Damascus Countdown (19 page)

“No, I can’t,” Murray said. “I’m on the line with . . . I’m in the middle of . . . If I take this call now, I . . . Forget it. Never mind. Tell her I can’t come to the phone. But get all the information you need on her friends, get a number where you can call her back, and then get on the horn with our station chief in Tel Aviv and see what they know.”

KARAJ, IRAN

David explained the situation with the two missing Iranian warheads and the fear in Washington that one could be headed toward Israel and the other toward the U.S. homeland. He didn’t say how the CIA had learned of the warheads, but he did press Birjandi for intel.

“I haven’t heard anything about them.”

“Then I need you to call the Ayatollah.”

“What on earth for?”

“I need you to ask Hosseini for a meeting with the Twelfth Imam.”

“Absolutely not,” said the old man. “That’s out of the question.”

“Dr. Birjandi, look, I know it’s a lot to ask. But our only hope of finding those warheads is finding the Mahdi. He’s the only person we can be sure of who knows precisely where the warheads are. Maybe Hosseini knows, and maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Darazi knows; maybe not. But we can be certain the Mahdi knows where they are and is personally directing the strategy to use them against us and Israel. We need to find him, Dr. Birjandi. We need to know what he’s thinking, what he’s saying, what he’s doing. And right now you’re the only person who can reach out to him, ask for a meeting, and get one. The Mahdi has already indicated he wants to meet with you. You’ve been stalling. But you need to say yes, and you need to do it right now.”

“My friend, you are a good young man, and you are doing good work,” Birjandi replied, “but you’re asking something I cannot deliver.”

“With all due respect,
my friend
, you can; you’re just choosing not to,” David pushed back. “But you’re perfect for this. They love you. They trust you. They believe you’re one of them. You can find out where the warheads are and what cities they’ll be used to attack, and you can call me on your satellite phone once you find out.”

“No; you’re not listening—that is out of the question.”

“But why?” David pressed. “Don’t you see how high the stakes are?”

“Of course I do,” Birjandi replied. “But I am not to see the Twelfth Imam under any circumstances. Don’t you understand?”

“No, honestly, I don’t. You’re the perfect mole. You’ve been summoned into the inner sanctum. And now you can say yes. You’re the answer to a lot of prayers, Dr. Birjandi. God has raised you up and prepared you for this very moment. Don’t you see?”

Birjandi’s exasperation was becoming evident in his voice. “Please listen carefully. Let me say it as clearly as I can. The Twelfth Imam claims to be the messiah, the Lord of the Age, right?”

“Right.”

“But he’s not the true Messiah, is he?”

“No.”

“So that makes him a false messiah, true?”

“True.”

“Okay, so we’re agreed. The Twelfth Imam is not just a false prophet. He’s not simply a false teacher. He is a false messiah. He may be possessed by Satan himself. His closest lieutenants—Ayatollah Hosseini and President Darazi—are evil men as well, deeply influenced by satanic powers. I don’t think they have always been, but I suspect they are now. And what do the Holy Scriptures tell us? In Matthew 24, the Lord Jesus made it very clear. ‘If anyone says to you, “Behold, here is the Messiah,” or “There He is,” do not believe him. For false messiahs and false prophets will arise and will show great signs and wonders, so as to mislead, if possible, even the elect. Behold, I have told you in advance. So if they say to you, “Behold, He is in the wilderness,” do not go out, or, “Behold, He is in the inner rooms,” do not believe them.’ Now you may not understand any of this because you refuse to take the lost condition of your soul seriously. But I gave my life to the Lord Jesus because he gave his life for me. And if he tells me not to go out to meet with false messiahs, then I am going to obey him—no matter how much it costs me or how much it displeases you.”

There was a long pause.

Then David said, “Well, Dr. Birjandi, I respect you a great deal. I really do. I disagree with you in this case, but I have the utmost respect for you, even love for you because of how much you have cared for my soul.”

“I want what is best for you, my son.”

“I know, and that’s why I need to tell you something.”

“What is that?”

“Well, it’s true that for most of my life, I refused to even think much about my soul, much less take care of it. But I want you to know, those days are gone.”

“What do you mean?” Birjandi asked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the main reason I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the past few days is not because of the war,” David explained. “The main reason is because the other night I got on my knees and repented of my sins and asked Jesus to save me.”

At that, Birjandi’s tone changed entirely. He laughed with evident
joy, so loudly that David wondered what the man’s students must be thinking of this strange phone call they were probably overhearing.

“That is the best news I have heard in a long time, my friend. I’m so happy for you! Everything will be okay for you now. No matter what happens, nothing can separate you from the love of Christ! Bless you, my young friend! Now please, tell me everything. Tell me how it happened.”

And David did, grateful for Birjandi’s joy and excitement at his decision but hoping in the end he could still persuade his friend to say yes and arrange a meeting with the Mahdi.

It didn’t happen.

DAMASCUS, SYRIA

Hanna Nazeer was only twelve years old, but he had been looking forward to this moment since the age of seven. He could still remember the cold winter night five years before when he had knelt beside his bed with his mother and father and prayed to receive Jesus Christ as his Savior and Lord.

Hanna was not from a Muslim background. His parents were Orthodox Christians, as were all four of his grandparents before them, and all eight of his great-grandparents before them, and so forth going back at least two centuries. Still, Hanna insisted to his family and friends that he had not placed his faith in Christ simply because of his Christian heritage but rather because he truly believed. And now, to demonstrate that faith, he wanted to be baptized, just like the Lord Jesus was, just like Saint Paul was—indeed, perhaps in the very place where Saint Paul was baptized.

Hanna and his parents and his two younger sisters walked briskly through Bab Sharqi, the Eastern Gate, and soon arrived at the Chapel of Saint Ananias at the end of Straight Street in the Old City. They were a few minutes early, but there was already a small crowd. Amazed as he counted at least sixty people who had come for the ceremony, Hanna held his father’s big, calloused hand with his own left hand and held one of his sister’s small, smooth, dainty hands with his right as they squeezed through the mass of bodies to find the priest making final preparations at the front of the cavern-like stone sanctuary.

“Ah, finally, you are here,” exclaimed the priest. “Welcome, welcome. You have attracted a bit of attention here, Brother Hanna, haven’t you?”

Feeling shy amid all the attention and a bit warm and even claustrophobic with so many people crammed into so small a space, Hanna smiled awkwardly and looked down at the freshly swept stone floor. He hadn’t anticipated any of this. He’d never really thought about what would happen or how. All he knew was that he wanted to be baptized, and where better than the church built directly over the ancient home where Ananias was used by God to heal Saint Paul from the blindness he’d received upon seeing Jesus on the road to Damascus—the same house where Ananias had befriended and encouraged the Pharisee-turned-persecutor who would go on to be the greatest of the apostles?

HAMADAN, IRAN

“Do you realize, my friend, that you have now been adopted into God’s family?” Birjandi asked.

“Yes—it’s amazing,” David replied.

Birjandi hoped his young friend’s disappointment over his own lack of cooperation on intelligence matters would be mitigated by his enthusiasm over David’s decision to receive Christ. “But do you truly realize that you have been adopted by God himself?” Birjandi pressed. “That all your sins have been forgiven? Do you realize this?”

“I’m trying to, Dr. Birjandi,” David replied. “It’s still all so new to me.”

“I will pray for you, my son,” Birjandi said. “That’s all I can do for you now. I wish it were more. But this is my pledge—to pray without ceasing for you at this critical hour.”

David thanked him, and then the line went dead.

“That was a marvelous phone call!” Birjandi told the young men when he had hung up the satellite phone. “A dear friend has given his life to Christ.”

“Yes, we gathered as much,” Ali replied, smiling. “That’s so exciting, and we want to hear all the details. But first, we’re wondering: why was he trying to get you to go see the Mahdi?”

“That I cannot say, my friends,” Birjandi demurred.

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid that’s just between him and me.”

“But who is this friend, and what’s his interest in your going to see the Mahdi?” Ali asked. “Given your side of the conversation, he must have been quite adamant.”

“That is not for you to know,” Birjandi replied. “I don’t want you to speculate, and I would ask you not to repeat to anyone what you’ve just heard.”

Birjandi realized his cryptic answers were only making his disciples more curious, so he tried to get the conversation back on track. “Let us continue our study of the prophecies,” he said. “Open your Bibles to the book of Revelation. There is something I want to show you.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Ibrahim said. “I respect you enormously, Dr. Birjandi. We both do. You know that. And we respect your privacy in certain matters, to be sure. So we won’t ask you any more about this friend who certainly seems to be working with—or for—a foreign government. A government that might be able to bring down the Mahdi and this evil regime that is leading our country to destruction. A government that perhaps the Lord wants to prophetically use to set into motion the liberation of the Persian people. Nevertheless, we won’t ask you about him, as incredibly eager as we are to understand how he might be able to help us. But still, I need you to clarify what you told this friend about meeting with the Twelfth Imam. You said he is a false messiah, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But the Mahdi is a man, a human being, flesh and blood, correct?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He’s not God.”

“No.”

“He’s a person, like you and me?”

“I suppose. In a manner of speaking. Why?”

“If you have access to him, shouldn’t you try to share the gospel with him? Shouldn’t you try to save him?”

“I cannot save anyone, my son. Only God can do that.”

“Yes, of course, but you know what I mean. Isn’t Muhammad Ibn
Hasan Ibn Ali a soul worth sharing the Good News of Christ’s love and mercy and forgiveness with?”

“The man may be possessed by Lucifer himself,” Birjandi said.

“Maybe so,” said Ibrahim. “But didn’t Jesus cast demons out of lost souls and thereby win them to himself?”

“Of course.”

“And haven’t you been saying that Jesus chose us to share the gospel and to have authority in the spiritual battle to set people free from demonic oppression all over Iran? Shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

Ibrahim was younger than Ali, but he was also brilliant, the son of a highly esteemed Shia cleric in Qom. He had memorized most of the Qur’an by the age of nine. He was sharp and inquisitive and fearless about his newfound faith, but he was also impulsive and had a tendency to speak too much and to act without having fully thought everything through. If Birjandi gave him permission, Ibrahim would rush into the most esteemed seminaries in all of Qom and make the case for Christ powerfully and effectively with the best of the religious leaders of his day, even if that meant going to prison, which it would, and even if that meant being tortured and executed, which it might. With enough time and the proper training, Ibrahim was going to make a gifted leader of men, a powerful ambassador for the Lord Jesus Christ. But this was not yet the time, and Ibrahim was not yet ready.

The teacher and the student had clashed over this many times in recent weeks. Ibrahim argued that the hour was late and the need was enormous. Why, then, was Birjandi holding him back? Birjandi counseled patience, that Ibrahim’s time would come, that the Lord would open a significant door for him—and for the others as well—and that the Lord would do great and mighty things through each of them.

But the conversion of Najjar Malik, Birjandi now realized, had upset the apple cart. Najjar had been a believer for only a matter of days, and now he was reaching millions with the dramatic story of his conversion. The young men sitting before him, meanwhile, had been saved for half a year already. They certainly knew the Word far better than Najjar, but how many people had they shared Christ with so far? A few dozen, at most.

Maybe Ibrahim was right. Maybe it was time to set these men free to preach and teach and make disciples without reservation. Both of them knew the cost, and both of them were ready to give their lives for the One who had given his life for them. Maybe it was also time to set a powerful example for them . . . but not with the Mahdi. That was a bridge too far, Birjandi told himself. Being bold for Jesus was one thing. Being disobedient was quite another, and he would not cross the line.

Birjandi suddenly realized he had been quiet for several minutes, contemplating his answer longer than he had planned. “Your heart for the lost is admirable, Ibrahim,” he began. “I commend you for it, and heaven forbid that I should stifle or smother it. That is certainly not my intention. Perhaps it is time for you to stand up publicly for Jesus, the way our brother Najjar has done with such power and with such effect. Perhaps it is my time too. I have been your teacher for these six months, but you are teaching me something today, and for this I am grateful. But listen to me, both of you. Please hear my heart. As ready as I am to die for my Jesus, I cannot disobey his clear teaching. You heard me repeat on the phone the passage from Matthew 24. The Lord told his followers not to pursue false messiahs, not to seek them out, not to visit them or spend time with them.”

To Birjandi’s surprise, this answer seemed to satisfy Ibrahim, but it also stirred up new questions in Ali, who until now had sat back and listened.

“Dr. Birjandi, would you say you are really still part of the Mahdi’s inner circle?”

“No, not the Mahdi’s.”

“But perhaps Hosseini’s and Darazi’s?”

“Perhaps.”

“You wouldn’t describe them as false messiahs, would you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So isn’t it possible that they are still reachable, still redeemable—theoretically, at least?”

The old man took a moment to contemplate that. “Yes, theoretically.”

Apparently satisfied by that answer, Ali took the next step. “Then may I ask you a sensitive question?”

“What, you haven’t already?” Birjandi smiled.

“Dr. Birjandi, in your time with the Ayatollah and the president, have you ever actually told them you believe in Jesus?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. “No, Ali,” the scholar admitted. “I have not.”

“May I ask you why not?”

“Have you told your father, Ali?” Birjandi countered, knowing full well Ali’s father was an F-4 fighter pilot and the commander of a tactical air wing in the Iranian Air Force, stationed in Bushehr.

“No,” Ali said, shaking his head.

“May I ask you why not?”

“Well, at the moment, I’m not even sure he’s alive.”

“I know, and I’m praying for his life and his soul,” Birjandi said. “But until now, knowing war was coming, why did you not share the gospel with him? Please know, my son, that I’m not blaming you or criticizing you. I’m simply asking, as you have asked me.”

Ali was silent for a moment. “My father is a Twelver, as I was,” he said at last. “He is fully devoted to the Mahdi and this regime, and he hates Christians and Jews with a vengeance. If I told him I had renounced Islam and become a follower of Jesus, my father would kill me—literally kill me.”

Birjandi reached out and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “And yet, doesn’t Jesus tell us that unless we’re willing to pick up our crosses daily and follow him no matter what the cost, we’re not worthy of him?”

“Yes,” Ali said quietly.

“And didn’t the apostle Paul say, ‘For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain’?”

“Yes.”

“Paul wasn’t afraid to die. Indeed, he was looking forward to being in the presence of Jesus, to worshiping his King and Savior. So Paul preached without fear. And so should we. The fear of death should have no part in our thinking.”

“You’re saying we should share the gospel even if it means certain death for us?”

“Each of us must move as the Holy Spirit guides us,” Birjandi replied. “Our job is to say what he wants us to say, when he wants us to say it. The words and the timing must be the Lord’s, but yes, we must be faithful to share the gospel with anyone and everyone the Lord opens the door for us to reach.”

There was another long pause.

“You’re right,” Ali said. “I’ve been counting the cost, and I have to confess before both of you, my dearest friends, that I’ve been struggling. But the past few days I’ve been praying and fasting in agony, begging the Lord to save my father and the rest of my family, to give me another chance to share the Good News with each of them. And if you will pray for me for strength, then I will be faithful to the task, come what may.”

Birjandi and Ibrahim promised to pray for Ali and his family. But Ali was not finished.

“With all due respect, Dr. Birjandi, the question really comes back to you,” he said gently. “Maybe the Mahdi is unreachable or unwinnable for Christ. I don’t know. I’m not the scholar. You are. But isn’t it time for you to share the gospel with Ayatollah Hosseini and with President Darazi? Isn’t it time to tell them that you’ve renounced Islam and become a fully devoted follower of Jesus Christ? You’re in the inner circle. You can reach them. We can’t. Najjar can’t. No one else can. Perhaps the Lord has given you this open door not to spend time with the Mahdi but to spend time with Hosseini and Darazi. Isn’t it possible that he has raised you up for such a time as this?”