“You ready to move?” David asked, coming over to the passenger side.
“I think so,” Najjar said, his arms filled with the laptop and accessories.
“Good. Follow me.”
They walked north about a hundred meters. Then David turned, pulled out the .38, aimed at the gas tank of Najjar’s crumpled Fiat, and pulled the trigger. The car erupted in a massive ball of fire that not only obliterated the vehicle but all traces of their fingerprints and DNA as well.
“What was that for?” a stunned Najjar asked, shielding his eyes from the intense heat of the flames.
David smiled. “Insurance.”
David walked north down the center of Azizi Boulevard.
He limped his way past wrecked cars and distraught motorists fixated on the fire and smoke, with Najjar close behind. He clipped the police radio to his belt and put in the earphone. Just then, his phone vibrated. It was a text message from his CIA colleague, Eva Fischer, telling him to call their boss, Jack Zalinsky, in the secure mode. He did so right away, but it was Eva who actually picked up.
“Have you gone insane? The entire Global Operations Center is watching you via a Keyhole satellite. What are you doing?”
The chatter on the police radio suddenly intensified. “I can’t really talk now,” David said. “Do you need something?”
“I found you a plane,” she said. “It’ll be in Karaj tonight.”
Suddenly shots rang out, shattering a windshield beside them. Instinctively David hit the ground and pulled Najjar down with him between a Peugeot and a Chevy, dropping his phone as he did. People started screaming and running for cover. He could hear Eva yelling, “What is that? What’s going on?” but he had no time to respond. He grabbed the phone and jammed it into his pocket. Ordering Najjar to stay on the ground, he pulled the revolver and tried to get an angle on whoever was shooting at them.
Two more shots rang out, blowing out the windshield of the Peugeot. David again flattened himself to the ground and covered his head to protect himself from the flying glass. He could see under the cars that someone was moving toward him. He got up and took a peek. Another shot whizzed by him and ripped into the door of the Chevy.
Dead ahead, maybe ten yards away, was a garbage truck. David made sure Najjar was okay, then made a break for the back end of the truck. His movement drew more fire. But it also gave him a chance to see who was doing the shooting. The blue jacket and cap were the giveaway. This was a Tehran city police officer.
Then the officer’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Base, this is Unit 116. I’m at the crash site. One officer is down with multiple injuries. Witnesses say they saw someone steal the officer’s service revolver. I’m currently pursuing two suspects on foot. Shots fired. Requesting immediate backup.”
“Unit 116, this is Base — roger that. Backup en route. Stand by.”
This was not good. David crept along the side of the garbage truck, hoping to outflank the officer from the right, then stopped suddenly when he heard the sounds of crunching glass just a few yards ahead.
David tried to steady his breathing and carefully choose his next move as the footsteps got closer and closer. He could hear more sirens rapidly approaching. He was out of time. He took three steps and pivoted around the front of the truck, aimed the .38, and prepared to pull the trigger. But it was not the officer. It was a little girl, no more than six, shivering and scared.
How did she get here? Where is her mother?
Three more shots rang out. David dropped to the ground and covered the girl with his body. He took off his jacket and wrapped her in it, then got back in a crouch and tried to reacquire the officer in his sights.
But now there were two.
David had a clean shot at one of them, but he didn’t dare fire from right over the child. He broke right, hobbling for a blue sedan just ahead. Once again, gunfire erupted all around him. David barely got himself safely behind the sedan. He gritted his teeth and caught his breath, then popped his head up again to assess the situation. One of the officers was running straight toward David, while the other started running toward Najjar. David didn’t hesitate. He raised the revolver and squeezed off two rounds. The man collapsed to the ground no more than six yards from David’s position.
David had no time to lose. Adrenaline coursing through his system, he made his way to the first officer, grabbed the revolver from his hand, and sprinted toward the second officer. Racing through the maze of cars, he approached the garbage truck, stopped quickly, and glanced around the side. The second officer was waiting for him and fired. David pulled back, waited a beat, then looked again and fired.
The man fired three more times. David dove behind the Chevy, then flattened himself against the ground and fired under the car at the officer’s feet. One of the shots was a direct hit. The man fell to the ground, groaning in pain. David heard him radioing for help and giving his superiors David’s physical description. Then, before David realized what was happening, the officer crawled around the front of the Chevy, took aim at David’s head, and fired again. David instinctively leaned right but the shot grazed his left arm. He righted himself, took aim, and squeezed off two more rounds at the officer’s chest, killing the man instantly.
David’s mobile phone rang, but he ignored it. They had to get out of there. They couldn’t let themselves be caught. But Najjar was nowhere to be found.
Again his phone rang, but still he ignored it. Frantic, David searched for Najjar in, behind, and around car after car. This time, his phone vibrated. Furious, he checked the text message only to find this message from Eva: 3rd bldg on rt.
David suddenly got it. He glanced up in the sky, thankful for Eva and her team watching his back from two hundred miles up. He made his way up the street to the third apartment building on the right. His gun drawn, he slowly edged his way toward the entrance.
David risked a quick peek into the lobby.
Najjar was there, but he was not alone. On the marble floor next to him were the laptop and accessories. And in Najjar’s arms was the six-year-old girl from the street. He was trying to keep her warm and telling her everything would be all right.
David began to breathe again. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”
“I didn’t want her to get hit,” Najjar said.
David wiped blood from his mouth. “We need to go.”
At the safe house, David dressed Najjar’s wounds.
Najjar ate a little and fell fast asleep. David unlocked a vault stacked with communications gear and uploaded everything on Dr. Saddaji’s laptop, external hard drive, and DVD-ROMs to Langley, with encrypted copies cc’d to Zalinsky and Fischer. Then he typed up his report of all that had happened so far and e-mailed the encrypted file to Zalinsky and Fischer as well.
At six the next morning, word came that the plane had arrived. David woke Najjar, loaded the computer equipment into a duffel bag, and took the bag and the scientist to the garage downstairs. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the edge of the private airfield.
David pointed to the Falcon 200 business jet on the tarmac. “There’s your ride,” he said.
“What about you?” Najjar asked. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“But if they find out you were connected to me, they will kill you.”
“That is why I have to stay.”
Najjar shook David’s hand and held it for a moment, then got out of the car, duffel bag in hand, and ran for the plane. David watched him go. He wished he could stay and watch the plane take off as the sun rose brilliantly in the east. But he couldn’t afford the risk. He had to dispose of the Renault he was now driving, steal another car, and get back to Tehran.