The Twelfth Imam (25 page)

55

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

David landed at 11:40 a.m. and was greeted by Eva.

He was surprised by how happy she was to see him. She was professional, to be sure, but her smile was warm and she seemed genuinely relieved that he was out of Iran for the time being, safe and sound.

“So how’d it go?” she asked as they headed out of the parking garage.

“Better than I’d expected,” he said. “Is the tech team all set?”

“Absolutely. They’re booked on the first flight, tomorrow morning at six.”

“Good. Where are they now?”

“They’re all waiting for you at the office, as you requested.”

“Thanks,” David said. “Were you able to book me a room at Le Méridien?”

“I did.” Eva smirked a little. “Even got you an upgraded suite.”

“Wow, thanks. But that wasn’t necessary.”

“What are friends for?” she asked.

David laughed, getting it now. “Jack told you to make me look like a wealthy businessman.”

“He did indeed.”

David’s briefing lasted about an hour.

The irony was that while each of the members of the technical team worked for the CIA, none of them individually knew that the others did. Nor did they know that David was a NOC as well. Each of them had been hired as an independent contractor by Eva, and compartmentalization was the name of the game. The less they knew about the overall operation, and about each other, the better.

When they finished a lightning round of Q&A, Eva dismissed the team. Then, when the coast was clear, she led David out of the conference room and down several hallways to a small, quiet, private office in the back of the MDS regional headquarters. They slipped in quickly and closed the door behind them, and there they found Jack Zalinsky waiting for them.

“You survived,” he said upon laying eyes on his protégé.

“Better than that,” David replied. “I bear gifts from afar.”

“That’s my boy,” Zalinsky said, slapping him on the back and actually smiling for the first time in David couldn’t remember how long.

“Let me guess,” Eva began as they took their seats. “You need twenty secure satellite phones.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Well,
mein freund
, you may have been loafing around in your hotel room, watching TV, and going to prayer five times a day,” Eva teased, “but your phone has been working hard, and it’s been a gold mine.”

She explained the middle-of-the-night call from some senior Iranian official—yet unidentified—to Esfahani, requesting the satellite phones. What’s more, she assured him that all twenty would be ready for him to pick up in Munich in seventy-two hours. She also gave him a file with the transcripts of every call the NSA had intercepted thus far based on the new contacts he had entered into his phone.

Thanking them, David quickly shifted gears. “You guys have heard of the Twelfth Imam, right?” he asked.

“Of course,” Eva said. “I sent you that article about the cult leader in Yemen who says he’s preparing the way for him to return.”

“Exactly,” David said.

“You’re talking about the so-called Islamic messiah?” Zalinsky asked. “The one who is supposed to bring about the end of the world, that kind of thing?”

“Right.”

“What about him?”

“He may actually be on the ground, in Iran.”

There was dead silence for a moment.

“Come on,” Zalinsky said, “it’s a fanatic’s fantasy, a myth.”

“Jack, it’s not about what you and I are willing to believe,” David countered. “It’s about what the Iranian leaders believe, and I’m telling you, they think he’s here—some of them, anyway.”

“So what?” Zalinsky said. “That has nothing to do with our mission.”

“Actually, it does.”

“How so?”

“Everywhere I go, people are talking about him,” David said. “He’s popping up in news stories. Religious experts are having conferences about him. And I’m hearing all kinds of rumors that he is alive and well and appearing to people.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zalinsky said. “It’s a bunch of religious superstition. Don’t get sidetracked.”

“No, no, you’re wrong, Jack,” David insisted. “Listen to me. Two nights ago, a mysterious cleric shows up at the home of a little girl who has been mute from birth. He knocks on the door and asks if he can pray a blessing on the home. He seems harmless enough, so the parents say yes. Then he asks if he can see their little girl and pray for her. They ask him how he knows they even have a little girl. Now get this—the stranger says Allah has sent him to their house to heal their child. At this point, the father thinks the man is a little, you know, out there. But just then, the little girl walks into the room. The man prays for her; she falls down and goes into convulsions. Her parents freak out. But a moment later the little girl gets up and begins to speak for the first time in her life.”

“So who was the man?” Eva asked.

“Well, that’s just it; no one’s ever seen him before,” David said. “They have no idea where he’s from or who he is, and in the commotion of the little girl’s healing, the man simply vanishes. But the girl is convinced it was the Twelfth Imam. The parents are too. They’re telling everyone what happened, and the story was on the front page of all the newspapers in Tehran this morning.”

“That’s crazy,” Zalinsky said.

“Maybe, but that’s not all,” David said. “I’m told that recently, Ayatollah Hosseini was up at some mountain retreat center of his called the Qaleh.”

“The Qaleh?” Eva asked, looking at Zalinsky.

“That’s right,” David said. “Why?”

“Nothing; go on,” she said.

“Well, apparently, Hosseini is praying when he suddenly sees a bright light and hears a voice speaking to him. The voice tells him that the Mahdi is going to be revealed soon and that Hosseini and his advisors are supposed to ‘get ready and be prepared’ for his arrival. Hosseini is telling people close to him that it was the Twelfth Imam who spoke to him. Rumors like these are spreading like wildfire throughout Tehran. People are saying that the Mahdi has come and that he’s about to reveal himself to the Islamic world—and all of humanity—and usher in the end of days.”

“You picked all this up on the street?” Zalinsky asked.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Even Rashidi,” David said.

“When?”

“Last night at his apartment.”

“Daryush Rashidi?” Zalinsky clarified. “The president of Iran Telecom talked to you about the Twelfth Imam?”

“Weird, I know. Turns out he’s a closet Twelver. Apparently his parents were really into Shia Islamic End Times prophecy when he was a kid, but they swore him to secrecy.”

“Of course they did. These people are lunatics. They’re nuts. Khomeini actually banned them in 1983 because he thought they were so dangerous.”

“Well, Jack, they’re running the country now. That’s my point.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Zalinsky said. “Hosseini doesn’t really believe all that. Neither does President Darazi. They just use it to rile up the masses.”

“I’m just telling you what I saw and heard. And I can guarantee you, Rashidi and Esfahani are true believers. They believe the Twelfth Imam is here. Rashidi told me he spoke personally to someone who was with Hosseini moments after the vision. They all think it’s real. You should have seen them, Jack. That’s why they want twenty secure satphones immediately. Someone from Hosseini’s office asked for them. But they’re not for Hosseini. They’re for people around the Twelfth Imam, and Rashidi said they’re eventually going to need 293 more.”

“Why do they need 293 satphones?” Eva asked.

“No, 293
more
,” David corrected. “They need a total of 313. Apparently, it’s part of some Shia prophecy that the Twelfth Imam will have 313 followers.”

“How soon do they want the rest of the phones?” Zalinsky asked.

“Rashidi offered me a 200,000-euro bonus, wired to any account I want, if I can get them to him by the end of the month.”

“That’s like, what, a quarter of a million dollars?” Eva asked, incredulous.

“I know—it’s crazy. But that’s what I’m trying to tell you guys. These people are very serious and very excited.”

“Why are they telling you this much this fast?” Zalinsky asked.

“Because they’re also desperate,” David said. “They see events are moving fast now, and they’re scrambling to keep up.”

“No, no, I realize they’re all nuts; I accept that,” Zalinsky said. “But why
you
? Why are they taking
you
into their confidence so quickly?”

David thought about that for a moment. “Well, for starters, they think I’m one of them,” he replied. “They’re buying the cover story. They genuinely believe I want to bless my homeland as well as make a buck. They’ve been watching me go to the mosque five times a day. They saw me throw Eva out of the country. They think I’m sincere, earnest.”

“That can’t be all of it,” Zalinsky said.

“No, it’s not,” David agreed. “I think there’s another dynamic at work here.”

“What?”

“I think they’re trying to convert me.”

“From what to what?”

“From a regular Shia Muslim to a Twelver.”

“Why?”

“Why else?” David said. “Because that’s what they are. They genuinely believe the messiah has come. The end is here. And they want me to be a part of it. Plus, honestly, they need a bunch of satellite phones, and they think I just might be young enough and dumb enough and well-connected enough to get them. I think it’s that simple.”

“This is ridiculous,” Zalinsky said, standing up and going over to the window. “This whole ‘Twelfth Imam’ thing is a rabbit trail. It’s a distraction. We’ve known about it for years, and it’s just a bunch of religious dreaming. Your job is to help us identify nuclear sites so our teams can go in and sabotage them. That’s it. We don’t have time for you to do anything else.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think you’re missing the point,” David said. “This is the fastest way in. If I ask them questions about nukes, they’re going to be suspicious. Wouldn’t you be? But I’m telling you, I can ask them a million questions about the Mahdi and they’ll answer every one of them. Why? Because that’s what they’re interested in. That’s what Ayatollah Hosseini is focused on. That’s what President Darazi is focused on. That’s what Rashidi is focused on. Shouldn’t we be focused on it too?”

Zalinsky turned to Eva. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, Jack, I think David is onto something.”

“How so?”

“Look, I can’t say I know much about Shia eschatology. Nor can I find anyone at Langley who does either, and believe me, I’ve tried. But I’ve been tracking the press and blog coverage of this big conference held in Tehran last week on Mahdism. Two thousand people showed up. They had a dozen top Islamic scholars there talking about the imminence of the Twelfth Imam’s return. The keynote address was given by none other than President Darazi, who stated categorically that the Mahdi will appear this year and that his authenticity will be confirmed by the voice of the angel Gabriel, who will appear in the sky over the Mahdi’s head and call the faithful to gather around him. That’s not normal political discourse, Jack. This is a regime that believes the messiah is coming and is basing its actions on that belief. We can’t counter Iran effectively if we don’t know why its leaders are doing what they’re doing.”

It was a solid argument, David thought. The angel Gabriel thing intrigued him. He hadn’t heard that and wanted to talk to Eva more about it.

But Zalinsky wasn’t buying it. “Listen,” he said firmly, turning to David, “I want you on the next plane to Munich. Pick up the satphones. It’s going to take a few days. But once you have them, go right back into Iran. Show them you can deliver, ahead of schedule. Then get us nuke sites. That’s the mission. Nuclear weapons sites. Period. Don’t get sidetracked.”

56

David checked into Le Méridien.

The next direct, nonstop flight to Munich was on Lufthansa, but it didn’t depart until 7:35 the following morning. That meant he had to be at the airport by 4:30, which meant he had to leave for the airport at 4:00 and be up by 3:00, which meant he really should try to get some sleep now. But he couldn’t. He was too angry. So he threw on some shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of Nikes and went running instead.

Zalinsky, he was certain, was making a serious mistake. David knew his mentor had far more experience in the region than he did. But that made it all the more frustrating. Why wouldn’t Zalinsky take seriously the growing importance of Shia eschatology or consider its implications? David didn’t need anyone to tell him that he hadn’t a fraction of the training or wisdom Zalinsky had. But David trusted his gut, and his gut told him to follow the trail of the Twelfth Imam.

In the meantime, he owed Marseille Harper a call. He just wasn’t sure what to say. Heading north along Sheikh Rashid Road, David ran past the Dubai Creek Golf Club, turned east over the bridge, and wound through several businesses until he reached the football stadium between Tenth Street and Oud Metha Road. There he bought a bottle of water from a street vendor and found a pay phone on the stadium grounds. It wasn’t exactly the quietest place to make the call, but it was the least traceable phone he could find, and for now, that would have to do.

He was surprised by the butterflies in his stomach and the perspiration on his palms. It bothered him that this girl still had such a hold on him after so long, but she did. As he dialed—slowly—he tried to imagine the sound of her voice and wondered if he would still recognize it. Then the line began ringing, and he was tempted to hang up. It rang again with no answer. The longer it went, the more jittery he became. David wiped the sweat off his brow and took another swig of water. Still no answer. But just when he was about to hang up, the line connected, crackling with static.

“Hello?” David said. “Hello?”

“Hi,” a woman’s voice said. The voice was instantly familiar; David’s pulse quickened. “This is Marseille. I’m not in right now, but if you’ll leave me your name, number, and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.”

David faltered. “Uh, hi, this is, uh . . . hey, Marseille, this is Rez—sorry, there is some static on the line—anyway, this is David. . . . David Shirazi. . . . I’m calling you from overseas, so I’m sorry for the bad connection. Anyway, I was visiting my parents recently, and they actually just gave me your letter from December as I was leaving for another business trip, and I’m afraid this is the first chance I’ve had to call you back. I’m so sorry to hear about your father, I really am, but I’m glad to hear from you, and yes, I would love to see you in Syracuse in a few weeks. Dinner or coffee or whatever on that Thursday night would be great.”

He quickly gave her an e-mail address and said that was the best way to reach him for the next few weeks to make definite plans. And with that, he hung up, wondering why he was acting like a complete moron.