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.”