“The Israeli people need to see me in command.”
“Then go back on television,” Shimon insisted. “Give them an update. Reassure them. But don’t put yourself at risk. Can you imagine the propaganda coup Tehran would have if they killed you, even accidentally?”
“I don’t like being cooped up in my office,” Naphtali said, suddenly craving a cigarette though he hadn’t smoked in nearly two years. “Talk to me about Damascus. Why hasn’t Gamal launched his rocket force against us?”
“Who says he still won’t?”
“I’m just wondering why he hasn’t.”
“I still don’t have any answers, sir. It’s gnawing at me as well. It doesn’t make sense. But thank God the Syrians haven’t engaged yet. I think it would push our missile defense systems beyond their limits.”
“Do you think Tehran is holding Mustafa back?” Naphtali asked.
“They must be. There’s no other explanation. But as for why, I don’t know yet. But listen, we’ve got a new development. Something’s cooking.”
“Good or bad?”
“I can’t say. Not yet. I need another fifteen minutes or so and then I’ll be ready to brief you.”
“Is it good or bad, Shimon?” the wearied prime minister pressed.
“Fifteen minutes, sir. I’ll let you know then.”
David decided against trying Birjandi again. Something didn’t feel quite right, though he wasn’t sure what. He made a few more calls to others on his list but still got nothing. He scrolled through his contacts one more time, looking for any other source to try. He was about to give up and find some ointment for the minor burns he’d suffered in Qom when he came back across the name Javad Nouri. He had the man’s private mobile number. He’d ignored it for the last few days. Was it worth trying now? Or was it too risky? He still feared Javad — or those around him — suspected him of being involved in some way in his attempted assassination. But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe the plan had actually worked like it was supposed to. Was that possible? Had David’s moves to save Javad’s life actually had the effect of clearing him of any suspicion? Had their gamble worked, or had it set him up for arrest and certain execution? David knew he had put the call off too long. There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath and dialed Javad’s number. To his shock, the call connected.
“Hello?” said a weak and scratchy voice at the other end.
“Is this Javad?” David asked, stunned that he had actually gotten through.
“Yes?”
“Javad Nouri?” David confirmed.
“Yes, yes. Who is this?”
“Hey, Javad, it’s Reza Tabrizi. I’m just calling to check in and see if you’re okay. I still feel terrible about what happened on Thursday.”
“Oh, Reza, hello,” Nouri replied, clearly in some pain and out of breath. “How kind… of you to call, my friend.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call sooner, Javad. How are you feeling? Are they taking good care of you?”
“Yes, well, I’m… I’m not good. But then again, I’m not dead… and for that I have you to thank. You saved my life. May Allah reward you many times over.”
“No, no, it was my honor. But really, are they giving you proper treatment?”
“Yes, of course,” Nouri said. “I’m at Tehran University Medical Center.”
“One of the best,” said David.
“Yes… the best,” Nouri agreed, still struggling to finish full sentences without wheezing. “The Mahdi gave them strict orders to… take good care… of me. He even…”
“Yes?”
“He even came to…”
“To what?”
“… to visit me.”
The man’s discomfort was palpable, and David could see he wasn’t going to be able to ask Nouri anything of substance. For now all he wanted to do was get off this call and keep working through his list. He didn’t have time to chitchat.
“That is wonderful,” David said. “I’m glad you’re in good hands, and I have no doubt you will recover quickly and be back to full health soon. And again, I’m very sorry about the condition of those satellite phones, how damaged they were. I should have gone back to Germany or to Dubai and picked them up myself. But I—”
“It’s not… your fault, Reza,” Nouri said, interrupting him. “You did the best you could…. Some things are out of our hands.”
“Well, I still feel terrible,” David said. “All I wanted to do was help.”
“I know,” Nouri said. “And you have. Listen… my nurse is telling me I must go.”
“Of course, I understand,” said David, glad to be moving on.
In another context, he would have to laugh. After days of trying, the one person he’d managed to reach was a senior aide to the Twelfth Imam who was lying in a hospital in the center of a city raining with bombs and missiles, a city that might very well soon be annihilated by the Israelis. He hung up even more discouraged and slumped to his knees, bowing his forehead to the ground.
“Lord, please help me,” he pleaded. “I don’t know what to do. Nothing I’m doing is working. This can’t be your will for me. Help me, Father. People are counting on me. Millions of lives are in the balance. But I can’t do this on my own. I need your wisdom. Show me what to do. Please, Father, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
David remained kneeling for several minutes. Waiting. Listening. Hoping. But nothing happened. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the room was silent save the low hum of the fluorescent ceiling lamp.
He thought of Najjar Malik. The man had been a Twelver, and then Jesus had appeared to him in the mountains of Hamadan. Jesus had appeared to his wife, Sheyda, and to his mother-in-law. David had heard the man share his story on several television interviews. He knew God was speaking clearly and directly to Najjar Malik. Why wasn’t Jesus speaking clearly and directly to him, in this room, right now?
Come to think of it, Dr. Birjandi had heard from Christ clearly and directly as well. So had his young disciples, some of whom had been radical Shia mullahs and sons of mullahs just a few months earlier. They’d all had dreams and visions of Christ. Why not David? He couldn’t think of a better time than now.
But it didn’t happen. What did that mean? Was God mad at him? What should he be doing differently? He remained on his knees for another few minutes, but still nothing happened.
David knew he didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. Too much was on the line. He wasn’t mad at God, and he hoped God wasn’t mad at him. But he was lost. He was confused. And then he remembered something Dr. Birjandi had once told him: “When you aren’t sure what to do, do what you are sure of.” It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but it actually seemed to make sense now. Don’t look for a new strategy. Don’t get creative. Don’t lean on your own understanding, but trust in the Lord with all your heart. Do what you’ve been taught. Be true to your training. Which meant what? In this particular circumstance, what did that mean?
David sat up and looked at his phone, and he suddenly knew. He needed to talk to Dr. Birjandi. If he couldn’t reach him on the phone, then he’d have to take the team to the man’s home in Hamadan. One way or another, he had to connect with Birjandi — and fast.