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David paced his tiny hotel room.

He stared out the window at the traffic beginning to build up and tried not to panic. It was Tuesday, March 1. He’d spent most of the last several days searching for Najjar Malik on the Internet, in Iranian phone directories, through real-estate transaction records, and on Iranian newspaper and magazine databases, all to no avail. He had dozens of analysts back at Langley searching every intelligence database they could and data-mining all other materials toward the same end, but with no results. He had the NSA feverishly translating and transcribing intercepted calls, whose frequency were growing exponentially and beyond the Agency’s capacity to keep up.

None of the transcripts indicated Faridzadeh or his men had found Najjar yet, but they were definitely closing in. According to the tidbits Eva had relayed, the Iranians now knew Najjar was in Tehran. They’d even gotten a momentary ping from his cell phone in the middle of the night somewhere on the west side of the city.

In desperation, David thought about calling Mina and saying he had urgent business at Iran Telecom. Could he persuade her to let him in the building this early in the morning? Even if the answer were yes, could he persuade her to let him break into the company databases and search Malik’s phone records to see whom he had called in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours? Maybe there was someone in Tehran, someone with an address, someplace David could focus his attention? But he quickly dismissed the notion. Faridzadeh and the chief of VEVAK certainly already had that information, and there would be agents at any of those locations. David’s showing up at any one of them would only raise suspicions he couldn’t afford. And he wasn’t sure Mina would help him anyway. She was no fan of her boss, Esfahani, but she seemed loyal to the company. David believed he could eventually turn her into an asset. But he hadn’t yet, and he concluded she’d be no help now.

He considered calling the head of the MDS tech team in Tehran. Maybe he could help David break into Iran Telecom’s database and at least get Najjar Malik’s cell phone number. Without it, Langley and the NSA couldn’t listen in on Najjar’s calls in real time once he turned his phone back on. But once the man turned his phone on, how much time would he have before VEVAK triangulated his position and swooped in to take him down? Ten minutes? Fifteen, tops? Even if the NSA was listening in, there wouldn’t be enough time to find him before the Iranian authorities did.

David rubbed his eyes and stared in the mirror. He wondered if he should call Dr. Birjandi. The man had been extraordinarily helpful in so many ways. But to talk on an open line was too much of a risk. And what exactly would he ask? The old man didn’t have a crystal ball, though David desperately wished that he did.

He glanced at his watch. It was now almost quarter past six. The call of the muezzin would begin soon, and dawn prayers would start before the sun rose. He still had no desire to pray, certainly not to the god of Islam. But once again, he had no choice. He had to maintain his cover, however worthless it seemed at the moment.

Thousands of men were already on their knees, bowing toward Mecca, by the time David arrived by taxi at the Imam Khomeini Mosque. He paid the driver, ran in, performed his ritual washing, and found a spot in the back. He knelt down, bowed toward Mecca, and picked up the morning prayers in progress.

“Glory to my Lord, the Most High,” David began, chanting in unison with the others. “Glory to my Lord, the Most High. Glory to my Lord, the Most High. Allah is great. All good, whether rendered by speech, by prayer, by deed, or by worship, is for Allah only. Peace be unto you, O Prophet, and the mercy and blessings of Allah. Peace be unto us and the righteous servants of Allah.”

At the next line, however, he froze. He knew what was coming. But he couldn’t say it.

“I bear witness that there is no God except Allah, and Muhammad is His slave and Messenger.”

Everyone else chanted the words, but David did not. He had said them thousands of times. But this time he could not. He continued going through the motions, hoping no one would notice he had stopped speaking.

Someone did.

“What happened?” the man beside him to his right whispered as the room continued chanting.

“What do you mean?” David whispered back.

“You stopped praying,” the man said, bowing in unison with David and the others.

“I didn’t,” David lied, his heart racing. “I just had . . . to clear my throat.”

David bowed again and finished this particular prayer more loudly than usual, making certain all those around could hear him clearly.

“As you praised and venerated Abraham and the followers of Abraham, in the worlds, surely You are praised and magnified,” he chanted. “Amen. Peace be unto you and the mercy of Allah. Peace be unto you and the mercy of Allah.”

But the stranger on his right would not let it go. As they moved on to a different prayer, he began asking David questions.

“Are you new here? I’ve never seen you here before.”

David grew more concerned. “I’m from Dubai,” he whispered between chants. “Germany, actually, but—”

The man cut him off. “Munich?”

David was silent.

“Is your name Reza?” the man asked.

David was stunned but tried to keep his cool and continued praying. Maybe this was one of Esfahani’s men. He had met Esfahani here before. Or maybe it was one of Rashidi’s men. Maybe Javad Nouri had sent a colleague to summon him, though for what he couldn’t imagine.

“Why do you ask?”

There was a long pause while the two men continued praying in synchronization with the thousands of others in the great mosque.

“Because my name is Najjar Malik,” the stranger said. “As soon as this prayer is over, get up and follow me.”