The Twelfth Imam (42 page)

88

It was beautiful—and theirs for the taking.

Not seeing anyone looking their way, David and Najjar bolted across the street and got in the platinum Renault coupe. David did a K-turn and swung the Renault around, and the two men were on their way.

With the exception of emergency vehicles approaching them, the northbound side of Azizi Boulevard was fairly clear. The disaster behind them prevented any vehicles from heading north and had no doubt backed up traffic for many kilometers. David turned west on Salehi, then took a right on the Jenah Highway. Their route to Karaj was going to be a bit circuitous and would take longer than he’d hoped, but at least they were finally on their way as Eva—using live imagery from a KH-12 Keyhole satellite—helped them navigate around police checkpoints, roadblocks, and further traffic.

David felt no sense of relief, however. They were far from safe, and he was under no illusions. His diversion hadn’t worked as intended. He’d hoped to create a wreck that would shake the police car following them, lock up traffic behind him, allow him to steal a car that still worked, and let him slip away with Najjar unnoticed. He hadn’t planned on becoming a cop killer in the process, and the notion haunted him. Everything had spiraled out of control. He’d had no other choice. He’d only fired in self-defense. But his mission was now in jeopardy.

If anyone could give an accurate description of him to the Tehran police . . .

David couldn’t bear the implications of where that sentence led, and he dreaded his next conversation with Zalinsky, who, of course, had watched it all play out in real time. He needed to focus on something else. So as they left the city limits of Tehran, David turned to his passenger, who was sitting silently, his head down in prayer.

“Najjar, I actually have some good news.”

Najjar looked up.

“I was about to tell you this earlier, but then everything started going crazy.”

“What?”

“My team tells me your family wasn’t in the motel room when the police got there.”

Najjar sat up straight. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. We’ve intercepted phone messages from the local police saying the place was empty when they raided it.”

“Thank God,” Najjar said. “Where are they?”

“We don’t know,” David said. “But I told you my people would do everything they can to find them, and they are.”

“Thank you.” Najjar’s face brightened in an instant. “Thank you so much, Mr. Tabrizi. How can I ever repay you?”

“Your information is more than enough.”

“But you’re risking your life to help me, to protect me. I am very grateful.”

“You’re risking your life, too, Najjar.” David kept driving for a few moments. “But you’re welcome,” he added quietly.

Najjar looked out the window, then suddenly turned back to David. “Could I have your phone?” he said. “I just had an idea. I want to try to call my wife.”

“How?”

“She has a mobile phone.”

“She does? You never said that.”

“We thought she’d been captured,” Najjar said. “There was no point. But now . . .”

David wasn’t authorized to let a foreign national use his Agency phone. But there was a mobile phone plugged into the cigarette lighter right in front of them. “Here, use this one,” he said.

Najjar punched the number and hit Send, and ten seconds later, he was talking to his wife, telling her how much he loved her, asking where she was, and relaying David’s cryptic instructions on how they should get to Karaj and where they should meet.

David thought he had never seen a man so happy.

Karaj, Iran

At the safe house, David dressed Najjar’s wounds.

Only then did he tend to his own and find some clothes for them to change into that reasonably approximated their sizes.

Najjar ate a little and fell fast asleep. David unlocked a vault stacked with communications gear and uploaded everything on Dr. Saddaji’s laptop, external hard drive, and DVD-ROMs to Langley, with encrypted copies cc’d to Zalinsky and Fischer in Dubai. Then he typed up his report of all that had happened so far and e-mailed that encrypted file to Zalinsky and Fischer as well.

At six the next morning, word came that the plane had arrived. David woke Najjar, loaded the computer equipment into a duffel bag, and took the bag and Najjar to the garage downstairs, where he had parked the Renault. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the edge of the private airfield.

David pointed to the Falcon 200 business jet on the tarmac. “There’s your ride,” he said.

“You’re kidding me,” Najjar said.

“Have you ever flown on a private jet?” David asked.

“No, never.”

“Well, it’s about time. Your family is already onboard. My people are taking care of them as we speak. They’re all waiting for you. You’d better hurry.”

“What about you?” Najjar asked. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Why? You can’t stay here.”

“It’s my job, and there’s more to be done,” David said.

“But if they find out you were connected to me, they will kill you.”

“That is why I have to stay.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Najjar, I could tell you, but then
I
would have to kill you,” David said, smiling. “The things you don’t know about me will have to remain unknown. But believe me, you and your family will be very happy in the U.S.”

Najjar was quiet for a moment. “Sheyda would have liked to have met you,” he said finally.

“I would have liked that too.”

“Someday?” Najjar asked.

“Perhaps.”

Najjar shook David’s hand and held it for a moment, then got out of the car, duffel bag in hand, and ran for the plane.

David watched him go. He wished he could stay and watch the plane take off as the sun rose brilliantly in the east. But he couldn’t afford the risk. He had to dispose of the Renault, steal another car, and get back to Tehran before Esfahani, Rashidi, or his team realized he was missing.

89

Tehran, Iran

David’s phone rang as he approached the outskirts of Tehran.

It was Esfahani, finally. “It’s been a nightmare here. Have you heard about the manhunt for this traitor Malik?”

“I’ve been glued to the coverage. I just hope they catch him.”

“And the man who was with him,” Esfahani added. “They both deserve to be hanged.”

David winced but played along. “Exactly.”

“It’s despicable what they’ve done. But that is not why I called. Things are moving very rapidly right now, as you can see. The Twelfth Imam’s plane just took off for Riyadh a few minutes ago.”

“I thought he was going to Mecca.”

“He is, but I’m told he’s going to meet with the king first. Then the two of them will go to the holy city tomorrow morning for the Mahdi’s address to the world.”

“I wish I could be there,” David said.

“Me, too,” Esfahani agreed. “But there’s much work to be done. That’s why I’m calling.”

“What do you need?”

“The Mahdi wants an update on the satellite phones. Rashidi said he asked about them just before his flight took off. They want to know how quickly you can get them.”

David hesitated. Again he knew Zalinsky and Eva could have the phones for him in a few days, but he couldn’t let it seem too easy, or it might raise suspicion. “Mr. Esfahani, I’ll do my best,” he said, “but I can’t make any promises. It was hard enough to get twenty, but you’re asking for almost three hundred more.”

“It’s not me who is asking,” Esfahani reminded him.

“I know, I know, and I promise you, I will do my best. But I’m going to need some time. And it’s going to cost a lot of money.”

“Don’t let the cost be your concern, young man. Just get the phones, and I will make sure you get the money, plus a generous bonus for your troubles.”

David knew the CIA wasn’t going to let him keep any money, but he saw an opportunity, and he seized it. “No, I cannot take any more,” he said. “You were too generous before, and I shouldn’t have taken the money then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You earned it.”

“But I don’t want it,” he insisted. “Please, I want this to be a pure act of worship for the Promised One, peace be upon him. Nothing else.”

Esfahani paused, clearly taken aback by David’s declining what would amount to a payoff north of a quarter of a million dollars.

“Allah will reward you, my friend.”

“He already has.”

With that, Esfahani explained that Mina had already booked David on a 6:45 Emirates flight that night to Dubai and then a 7:45 direct flight to Munich the following morning on Lufthansa.

“It was the best she could do on short notice,” Esfahani apologized. “Everything else was booked. But at least we put you in first class.”

“That’s really not necessary. And I could have made my own arrangements.”

“Believe me, I know,” Esfahani said. “But it was Mr. Rashidi’s idea. In fact, he insisted.”

David thanked Esfahani and asked him to thank Rashidi. Then he hung up the phone and found a safe place to ditch the stolen car he was driving. He walked a few blocks to distance himself from the car, then caught a cab back to the Simorgh Hotel to pack. He didn’t seem to be under any suspicion from Esfahani.

Meanwhile, he knew Eva and her team were tracking the satellite phones as well as the police radio traffic in Tehran. They weren’t picking up any indications he was in danger either. If all continued to go as planned, he’d be sitting with Zalinsky and Fischer and briefing them by ten that night.

That was the good news. The bad news was that it was now Wednesday, March 2. It was becoming painfully obvious to David that there was no way he was going to make it back to Syracuse to see Marseille that weekend, much less by the following night. Even if he could physically make it there before the wedding was over, Zalinsky would never let him go. There was too much at stake. He had to be in Germany to get the phones and then head straight back to Tehran. There was no way around it. It was his job. It’s what he had dedicated his life to doing.

But something in him grieved.

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

The moment he landed in Dubai, David found a pay phone.

It was a depressing thought that he would have to call and let Marseille know he wouldn’t be there. But it would be unforgivable to just stand her up, so he determined to contact her now before it became impossible.

Unfortunately, he got her voice mail. He wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice, to let her know how truly sorry he was. But she was probably teaching, and he didn’t know when he’d get another chance to call. He had no choice. He left a message.

“Marseille? Hey, it’s David. Look, I’ve only got a moment, but I’m calling to apologize. I feel terrible about this, but I’m not going to get back to Syracuse in time to see you. I’m very sorry. I’m in Budapest, working on a deal that’s critical to my company, and let’s just say, it’s not going well. The client’s asking for extensive revisions to the contract. We’ve been over it a million times. But my boss is pressing me to get this thing done. My company desperately needs the business, so, anyway, all that to say, I’m going to have to stay until it’s done. I feel terrible—I really do. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again and catching up with you and just telling you in person how sorry I am for all you’ve been going through. But I’m afraid it’s not going to happen this weekend. I’ve got to go right now, but I promise to call you again the moment I can. I hope you’re well. Bye.”

David hung up the phone, wincing at all the lies he had just told. But at the moment, he honestly had no idea how to do it better. As he got his luggage, he checked his phone for e-mails. The first one he opened was from his father. His mother was going downhill fast.

Twenty minutes later, David stepped out of a cab at the regional office of Munich Digital Systems. The place was dark. All the staff had gone home for the day. But in a back office, Zalinsky and Fischer were waiting for him. Eva welcomed him back with a hug. To his surprise, Zalinsky did as well. They had a long night of debriefing ahead of them, but Zalinsky made it clear they were proud of him and were glad he was once again out of Iran safe and sound.

“Are Najjar and his family okay?” David asked as Eva poured each of them a cup of coffee.

“They’re all fine,” Zalinsky said, glancing at his watch. “In fact, they should be touching down in the U.S. in just a few minutes.”

“Did you get all the files off Saddaji’s laptop?”

“Absolutely,” Eva said, taking her first sip. “It was a gold mine. We’ll go over all that in a few minutes.”

David sighed and slumped in a chair. His eyes felt gritty, and he’d definitely lost some weight.

“You must be exhausted,” Zalinsky said.

“No—well, yeah, but it’s not that,” David said. “It’s just . . .”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out,” Zalinsky ordered.

“No, it’s nothing; let’s just get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

“David, what’s the matter?”

So David took a deep breath and confessed, “It’s my mom.”

“Nasreen?” Zalinsky asked. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“She has cancer. It’s pretty serious. She’s had it for a while.”

Zalinsky and Fischer were quiet. David never talked about his personal life. They’d had no idea. But Zalinsky’s relationship with the Shirazis went back more than thirty years.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “How long have you known?”

“Just a few weeks,” David said. “They decided to tell me when I went back there to visit. But I just got an e-mail from my dad. He says she’s taken a turn for the worse, and they don’t know how long she’ll be able to hang on.”

Eva reached for David’s hand.

“You need to get home,” Zalinsky said.

“Yeah, right.”

“No, you have to, David.”

“Jack, how can I? Look at what’s happening.”

“It’s your mother, David. You only get one. Go. It’s okay.”