He paused for a moment to let the anticipation build, and it worked. He could see it in his daughter’s eyes.
“When that breakthrough occurs,” he continued, “your father is going to be promoted, and when I am, I’m told I am going to have the honor of meeting someone you and I have always wanted to meet.”
Sheyda’s eyes went wide. “Daddy,” she whispered with tremendous excitement, “you don’t mean-”
But he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. “Yes, my dear, but you may not say it aloud, even in a whisper.”
“I promise,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry, but you must be discreet. After all, you are coming with me.”
“I am?”
“Of course,” Saddaji said. “How could I keep this honor all to myself?”
“Can Mother come too? and Najjar?” Sheyda asked, barely able to contain herself.
“Yes, yes, I’ve cleared you all. But it will be just the four of us. I’m told it will be a private meeting. We won’t even know where it will be held until the last possible moment.”
Sheyda could barely contain herself. “He’s here?” she whispered. “He’s really here?”
“That’s what I’m told,” he replied. “Soon the whole world will know. But they must not learn it from us.”
“My lips are sealed; you have my word,” Sheyda promised. “And you must forgive me. I don’t even know what kind of project you’ve been working on. I hardly ever see you, and when I do, we just talk about the baby. So what is it, that you are being rewarded with such an incredible honor?”
“That I cannot tell you, my dear. Not just yet. But when he is revealed, all shall become clear. Now, how is motherhood treating you?”
Munich, Germany
David checked his phone messages.
Perhaps Marseille had called. He wanted to hear her voice again. He wanted to call her and tell her how grieved he was for her loss. But there was only one message on his voice mail, and it wasn’t from her.
“Hi, David, it’s Dad,” the message began. “I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re not working too hard, though I realize that may be too much to ask. But listen, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your mother’s health has taken a turn for the worse. She’s been admitted to the hospital for tests. Could you call me? I’ll fill you in then. Love you, Son. Okay, then; bye.”
The message was already several days old. A wave of guilt washed over David as he speed-dialed his father’s cell phone. Dr. Shirazi answered on the first ring. He was still at the hospital but was glad to hear from David and quick to forgive his son for not returning the call sooner. He told David his mother was resting just then and that it would still be several days until they got the test results.
“They’re going to keep her here at Upstate Medical until we know more,” he said. “But it would mean a lot to her if you could take a break from all your work and all your travels to come back and see her.”
“Dad, I was just there.”
“I know, David, but…” Dr. Shirazi’s voice caught with emotion. “Your mother is a very strong woman, but…”
“But what, Dad?”
“You just never know,” Dr. Shirazi said. “Please, Son. We need you to come home for a few days. It’s important.”
David explained that he was leaving Munich the following day for Moscow, Budapest, and Yerevan. He said he was working on major deals and couldn’t cancel those trips on such short notice. When it became clear that his father was growing upset with him, David asked if Azad or Saeed could come home to visit her until he could break free of his commitments and get back to Syracuse.
“No,” his father said, sadder than David had ever heard him before.
“Why not?”
“They’re too busy,” he answered curtly. “And your mother isn’t asking for them. She’s asking for you.”
Grieving for his mother, David promised he would find a time to come home as soon as humanly possible. Then he told his father about Marseille’s letter and about the wedding she was going to be in.
“So I guess that’s a double incentive to get back here in the next few weeks,” his father said.
“Mom’s all the incentive I need, Dad,” David replied. “But yes, it would be good to see Marseille after all this time.”
“I’m sure it would,” his father said. “Did she happen to mention anything about her father? He’s never responded to my calls or letters. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
David hesitated. He hadn’t known Charlie Harper had cut off all communication with his father, just as Marseille had with him. That was disappointing news, and from the tone of his voice, it was clear his father had been hurt. And why wouldn’t he have been? The two men had been friends for far longer than he and Marseille had been. That said, he wasn’t entirely sure it was the right time to tell his father about Mr. Harper’s death. But the man had asked a direct question, and David figured he deserved an honest answer. He told his father as gently as he could that Mr. Harper had recently passed away. He didn’t mention how.
The news was an emotional blow. His father was silent for a long time.
“Besides your mother, Charlie was the best friend I ever had,” his father finally said, choking back tears. “I never understood why he stopped talking to me after the funeral for Claire. I guess I’ll never know.”
Hearing the pain in his father’s voice made David want to reconnect with Marseille even more urgently. He’d already had so many questions for her. Now he had some more.
60
Hamadan, Iran
Mohammed Saddaji finished eating and paid the bill.
He cherished every moment with his daughter, but it was time to get her home and get himself back to the office. His staff was waiting, and the moment of truth was rapidly approaching.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, signing the credit card slip and taking one last sip of water.
“Do we have a second for me to freshen up?” Sheyda asked.
The answer was no, but Saddaji couldn’t refuse his daughter’s requests. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll go get the car and pull it around front.”
“Thanks, Daddy. I’ll meet you there in a moment.”
Saddaji nodded and sighed, then checked his watch the moment Sheyda headed into the ladies’ room. He pulled out his cell phone and checked his messages. There was one from his brother-in-law. That would have to wait, he decided as he speed-dialed his secretary instead. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “Tell everyone to be ready to meet me in the conference room. We’ll go over the final checklist and give out assignments.” Then he tossed a few extra coins on the table for a tip and headed outside.
For February, it was actually quite a lovely day. The sun was bright. Only a few stray clouds could be spotted. The air was warmer than usual for this time of year-about fifteen degrees Celsius, Saddaji guessed. But he didn’t care about the clouds or the sky or the temperature. He was fixated on the honors that were about to be bestowed upon him.
The irony, he mused as he headed for his car, was that Iran had actually launched its nuclear research program with the help of the United States of America in the 1950s. It wasn’t Ayatollah Khomeini who had first fostered the notion of a nuclear-powered Iran. It was President Eisenhower and his “Atoms for Peace” program. It was, however, Khomeini who later clandestinely authorized a military track to run parallel to the civilian track. Since then, Tehran had spent hundreds of billions of rials to buy the people, parts, and plans it needed from the French, the Germans, the Russians, the North Koreans, and Pakistan’s A. Q. Khan in an effort to establish a viable nuclear weapons program. Iran had spent an even greater fortune building research and production facilities all over the country. Many of them were buried deep underground or beneath mountains, in hopes of hiding them from the prying eyes of U.S. and Israeli spy satellites as well as protecting them from a first strike by either or both.