During the ride he thought a great deal about Jaber. Until today Seyed had always known the man to be beyond fear. His mentor thrived on power and control. Now he was obviously distressed at the prospect of a major offensive being planned, right here in Tehran, without his knowledge. Seyed had repeatedly asked him, “How can it be so?” It worried them both that neither had an answer.
It was also apparent that Jaber, although he voiced no criticism, was upset Seyed had visited his home to deliver this information. Seyed was certain that he had taken the necessary precautions, that he had arrived and departed from their meeting undetected, but he recognized that Jaber was not convinced. It was up to Seyed, then, to prove himself. He was determined to learn what he could and report back.
Seyed turned off the service road and drove to the end of a long, dark street, guiding his car around a squat structure. He parked in the rear lot and took the stairs to the second floor.
Hurrying up the two flights, he reached the warren of offices they used for their meetings, strode through the unfurnished vestibule, and entered the inner room. As soon as he walked in he saw that Jaber had been right, his betrayal had been discovered. There was nothing tangible, just a feeling, an intuition about danger he had developed over the years, an instinct that up to now had kept him alive. Tonight he saw that his fate had been written. He saw it in the face of the Asian, and in the fact that only this stranger from the East and the three South Americans were present.
“Where are the others?” Seyed asked.
The Asian was standing beside a large drafting table they used for their meetings. He stepped forward as two of the others moved behind Seyed and barred the door.
“We need to talk,” the Asian said simply. His Arabic was rough, but understandable.
“Of course.”
“I trust you will be professional, so this does not have to become unpleasant.”
Seyed blinked.
“You have gone outside our circle, contrary to all instructions. We need to know how much you have revealed, how much damage has been done.”
Seyed held on to the fleeting hope that this was only a bluff, a test. Perhaps they were not sure. He said, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
As he uttered the final word of that denial he felt the crushing blow of a metal pipe across the backs of his knees, dropping him to the floor. Before he could catch his breath he was struck a second time, the heavy iron rod now brought crashing down on his right shoulder, the sickening sound of breaking bone followed by his cry of pain.
The Asian stared down at him. Then, without speaking, he gave a slight nod, and another blow was inflicted from behind, this time just below the left side of Seyed’s neck. The young Iranian crumpled face-first onto the cracked tiles.
“I asked you to tell us the truth, and was hoping to conduct this inquiry in a civil manner,” the Asian said. “The offer will not be made again.”
Seyed twisted his head slightly, excruciating pain searing through his neck and shoulders as he struggled to look up. The Asian waited, but all Seyed Asghari muttered was “Allahu Akbar.” He already knew he was a dead man.
Ahmad Jaber had not survived these many years in his violent profession by taking chances or relying on the competence of others. When Seyed came to his home and revealed what he knew about this mission, Jaber realized that his own life had taken an inexorable turn.
There was no way that a major assault was being planned by the IRGC without Jaber taking part, not unless his own people had turned against him. This left only two possibilities.
The less probable scenario was that the IRGC was indeed involved and that Jaber had been betrayed for reasons he did not know. The more likely alternative was that outside forces had initiated this scheme and decided to exclude him. In either event, Seyed Asghari would not have been permitted to roam the streets of Tehran without surveillance, or perhaps an escort — Jaber had to weigh the possibility that Seyed was being used to set him up.
Whichever of these was true, Jaber was certain that his enemies, whoever they were, already knew of the meeting. Whether Seyed put him in harm’s way by mischance or was a willing instrument of his demise, Ahmad Jaber understood that he had become expendable.
Whoever was running the operation had no choice but to liquidate him. If the situation were reversed, Jaber grudgingly acknowledged, he would do the same thing.
Living one’s life as a terrorist requires this sort of cold pragmatism. It also involves constant vigilance and the need to maintain any number of escape strategies. Whatever the facts proved themselves to be at some later date, he had to move swiftly to save himself and so, shortly after Seyed had departed that afternoon, Jaber initiated his plan.
Only his wife, Rasa, and their servant, Mahmud, shared the house. Their sons had died years ago, in faithful service to the forces of Iran in its struggles against Iraq.
He called his wife into the study, shut the door, and calmly explained that she must immediately take her car and leave for Tabriz to visit her sister. He offered neither an explanation nor a final good-bye. “If anything should happen, if you should hear anything that gives you cause for worry, you must then depart from Tabriz and follow the path to safety we have spoken of in the past.”
After years of marriage, Rasa Jaber had come to terms with the constant danger that was a part of their lives. The tragic loss of both children had hardened her, and so when Ahmad explained what she must do, she asked no questions. Only when her husband completed his instructions and handed her a case containing a large amount of cash did her dark, trusting eyes well with tears. They had been through difficult moments before, but this time she felt an eerie sense of finality.
“We will always meet on the bridge to paradise,” he told her, invoking the name Al Sirat. Then he added, “Allah be praised.” He spent the next hour with her, seeing to it that she packed and was on the road before nightfall.
Once his wife was gone, he told their servant that he would also be leaving for several days. He knew that in their absence Mahmud would avail himself of the luxury of his master’s bedroom, a far more comfortable situation than his own. Since he and Mahmud were approximately the same age, height, and weight, this would serve Jaber well.
After dismissing Mahmud, Jaber locked himself in his den, where he opened the wall safe and removed its contents. Then, using a keypad secreted on the wall inside the safe, he entered a series of codes. He had long ago planted explosives throughout his home, which remained benign until the day arrived when it became necessary to bring them to life. He was convinced that day had arrived. Once activated, they could be set off with the remote detonator he now held in his hand.
As soon as darkness fell, Jaber bid Mahmud good night, wished him well, and left the house. He took the various papers, weapons, and cash he had removed from the safe and placed them in his car. He then drove off, as if he were leaving town, but eventually circled back to his own neighborhood, arriving on the bluff high above his home. He parked, got out of the car, and took a position on the hill, where he prepared to wait.
Jaber had no doubt they would be coming for him, and he suspected it would happen soon. Given what little Seyed had described of his mission, it was obvious that the planned attack was a major offensive. Loose ends would not be tolerated. Assuming that everything Seyed had told him was the truth, the young man was already dead, or at least in custody, and anything they did not already know about his visit with Jaber would soon be revealed. Seyed might try to protect him by lying, but they would know the two had met and would not take any chances.