The Twelfth Imam (41 page)

86

Suddenly David wondered if they’d even make it to Karaj.

As they inched toward Azadi Square in the stop-and-go traffic, they saw the flashing lights of police cars ahead of them. More seemed to be coming from every direction, and despite the roar of jumbo jets and cargo planes landing at Mehrabad International Airport, the two men could hear the sirens approaching.

“We’re only a few blocks from the motel,” Najjar said. “Look, over there, to the left—it’s just a few blocks.”

“That explains it,” David said.

“What do you mean?”

“All the police.”

“That’s just because of the traffic, all the people trying to go to Mecca, right?”

“No,” David said, “they’re setting up a roadblock.”

Najjar stiffened. “Then we need to get off this road.”

David agreed. They did need to get off the main thoroughfare and avoid the roadblock. The problem was that every side street from here to the square was clogged with hundreds of other drivers trying to find their way around the logjam as well.

“Is this your car?” David asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you own it? Is it registered in your name?”

“Yes, yes, it’s mine.”

“We’re going to have to get rid of it.”

“Why? What for?”

“The moment a police officer runs these license plates, it’s going to come up with your name. We don’t want to be in the car when that happens.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Hold on,” David replied.

Then, without any more warning, David pulled the steering wheel hard to the right. He darted across two lanes of traffic, triggering a wave of angry drivers honking their horns before he got off Azadi onto a street called Nurshahr and began to head north. Unfortunately, it, too, was practically a parking lot. It wasn’t totally stopped. They were moving, but progress was slow, and David was getting edgy.

He needed to get Najjar out of Tehran. He was too exposed. They both were. At any moment, David knew, the Iranian police would in all likelihood be issuing an all-points bulletin. Every police station in the city was about to be faxed a wanted poster with Najjar’s face and details, which would be bad enough. But David had other concerns to worry about as well. Under no circumstances could he allow himself to get caught or implicated in Najjar’s extraction from the country. To do either would blow his cover and compromise all the work he’d done. The Twelfth Imam’s inner circle would stop using their new satellite phones. The MDS technical teams would be thrown out of the country. The CIA’s multimillion-dollar effort to penetrate the Iranian regime’s command and control would be ruined. And given that Iran already had the Bomb and a war now seemed both inevitable and imminent, the CIA needed every advantage it could possibly get.

Suddenly they heard a siren behind them. David cursed as he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the flashing lights about ten cars back. He guessed that a police cruiser had spotted his rapid and reckless exit from Azadi Road and gotten suspicious.

Najjar, cooler than David would have expected under the circumstances, bowed his head and began to pray. David admired the man’s courage. He was trying to do the right thing for himself, his family, and his country. But already he was paying an enormous price. David couldn’t imagine the grief he and his family were suffering. His wife had almost certainly been captured by his enemies, as had her mother and their baby daughter. Who knew where they were right now? Who knew what kinds of torture they were now being subjected to? Yet Najjar’s initial anxiety seemed to be fading, and the worse things got, the more calm the man became.

The siren and flashing lights were getting closer. David knew what he had to do. He turned the wheel, jumped the curb, pulled Najjar’s car off the congested street and onto the sidewalk, and hit the accelerator. Najjar’s eyes popped open as he was thrust back against his seat. Pedestrians started screaming and diving out of the way as David plowed through trash cans and mowed over fire hydrants. Every driver on the street was cursing at him. Every horn was honking, but the police cruiser was left in the dust, and David let himself smile. He hadn’t had such fun in a car since training at the Farm.

The escape, however, was momentary. By the time David reached Qalani Street and took a hard left, another police cruiser was waiting for him and began pursuit.

David wove in and out of traffic, blowing through one light after another. The traffic on Qalani was not nearly as bad as the other streets they’d been on, but David was steadily losing ground. Najjar was not praying anymore. He was craning his neck to see what was happening behind them and urging David simultaneously to go faster and be more careful.

One block passed. Two. Three. The police car was hot on their tail and gaining. But the road ahead was coming to an end. They were coming up to a T. David suggested Najjar grab the door handle and brace for impact.

“Why?” Najjar asked at the last moment. “What are you going to do?”

David didn’t answer the question. It was clear he wasn’t going to be able to successfully turn right or left without rolling the car. Instead, he slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel hard to the right, sending the car screeching and spinning across four lanes of traffic.

They were hit twice. The first was by the police cruiser itself since it was too close behind them and the officer hadn’t expected David to slam on the brakes. The second was by a southbound delivery truck that never saw them coming. The air bags inside Najjar’s car exploded upon impact, saving their lives but filling the car with smoke and fumes. But theirs was not the only collision. In less than six seconds, David had triggered a seventeen-car pileup on Azizi Boulevard, shutting down traffic in all directions. Up and down the boulevard David and Najjar could hear the clash of twisted, tangled metal and smell burning rubber and burning engines.

David quickly unfastened his seat belt. “You okay?” he asked.

“Are we still alive?”

“Yeah,” David said, checking his new friend for any signs of serious injuries. “We made it.”

“Are you insane?”

“We needed a diversion.”

“That was a diversion?”

“It was,” David said. “Now listen, are you okay?”

“My arms are burning.”

“That’s from the air bags. You’ll live. Any broken bones?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Check yourself. Check the computer, and stay here. I’ll be right back.”

David couldn’t get out the driver’s-side door. It had been too badly mangled from the force of being hit by the delivery truck. So he climbed into the backseat, which was littered with shards of broken glass, and kicked out the back passenger-side door. His hands were covered with blood, he felt blood on his face, and his arms were badly burned by the air bags as well. Other than that, he was fine. He jumped out of the car and surveyed the scene. It was a terrible mess in both directions, but he saw what he needed—the police cruiser—and made his way to it as quickly as he could.

The car was a smoldering pile of wreckage. Gasoline was leaking everywhere. David feared a single spark could blow the whole thing sky-high. Inside, the solitary officer was unconscious. He couldn’t have had any time to react to David’s slamming on the brakes, and that had been the point. David had needed the element of surprise, and he’d gotten just that.

Using all his strength, David pried the driver’s door open and checked the man’s pulse. Fortunately, he was still alive, but he had an ugly gash on his forehead, his face was covered in blood, and David realized to his regret that no air bag had deployed. But he saw what he needed and pocketed the officer’s .38-caliber service revolver and portable radio. Then he pulled the officer from the wreckage, carried him a good distance from the glass and gasoline, and laid him on the sidewalk.

David hobbled back to Najjar’s car, suddenly realizing his right knee had gotten banged up worse than he’d first realized. He looked down and noticed his pants were ripped and that blood was oozing out of the knee. But he had no time to worry about it. They needed to get out of there before the place was swarming with more police.

“You ready to move?” David asked, coming over to the passenger side.

“I think so,” Najjar said, his arms filled with the laptop and accessories.

“Is that everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Najjar asked.

“You’ll see.”

They walked north about a hundred meters before David turned, pulled out the .38, aimed at the gas tank of Najjar’s crumpled Fiat, and pulled the trigger. The car erupted in a massive ball of fire that not only obliterated the vehicle but all traces of their fingerprints and DNA as well. The force of the blast threw Najjar onto his back. David, still standing, gave him a hand and helped him back to his feet.

“What was that for?” a stunned Najjar asked, shielding his eyes from the intense heat of the flames.

David smiled. “Insurance.”

87

David walked north down the center of Azizi Boulevard.

With Najjar close behind, he limped his way past wrecked cars and distraught motorists fixated on all the fire and smoke. He clipped the police radio to his belt, put in the earphone, and made sure it was plugged into the radio so the transmissions couldn’t be overheard by anyone else.

His phone vibrated. It was a text message from Eva, telling him to call Zalinsky in the secure mode. He did so right away and coded in, but it was Eva who actually picked up.

“What in the world just happened down there?” she asked, her voice betraying her distress.

“We had a little accident.”

“A
little
accident? Have you gone insane? The entire Global Operations Center—and everyone in our safe house—is watching you via a Keyhole satellite. What are you doing?”

The chatter on the police radio suddenly intensified. Reports of the accident and explosion were coming in from concerned citizens and drivers on their cell phones. Police units, ambulances, and fire trucks were being dispatched. David knew they had only a few minutes before the first units arrived on the scene.

“I can’t really talk now,” he said. “I need to boost a car that’s still running. Do you need something, or are you just interfering in my operation?”

“I found you a plane,” she said, not taking the bait. “It’ll be in Karaj tonight. And we’ve got more intercepts about the motel. I thought Dr. Malik would want to know.”

“And?”

“There was no one there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying, when the Iranians stormed the room, no one was in there,” Eva said. “Just Dr. Malik’s phone, some clothes, and a few overnight bags.”

“Where’s his family?”

“That’s the thing,” Eva said. “We have no idea.”

David turned to tell Najjar the good news, but just then shots rang out, shattering a windshield beside them. Instinctively David hit the ground and pulled Najjar down with him between a Peugeot and a Chevy, dropping his phone as he did so. People started screaming and running for cover. He could hear Eva yelling,
“What is that? What’s going on?”
but he had no time to respond. He grabbed the phone and jammed it into his pocket. Ordering Najjar to stay on the ground, he pulled the revolver and tried to get an angle on whoever was shooting at them. Was it one officer or two? Did they know who he was? Had they ID’d him and Najjar? He couldn’t take that chance.

Two more shots rang out, blowing out the front windshield of the Peugeot. David again flattened himself to the ground and covered his head to protect himself from the flying glass. His knee was killing him as bits of glass ground into the already-injured joint. But there was nothing he could do about it now. As he opened his eyes again, he could see under the cars that someone was moving toward him. He got up into a crouch and took a peek. Another shot whizzed by him and ripped into the door of the Chevy.

Dead ahead, maybe ten yards away, was a garbage truck. David double-checked to make sure Najjar was okay, then made a break for the rear of the truck. With his wounded knee, he was slower than usual. His movement also drew more fire. But it also gave him a chance to see who was doing the shooting. The blue jacket and cap were the giveaway. This was a Tehran city police officer and he didn’t look much older than himself, David thought.

Then the officer’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Base, this is Unit 116. I’m at the crash site. One officer is down. I repeat, one officer is down with multiple injuries. Witnesses say they saw someone steal the officer’s service revolver. I’m currently pursuing two suspects on foot. Shots fired. Requesting immediate backup and helicopter support.”

“Unit 116, this is Base—roger that. Backup en route. Stand by.”

This was not good. David had to defend himself and his asset, which meant he had to move fast. He crept along the side of the garbage truck, hoping to outflank the officer from the right, then stopped when he heard the sounds of crunching glass just a few yards ahead.

David was confused. How could this guy be so close so quickly? It didn’t make sense. A moment before, he’d been at least four cars over. Quickly wiping the sweat from one hand, then the other, David tried to steady his breathing and carefully choose his next move as the footsteps got closer and closer. Should he wait for the officer to come around the corner or seize the initiative and take the first shot?

Moving first was risky. He had seen only one officer, but there could be more. He could hear more sirens rapidly approaching. He couldn’t wait. He was out of time. He took three steps and pivoted around the front of the truck, aimed the .38, and prepared to pull the trigger. But it was not the officer. It was a little girl, no more than six, shivering and scared. David, a millisecond away from firing, was horrified by how close he had come to killing a child.

How did she get here? Where is her mother?

Three more shots suddenly rang out. At least one round ricocheted off the grille of the truck. David dropped to the ground and covered the girl with his body. The pain in his knee was now excruciating, but his first priority had to be the girl. He quickly checked her over to make sure she hadn’t been hit. She hadn’t been, but she was definitely slipping into shock. Her eyes were dilated and she looked vacant. Her skin was clammy and cold. David took off his jacket and wrapped her in it, then got back in a crouch and tried to reacquire the officer in his sights.

But now there were two.

David had a clean shot at one of them, but he didn’t dare fire from right over the child. So he broke right, hobbling as best he could for a blue sedan just ahead. Once again, gunfire erupted all around him, as did the screams of terrified motorists who had no idea what was going on or why. David barely got himself safely behind the sedan. He gritted his teeth and caught his breath, then popped his head up again to assess the situation.

To his shock, one of the officers had decided to ambush him. He was running straight toward David, while the other started running toward Najjar. David didn’t hesitate. He raised the revolver and squeezed off two rounds. One shot hit the officer coming toward him in the stomach. The other hit him in the face. The man collapsed to the ground no more than six yards from David’s position. David quickly pivoted to his left and fired twice more, missing the second officer but sending him sprawling for cover behind the garbage truck.

David could hear a helicopter approaching from the southeast. He had no time to lose. Adrenaline coursing through his system, he made his way to the first officer, grabbed the revolver from his hand, and sprinted toward the second officer. Racing through the maze of cars, he approached the garbage truck, stopped quickly, and glanced around the side. The second officer was waiting for him and got a shot off. David pulled back, waited a beat, then looked again and fired.

The round hit the officer in the shoulder. Screaming in pain, the man spun around but didn’t drop. Instead, he began firing wildly at David, stumbling backward as he did.

David’s first .38 was now out of bullets. Using his shirt, he wiped it clean of his fingerprints and tossed it aside. Then, with the second .38 in hand, he circled back to the other side of the garbage truck. Using the truck as his shield, he made a dash for where he had left Najjar.

But to his shock, Najjar wasn’t there. The second officer was.

The man fired three more times. David could hear the bullets whizzing past his head. He dove left behind the Chevy, then flattened himself against the ground and fired under the car at the officer’s feet. One of the shots was a direct hit. The man fell to the ground but refused to quit. David could hear him radioing for help and giving his superiors David’s physical description. Then, before David realized what was happening, the officer crawled around the front of the Chevy, took aim at David’s chest, and fired again.

David instinctively leaned right, but the shot grazed his left arm. Still, with all the adrenaline in his system, he didn’t feel a thing. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he righted himself, took aim, and squeezed off two more rounds at the officer’s head, killing the man instantly.

David’s mobile phone rang, but he ignored it. Blood was everywhere. More sirens were approaching, as was the helicopter. They had to get out of there. They couldn’t let themselves be caught. But Najjar was nowhere to be found.

Again his phone rang, but still David ignored it. Frantic, he looked for Najjar in, behind, and around car after car. Up and down the block he searched, to no avail. Now his phone vibrated. Furious, he checked the text message. It was from Eva.

EF:
3rd bldg on rt.


David suddenly got it. He glanced at the sky, thankful for Eva and her team watching his back from two hundred miles up. He made his way up the street to the third apartment building on the right, a four-story walk-up that had seen better days. A few bright orange geraniums in ceramic pots gave the place a look of pride and even some cheer, despite its faded glory. Why was Najjar in there? Who had taken him? There wasn’t anyone standing outside the building.

David was out of time. How could he search every apartment before the whole area was flooded with police? But what other choice did he have? He pressed himself close to the dirty windows, thankful that the caked dirt from the city streets obscured any view from inside. His gun drawn, he slowly edged his way toward the entrance, wondering what had happened to the doorman. There was one at every apartment building in this city; they were there supposedly for security but in reality spent their time smoking cigarettes and minding everyone’s business. But there was no doorman here, only an empty chair on the front steps.

David did a quick peek into the lobby, fearing the worst.

Najjar was there, but he was not alone. On the marble floor next to him were the laptop and accessories. And in Najjar’s arms was the six-year-old girl from the street. He was trying to keep her warm and telling her everything would be all right.

David began to breathe again. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“I didn’t want her to get hit,” Najjar said.

David wiped blood from his mouth. “We need to go.”

“There’s a Renault out front, and it’s running,” Najjar said.

“Where’s the owner?”

“She jumped out to help me with the girl. I asked her to find a blanket, and she went upstairs to knock on doors.”

David nodded. “Then we’d better move now, before she gets back.”