“Actually, start with CNN, but make certain there are no White House or CIA fingerprints on this,” the president insisted. “Give it to these reporters on deep background, but make sure the story begins to break quickly, before the Iranians break it. That’s why I’d recommend you go with CNN first. Then, once the news does break, we’ll be asked to comment. At that point, call the White House press corps in immediately. I want to make a statement and take questions. This war has to stop. The Israelis have to stand down. And right now I’m the only one who can make that happen. You gentlemen are dismissed. Good night.”
While it was still late Sunday evening in Washington, it was dawn in Damascus. The warmth of the rising sun was beginning to creep through the windows of the guest room to which Birjandi had been assigned, but he hadn’t slept. He remained now where he had been all night, on his knees at the foot of the bed, earnestly pleading for the Lord to end this war and protect the people of Israel and protect all the people of this region from the genocidal plans of the Twelfth Imam. Birjandi had long warned the men he discipled that “the most dangerous corridor on the planet is the corridor between Tehran and Tel Aviv,” and tragically his instincts were being proved correct.
The more he prayed for God’s grace, the more the Twenty-Third Psalm burned in his heart. Throughout the night, he had found himself repeating it from memory every few hours, meditating on its meaning, chewing on it again and again, savoring every word and every nuance, and now he did so again.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,’” Birjandi said to himself, not wanting even to whisper lest he be overheard by agents of the Mukhabarat. “‘He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”
What weighed most heavily on his heart and soul was the fact that in just a matter of hours, the Mahdi would arrive and summon him for their first face-to-face meeting. The Mahdi would be expecting to meet a true disciple, a faithful servant and supplicant, not just a Twelver but Shia’s leading authority on the Twelfth Imam and Islamic eschatology. Birjandi desperately needed Christ’s wisdom. He didn’t want to go to such a meeting with a demon-possessed tyrant at all, but he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that the Lord might be in this, that the Lord might actually be preparing a table before him in the presence of his enemies. If that was really the case, then he certainly didn’t want to enter such a meeting in his own strength. He wanted to truly be able to say, “I will fear no evil; for you are with me.”
As he repeated his favorite psalm for the umpteenth time, another passage came to mind, a piece of Scripture he had not thought of even once in recent months. The verse was John 12:49, where Jesus said, “The Father who sent me has commanded me what to say and how to say it.” At first, it struck Birjandi as odd. Why had that passage occurred to him, and why now? He knew that Jesus loved the Father and did only what the Father wanted him to do. There was nothing new in that truth. But then it struck him that he had never really applied the verse to himself. He was not, after all, a public speaker, or at least he had not been for many years since retiring from the seminary and since the passing of Souri and his decision to live a more reclusive life. But as he reconsidered the verse and its meaning for the moment, Birjandi realized that he had literally no idea what to say to the Mahdi, nor how to say it. He certainly didn’t want to guess. He wanted — or more precisely, he desperately needed — the Father to command him what words to speak, to fill him with the Holy Spirit and give him the power and authority to say what needed to be said.
The forty-ninth verse in the twelfth chapter of John suddenly became very precious to Birjandi in a way that it never had before. For Birjandi had no illusions. The simple truth was that he could not reasonably expect to come out of that meeting alive if he were to maintain his testimony for Jesus. To profess his love for and allegiance to Christ in the presence of the Mahdi meant his head would surely be separated from his shoulders. He thought he was ready. He wanted to be ready. But he prayed more earnestly than ever before that the Lord would make him readier still by giving him supernatural grace and courage to remain faithful to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to the very end.
And then, after hours on his knees in prayer, Birjandi felt the fog beginning to lift from his thoughts. As the rays of fresh, sparkling sunlight began to warm his face, he could feel the Spirit of God speaking directly to his heart, explaining what was happening and why and some of what was about to happen next.
“This is CNN breaking news. Live from London, here’s senior international correspondent Karan Singh.”
President Jackson and several senior aides huddled in the Situation Room, watching a bank of television monitors and working on a statement the president would make to the White House press corps in a few minutes. But the report on CNN was not playing out anything like they had anticipated.
“Good evening to our CNN viewers in North America, and good day to the rest of our viewers around the world,” Singh began. “We have breaking news this hour out of Kabul, Afghanistan. CNN has learned that the Twelfth Imam and the president of Pakistan have been engaged in high-level talks there throughout the night, and… Hold on…. My producer tells me the two leaders are about to make a joint statement. There is an unconfirmed report moving on the wires right now that Pakistan has decided to join the Caliphate, but again, this is an unconfirmed report. Let’s go now to a live feed of a press event now under way in the Afghan capital of Kabul.”
No one in the Situation Room was paying any attention to the draft of the president’s statement. Every eye was riveted on President Farooq as he appeared on all the American cable and broadcast TV news networks and many overseas networks as well. Farooq proceeded to announce Pakistan’s decision to turn over full control of its immense nuclear arsenal to the Twelfth Imam. It took a moment for the horrifying truth to register, but as it did, the president demanded to be connected to Roger Allen at the CIA immediately.
“Are you watching this?” Jackson asked.
“Tom and I just pulled into Langley,” Allen said. “We’re not near a TV yet, but Tom’s got Jack Zalinsky on the other line. He’s translating Farooq for us right now.”
“It’s a doomsday scenario.”
“I’d have to agree, sir.”
“What are our options?” the president asked.
“For that you need the SecDef and the joint chiefs, sir.”
“Roger, I’m asking you. Privately. Man to man. What would you recommend right now?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly. Give it to me straight.”
“Mr. President, if it were me, I’d direct the SecDef to contact Carrier Strike Group Nine. They’re currently operating in the Indian Ocean. I’d order the launch of two F/A-18 fighter jets off the USS Abraham Lincoln to race for Kabul. In the meantime, I’d direct my guys to find out exactly where that live press conference is happening and take out the Mahdi and Farooq right now before they can do any harm. I’d guess we have about thirty minutes. Otherwise, we’re about to go from a madman in the Middle East with two nuclear warheads to a madman running a nuclear superpower with more than 300 nuclear missiles, some of them long-range.”