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.