69

David arrived at the airport with less than half an hour before his flight.

He checked in, cleared security, found a quiet corner near his gate, and powered up his laptop. With so many contacts in Esfahani’s directory, he was hesitant to transfer them all onto his mobile phone. The NSA would be overwhelmed, and most of the numbers wouldn’t produce anything of value. So with only a few minutes before departure, he began looking for specific names.

He began with Javad Nouri. Who was this guy, and how in the world was he connected to the Twelfth Imam? Unfortunately, he found only the young man’s mobile number and no other information. Still, he entered the number into his Nokia and kept hunting.

Next David looked up Daryush Rashidi and found his various phone numbers, his private e-mail address, his birthday, and his children’s names. He also found contact information for the man’s wife, Navaz Birjandi Rashidi.

Birjandi? It had to be a coincidence, he thought. She couldn’t possibly be related to . . .

David quickly searched the phone directory and hit pay dirt. Not only was Birjandi’s home phone number there, so was his home address. The man was Daryush Rashidi’s father-in-law.

Before David could fully absorb this development, however, a flight attendant suddenly announced the last call for passengers to board flight 224 to Hamadan. David realized he’d been so focused he’d lost all track of time. It was time to pack up his laptop and board immediately. Still, he had one more thing to check. He was determined to find the identity of the “boss” to whom Esfahani was related. He had already ruled out more than a dozen senior Iranian officials, including the Supreme Leader and the head of state security. But David wasn’t ready to give up. He began scrolling through Esfahani’s contacts but glanced up and noticed the flight attendant preparing to close the door and seal the flight for takeoff. He called to her and asked her to wait two more minutes.

“No, sir,” she snapped. “You have to board now or take the next flight.”

Pleading her patience for just another moment, David closed Esfahani’s phone directory and opened the file containing the man’s calendar. He did a search for the word birthday and came up with twenty-seven hits. He glanced back at the flight attendant, who was growing more annoyed by the second. He had to go. He was out of time. But his instincts pushed him forward. He scanned through each birthday. Esfahani’s mother. His father. His wife. His daughters. His in-laws. His grandparents. A cousin. Another cousin. A dozen more cousins. And then: Uncle Mohsen, birthday, November 5.

David’s heart rate accelerated. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He closed the calendar file and reopened the phone directory.

“Sir, really,” the flight attendant said, standing over him now. “I must insist.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Just one more minute, please.”

She was not amused. “No, sir. Now.”

David hit the Search function and typed in Mohsen. A fraction of a second later, the name Mohsen Jazini popped up on the screen, along with all of his personal contact information. David did a double take. Esfahani’s uncle was the commander of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps?

He copied Jazini’s information—along with Birjandi’s—into his Nokia and hoped the NSA would get it and be able to use it quickly. Then he shut down his laptop and boarded the commuter flight, just before the flight attendant slammed and locked the aircraft door behind him.

Yet as intrigued as he was by these two developments, his thoughts shifted as he buckled himself into the last seat in the last row. He found himself thinking about the headline he’d seen in Esfahani’s office: “Twelfth Imam Appears in Hamadan, Heals Woman with Crushed Legs.” How was that possible? If Islam was false, which he was increasingly convinced it was, how could their so-called messiah be appearing in visions and healing people? Didn’t only God have the power to do great signs and wonders such as these?