“Ali, my friend, we have taken care of everything,” Hosseini said. “First of all, we are safe up here. No one even knows we are here. Second of all, the warheads are all spread out. Not even Ahmed or I know exactly where all of them are. We know generally, but frankly we don’t want the scientists who built them or the generals who control them to share every detail with us, for the very reason you cite. We don’t want the Zionists — or the Americans, Allah forbid — to learn what we learn. But this I can tell you. You know that five of our warships will be passing through the Suez Canal later today, just about the time the Mahdi lands in Cairo?”
“Yes, I’ve heard this on the news,” Birjandi said.
“I have not even told my closest advisors such things, but I will tell you, my friend — two of our eight warheads are aboard those ships as they head to the Mediterranean. They are attached to missiles, aimed at Tel Aviv and Haifa.”
Birjandi prayed his face did not express his horror. “I thought we did not have the capacity to attach the warheads to missiles,” he said. “That’s what you told me last month.”
“Last month we didn’t,” Hosseini replied. “Today we do.”
33
David reached the airport and paid his cab driver in cash.
Inside the main terminal, he withdrew the maximum daily amount allowed from his Eurocard account and exchanged it for Iranian rials. Then he picked one of the rental car agencies and filled out the paperwork for a maroon, four-door Peugeot 407 sedan.
Zalinsky’s cell phone rang.
Disoriented, he sat up in bed, checked his watch, and groaned. It was only four thirty Wednesday morning, Washington time. Three decades of experience told him this couldn’t be good. He groped for the phone on his nightstand and answered on the sixth ring.
“Jack, it’s Eva. Sorry to call you so early.”
“Who’s dead?”
“Nobody.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from my guy at NSA.”
“Where are you?”
“At my desk.”
“Didn’t you ever go home?”
“No.”
“You’re sleeping on your floor?”
“I’m not doing much sleeping. But, Jack, listen. The NSA just sent me the transcript of a very interesting call.”
“Go on.”
“They intercepted a call from Javad to Firouz. It happened about an hour ago.”
“That’s fast. What happened?”
“Javad described a safe-deposit box at a Citibank branch in Queens. He said it contained two fake passports, one with a false identity for Firouz and another for Jamshad. He said there were passports for the other two terrorists, too. It had all been pre-positioned, just in case. He said there were also credit cards, cash, forged birth certificates, and whatnot. There’s also four automatic pistols and plenty of ammunition. He gave Firouz the address of the bank and told him to be there precisely at ten o’clock, when the branch opens. They’re supposed to retrieve everything, use the documents to get out of New York, then get to Toronto and back to Tehran as soon as possible. He suggested they route through Venezuela, if necessary, and that Firouz would know why. We’ve got them, Jack. I really think we’ve got them. I’m about to call the guys at the Bureau so they can set up a stakeout on the bank, but I wanted you to be the first to know — or rather, the third.”
“You and the translator?”
“Right.”
“You haven’t told Murray?”
“No. I figured you’d want to.”
“No,” Zalinsky said. “We don’t tell anybody. Not a one.”
“What are you talking about, Jack? We can nail them. Right now. We can bag two terrorists. It’ll be a huge coup for the Agency — well, for the Bureau, for the president.”
“No, no, that’s precisely what we don’t want. This can’t go beyond the three of us right now — and definitely not to Tom.”
“Why not? That’s crazy.”
“Stop, Eva. Think. We can’t arrest them. Not now. It’s too obvious. If we take these guys down, Javad Nouri is going to know we can listen in on his calls. Then they’re going to consider all the satellite phones suspect, and then everything we’ve tried to put in place will be for naught. No, we need to follow the trail and see where it leads.”
Eva protested for another few minutes but finally backed down when Zalinsky reminded her of how much danger David would be in if the US government’s ability to intercept the satphones were discovered by the Iranian regime.
“They already suspect him,” Zalinsky said. “We can’t take the risk that they’ll bring him in again. Next time they won’t waterboard him. They’ll kill him.”
“So what do we do?” Eva asked.
“Don’t tell the FBI. Put one of our teams on the bank. Have them shadow Firouz and Jamshad for the next several days and await further orders.”
“Ali, you don’t look happy,” Hosseini said after a while.
They had finished their salads and their salmon entrees and were being served steaming-hot cups of chai. Their conversation had been wide ranging, covering potential US and Israeli responses to an Iranian first strike, Darazi’s belief that the American president did not have the will to launch another war in the Middle East — least of all to save Israel — and Hosseini’s belief that Jackson might order air strikes but wouldn’t let himself be drawn into a ground war like Operation Iraqi Freedom. The key, Hosseini said, was not specifically provoking the Americans by shutting down the Strait of Hormuz or attacking the Iraqi oil fields or directly confronting the US Navy.
Birjandi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought they were insane. He didn’t disagree that this particular American president at this particular time didn’t likely have the fortitude to take on the Islamic Republic militarily. But he was stunned by what he regarded as Hosseini’s and Darazi’s utter and foolish dismissal of Israel’s capacities both to absorb a first strike and to launch an absolutely devastating second strike.
Nevertheless, Birjandi knew better than to try to debate them on geopolitics. They weren’t going to listen to him. That wasn’t why he was there, and they didn’t consider him an expert on such matters. His value, in their eyes, was his knowledge about Islamic prophecy, the Shia perspective on the End Times, and how all of the events they were witnessing and leading would come together to reestablish the Caliphate. He had been listening to both of them for nearly ninety minutes now, only asking an occasional question for clarification. Now he sensed it was time to begin that for which the Lord had sent him. It was clear that Hosseini and Darazi did not have ears to hear nor eyes to see nor hearts to understand the gospel of Jesus Christ or a direct presentation of scriptural truths, as much as he had prayed that they would. But he sensed the Lord telling him to sow seeds of doubt in their minds about their own eschatology, doubts perhaps that the Spirit would reinforce in the hours and days ahead.
“I sincerely apologize for my countenance. I do not mean to burden you.”
“It is no burden,” Hosseini said.
“Still, I am hesitant to bother two important men such as yourselves with my own problems, as trivial as they may be.” Birjandi spoke with great discretion and discernment, playing to the egos he sat with.
“Nonsense,” Hosseini said. “We consider you our friend. What is troubling you?”
“It is probably nothing,” Birjandi replied. “It’s just that I am finding myself wrestling with a few questions in private to which I cannot seem to find answers.”