Tehran Grocery Store: My Intelligence is Priced Clearly

Deep underground in Tehran.

The confidential conference room of the Supreme Command.

The exhaust fan was running at full capacity, but it still couldn't remove all the thick smoke from the room.

Beside the huge oak round table, a dozen senior executives were arguing heatedly, their faces flushed and spittle flying everywhere.

"This is insane! This is utter nonsense!"

A gray-haired conservative official slammed his hand on the table, making the teacup in front of him rattle.

"Arrest the CIA deputy director? Do you know what that means?!"

"This means we must declare war!"

"Once we move, the Pentagon's carrier strike group will be in the Persian Gulf tomorrow!"

"Declare war?"

The Holy City Brigade Commander Salehi, sitting opposite him, scoffed and shoved the cigarette butt into the ashtray.

Did they declare war on you when they assassinated the Supreme Leader?

"Did they declare war on us when they bombed our air defense positions?"

"Did Mossad declare war on you when they purged our nuclear physics experts?"

"Now you're proposing war? What, are you so spineless?"

"Are we only allowed to passively defend ourselves unless others explicitly point it out?"

"That's friction! It's a localized conflict!"

"If we detain Langley, the whole situation will change!"

"Given our current economic situation, we simply cannot sustain a full-scale war!"

The acting commander of the Revolutionary Guard, Dariusz, stood up abruptly, bracing himself on the table with both hands and leaning forward.

"It's because you people are always talking about putting the big picture first and always thinking about backing down that the Americans dare to overstep their bounds!"

"Will the Americans stop their attack if Langley isn't captured?"

"No! They'll just think we're weak and easy to bully!"

"Since Langley dared to personally come to Tehran, it means he doesn't take us seriously. What more is there to say?"

"If we don't seize this opportunity, are we just going to wait for him to leave on his own?"

"General Dariusz"

Foreign advisor Farooq adjusted his glasses, his voice neither hurried nor slow.

"I am not affiliated with the military, so whether or not war is declared is another matter. What I want to say is..."

"Have you considered the diplomatic consequences of arresting a CIA deputy director?"

"as a result of?"

Salish sneered.

"The Americans have dropped bombs on our heads, and you're talking to me about consequences?"

"After all, escalation of war and military friction are two different concepts."

Farooq spread the documents out and pushed them to the center of the table.

"Once we take action against Langley, the Americans will have a legitimate reason on the international stage."

"They could easily condemn us at the United Nations and exert even greater pressure on us by virtue of their status as one of the three permanent members of the UN Security Council."

"At the same time, we cannot rule out the possibility of them launching a full-scale military strike against our country."

"Full-scale military strike!"

Salish slammed his teacup down on the table, splashing tea everywhere.

"Mr. Farook, I would like to ask you, if we continue to tolerate this, will the Americans not launch a full-scale attack?"

"Their current restraint is because Trump is a businessman!"

"He needs to weigh the pros and cons and make money off it!"

"Look at his actions, it's utterly disgraceful! Is that something a president should do?"

"Furthermore, with the midterm elections approaching, the constraints imposed by the Democratic Party domestically, and anti-war sentiment at home, this is what makes him reluctant to escalate the war, not because they are kind!"

"and……"

Salish stood up and scanned the people present.

"Our top leaders are being assassinated repeatedly, our intelligence network is being infiltrated, and our air defense positions are being destroyed one after another."

"If we keep choosing to passively take hits..."

"When will we be able to avenge these wrongs?"

Farouk remained silent for two seconds without replying.

The Deputy Minister of Defense standing next to him frowned and spoke.

"General Salish, even if we support the operation, how reliable is the intelligence?"

"Where did this news come from?"

"An intelligence dealer from China."

The person in charge from the General Staff spoke slowly.

"Aikhard said that the accuracy of the intelligence he provided has never been a problem."

"A Chinese person?"

Farouk's brow furrowed even deeper.

"Could this be a sting operation? A deliberate attempt to provoke us into attacking the Americans so they can profit from it?"

Darius glanced at him.

"Mr. Farooq, even without this Chinese man, would we still not fight?"

Just then, Masoud, who was sitting at the head of the table, tapped on the table.

"Alright."

He spoke slowly.

The sound wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the entire conference room.

"Will arguing get us anywhere?"

He picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"That Chinese man is right; weakness will not bring peace."

"Langley is a big fish; he's enough to give us more cards to play at the next negotiating table."

Conservative officials are getting anxious.

"But……"

"There's no 'but' about it."

Masoud raised his hand to interrupt him.

"Let's vote. Those who agree to carry out the arrest plan, raise your hands."

Swish swish.

The radical generals on the right side of the oak table raised their hands without hesitation.

Even a few neutrals, after weighing the pros and cons, slowly raised their arms.

More than half of the votes were received.

The conservatives' faces instantly darkened.

"You will drag the entire country into the abyss!"

"If anything goes wrong, you will all be sinners in history!"

"Then you don't need to worry about it."

Darius readily retorted.

Masoud said nothing more.

He picked up the red secure phone in front of him and dialed Ahrid's private line.

"Akhalid, we agree to this."

"Do a good job, and also..."

Masoud paused for a moment.

"Maintain a good relationship with him."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

New base, second floor.

The clock on the wall was still ticking away.

Zhang Jian was slumped in the sofa, fiddling with a windproof lighter in his hand, the flame flickering on and off.

Farhad was standing nearby; he already knew what was going on.

Standing by the window, she would occasionally glance back at Zhang Jian, then at the time.

Half an hour had passed since the agreed time.

"It seems the General Staff has given up."

Farhad walked over and lowered his voice.

"It probably didn't pass the approval from higher-ups."

"That's true. Langley's identity is too sensitive; they might not dare to take the risk."

Zhang Jian didn't say anything, he just stared at the second hand of the wall clock.

"Ring ring—"

Just then, the cell phone on the table suddenly rang.

Farhad's heart skipped a beat.

Zhang Jian calmly picked up his phone and pressed the answer button.

"General."

Zhang Jian glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're not very punctual."

Ahalid's heavy breathing came from the other end of the phone.

In the background, you can also hear the hurried footsteps of military boots on the corridor.

"The meeting just ended! The command headquarters is in complete chaos!"

Akhalid's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement.

"However, the outcome was good!"

"One million is no problem. How will you receive the money? Or will you send it in cash?"

"One million in cash? I wouldn't dare keep that much money on hand."

Zhang Jian shifted to a more comfortable position.

"Same as always, let's settle the accounts."

"Use your clean overseas accounts to transfer the money to the domestic account I gave you last time."

"Remember to wash your hands thoroughly, so you don't leave any loose ends that the CIA can use to track you down."

"If you ask me, if all else fails, just use your account in China to transfer the money; that would be more convenient."

"Okay! I'll arrange it right away!"

Ten minutes later.

Zhang Jian's phone vibrated.

A text message popped up from Huaguo Bank, with a series of zeros at the end of the number.

I counted them, and they were just right.

One million US dollars, not a penny less.