Lexi’s father pointed to the television set, and Marseille gasped as she read the text scrolling across the bottom of the screen: “CNN BREAKING NEWS — Israeli hotel in Tiberias destroyed by missile strike…. 46 confirmed dead, say local police…. 93 injured… Frantic search under way to find more survivors.”
18
David and the team arrived back at the safe house exhausted and discouraged, David most of all. He had led his team into some extreme risks, and what had they gotten for it? Nothing. They were no closer to finding out where the warheads were, and time was running out.
He badly needed a shower, but the apartment had only two, and both were already being used. Pacing his tiny room in the safe house — a room with one small window looking out into an alley and covered with rusty metal bars that obscured what little view there was anyway — he pulled out his satphone and began dialing again, trying to reach someone, anyone who might give him a lead.
When Daryush Rashidi’s line picked up, David’s pulse quickened, but almost immediately his call was transferred to voice mail. He left a message, using his Iranian alias.
“Mr. Rashidi, hi again; it’s Reza Tabrizi,” he began. “Just trying again to reach you and make sure you’re okay. Please call me as soon as you get this. I’m guessing you heard about Abdol’s parents. We did everything we could. I’m so sorry. But look, I’d really love to help in any way I can. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll do anything I can to help build the Holy One’s kingdom on earth. I offered to go with Abdol, but he said he had all the help he needed. Is there something I can do for you? Anything? Thanks. Talk to you soon.”
Frustrated but determined not to give up, David called the leader of the Munich Digital Systems technical team to see how they were doing. He knew the team was holed up in the basement of the German Embassy in Tehran, but again he got voice mail.
“Dietrich, hey, it’s Reza again,” he began. “Are you guys okay? I can’t seem to reach anybody. Please call me back.”
David continued working his way through his list of Iranian contacts. He was still not connecting with anyone, and his growing anger was palpable. When he came across Dr. Birjandi’s name again, however, he hesitated. Few people had been more helpful to him personally or professionally. But was he pushing his luck? Maybe the old man wasn’t answering for a reason. Maybe there was a problem. Maybe Birjandi was compromised or in danger. Was it a mistake to call him again?
Still, it was Rashidi and Esfahani — men close to the Iranian high command and the Twelfth Imam — who had introduced him to Birjandi in the first place. It was they who had encouraged him to meet the aging scholar. Indeed, it was Esfahani who had personally given David Birjandi’s home phone number and address. Esfahani had urged the two to meet, and why? To encourage David’s professed interest in the Mahdi. To deepen David’s interest in building the Caliphate. To recruit David to join the Twelfth Imam’s army. David’s cover, therefore, was solid. On the face of it, he didn’t have anything to fear from calling or visiting or meeting with Dr. Birjandi. And the old man himself could not have been more warm or encouraging every time the two had spoken. Why then was he not answering David’s calls?
Dr. Birjandi suggested they break for a while to prepare a meal. But his young students were by no means finished with their questions.
“You’re absolutely certain this War of Gog and Magog has never happened before?” they pressed.
“Yes,” he replied directly.
“So you’re certain these are End Times prophecies?”
“What does the text say?” he asked. “It says this will happen in the ‘last days.’”
“Do you think this will come to pass soon?”
“I don’t know,” Birjandi conceded. “But what’s intriguing to me is that as you examine the text carefully, you’ll see at least three prerequisites before the prophecy may fully come to pass.”
“What are they?” Ali asked.
“First,” Birjandi explained, “Israel must be reborn as a country. Second, Israel must be ‘living securely’ in the land. And third, Israel must be prosperous. Let’s consider these in reverse order.” He paused for a moment, then inquired, “Do you feel Israel is prosperous?”
“Yes, of course,” Ibrahim said.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s certainly better off economically than any of its immediate neighbors.”
“That’s true,” Birjandi said. “Israel as a nation is wealthier than Jordan, Syria, or Lebanon, and its economic growth rate is far better than Egypt’s. In fact, the Israeli economy is consistently growing at 4 or 5 percent a year — faster than any of the major industrialized countries of the West, including the United States. And did you know that the Israelis have in recent years discovered massive amounts of natural gas offshore? There is even growing speculation that there may be enough to make Israel not only energy independent but a net exporter of natural gas, mostly to Europe. And which European country would be harmed most if Israel began selling massive amounts of natural gas?”
“Russia,” Ali said.
“Exactly, but why?” Birjandi pressed.
“Because right now they’re the major supplier of gas to Europe, and the Kremlin is getting filthy rich as a result.”
“Correct again. Now let us consider Israel’s security. Obviously at the moment, the Israelis cannot be described as living securely in the land. But what if they win this war? What if they destroy all of Iran’s nuclear warheads and decimate most of our offensive military capabilities and shame the Twelfth Imam? What if they pulverize Hamas and Hezbollah, too? Wouldn’t that suddenly make them more secure than at any time since 1948?”
They agreed that it would.
“But you know what’s most remarkable of all?” Birjandi asked them. “So many skeptics say that the events of Ezekiel 38 and 39 will never take place, but the fact is that Ezekiel 36 and 37 have already come to pass.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, I have an update on Dimona,” the defense minister told Naphtali over a secure line.
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“First, the missile that hit the reactor was not carrying a nuclear warhead.”
“Thank God,” Naphtali said as he paced the floor of his communications center.
“Agreed,” Shimon said. “Second, we are picking up significant amounts of radioactivity — but less than we had initially expected or feared.”
“Good,” said the prime minister. “Then I want to go to Dimona.”
“What?”
“I want to see it for myself.”
“Absolutely not,” the defense minister retorted. “The situation is far too volatile.”
“But you just told me the radioactivity is far less than expected.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Shimon said. “Yes, it’s less than expected, but that’s because we knew the facility was a high-priority target. I ordered the reactor shut down ten days ago. We quietly removed as much of the nuclear fuel and waste as we possibly could.”
Naphtali was stunned. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“Because I was afraid someone in the Cabinet — or one of your aides — might leak the story. That would have indicated we were getting ready to strike.”
“And you were right,” Naphtali said. “And now I want to go and assess the damage.”
“Mr. Prime Minister, this is… No, it’s not possible. The reactor building has been severely damaged. It’s completely ablaze at the moment. We can’t send in fire crews because we don’t want to expose them to the radioactivity that has been released — which, yes, is less than we feared, but it’s still incredibly dangerous. Several of the other facilities nearby are on fire as well. We’ve cordoned off the entire area. We’re in the process of evacuating the residents we hadn’t already resettled over the past few weeks. We’re going to air-drop fire-retardant chemicals on the whole complex like it’s a forest fire. That’s the safest bet at this point. But there are still missiles and rockets in the air. And the last thing the Shin Bet or the IDF wants is for you to be outside, in a chopper or on the ground.”