52
Each man helped himself to a plate and sat down.
But just as David began to take a bite, the questions started coming faster and faster. The interrogation phase was over. Rashidi and Esfahani were growing comfortable with him, but they were by no means finished. Now they shifted to the delivery phase.
“How quickly can MDS have teams of technicians on the ground in Tehran?” Esfahani asked.
David reiterated what he had promised Esfahani outside the Imam Khomeini Mosque. The teams could be there within a day or two if he called soon and set them into motion. They were all on standby.
“How long will it take them to do their work?” Rashidi asked.
“For the first phase, with testing, I’d say about a month,” David said. “But as you know from our proposals, the second, third, and fourth phases will take the better part of a year, altogether.”
Was he aware that each technician would be assigned two translators, each working six-hour shifts, as well as a security team?
David said he was. But he added that several of them already spoke Farsi. What’s more, MDS was in the process of hiring and training another dozen Farsi-speaking technicians, though they probably wouldn’t be ready until late spring. Rashidi liked this very much.
Esfahani wanted to know how quickly the monitoring center could be up and running.
David knew the executive was referring to the high-tech operations center MDS had committed to outfitting that would allow Iran’s security services to intercept, monitor, trace, and record any call on their new wireless system. He replied that his teams needed to get the software installed on Iran Telecom’s mainframes first, and then they would focus on setting up the monitoring center.
“No,” Esfahani said, “that won’t do. We want the software to be installed and the center to be outfitted simultaneously.”
“That’s not part of the contract,” David said.
“We’ve changed our minds,” Rashidi said. “We like you. We trust you. We want you to do this for us. Will that be a problem?”
“It will cost more, and we’ll need three or four days to get that team assembled, but we can certainly do it, if you want.”
“Cost is no object,” Rashidi assured him. “Time is the issue. Can everything be done in a month?”
“That’s really Ms. Fischer’s call.”
Esfahani’s mood suddenly darkened at the mention of Fischer. “That’s not what we asked,” he said curtly. “Can the software and monitoring center all be installed and ready in one month’s time?”
“It can,” David said. “Again, I need Ms. Fischer’s approval, but I don’t see this being a problem.”
“I thought you were the new project manager,” Esfahani said.
“Here, yes, but I still report to Ms. Fischer in Dubai,” David explained. “Is that a problem? You won’t have any interaction with her whatsoever, I assure you.”
“I’m sure that is true,” Rashidi said. “But I think what my colleague means is that, given all that has happened, is there any reason for us to be concerned that this Ms. Fischer would refuse to move the project faster because perhaps she was offended by her time here?”
That wasn’t, of course, what Esfahani meant, David knew. The man was simply using religion as his cover to discriminate against a highly qualified colleague and new friend. But he was not about to point that out and blow this deal-not when it seemed to be going so well.
“Believe me, Mr. Rashidi and Mr. Esfahani, everyone in our company knows how important this project is,” David assured them. “Ms. Fischer knows this most of all. I can assure you that she is a consummate professional. She won’t let her personal feelings affect her performance. The only real issue is getting you a cost estimate, which I can have for you by the close of business tomorrow. Once you approve the estimate, all that remains will be to have Ms. Fischer pull together the equipment for the monitoring center and assemble a second crew that can arrive by the end of this week or early next.”
“Will you push for this to be done?” Esfahani asked.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re counting on you, Mr. Tabrizi,” Esfahani stressed.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I appreciate your trust.”
Now Rashidi took the lead again. “You know that I just got back from Beijing, right?” the CEO said.
“Yes, sir,” David said. “I read that in the newspaper.”
“The Chinese are begging us to give them this contract.”
“I understand, sir. But believe me, we can take care of this for you, and we want to. We’ll get you the best price and the best people. You have my word.”
“That is good enough for me,” Rashidi said.
Esfahani nodded his agreement. “Now we have another request.”
53
Hamadan, Iran
Najjar got home late and exhausted.
The apartment was dark and quiet. On the kitchen table was a note that read, I’m at my parents’ for dinner. Will be home late. Don’t wait up. But have you heard the rumors? Someone has seen him. They say he’s coming soon. Isn’t this exciting? Love and kisses, Sheyda.
Najjar was furious. He was tempted to jump back in the car, drive over to his in-laws’, and have it out with his father-in-law right there and then. Of course he had heard the news. Dr. Saddaji had told his entire staff about Ayatollah Hosseini’s vision of the Twelfth Imam, and the news had exhilarated Najjar. He had been waiting for the Mahdi for most of his life. Finally there would be justice. Finally there would be peace. But he was increasingly convinced that his father-in-law believed a nuclear war against the U.S. and Israel had to precede the Mahdi’s arrival. Najjar resisted this notion with every fiber of his being. Yes, he had vowed to serve Allah with all that he was. Yes, he had vowed to devote himself to preparing for the coming of the Twelfth Imam. But he couldn’t be party to genocide. That couldn’t possibly be what the Mahdi really wanted for him and his family.
Yet it was becoming clear to Najjar that this was precisely what his father-in-law believed, that mankind in general-and the Iranian government in particular-was responsible for proactively and intentionally unleashing the “blood and fire” that would be the last sign before the Twelfth Imam’s arrival on earth. That was why he was secretly building the Islamic Bomb. Did Dr. Saddaji’s wife, Farah, know this? Did Sheyda? Did they know their husband and father was a cold-blooded murderer? Najjar couldn’t believe they did. And how could he tell them? What would they do if they learned the truth? Moreover, what should he do? Resign in protest? Move to another city? Move to another country?
To Najjar, overseeing Iran’s version of the Manhattan Project and lying to the world about it every day was morally repugnant. But to order a man killed-beheaded, no less-without the benefit of a trial or a judge, and to do so in the presence of other senior physicists working under his direction? This was beyond the pale. Yet this was the life his father-in-law was living, and the message to Najjar, to his team, and ultimately to his family as well was clear: Betray me, and you’re an infidel. Become an infidel, and you are dead.
The truth was slowly coming into focus for Najjar, but as it did, it became clear that he could not say anything to his wife. Or to his mother-in-law. Or to anyone else. He couldn’t move his family. He couldn’t take them out of the country. He was trapped in a family led by a man without conscience, a man who would commit any atrocity in the name of jihad.
Najjar collapsed in a chair in the living room and picked up the television remote. He desperately needed to escape, if only in his mind.
Satellite dishes were illegal in Iran, which was why everyone had one. Sheyda was actually the one who had begged Najjar to get one, so long as he promised not to tell her parents. Najjar, eager for news of the outside world, had happily agreed. They had saved for nearly a year to afford a good system, but a friend had installed it for them just the previous weekend.