Najjar nodded. He had never been on TV. He had never wanted to be on TV. He had never even imagined being on TV. But there he was, wondering exactly what he was going to say and wondering what Sheyda would say if she could see him right now.
“At this point,” the producer added, “we’re planning to run this tomorrow evening as a full hour-long special at prime time, probably in the seven o’clock hour, Tehran time, or 10:30 a.m. Eastern. Is that okay?”
Najjar nodded and asked for a glass of water.
“Excellent,” the producer said. “Now, do you have a website you want to direct people to?”
“No, of course not. Why do you ask?”
“People are going to be absolutely fascinated with your story, Dr. Malik. Believe me. This is what I do. I help Iranian believers tell their stories to Farsi speakers all over the world — in Iran, of course, but all through Europe, North America, wherever. Our network has a very high viewership. And I always encourage our guests to have a website where people can go to learn more.”
Najjar didn’t know how to respond. “It’s all happened so quickly. I don’t have anything like that.”
“How about a Facebook page?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Myspace?”
Najjar shook his head.
“Okay, wait here,” the producer said. “I have an idea.”
He ran to his office and came back a minute later with his laptop. “Have you ever used Twitter before?”
Najjar stared at the young man. “I’ve been building nuclear reactors and weapons all my life. I haven’t even learned how to use a mobile phone for more than calls and e-mail,” Najjar answered.
“So no tweeting?” the producer asked.
“I’m sorry,” Najjar said. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It’s okay. I’m setting up an account for you right now, and we’re going to tell people throughout the show to sign up to follow you. Don’t worry. I’ll explain it all after we’re done.”
A production assistant brought Najjar a bottle of water while the crew made final adjustments. Soon they were all ready, and the red light of the lead camera came on. Najjar tried to relax, tried to look calm, but he was holding the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” the producer said. “Please tell us your name, your background in Iran as a high-ranking nuclear scientist, and why you were once a follower of the Twelfth Imam but have now become a follower of Jesus Christ.”
31
David found a hotel and checked in.
Once his “minder” had driven off, he went up to his room, locked the door behind him, closed the curtains, and sat down on the bed. He opened the box that held the satellite phone and took the phone apart piece by piece. He could not take a chance that it was bugged.
When he was convinced it was clean, he put the phone back together and dialed the Munich Digital Systems branch office in Dubai. No one answered, so he left a message with his manager, letting him know he was safe in Tehran and would be checking in with the technical team the following morning. Next, he called the MDS headquarters in Munich and left a cryptic message on Eva’s line, saying he needed to “accelerate” the arrival of the “shipment we discussed” and see if it could be rerouted to his office in Tehran. His goal was to be doing what Abdol Esfahani had asked him to do, on the satphone Esfahani had given him to use for that very purpose. If somehow someone was listening, David needed them to hear what they expected to hear. Nothing more. Nothing less.
That done, however, David pulled out his own Agency-modified Nokia N95, the company’s top-of-the-line smartphone, which worked more like an iPhone than a BlackBerry. He took that one apart as well, since from the moment he’d been subjected to interrogation, it had been out of his hands. Had it been tampered with in any way? The process of pulling it apart and reviewing every microchip and wire took nearly an hour, and he was grateful for the first time for all the training Langley’s techies had given him — and that he was remembering it all.
Convinced everything was fine, he now had to put it all back together without messing up any of the special improvements the technical division had made. The phone had a special GPS function that allowed Zalinsky and the Agency to track his location in real time without anyone being able to detect that such tracking was going on. It had also been preloaded with the names and contact information of people David would be expected to know in his job as a technical consultant for MDS. What’s more, special software securely uploaded any new names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses he added to his contact directory to Langley’s and NSA’s mainframe computers and alerted both agencies to hack in and begin monitoring those phone numbers and e-mail addresses as new high-priority targets. Most important, while his phone typically operated on standard frequencies, allowing foreign intelligence agencies to listen in on his calls and thus be fed disinformation if needed, a proprietary encryption system could be activated to enable him to make secure satellite calls to Langley or to other field agents. This was only for rare cases and extreme emergencies, because whenever the software was activated, those monitoring David’s calls would know immediately that he had gone secure, potentially risking his cover as a consultant for Munich Digital Systems.
This, however, was one of the rare cases. He had to talk to Zalinsky and tell him what had happened so far — the waterboarding, the invitation to join the Group of 313, and the urgent request for the rest of the phones. But he didn’t feel comfortable making the call from his room. He still hadn’t gone through everything in his briefcase and his luggage to make sure no bugs had been planted. Esfahani had said he was clean, but they were clearly concerned enough that he might be a spy that they were applying extraordinary measures. At this point, he couldn’t be too careful.
He ducked out into the hallway. Then he found the stairwell, headed up to the roof, and made the call.
“I don’t know,” Zalinsky replied after hearing Esfahani’s demand for the rest of the phones. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable giving the Mahdi and his team a full communications network right now. We’re too close to war, and we don’t have the manpower to track all those calls in real time.”
“What if you send a hundred or so for now,” David suggested, “but have most of them be ‘damaged in shipping’? That would make it look like I was trying hard, but it would also buy us time.”
“It’s a good idea,” Zalinsky said, “but it’s risky. What if Esfahani explodes?”
“I’ll tell him it’s his own fault,” David replied. “He should have let me go get them in person.”
Zalinsky agreed, then asked if David was still okay, all things considered.
“I’m in some pain,” David replied, “but that’s not what worries me.”
“What does?”
“I don’t have a single lead on these warheads, and events are moving too fast. Jack, I don’t know how I’m going to find the warheads in time, and even if I do, the president won’t take action to destroy them.”
“Don’t worry about the president,” Zalinsky countered. “You just find those warheads, and when you do, believe me, I’ll find a way to take them out. On that you have my word.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“What you’re doing isn’t in vain. Now listen — do you remember a guy named Javad Nouri?”
“Of course. He’s the guy I delivered a bunch of phones to. Works for the Supreme Leader, I think.”