A Bitter Veil (27 page)

Anna’s eyes narrowed. She knew who had the earrings. She hoped it wasn’t too late.

 Roya’s voice, full of barely controlled panic, cut through the silence. “Hassan, a car has pulled up. I think it’s the Guards!”

Hassan straightened up. He and Anna exchanged glances. He waved his hand at the safe. “Close it up.” He went down the steps, calling out to Roya. “I will take them to the alley in back. When we are out of sight, get Anna to the car.” He called over his shoulder. “Anna, make sure you lie down in the back of the car. On the floor. So no one can see you.”

Anna looked out at the rooftop. Strips of purple now streaked across the gray. They would lighten to pink, followed by a bright sunrise over the horizon. She turned back to the safe and scooped up a handful of the stash, including the sapphire necklace. She threw it into a bag, grabbed her chador, and hurried down the steps.

Dawn broke as they raced through the streets of Tehran. Anna was squeezed on the floor between the front and back seats. Every time the car bounced, a jolt of pain streaked up her spine. Hassan and Roya kept their mouths shut. Anna steeled herself for what was coming. Hassan had spoken to the Guards as Anna asked—they were following in another car.

She knew the route from her house to the Samedis, and a series of sharp turns told her they’d arrived. Hassan killed the engine and got out, and Anna heard the Guards’ car pull up behind them. The engine was cut. A moment later Hassan’s voice murmured in Farsi.

“He’s telling the Guards to get out of the car,” Roya said quietly. “Now he’s leading them around to the back of the house.” Anna nodded to herself more than to Roya. It was proceeding as planned. The gate squeaked as it was opened. Hassan called out in a low voice.

“Be quick. Go.”

Roya pushed the seat forward and Anna climbed out of the car. Hassan joined them, and they slipped through the gate.

“Did you happen to pick up a key at your house?” Roya asked.

Anna shook her head.

Hassan looked at his watch. It couldn’t be much past six in the morning. He nodded to Roya, who knocked on the door. There was no response. Hassan shifted. “It’s early.”

Roya rose on tiptoe and peeked into the front hall through a glass inset in the door. She stepped back, startled. “Look!”

Hassan peered through the glass. His eyebrows arched.

“What is it?” Anna asked, her pulse suddenly throbbing like an engine.

“There are suitcases on the floor,” Roya said. “With a black manteau draped over one of them.”

Anna let out a relieved breath. It was not too late. “Knock again.”

Roya did, louder this time.

A few moments passed, and thumps and rustles rose from inside. The door opened. Bijan was tucking his shirt into his pants. He had grown a beard, which had come in more gray than black. He looked worn out and wrinkled, like a used canvas bag. When he saw Hassan and Roya, he looked puzzled, but when he recognized Anna in her chador, his eyes widened.

“I do not understand.” He gazed from Hassan to Roya. “The plan was to meet at your house.”

“She insisted on coming here.” Roya shrugged.

“She has something to do,” Hassan added.

“Hello, Baba-joon,” Anna said.

Bijan stared at Anna. Something bright and shiny appeared in his eyes. At first Anna thought it might be joy at seeing her after so long. But then she realized it was the beginning of a tear. He knew, Anna thought. He’d figured it out.

Still, his outward demeanor was calm, and he kissed her on both cheeks. “I am overjoyed to see you, my daughter. Your travails have been difficult.”

“Where is Laleh?”

Bijan’s eyes blazed with awareness. To his credit, he didn’t prevaricate. “She is leaving Iran today. Just like you,” he added.

At that moment, Maman-joon started down the steps. “Who is it so early, Bijan?”

She wore a bathrobe. Her hair was unkempt, her skin pasty. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed but, when she saw Anna, she froze in the middle of the staircase. Her mouth formed a perfect “O.”

“What is she doing here?” Maman-joon spit out. “Get her. Quick. Call the Guards. And the komiteh. She must be stopped.”

No one moved.

“What’s wrong with you?” Maman-joon swept her arm in a gesture that included them all. “She killed our son!” She hurried down the steps and headed for the telephone.

Baba-joon blocked her path and grabbed her by her shoulders. The weight of sorrow embedded itself on his face. Anna suspected it would never fade. “Parvin,” he said, “Anna did not kill Nouri.”

“What are you talking about?” Parvin screeched, her voice rising. She stretched her arms out protectively, as if warding off evil spirits. “She is an evil jinn. She has cast a spell over you. How else could she have escaped from jail? We must purge her from our lives.”

Anna ignored Maman-joon’s rant and looked at Bijan. “Where is Laleh?” she repeated.

From the top of the stairs a clear voice rang out. “I am here.” Everyone turned and looked up. Laleh stood at the top of the landing. She was dressed for traveling in a beige pants suit. And she held a pistol in front of her. It was aimed at Anna.

Maman-joon staggered backwards. “Laleh! What is this? What are you doing?”

Laleh didn’t answer. She pointed with her chin toward Anna. “How did you get out?”

Anna motioned toward Hassan and Roya. “They helped.”

Laleh snorted in contempt. “I should have known. Traitors!”

Roya stiffened.

“Where did you get that?” Bijan gestured toward the gun.

Laleh didn’t reply.

Now that the moment had come, Anna felt strangely calm. Even the threat of a bullet couldn’t stop her. “You killed Nouri. Your brother. My husband.”

“You couldn’t stand him. You were going to leave him.”

“I never stole from him.”

Laleh smiled coldly. “I’ll wager now you wish you had.”

“Look in the hem of her manteau.
I’ll
wager you’ll find a pair of earrings that match this.” Anna pulled out the sapphire necklace. “Earrings that Laleh intends to fence when she gets to London.”

“Very good, Anna.” Laleh started down the steps, still pointing the pistol at Anna. “But you’re wrong. The earrings are in my purse.” She waved the gun at the others. “And if anyone tries to stop me, I will shoot.”

Her tone was resolute. Anna took a step back.

Maman-joon clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “What are you doing, my child? Put the gun down before something terrible happens.”

“Maman, you are a fool,” Laleh hissed. “All you cared about was planning parties and weddings and making sure we were friends with the right people. I do not care about any of that. Shaheen and I will make our own way.” She took the steps down. “And Hassan, you and Roya, with your phony piety…you disgust me.”

Maman-joon’s hands flew to her head, and she pulled at her hair. She rocked from side to side. “Laleh, azizam.” She sobbed. “Stop this. We will make it right. You didn’t do anything. It was
her
.” She thrust a finger toward Anna. “Hassan, you know the truth. Call the Guards. Have them take her away. Forever, this time.”

No one moved. Parvin’s sobs grew more frantic. “I’m begging you. Please!”

All eyes were still on Laleh. Anna wondered if she was enjoying her moment. They heard the sound of a car pulling up to the house. A horn blasted. “That must be my taxi. Everyone stand back.”

Maman-joon, still weeping, tried to throw her arms around Laleh, but Laleh shoved her aside. Parvin crumpled and dropped to the floor.

Laleh headed toward the suitcases. “Nouri wouldn’t listen. He refused to cut me in. I had no choice, you see.”

Hassan stepped in front of Laleh, blocking her path. “You are not leaving.”

“You don’t want to do this, Hassan.”

“Laleh, I am arresting you for your brother’s murder.”

“I do not think so.” She fired the gun directly into Hassan.

There was a moment of silence. A look of astonishment came across Hassan, and he clutched his gut. Maman-joon screamed. Hassan collapsed. Blood poured out from his body. Roya covered her face with her hands. Bijan looked horrified. Hassan struggled for breath.

A blur of action followed. Bijan lunged toward Laleh and seized the gun. At the same time, there was a commotion at the rear of the house. The Guards broke down the back door and rushed inside.

Anna knelt over Hassan. “Hold on, Hassan. Stay with me. We’re going to get you help.”

The Guards reached the foyer, aiming their machine guns at the group. Laleh recovered first and pointed to Anna, who was still bent over Hassan. “It was her!” she cried. “She shot him! My father wrestled the gun away from her. She is an American. Trying to escape Iran. See her suitcases? Arrest her. Take her away.”

Maman-joon looked up and wiped her hand across her eyes. “What my daughter says is true,” she chimed in. “I saw it with my own eyes.” She motioned toward Anna. “She killed my son! And now she’s shot his best friend. She is an American spy.”

The Guards, clearly confused, looked first at Anna, then Hassan. One of them started toward Anna, but Bijan stepped forward.

“No. The women are lying. My daughter shot this man.” He gestured toward Laleh. Anguish was etched on his face.

The Guards hesitated. They aimed their machine guns at Laleh but glanced cautiously at Hassan. Barely conscious, he nodded. “He is right,” Hassan croaked. His eyes closed. The Guards grabbed Laleh and pushed her towards the door.

“Maman, Baba, please. Don’t let them take me! You know the truth!” Laleh screamed.

“Bijan!” Maman-joon screeched. “Do something!”

Bijan hesitated. Then, “I did.”

The late summer sun was high in the sky when the bus pulled out of the terminal. Anna sat in the back, surrounded by women, old and young. Two of them cuddled babies on their laps, others sat with older children. The women flashed her shy, but curious, smiles. They had to be wondering about the woman with a few stray strands of blonde hair traveling alone.

She smiled back. She couldn’t believe that twenty-four hours earlier she’d been a prisoner. Now she was on a bus to freedom. While she understood that she would be dealing with the consequences for years to come, for now she was content to let the exhilaration wash over her.

Exhaustion, too. The past few hours had been tumultuous. After the Guards took Laleh away, the fevered pitch of the morning ebbed, leaching out the emotion, leaving a colorless gloom in its place. Maman-joon wandered through the house murmuring nonsense. She looked so fragile Anna thought a tiny breeze would topple her. Still, Anna couldn’t summon up any compassion. She was more concerned with Baba-joon. Seeing him watch his wife, knowing both their children had come to ruin, she doubted he would ever smile again.

Roya had jumped into the ambulance with Hassan and accompanied him to hospital. She promised to call as soon as she knew something. The paramedics said it was a good sign he was still breathing.

As soon as they were gone, Bijan sighed and went into his study. He emerged with an envelope. “This is for you.”

Anna took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a wad of rials. Plus a letter. She unfolded the letter. It was written in Arabic, and some kind of official looking seal was stamped on the top.

“What does it say?” she asked.

“It is a letter signed by the chairman of our local komiteh giving you permission to travel alone. You must show this to anyone who tries to detain you. Or if there are roadblocks on the way.”

“How did you get this? I didn’t know you—”

He cut her off. “You do not need to know.”

Anna searched his eyes, knowing it must have cost him dearly. He returned her gaze, his expression unreadable.

“This and the money should get you through to Bazargan. Remember, once you get off the bus, the Kurdish man should still be outside the customs terminal. He will be dressed as a cleric. He will have a passport for you. An Iranian passport.”

“I understand.”

“Listen to me, Anna. That passport will have a proper exit stamp, which—”

“You mean a visa?”

Bijan nodded. “Similar. It permits you to exit Iran. You will need it. Otherwise, the border guards in Bazargan and Turkey will question you. And because your Farsi isn’t good, they might discover you are American. If that happens, they may accuse you of espionage—of being a threat to the regime. They could lock you up again. You are not to talk to any customs officials under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

Anna nodded.

“You must find the cleric. He will take you across the border by…another…route.”

“If he is smuggling me across the border, why do I need the passport? Can’t I just go to the American Embassy and tell them who I am?”

“Once you’ve crossed into Turkey, Turkish officials may demand to see an Iranian passport with the proper exit stamp. If you do not have one, they can detain you, just like the Iranians. For as long as they want. Only after you arrive in Ankara can you apply for an American passport.”

Anna held up the letter. “What name is on this letter?”

“You are Roshni Omidi.”

Fear suddenly slid around in her gut. She felt goose bumps on her skin. “Is that the name on the Iranian passport?”

“That I do not know. But the Kurd will. Remember, only when you get to Ankara can you resume your true identity. Do you understand?”

Anna nodded again. “A Kurdish man dressed as a cleric.”

“You must connect with him.”

“Who is this man? How did you find him?”

“I do not know. He called me.”

Anna frowned.

“He was contacted by someone in America.” The hint of a smile flitted across Bijan’s face.

“My father.”

Bijan nodded.

Her father hadn’t abandoned her. He had been working to get her out all along. Her stomach twisted with an unfamiliar feeling. She thought it might be joy. “How does my father know this man?”

“How does anyone know the past?”

Bijan gave her final instructions on their way to the bus station. When they arrived he parked and went inside to buy a ticket. As he walked her to the bus, he handed it to her. “Do not talk to anyone if you can avoid it. They must not find out you are American.”

Once again she nodded.

Bijan leaned over and kissed her on both cheeks. Anna threw her arms around him. His familiar scent—a mix of tobacco, soap, and saffron—wafted over her. She blinked rapidly. “You are a wonderful man. And father-in-law.”

He shook his head, but his eyes filled.

Her own vision blurred with tears. Then she turned around and boarded the bus. As she took her seat, she saw him watching her. She waved through the window. Her last image of Tehran was of a sad, broken man at a bus station, raising his arm in farewell.