66

Munich, Germany

Just before dawn, David’s mobile phone rang.

He was still awake, reading Dr. Birjandi’s book cover to cover. He took the call and found Eva on the line asking him if he’d heard about the massive earthquake that had just hit northwestern Iran. David hadn’t but immediately turned on his TV.

The epicenter of the quake, he soon learned, was not far from the city of Hamadan in the north of the country. Already, officials for Iran’s Red Crescent emergency relief services were estimating at least three thousand people were dead and more than twenty thousand wounded. Yet just by watching the devastation in the early video images being beamed out of the ancient city, it was clear to David that the casualty figures were going to climb throughout the day. Eva said she was already in touch with the MDS technical crew in Tehran. None of them had been affected, and her team at the MDS operations center in Dubai was in the process of contacting their families to reassure them that they were all right.

“I have an idea,” David said.

“What’s that?”

“Find out if the muckety-mucks upstairs would be willing to set up a relief fund to care for families of the survivors in Hamadan. Maybe if Iran Telecom does something, we could provide matching funds.”

“That’s a great idea,” Eva said.

But David wasn’t done. “What if we let Rashidi and Esfahani know that if they’d be willing to run the fund—set it up, decide who gets the money, that kind of thing—that they can keep 10 percent as an administrative fee?”

“That could be hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Eva said.

“Exactly.”

“Can they be bought that easily?”

“I think they can, as long as they don’t think that they’re being bought,” David said. “They have to think it’s simply money they’re due for a job well done. What do you think?”

“It’s brilliant,” Eva said and hung up.

An hour later, she was back on the phone. She had reached the CEO of Munich Digital Systems at a conference in Singapore. He loved the idea and had already committed to put five million euros into the account. David was impressed with her persuasiveness.

Then it was David’s turn. It took several attempts, but after a few hours he reached Esfahani on his cell phone. The man seemed out of breath with what David perceived as excitement rather than the stress he had anticipated.

“Most systems are down,” Esfahani explained. “We’ve got crews working on things already, but I’m still amazed you got through. You must come to Hamadan immediately. I have seen him—he is here!”

“Who is here?” David asked cautiously.

“The Mahdi, of course! Who else? Reza, I tell you I saw him with my own eyes. He touched me; he spoke to me. I saw him do a miracle! Where are you right now?”

David explained that he was leaving Germany for Iran that afternoon. He also explained that MDS had established a fund to help the survivors of the earthquake in Hamadan.

Esfahani was deeply moved and was astonished when David suggested the generous offer of compensation. He agreed immediately, but with one condition.

“What’s that?” David asked.

“Mr. Rashidi need not be burdened with this project, as honorable as it is,” Esfahani said. “I don’t think we should ask him to administer the fund. It would be too much. It would be a great honor to handle it myself.”

It never ceased to amaze David how well hard, cold cash worked in the world of intelligence. “That’s fine with me,” he said.

“I’ll have a bank account in Tehran set up by the end of the day,” Esfahani offered, “then get you the SWIFT code so you can wire the money.”

“Great,” David said. “As for the gifts you asked me to pick up, where do you want me to bring them, and how do I get them into the country without drawing attention to myself?”

“You have twenty already?” Esfahani asked in surprise.

“You said it was important.”

“Listen, you mustn’t wait to come,” Esfahani said. “Mina will meet you at baggage claim in Tehran. She’ll clear you through customs and take you to the person who should receive the gifts. I’ll call her right now.”

En Route to Tehran

Najjar knew nothing about the earthquake.

To let the baby sleep, he and Sheyda didn’t have the radio on as they drove east along Route 48 toward Tehran. Instead, Sheyda talked nonstop about what had happened to her mother and her while Najjar had been out that night.

She began by explaining they had forced themselves to do their evening prayers, even though they were just going through the motions. With everything that had happened, she said, they had lost all faith in Allah and all faith in Islam. Then Jesus appeared to them in the living room, scaring them half to death. They compared notes with Najjar on how Jesus looked, what He sounded like, and what He told them, and it was amazing how similar their experiences had been.

“The first thing He said was, ‘Fear not, little children,’” Sheyda recalled. “Then he said, ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love. Therefore, I have drawn you with lovingkindness. I know the plans I have for you—plans for good, not for evil; plans to give you a future and a hope. Come and follow Me.’”

“What did you say?” Najjar asked.

“What could I say?” Sheyda replied. “I said yes!”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Jesus told me not to be.”

“Weren’t you worried about what I would say?”

“A little, but what could I do? I suddenly had a mere glimpse of just how much Jesus loved me, and I couldn’t resist.”

Najjar turned to his mother-in-law. “What about you? Your husband was awaiting the Mahdi.”

“So was I,” Farah replied.

“Then what did you say to Jesus?”

“I said yes!”

“But why?”

“Why did you?” she asked.

Najjar thought about that. “I knew He was telling me the truth.”

“So did I,” Farah said. “I knew it in my soul.”

“Why do you think He came to us, of all people?”

“I don’t know,” Sheyda said. “But Jesus did say, ‘You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.’”

“I asked, ‘What should we do?’” Farah said, smiling at the memory and savoring each precious word. “He said, ‘Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to do all that I command you. My words shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on them day and night, so that you may carefully follow them; for then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have success. Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.’”

For the next half hour, they discussed the meaning of these words. Was Jesus asking them to speak publicly about what they had seen and heard? They knew all too well the risks involved. Telling anyone in Iran that they had left Islam and become followers of Jesus Christ as the One True God—the only way to heaven—would lead to their arrest, torture, and possibly execution. Of this they had no doubt. Yet Farah reminded them that Jesus had told them not to be afraid but to follow His words carefully.

“We need a Bible,” Sheyda said.

Najjar agreed but wondered aloud where they were likely to find one—in Tehran of all places. The two women had no idea, but they immediately bowed their heads and asked the Lord to give them a Bible, in Farsi if possible. Then they concluded by saying, “We ask these things, O Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and our great God and King.” They half expected a Bible—or Jesus Himself—to appear immediately, but nothing happened. Still, they all had peace that He would provide for them soon.

For now, however, Najjar had a somewhat-vexing question.

“What are we to believe about the Twelfth Imam?” he asked. “I have seen him myself. I have met him at least twice. He told me the future. He told me that I would marry you, Sheyda, when there was absolutely no prospect of that happening. He told me other things that have come true. How could the Mahdi tell the future if he is not the messiah? How could the Mahdi do miracles if he is not from God? I’m not saying I don’t believe Jesus. I do. But I admit I’m confused, and if we were ever to say any of this publicly . . .”

“You mean, when we speak of this publicly,” Sheyda gently corrected him.

Najjar was amazed by how deep his wife’s faith had grown so quickly. “Right—when we speak of this publicly, people will ask me about the Twelfth Imam, and I don’t know how to respond.”

“Jesus told us something about that,” Sheyda said.

“What do you mean?” Najjar asked.

“He said something about that,” Sheyda repeated. “What was that, Mother? You wrote it down, right?”

“I did,” Farah said, pulling a small notepad out of her pocketbook and passing it from the backseat, where she was sitting beside the baby, to her daughter, who was sitting in the front beside Najjar. “There, on the third page.”

Sheyda scanned her mother’s scribblings to find the line she was thinking of. “That’s right. Jesus told us to read Exodus chapter 7 and Deuteronomy chapter 13.”

“What are those?” Najjar asked.

“We’re not sure yet,” Sheyda admitted. “We’re guessing they’re in the Bible.”

The three continued talking about their encounters with Jesus until they reached the outskirts of Tehran. Unsure where the Lord wanted them to go, how long they were supposed to be there, or what they were supposed to do, they prayed for wisdom, then pulled into a small motel near the Mehrabad Airport. Sheyda needed to nurse the baby. Najjar decided to use the time to shower. Farah needed to rest a bit.

But no sooner had Najjar stepped into the hot shower and begun thanking the Lord for His kindness and His mercies than he heard Sheyda cry out. He scrambled to turn off the water, wrapped himself in a towel, and bolted out of the washroom. He found his wife sitting in a chair, feeding the baby, and properly covered, but she had turned on the television to discover news of an earthquake that had struck their city not long after they had left. The images were shocking. Entire buildings and neighborhoods had been flattened. Major bridges and highways had crumbled and collapsed like sand castles. Newscasters said the death toll had now risen past six thousand. Countless other people were wounded, and emergency workers were responding from all over northwestern Iran.

This was why Jesus had commanded them to leave the city immediately, Najjar knew. He was leading them as a family, just as He had promised.

Sheyda picked up her cell phone and called their next-door neighbor at their apartment building, but there was no answer. She called another neighbor. Again, no answer. She called six more neighbors. None of them answered.

Farah called Dr. Saddaji’s secretary, who lived in an apartment building around the corner from them. It took many rings, but the woman finally came to the phone. Farah put the phone on speaker so Najjar and Sheyda could hear the woman’s news. She was safe but weeping for those less fortunate. And now she rejoiced to know that Farah was still alive. She’d known Farah had decided to spend the night at Najjar and Sheyda’s, and she told Farah that the Maliks’ apartment building had completely collapsed during the quake. Not a single resident who had been in the building was thought to have survived.

“Why weren’t you asleep in your beds like everyone else when the quake struck?” the secretary asked.

Farah explained that the family had gone to Tehran for a few days to grieve in private. It wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

“Did you have a premonition?” the secretary asked.

Farah clearly wasn’t sure what to say to that. “We just wanted to be alone,” she finally said.

“Allah was truly looking out for you. You and your family should all be dead right now.”

Munich, Germany

David paced in the waiting area of the Munich airport.

He had checked his luggage and cleared through security and passport control; now he watched continuing coverage of the earthquake in Hamadan as he waited for his flight to Tehran. As boarding began, he pulled out his phone and decided to check one more time to see if there were any messages on the phone back in his apartment. There was nothing. But when he checked his AOL account, there was an e-mail from Marseille.

Hi, David,

Thanks so much for your voice mail and your kind words about my father. I thought I might not hear from you at all, so I have to say I was relieved to know that you simply hadn’t received my letter until recently. I was worried you were mad at me for not being in touch with you and your family for all these years. It must have seemed like we ceased to exist. In some ways, we did.

I’ve never been quite sure how to apologize, but I’ve come to the conclusion face-to-face would be better than e-mail or a note or a phone call. So thanks for being willing to get together with me. I feel like this wedding being in Syracuse and my friend’s insistence that I be there are part of God’s plan for you and me to meet again.

Do you ever think about those days in Canada, before the world spun out of control? Sometimes I think they were just a wonderful dream I had, but then I am reminded that they were very much real. In fact, I think they were some of the most real days of my life. How did so much time pass so quickly? Who have you become?

Well, I guess you’ve become a successful international businessman, for one. Congratulations. Even as a girl, I think I always knew you were going to be very successful at whatever you did. Thanks for taking time to call me from overseas. I know you must be very busy, but it meant so much to me that you called. It has given me a bit more courage.

Write to me, if you’d like. I miss your friendship, and I know it’s my fault. I’ll be there in Syracuse. I’ll be the one who’s shaking in her boots a bit. :)

Your friend,

Marseille

P.S. Unless you’d like to go somewhere else, let’s meet at the downtown Starbucks on M Street. I’ll be there by 8 p.m. that Thursday. See you then.