. The choice has been made, the outcome is already written. God has given us this power and we must use it.” The old prince turned to the air force general and said, “You have my command.”
Majid stood for a moment, frozen in shock. Then he walked out of the bunker.
The night had turned cold. He found his jeep and stripped off his uniform, replacing it with a simple Saudi thobe. He put on his slippers and walked past the frantic crowd of sailors to the main gate and