Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 007
Chapter Title: Conditions of the Coup. 5 - Even Fraud Becomes Justification
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Even at dawn, the Islamic Revolutionary Committee's executive meeting room was filled with Ayatollah Khomeini, fresh from his outing, facing off against the committee's top brass.
"So, how did it go?"
"Will they accept our proposal?"
"Proposal? The Third Prince is still Shah Reza Pahlavi II's son! We need to arrest and punish him right now to make an example!"
"Exactly. We should march on the palace immediately, before his forces grow any stronger."
The hardliners in the committee were itching to mobilize the military and attack the palace where the Third Prince was staying.
Khomeini, startled by their fervor, quickly moved to calm them down.
"Calm yourselves. This is not the time for force."
"Ayatollah, why not? Didn't you say that to establish a true Islamic Republic, we must seize the Shah, punish him, and eradicate every last trace of the monarchy?"
"Yes. Pro-monarchy forces are already rallying to the prince's side. If we let this continue, they'll become a major obstacle to our plans."
These fools who knew nothing of strategy kept pushing.
Despite his boiling frustration, Khomeini focused on steadying them with composure.
"My stance hasn't changed. But using force now could backfire with the public. We've already seized the momentum—there's no need to stir up trouble and create unnecessary variables."
The hardliners' mood softened somewhat at Khomeini's response.
Seeing this, he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
His mind flashed back to the conversation with the Third Prince just moments ago.
"Here. This is the ledger."
"Ledger? What...?"
"What else? It's a record of everything I've provided you over the years. If this gets out, it'd put you in a tough spot, wouldn't it? The man preaching the downfall of the Shah, revealed to have taken his funding for years—and even flying back on a plane the prince arranged. How do you think people would see you?"
"What do you want?"
"What else? I sponsored you because I believed in what you were doing. Just proceed with the referendum as planned. Fairly."
Reliving the memory, Khomeini shuddered involuntarily.
He had endured every humiliation in exile, finally seizing his chance to return—only for all that time and effort to be tossed into the gutter at a single whim.
That ledger could never see the light of day.
Absolutely not.
If they attacked the prince now, he would release it without hesitation.
Everything Khomeini had built would be questioned, invalidated.
He couldn't allow that.
Not after enduring and waiting this long.
Khomeini changed the subject.
"The referendum is right around the corner. We must focus on that. How are the vote preparations coming along?"
"Our people and the revolutionary forces are ready and standing by. We've secured the ballots, and once voting ends, we'll handle things quietly during transport to the counting stations."
"There must be no mistakes. This vote will legitimize us. Once we have that foundation, we can eliminate our enemies one by one. Even if the prince—or the Shah—returns, they won't be able to do a thing."
Khomeini didn't forget to drill this into the committee executives once more.
"We can deal with the prince later. And remember this: our true enemy is not the 20-year-old prince, but the fled Shah."
Iranian Royal Palace.
Even late at night, when the servants had all retired, the reception room lights burned bright.
I sat alone, sipping tea.
As always, Hassan attended me at my side.
"So tomorrow's the vote?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
March 30th.
Since arriving in Tehran in mid-February, I'd been under de facto house arrest.
Of course, the palace grounds were fortified by pro-monarchy forces and units led by my secretly cultivated loyal officers.
But to avoid provoking the revolutionaries outwardly, we'd kept things as quiet as possible.
That was just for show, though.
In reality...
"Who's on site?"
"The Shadows are there."
The so-called Shadows of the Black King.
When SAVAK was disbanded last year, over 4,000 secret agents lost their jobs overnight.
I'd secretly recruited those with the fewest issues—800 in total.
The numbers were down drastically, but it was enough to serve as my eyes and ears.
"Location?"
"Mashhad."
Mashhad, in northeastern Iran near the Afghan border.
Home to over three million people, Iran's second-largest city and the holiest site in Shia Islam.
Naturally, it was a stronghold for the clergy.
"Then we'd better prepare early. Status?"
"A Sahour Scholar from the Air Force is waiting at the airport."
The Scholars.
My loyalist network, nurtured over the past decade.
"Let's move out, then. Tell the guard to clear the path."
"Yes, Your Highness."
I rose from the sofa and slipped quietly out of the reception room.
Holy city of Mashhad.
The nationwide Iranian referendum had begun.
Citizens flocked to polling stations from dawn, forming long lines to vote.
The ballot would decide Iran's future government: monarchy or republic.
Khomeini's Islamic Revolutionary Committee pushed for an Islamic Republic.
If he secured a majority, the monarchy would collapse, replaced by the First Islamic Republic.
Voting dragged on all day, ending only after sunset.
At 6 p.m., the last voter left, and election officials sealed the ballot boxes piled high with votes.
Now they needed to be transported to the counting centers.
As workers hauled the boxes outside to load onto trucks...
On the rooftop of a building overlooking the polling station...
A man crouched in hiding, capturing it all on camera.
Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!
The rapid-fire shutter recorded every detail below without missing a beat.
The man's name was Ali.
A former SAVAK agent.
Even before the dissolution, he couldn't reveal his identity; afterward, he was utterly forgotten.
He couldn't complain to anyone.
Word getting out that he was ex-SAVAK would endanger not just him, but his family.
Stripped of honor, conviction, and career overnight—yet soon after the agency's fall, a new hand reached out.
It didn't have an official name yet, but the group recruiting ex-SAVAK agents called itself...
Shadows of the Black King.
The new organization offered better terms than SAVAK: high pay, full support for operations.
And crucially, instead of spying on everyday folk, they monitored real crimes—with missions that carried true justice and legitimacy.
"Illegal election tampering detected. Monitor the site and gather evidence."
Under those orders, he and his team had investigated election fraud for the past month.
They'd pinpointed suspicious activity around the mosque and confirmed plans to swap ballot boxes after polls closed.
Finally.
Even the shady removal of the sealed boxes.
From the opposite building, it was clear: those hauling the boxes weren't election officials.
And a truck just like the one below unloaded identical ballot boxes into the polling station first.
They were swapping the entire lot.
If the fakes made it to counting, the results would be rigged wholesale.
And the clerics from the mosque were behind it all.
After watching silently, Ali pulled out his radio.
[Swapped ballot truck departing. Direction: southwest. Transmitter installed on box underside. Request signal tracking.]
Still vigilant, Ali raised his camera toward the polling station again.
He began snapping close-ups of the culprits' faces, ensuring not a single one was missed.
Tehran outskirts.
After slipping out of the palace, we drove through the city.
The car raced along highways, then across what was a lake in the rainy season—now a cracked, dry bed from drought.
Perfect for driving.
Vroom~~~.
We arrived at our destination after a long haul.
Figures waiting in the darkness approached the vehicle.
The car stopped.
Hassan hopped out of the driver's seat and hurriedly opened the rear door for me.
"We're here."
The men saluted as I stepped out.
"Loyalty!"
All Sahour Scholars, NCOs serving in the Iranian military—but gathered here in secret, even from their direct superiors.
I returned their salutes and walked forward.
Behind them loomed a massive helicopter in the shadows, radiating heavy menace.
The Soviet Mi-24 Hind, an attack-transport hybrid.
Smuggled in via the Air Force and a shell company from the Eastern Bloc.
Great value, but its real draw: gunship firepower plus room for eight troops.
Hassan approached.
"Piloting yourself again, Your Highness?"
"No choice. Nobody flies night ops like I do."
I feigned reluctance, but my heart was already pounding at the thought of taking her up.
This wasn't some game thrill—this was real adrenaline surging through me.
"I can see your lips curling, even in the dark."
Damn, my right-hand man sees right through me.
I changed tack.
"Let's get airborne. They're racing to destroy the evidence as we speak."
"Yes, Your Highness. Blades of the Black King—everyone mount up."
At Hassan's command, the waiting operatives boarded with practiced efficiency.
I headed to the cockpit last.
"Time to dust off the skills."