And yet, almost from the start, he was troubled.
He first became anxious when he learned his cell would be led by an Asian. Throughout his years of loyal service to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, Seyed had always taken orders from fellow countrymen, or from Syrians or Palestinians with whom he shared a cultural and religious bond. This stranger from the Far East was different in style and approach from any of the other men he had followed, and the unconditional authority he wielded disturbed Seyed more and more as the days wore on.
He was also bothered by the inclusion of three Spanish-speaking men in his unit. Not only was it unusual for Hispanics to be involved in an operation originating in this part of the world, but these three seemed to share a private bond with the Asian that alienated Seyed.
And there was one further issue. Seyed presumed he had been selected for this mission because of his expertise in clandestine methods, skills that involved far greater subtlety and technical proficiency than those possessed by most of his compatriots. As the planning proceeded he was not entrusted with details of the impending assignment, but what little he was told left him wondering how his particular talents would be useful in what appeared to be a paramilitary strike.
Something did not feel right about any of this.
For the past few years Seyed’s handler in the IRGC had been Ahmad Jaber, a man well respected within the organization for engineering terrorist assaults and who, as a consequence of his service to the cause, was being actively hunted by the governments of the United States, Argentina, and Israel, among others. Jaber had become a mentor to Seyed, the only person to whom the young man would dare confide his apprehension. And so it was to Jaber that he brought his concerns.
Seyed was seated on the edge of the sofa in the comfortable living area of Jaber’s home, a place he had visited only once before. He spoke slowly and deliberately, wanting to be certain he was giving a fair account of everything he had seen and heard.
After listening intently until his protégé was finished, Ahmad Jaber slowly shook his head and admitted, “I have been told nothing of this operation.”
Seyed was dark skinned and bearded, short and powerfully built, clothed in a traditional, free-flowing Arabic aba and sandals. His eyes, ebony dark and normally filled with defiance, now betrayed his growing fear. “How can that be, emir? How can such a thing be arranged without your knowledge?”
Jaber calmly held an upraised hand in response to the question, then stood and paced thoughtfully back and forth across the room as his young charge waited. Jaber was tall, clean-shaven, and well groomed, his thinning hair combed straight back, his nails buffed and trimmed. He was finely dressed in an Italian suit and French shirt, worn open at the neck. His Western bearing was what one might expect from a corporate executive in Europe, not a murderer in the service of a distorted faith. Jaber finally stopped and looked down. “I honestly do not know how this can be,” he conceded. “What else have they revealed to you of their plans?”
“I told you all I know. They have not yet discussed plans for the attack with me. They act as if I cannot be trusted, as if I should not really know everything until the last moment.”
“And how many of our own countrymen are involved?”
“Only two others,” Seyed told him, then recited the names of the other Iranians in the cell. “I had never heard of them before.”
Jaber shook his head again. “Nor have I.”
“How can that be?” the young man asked again.
While Seyed was anxious about his individual role in this mission, Jaber had a broader concern. In the past year he had repeatedly clashed with other IRGC leaders over their use of foreign agents, fearing that the purity of their jihad was being compromised. Jaber warned them that they were beginning to look more like some international conglomerate run by the Americans than an Islamic crusade.
Now he was being informed of a major assault being prepared without his participation, an operation led by an Asian and run with South Americans. The implications for his own future were obvious.
Jaber returned to his seat opposite Seyed, still trying to make sense of this.
“Emir?” Seyed interrupted his reverie.
Jaber stared at the young man without speaking. Then he said, “It is clear that you must continue your role, learn everything you can and then report back to me. First, recite for me again everything you have been told. Everything.”
Seyed restated the major points he had already shared, then Jaber pressed him for details, seeking to piece together as much information as he could about the others who were involved, particularly the Asian. Seyed believed he was either Chinese or Korean, his nationality having not been disclosed. He had not been told which country the South Americans were from, but believed they were from Venezuela. He vowed to find out. “I am sorry I do not know more,” he said.
Jaber smiled warmly and assured him it was only a beginning. “But you must not come here again. There may be danger in that for both of us.”
“I understand. But please know that I was most careful in my journey to your home.”
Jaber smiled again. “Good, good. I am certain you were. And you must be just as careful when you leave.” Then he gave instructions for contacting him.
Seyed pledged his loyalty, then went on his way.
As Jaber suspected, Seyed had been less cautious than he believed in traveling to this prosperous suburb of Tehran. The men who organized Seyed’s mission had assigned watchdogs for everyone involved and, even as the young man followed a circuitous route back to his own home, his meeting with Ahmad Jaber had been tracked and reported.
“A shame,” the Asian man told his three Spanish-speaking lieutenants, speaking in their native tongue. “Seyed might have been valuable to us at some point.” He thought for a moment. “That leaves only two Iranians in our unit. We may need to recruit another. What a waste of time.”
The others said nothing.
“He must be removed at once.”
One of the men asked, “Can we be sure that he revealed anything to Jaber? After all, they have had a long relationship. Is the visit so unusual?”
“It is when you consider the pains he took to conceal his destination.”
The others could not disagree.
“And it is the nature of their relationship that persuades me he would certainly have discussed our plans. There is no question, Seyed must be interrogated and then eliminated. And quickly. There is no telling who else he might speak with.”
One of the other men hesitated, then asked, “What of Jaber?”
“Yes, I know, a troubling complication.”
“He is a high-ranking operative in the IRGC.”
“I am aware of that.” The Asian paused, then said, “It must be made to look as if someone else removed him. The Americans, the Israelis. Do what needs to be done, but clean this up now.”
Later that evening Seyed received a text message summoning him to a meeting. There was nothing remarkable in either the short notice or the late hour. His cell had been gathering frequently, often at odd times. In each their Asian leader assured them that the time for action was drawing ever closer, even if specifics were scarce.
Seyed deleted the message, completed his prayers, then headed out.
Unlike the IRGC briefings he attended in the past, which were conducted by Jaber in an impressive high-rise at the center of the modern Elahiyeh district, tonight Seyed traveled on the Kordestan Highway, taking an exit that led to an old neighborhood of broken-down buildings and industrial yards.