Arif nodded, and then shrugged. "I know it's not much to go on."
Vahid shook his head sharply. "I can't go to any of my fellow clergy with this, let alone try to warn the Saudis. We've all heard rumors that we built one or even several nuclear weapons, but I've never seen a document referencing them, or talked to anyone who claims to have seen them with his own eyes.
And who would take the Qataris seriously as a military threat? The Saudis could squash them like a bug."
Arif looked distinctly unhappy, but simply nodded.
Now Vahid smiled. "Cheer up, Arif. I didn't say I don't believe you. We may not have enough information to stop whatever attack Reza is planning against the Saudis. But there is one step not covered in the plan you outlined that Reza will have to take if he's to become Supreme Leader. And that, we can counter. Now, here's what I want you to do…"
Neda Rhahbar called her sister Azar, and was relieved when she answered for a change, rather than letting the call go to voicemail.
“Sister, it is good to hear from you! How have you been?” asked Azar.
“Bored, to be honest. I was hoping you might be having one of your gatherings sometime soon,” Neda said, trying to keep her voice casual.
Azar laughed. “I’m glad to hear you say so! As it happens, I’m having one tomorrow. I would have called you, but I thought you weren’t so interested anymore.”
Neda forced a laugh of her own. “Well, I was a little hasty there, I think.
So, where are your guests from?”
Azar paused and thought briefly. “Well, the foreigners are from Pakistan, Azerbaijan, Indonesia and Russia. Were you hoping for someone from any country in particular?”
“No, not at all,” Neda said quickly. “Just curious.”
Azar replied in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t convinced, “Sure. So, I’ll expect to see you tomorrow at seven?”
Neda answered immediately. “Look forward to it! See you then!” and hung up.
Neda had really been hoping for someone from France or the UK. She knew that an American was too much to hope for, but this group was not very promising. Maybe the Russian…
Neda grimaced. She had a vague plan of trying to trade the information she had overheard for a ticket out of Iran.
But would Moscow really be an improvement over Tehran?
Neda again thought about going directly to a West European embassy, but after a few moments rejected the idea. All foreign embassies were watched by VEVAK, the Iranian secret police. She also believed that they all had VEVAK agents working in them covertly as ordinary local employees and was correct for all but one. Only the Russian Embassy refused to hire local employees to work inside its mission, which they regarded as an elementary security precaution.
Neda had thought about posing as a visa applicant, and only once she was inside the embassy building revealing her true purpose. However, she was right to think that if she were to be believed and admitted to an office other than the visa lobby for interview, this would be noted and reported to VEVAK.
Life in Moscow with its endless cold, dark winters was the opposite of appealing. On the other hand, she was certain that women there had more freedom than in Iran. After her experience learning English, she was also certain that she could quickly learn Russian.
Neda also thought that her information would be worth money to the Russians, not just a ticket out. When they had gone on their honeymoon in Paris she had told Kazem she needed to buy some “lady products” to give her the time needed to open a French bank account she could access online, so she would be able to demand and receive payment before providing all she knew.
Though it was tempting to wait for a better opportunity, Neda finally decided that she had to act on her information immediately. Kazem and Farhad had never mentioned a specific date for the attack they were planning, but it sounded as though it would be soon. Neda knew that if the attack happened before she could sell her information, it would be worthless.
Besides, she thought to herself, it wasn’t as though Tehran never had snow and ice. Neda also realized that on her own in Moscow, there was a good chance she could find someone from a West European country to marry. She still had her looks, and her excellent English.
Leaving Kazem would have made her hesitate before, because she used to have real feelings for him. Not now, though. Hearing him casually discuss the slaughter of thousands of her fellow Muslims had horrified her, and now having him anywhere near her made her skin crawl. That was actually another pressing reason to go with any credible buyer of the information she was selling. Neda didn’t know how long she could go on pretending everything was fine before Kazem realized something was wrong between them.
Kazem was many things. Stupid was not one of them.
So then, Neda thought with a decisive nod. That’s it. I’m going to Moscow.
Anatoly Grishkov and Alexei Vasilyev both stood to greet their contact, who they had been told was Saudi but little else. He was dressed in the standard thobe and gutra worn by nearly all Saudi males, had dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Both guessed his age, correctly, as in his thirties. After brief handshakes, they all sat and the man gave his coffee order to the waiter who appeared almost immediately.
“I imagine you were told little about me,” the man said. “We keep it that way for security reasons. You may call me Mohammed. Please, ask your questions.”
It was clear that Mohammed had no interest in learning more about them, so Vasilyev decided to get straight to the point.
“Have you heard anything about a terrorist attack planned anywhere in the Kingdom, particularly in the Eastern Province?”
Mohammed’s eyebrows rose but he said nothing, clearly considering his response. During his pause, the waiter appeared with his latte. Nodding his thanks, Mohammed waited until the waiter had gone to reply.
“Nothing specific. However, there have been some rumors about plans for a mass uprising among the Shi’a community there. Of course, there have been such rumors before. The government had to take action some years back against one rebel Shi’a group in Al-Awamiyah. You have probably heard of the incident?”
Vasilyev and Grishkov both nodded, and Vasilyev saw with relief that Grishkov managed to keep his feelings from showing. As part of their briefings in Moscow they had been shown footage that was considerably more graphic than the videos available on the Internet. Vasilyev could see that they had stirred Grishkov’s memories of his time with the Russian Army in Chechnya, which he knew would never leave him. While Grishkov had no love for the Chechens fighting for independence from Russia, he had fiercely disagreed with the indiscriminate slaughter of women and children.
“The government keeps close watch on Shi’a terrorists and their sympathizers in the Kingdom. However, we have seen nothing recently to suggest specific targets that might be attacked in a bombing, or a town like Al-Awamiyah that terrorists might try to take over,” Mohammed said.
Vasilyev observed Grishkov’s lips twitch when Mohammed mentioned Al-Awamiyah, but saw with relief that he was still keeping his temper in check.
“So, it appears we have been listening to the same rumors. Is there anyone you could suggest who might give us any additional insights? We have a report to prepare, and even background information would be useful,” said Vasilyev.