The Tehran Initiative (33 page)

“I hear you, Dr. Birjandi. I do. But I’m not asking you to believe that the Twelfth Imam is really the messiah. You know he’s not. I know he’s not. So it’s not a matter of believing in him. It’s a matter of meeting with him, eliciting information from him, so we can defeat him, so we can save Iran and the United States and Israel and everyone in between.”

Birjandi turned and started hobbling back to his house. “You are a good boy, David. I like you very much. And I know you are passionate about your work, your mission. But there is a false messiah on the planet. He is deceiving millions. He wants to deceive me as well. So when my Lord tells me not to go meet him, I am going to obey. I’m not that bright, David. I cannot outfox the devil. All I can do is listen to the words of Jesus, and if I love Him, then I will obey Him. And I love my Jesus more than life itself. How could I disobey Him, especially when He is coming back so soon?”

David was about to take one more run at the old man, however futile it appeared to be, but just then, one of the young clerics came bursting out Birjandi’s front door.

“Uncle, uncle, come quickly. There is a man on television. You must hear what he is saying!”

38

Washington, DC

DC Metro police cars flooded the zone.

Within minutes of Zalinsky’s call, the BBC’s Washington bureau was surrounded and all roads sealed off for two blocks in each direction. Then two dozen heavily armed FBI agents—led by a counterterrorism SWAT team—stormed the offices and studios.

“Get down! Get down!”
shouted the lead agent, wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying an MP5 machine gun, as one team moved through the front entryway and past the secretarial staff.

“Go, go, go,”
another shouted as a second team burst through the back doors and sealed off the only other avenue of escape.

Guns drawn, they moved quickly and methodically through the five thousand square feet of rented space. But Dr. Najjar Malik wasn’t there.

* * *

Hamadan, Iran

David couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

What on earth was Najjar Malik doing on television? Why was he telling his story to the world? Didn’t he know how seriously this jeopardized David’s mission?

Feeling angry and betrayed, he watched Najjar’s interview on the Persian Christian Satellite Network. He tried to imagine how Eva and her team could have allowed Najjar to escape in the first place. Then he racked his brain to come up with a reason why Najjar would put himself, his family, and the CIA’s primary operation inside Iran at risk by going on worldwide television. Was Najjar going to expose the CIA’s tradecraft, how they got him out of Iran, the safe house in Karaj, the safe house in Oakton, the communications gear they used? Was he going to name names? Was he doing this out of vengeance, to settle personal scores? David was about to storm out of the house and call Zalinsky immediately and find out what in the world was going on, but he found himself struck by the young clerics, who were glued to Najjar’s every word.

“God bless him!”
one of the young men suddenly shouted out.

“Yes, yes, praise God for such a brave brother as this!” another exclaimed.

“It’s incredible,”
a third said.
“How great is our God, that He would reach down and save such a one as this!”

As Najjar continued talking about his newfound faith and why he had chosen to renounce Islam (he promised to talk more about the Iranian nuclear program and the growing threat of war later in the broadcast), David couldn’t help but notice that the young men started taking detailed notes. They were writing feverishly. They were whispering to one another in animated tones. Occasionally one would shout, “Amen!” or erupt in applause. Then one by one, each grabbed his mobile phone and began texting furiously.

It all struck David as odd and disorienting at first. The young men looked like future mullahs and ayatollahs. Some wore white turbans; some wore black. All wore the flowing robes of Shia clerics, and all but one had full-grown beards. Yet they were, as Birjandi put it, secret believers. They were apparently true revolutionaries—of a spiritual nature, at least, if not a political. Each of them had renounced Shia Islam and chosen Jesus over jihad, and they weren’t alone. Birjandi said there were over a million in Iran just like them, and their numbers were growing every day. They had no formal leader. They had no physical headquarters. They operated in the shadows, as dissidents, as rebels with a cause. But now, all of a sudden, one of their own had broken free. He had a name. He had a face. He had a voice. He was telling his story, which, David figured, was probably much like their own. He was explaining the gospel without fear, without compromise, and in Farsi. He wasn’t an outsider. He wasn’t a foreigner or a missionary or a “tool of imperialism,” as Hosseini and Darazi liked to call Western Christians. Najjar Malik was one of them, a native-born son, and he had standing. Najjar, after all, had been helping run Iran’s nuclear program. The man’s father-in-law was the father of the Persian Bomb. And now he had turned—not on his country but on her rulers, on “the tyrants” and “the madmen,” as Najjar was putting it so passionately, who threatened the very existence of the Persian nation.

“Who are you texting?” David finally asked the group.

“Everyone we know,” one said.

“Why? What are you saying?”

“We’re telling them to turn on this channel and hear what this man is saying.”

“But don’t you risk being exposed as Christians?”

“No, of course not. I’m telling all my friends a lunatic is on television. That way they’ll tune in for certain.”

“I have a database of 150,000 current and former seminary students,” another said, explaining that his father was the head of some Iranian clerical student association. “I just sent them all a message saying an enemy of the Mahdi is on television, which is true. Believe me, right now the vast majority of them are dropping everything they are doing and tuning in, or trying to find a TV connected to a satellite dish. And I guarantee you, if they miss the show, they’ll watch the YouTube clips later tonight and tell their friends and have a debate over what this man is saying. This Dr. Malik fellow, he is going to spark a national conversation, and that is good. We don’t need to let people know that we believe what he believes. Not yet. But we can fan the flames.”

Several others said things similar, but one stood apart. “It is time.”

“Time for what?” David asked.

“To stand up and be counted as a follower of Jesus,” said the youngest of the group, a man who looked barely able to shave, much less teach or help lead a revolution. “I’m telling everyone I know that I agree with Dr. Malik.”

Every head turned.

“Why?” David asked.

“Because he’s right. And I do. And Uncle Birjandi taught us what the apostle Paul said in his letter to the believers in Rome: ‘I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes.’”

“But couldn’t saying that publicly get you in trouble?” David pressed.

“It cannot cost me more than what my Savior paid,” the young man replied. “Jesus gave me His life. Shouldn’t I be willing to give mine for Him?”

* * *

Langley, Virginia

“What do you mean he wasn’t there?” Zalinsky yelled.

Murray and Fischer had been glued to the television. Now both turned to their colleague as he hollered into the phone.

“You’ve looked everywhere? . . . That’s impossible. Look again. . . . Then send a team over to the other Persian channel. . . . I have no idea—just look it up and go there now!”

Eva’s cell phone rang. It was the Global Operations Center.

“Are you watching this?” the watch commander asked.

“On the Persian Christian station?” she asked. “Yes, of course.”

“No, no, on BBC Persian again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Switch back,” the watch commander said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just switch back. They’ve picked up the feed from the Christian station, and they’re showing it live.”

Eva grabbed the remote off of Murray’s coffee table and switched back to the BBC Persian channel. Sure enough, the BBC was simulcasting the feed from the Christian satellite network. Whether they were pirating it as a “news event” or had some sort of deal with the network, she had no idea. But it didn’t really matter. The point was that millions of Iranians were watching this thing. She didn’t yet know the repercussions for herself or her team, but she feared Najjar was making a horrific mistake and was going to pay dearly.

* * *

Hamadan, Iran

“War is coming, my dear brothers and sisters,” Najjar said finally.

The hour was coming to a close, and he was almost pleading with his fellow Iranians to listen to him carefully as he stared into the camera.

“Humanly speaking, war can no longer be avoided. Only God can stop this war, and not the god of Islam. Not the Twelfth Imam. Not the mullahs or the ayatollahs. Their god—the god of Islam—wants a war. He wants to rob, kill, and destroy all that we know and love and hold dear to our hearts. But the One True God—the God of the Bible, the God of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ—He is the Prince of Peace. He came to bring us life—eternal and abundant and fruitful and meaningful.”

David found himself transfixed, as were the others in the room. He had read Najjar’s story in the transcripts of his conversations with Eva. He knew the basic trajectory of Najjar’s conversion. Yet there was something about seeing a man tell such a story at such a moment on worldwide television at the risk of his life—and at the risk of being taken down by the FBI on the air—that David found more compelling than he would have thought. He found himself impressed by Najjar’s earnestness and drawn to the depths of his conviction.

“Jesus Christ is the only one who can stop this war,” Najjar concluded. “Pray to Him. Get on your knees—get down on your faces—and ask Him to forgive you, beg Him to save you, implore Him to redeem you and your family and your nation. For Jesus Christ is all that stands between us and an eternity in hell. He may not spare us from war. He may let this war come to punish us for our wickedness. But He will save you individually if you ask Him. Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die.’ My friends, now is the time. This is the day. This is the time of God’s favor. Receive Jesus Christ by faith and receive the free gift of eternal life before it is too late.”

David glanced at Birjandi and wondered how it could be that he and Najjar were reading from the same playbook.

“Did any of you write down Dr. Malik’s Twitter account address?” asked the oldest of the group, a guy named Ali, who had been the quietest in the room thus far.

“Yes, here it is,” said the youngest, Ibrahim, the guy who had just outed himself as a follower of Christ. “I just signed up myself.”

They all signed up, even David, who was embarrassed at not already having a Twitter account, something he had never even considered before. But how could he not follow everything Najjar was telling the world? Wasn’t he supposed to be in the intelligence business? How could he let twentysomethings in Iran know more than he did? He doubted Roger Allen or Tom Murray were going to track Najjar, and he wondered if Zalinsky had even heard of Twitter.

“Do you guys all think he’s right?” David asked the group. “Do you think that ‘humanly speaking, war can no longer be avoided’?”

They all did.

“Why?” David pressed. “I mean, is it just for the reasons Dr. Malik said? Is it a gut instinct? Or something else?”

“The Israelis are going to hit us,” Ibrahim said. “They’re not going to wait. They’ve heard what the Mahdi and our Supreme Leader and our president have said. They’ve heard all the threats, and they’re going to strike first. You mark my words.”

The cleric next to Ibrahim vigorously disagreed. “You’re wrong, Ibrahim. The Americans will hold back the Israelis. That’s why they sent the CIA director to Jerusalem. That’s why the president is going to talk to the Mahdi. The Americans think the Mahdi can be reasonable. They have no idea who they’re dealing with. When the war comes, and I believe it will come any day, it will be because the Mahdi initiated it. And it’s going to be bloody. Many, many will die.”

“You’re misreading the Israelis,” Ibrahim countered. “They’re close to the Americans, yes. But at their core they are driven by their memories of the Holocaust and their determination to never allow another one to occur. Don’t you remember how the Israeli Air Force hit Saddam’s nuclear facilities in 1981 at Osirak? Don’t you remember how they hit Assad’s nuclear facilities near Damascus in 2007? The Israelis are coming here next. To think the Americans could offer them anything to dissuade them from defending themselves against what they perceive is an impending second Holocaust is fantasy.”

Then Ali weighed in unexpectedly. “I wish the Americans could do something—anything—to stop this war,” he said with a deep sense of sadness in his voice and in his eyes. “But it’s coming, and fast. Ibrahim, my friend, you are wise beyond your years. You have insight and knowledge that make me envious. But in this case you are wrong. The Israelis will never get the chance to strike first because the Tehran Initiative is now in motion, and it cannot be stopped.”

“What’s the Tehran Initiative?” David asked.

39

“The Tehran Initiative is the Mahdi’s doomsday scenario,” Ali said.

“Meaning what?” David pressed.

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Ibrahim asked.

“To destroy Israel and wipe out all the Jews,” Ali explained. “I don’t know all the details. I just know what my father told me. He said he can’t be at my son’s birthday party on Saturday because he has been summoned to the Qaleh for a final strategy meeting for the Tehran Initiative. That was all he said, and then he hung up the phone.”

“When was that?” Ibrahim asked.

“This morning, just after breakfast,” Ali said. “I can’t even tell you how ticked off my wife is at him. She’s been planning this party for weeks, and my dad promised to attend. But my mom says it’s not just him. Faridzadeh and Jazini have ordered all of their senior commanders to be there. They’ve canceled all military leaves, at least in the air force and the missile command units. This morning they began issuing orders to call up the air combat reserves. I don’t know what’s happening with the army, but my mom said the rumor is all the families of the air force senior commanders are going to be moved to special bunkers starting tomorrow. My point is, Dr. Malik is dead-on. War is coming, and the Mahdi is going to start it.”