Joel C. Rosenberg
Damascus Countdown
To the captive and cruelly treated people of Syria—
especially those in Damascus — yearning to be free.
Author’s Note
Tehran, Iran, is one and a half hours ahead of Jerusalem and eight and a half hours ahead of New York and Washington, D.C.
Cast of Characters
David Shirazi (aka Reza Tabrizi) — field officer, Central Intelligence Agency
Marseille Harper—schoolteacher; childhood friend of David Shirazi
Jack Zalinsky—senior operative, Central Intelligence Agency
Eva Fischer—field officer/analyst, Central Intelligence Agency/National Security Agency
Roger Allen—director, Central Intelligence Agency
Tom Murray—deputy director for operations, Central Intelligence Agency
William Jackson—president of the United States
Daniel Montgomery—U.S. ambassador to Israel
Marco Torres—commander, CIA paramilitary unit
Nick Crenshaw—field agent, CIA paramilitary unit
Steve Fox—field agent, CIA paramilitary unit
Matt Mays—field agent, CIA paramilitary unit
Dr. Mohammad Shirazi—cardiologist, father of David Shirazi
Chris and Lexi Vandermark—newlyweds; college friends of Marseille Harper
Dr. Alireza Birjandi—preeminent scholar of Shia Islamic eschatology
Najjar Malik—former physicist, Atomic Energy Organization of Iran; defected to the U.S.
Ayatollah Hamid Hosseini—Supreme Leader
Ahmed Darazi—president of Iran
Mohsen Jazini—commander, Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps; aide to the Twelfth Imam
Dr. Jalal Zandi—nuclear physicist
Javad Nouri—personal aide to Ayatollah Hosseini and the Twelfth Imam
Ali Faridzadeh—minister of defense
Ibrahim Asgari—commander of VEVAK, secret police
Daryush Rashidi—CEO, Iran Telecom; aide to the Twelfth Imam
Abdol Esfahani—deputy director, Iran Telecom; aide to the Twelfth Imam
Asher Naphtali—prime minister of Israel
Levi Shimon—defense minister
Zvi Dayan—director, Mossad
Gal Rinat—field operative, Mossad
Tolik Shalev—field operative, Mossad
Muhammad Ibn Hasan Ibn Ali—the Twelfth Imam
Iskander Farooq—president of Pakistan
Gamal Mustafa—president of Syria
General Youssef Hamdi—air marshal, Syrian Air Force
Thursday, March 10
Preface
David Shirazi glanced at his watch. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. The plan required split-second timing. There could be no changes. No surprises. Time was short. The stakes were high. And there was no backing out now. But there was one thing he had to accept: in three minutes, he’d quite possibly be dead.
David ordered his cab driver to pull up in front of the famed Jamkaran Mosque. He paid the driver but asked him to pull over and wait. He had a package to deliver, he told the man, but it would only take a moment, and he’d be right back.
David carefully scanned the crowd. He did not yet see his contact, but he had no doubt the man would show. In the meantime, it was hard not to marvel at the structure, the mammoth turquoise dome of the mosque in the center, flanked by two smaller green domes and two exquisitely painted minarets. Built on a site revered since the tenth century, when a Shia cleric of the time, Sheikh Hassan Ibn Muthlih Jamkarani, was supposedly visited by the Twelfth Imam, it had once been farmland. Now it was one of the most visited religious destinations in all of Iran.
Over the last few years, Iran’s Supreme Ayatollah and president — both of whom were devout “Twelvers,” passionate disciples of the so-called Islamic messiah — had funneled millions of dollars to renovate the mosque and its facilities and build beautiful new multilane highways from the mosque to Qom and Tehran. Both leaders visited regularly, and the mosque had become the subject of myriad books, television programs, and documentary films. After the recent emergence of the Twelfth Imam on the planet and the rumor that a little girl mute from birth had been healed by the Mahdi after visiting the mosque, the crowds continued to build.
David paced back and forth in front of the main gate leading into the sacred complex. He felt the satellite phone in his pocket vibrating. He knew it was the Global Operations Center. He knew his superiors at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, were watching everything that was happening via a Predator drone hovering two miles or so above his head. But he didn’t dare take the call. Not here. Not now. Whatever they had to say, it was too late. He didn’t want to do anything that might spook the man he had come to meet. So he ignored the vibrating and glanced again at his watch. He was right on time. So where was Javad Nouri?
He watched as buses filled with Shia pilgrims pulled in, dropped off their passengers and guides, and then circled around to the main parking lot, while other buses pulled up and loaded their passengers to head home. He estimated that there were a couple hundred people milling about out front, either coming or going. There were a few uniformed police officers around, but everything seemed quiet and orderly. Nouri, a close and trusted aide to the Twelfth Imam, was a shrewd man. He had chosen well. Any disturbance here would have scores of witnesses, and David worried about what might happen to the innocent bystanders.
David felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and there was Javad Nouri, surrounded by a half-dozen plainclothes bodyguards.
“Mr. Tabrizi, good to see you again,” Javad Nouri said, referring to David by the only name the Iranian knew for him.
“Mr. Nouri, you as well.”
“I trust you had no trouble getting here.”
“Not at all,” David said.
“Have you ever been here before?” Nouri asked.
It seemed like an odd question, given the moment.
“Actually, I’m ashamed to say I have not.”
“Someday I will have to give you a tour.”
“I would like that very much.”
Nouri looked at the box in David’s hands. “Is that the package we were expecting?”
“It is,” David said, “but we have a problem.”
“What is that?”
David glanced around. He noticed there were several more bodyguards taking up positions in a perimeter around them. There was also a large white SUV waiting by the curb with a guard holding the back door open. Ahead of it was another SUV, presumably serving as the lead security car. Behind it was a third, completing the package.
“Most of the phones are damaged and unusable,” David explained, handing the mangled box to the Mahdi’s aide. “Something must have happened in the shipping.”
Nouri cursed, and his expression darkened. “We need these.”
“I know,” David replied.
“Now what are we going to do?”
“Look, I can go back to Munich and get more. It’s what I wanted to do in the first place. But—”