Damascus Countdown (27 page)

Murray shook his head. “Look, Eva, we’ll do what we can, but we can only do so much at this point. Our top priority is finding those two warheads. Right now I’d say our second-highest priority is trying to thwart this deal between the Mahdi and the Pakistanis. I need to brief the director on that ASAP and make sure he briefs the president and the National Security Council. That could shift the entire balance of power in the next twenty-four hours. That’s an awful lot to do in a very short period of time. Don’t get distracted by Syria. They’re not in the war. The Mahdi told them not to get into the war. We need to keep our eye on the ball.”

“But, Tom, what if—?”

“No,” Murray said, cutting her off. “It’s a rabbit trail. We can’t afford any diversions right now. Please, Eva. I need you to stay focused. And I need you to rally the other translators and keep them focused as well. This thing’s coming to a head, and I’m counting on you.”

TEHRAN, IRAN

Torres and Fox readied their weapons as David began to remove the gag from Nouri’s mouth, leaving the blindfold on. Nouri made no sudden moves.

“Would you like some water?” David asked his prisoner.

“Yes, thank you,” Nouri replied.

But David wasn’t ready to give Javad Nouri anything just yet. “How about you answer my questions first?” he said.

“Please, Reza, I haven’t had anything to drink since the hospital,” Nouri replied.

“No, I want you to talk first,” said David, taking a long drink of cold bottled water in front of Nouri and making sure the man could hear him enjoy every refreshing drop. “Where are the warheads?”

“I thought you and your people were listening in on everything we’ve been saying,” Nouri said. “Why bother even asking me?”

“Because we know the warheads exist. We know the Israeli attacks destroyed six of the warheads but somehow missed two. We know your boss is planning to use them. But we don’t know where they are currently.”

“I don’t know either.”

“You’re making a mistake, Javad.”

“No, really, I don’t,” Nouri replied. “Why would they tell me?”

“Because you are the Mahdi’s most trusted advisor.”

“That’s the Ayatollah, not me.”

“Hardly,” David said.

“Well, believe what you like, but I don’t know where they are.”

“Are they still in Iran?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have they been moved out of the country?”

“How many ways must I say it?” Nouri asked. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”

“Then how are they going to be used?”

“The Mahdi is going to fire them both at the Zionists.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“At Israel.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Not at the United States?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Mahdi’s focus is on the Zionists.”

“The Little Satan?”

“If you say so,” Nouri said.

“It’s not my line; it’s the Mahdi’s,” David said.

Nouri remained silent.

“So you’re going to fire both of these warheads at Israel.”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“Why do you think? To wipe the Jews off the map.”

“So Darazi was serious when he said that?” David asked.

“Of course he was serious. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because Darazi also said he was enriching uranium for peaceful purposes.”

“He lied,” Nouri said matter-of-factly and without any hint of irony or guilt.

“So you’re an admitted liar,” David said, taking the tone of a Manhattan prosecutor more than an interrogator.

“Not me,” Nouri replied. “But Darazi, yes.”

“And the Mahdi.”

“Never.”

“The Mahdi never lied?” David asked.

“No, Imam al-Mahdi never lied,” Nouri said, indignant. “He came to establish the Caliphate. He came to establish peace in the Middle East and around the world. He warned everyone—he explicitly warned your president and the Zionists, for that matter—that if the Caliphate were attacked, this would trigger the War of Annihilation. But none of you would listen. We didn’t attack first in this war. The Zionists did.”

“But you were about to launch a strike on the Israelis,” David argued.

“Says who?” Nouri asked. “Your president asked for a meeting with the Mahdi to discuss peace terms. The Mahdi agreed. How is that preparing for a first strike?”

“You’re actually going to sit here and deny that the Mahdi was preparing to launch a first strike against Israel?”

“Yes.”

“But you just admitted that Darazi was lying about the reason for enriching uranium,” David noted.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You just admitted that Iran was building nuclear weapons when Darazi said they weren’t, and the reason was to wipe Israel off the map.”

“No,” said Nouri, “I said Iran built nuclear weapons. I didn’t say they were intended for offensive purposes.”

“Of course you did.”

“No, we built them for defensive purposes—just in case a scenario like this developed,” Nouri insisted. “If the Jews hadn’t attacked us, we would not have attacked the Jews. But now it is clear; the Zionists are the aggressors. And in attacking us, they have triggered a fully justified, fully legal jihad, and this was a very foolish mistake. For now we are waging a holy war with holy weapons, and that cancerous tumor known as Israel will be wiped off the map, just as our Iranian president prophesied it would be.”

“You don’t really believe all that crap,” David said with disgust.

“I am speaking the truth,” Nouri said. “It is you who is bothered by it, not me.”

David was incensed, but mostly with himself. He had lost control of the conversation. Nouri’s fear was turning to defiance. He was talking in circles, but he had gotten inside David’s head, and David knew he had to turn the tables, to regain the initiative. But how?

TEHRAN, IRAN

“You’re absolutely certain?” Ayatollah Hosseini asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

He pushed for more information.
How long ago did it happen? How many were involved? Who was responsible? Were there any leads, any clues whatsoever?
Hosseini asked a dozen more questions, but Ibrahim Asgari, commander of VEVAK, Iran’s secret police force, simply had no answers as of yet.

“Call me as soon as you know more, Commander,” Hosseini ordered and then hung up the phone, nervously looking about the war room. His hands trembled. All color had drained from his face.

“Where is the president?” he asked a young aide.

“I believe he stepped out to get something to eat,” the aide said.

“Get him, and bring him to me immediately,” the Ayatollah said. “I must speak to him on an urgent matter.”

“Yes, sir—right away, sir.” The aide scurried off.

The room began to grow blurry. Hosseini blinked several times and reached for a glass of water and drank it down quickly. This couldn’t be happening. Was it the Israelis? The Americans? Either way, they were getting far too close.

Moments later, Darazi rushed into the war room. “What is it? What happened?”

“Come in here,” Hosseini said, motioning his colleague to follow him into the recently cleaned conference room where Faridzadeh had been killed earlier. “Now, shut the door and have a seat.”

Darazi did as he was told. “What is it?” he asked again. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Javad Nouri has been kidnapped,” said Hosseini.

“That’s not possible,” Darazi countered.

“Nevertheless, it happened,” Hosseini replied. “So far Commander Asgari is reporting twelve dead, nine wounded.”

“How many attackers?”

“Best we can tell, it was a team of five commandos. But they had air support as well. They took out a police helicopter over the city, killing all three men on board.”

“Is that beyond the casualty numbers you just gave me?”

“No, that’s everybody that we know of right now.”

“Any leads?”

“None.”

“Asgari has absolutely no idea who is responsible?”

“He thinks it’s the Israelis.”

“He’s probably right,” said Darazi.

“Maybe yes, or maybe the Americans are here too,” Hosseini said.

“I thought the Americans were staying neutral in this war.”

“The fact is we have no idea. We’re flying blind here. But I’ll tell you one thing: whoever it is, they’re getting dangerously close to us. Think about it: if they have Javad and Javad starts talking, then they know where we are right now.”

“We need to move everything to the new facility at the mosque—tonight.”

“That’s my thought too,” Hosseini said. “But first, we need to talk to the Mahdi. Is he still up on the roof?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Praying.”

“We need to get him down from there. It’s too dangerous to stay outside.”

“You want me to ask him?” Darazi asked.

“No,” Hosseini said. “I’d better go myself.”

David tried to seize control of the conversation once again.

“Listen, Javad, I’m only going to say it one more time. You’re making a mistake. Your sins are going to be exposed to the Mahdi within the hour unless you start cooperating.”

Nouri sat up straight in the chair, puffing out his chest and lifting his head.

“I am not afraid of you, Reza,” he replied.

“Maybe not,” David said. “But you are afraid of Imam al-Mahdi. You care what he thinks about you. And now you’re about to be exposed for the man you really are. We haven’t manufactured these photos and this video of you in Dubai at that bar with the women and the alcohol, Javad. That’s not cooked up. Those are decisions you made. And knowledge of those sins alone is going to infuriate the Mahdi. But as I told you, we’re going to throw fuel on the fire by implicating you as the mole in this operation, with a direct, working relationship with the CIA.”

“But that’s a lie,” Nouri shot back. “I never worked with you or for you.”

“Really?” David asked. “Were you not my main contact within the Mahdi’s inner circle? Didn’t you and I speak on a regular basis? Didn’t I provide you with the satellite phones the Mahdi and his war council are using now? And aren’t those all CIA phones? And didn’t you literally hand those phones to the Mahdi?”

“The Mahdi will never believe it,” Nouri insisted. “He will never believe I betrayed him—and certainly not to a man like you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Javad,” David said, pulling out his own satphone, dialing a dedicated line back at Langley, entering his code number, and then—putting the call on speakerphone—playing for Nouri a phone call from just a few days earlier.

“Reza?”

“Yes, this is he.”

“This is Javad Nouri. I just got back to Tehran and got your message.”

“Hey, good to hear from you.”

“I hope it’s not too late to call you, but whatever you’ve got, we could use.”

“It’s no problem. Thanks for getting back to me. I expect to have a hundred of what we were discussing by late in the afternoon tomorrow—er, I guess today. They’re being shipped to me in Qom. That’s where I’m heading now to meet some of my tech team later this morning at some switching station that’s having a problem. Are you guys going to be in Qom by any chance?”

“No, we’re not. But I have a better idea. Could you bring them directly to us? Our mutual friend has heard many good things about you and would like to meet you in person. Would that be acceptable?”

“Of course. That would be a great honor; thank you.”

“Wonderful. Our friend is deeply grateful for your help, and he personally asked me to apologize for the vetting process you were subjected to. He hopes you understand that we cannot be too careful at this stage.”

“I understand. Abdol Esfahani explained everything. I’ll survive.”

“Good. Be in Tehran tonight at eight o’clock at the restaurant where we met before. Come by cab. Don’t bring anyone or anything else with you, just the gifts. I’ll have someone meet you there and bring you to us. Okay?”

“Yes, of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

“So are we. I’ve got to go now. Good-bye.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” Nouri insisted, his voice more defiant than ever.

“Is that how it’s going to look?” David asked.

The question hung in the air, but David wasn’t certain it was working.

“Why would the CIA come and kidnap me from my hospital room
and then leave me for dead in this safe house if I really worked for them?” Nouri finally said. “It isn’t logical, and the Mahdi won’t buy it.”

Now it was David whose body stiffened. Nouri had a point. Why, indeed?

The Ayatollah took three bodyguards with him and headed for the roof. When he got there, sure enough, he found the Twelfth Imam on his knees, bowing toward Mecca, and evidently in no mood to be trifled with. He also found the sun beginning to sink in the west and heavy storm clouds rolling in over the city. Several strikes of lightning flashed in the distance, but as of yet he could hear no thunder. What struck him most, as it had struck Darazi earlier, was the stench of death and the magnitude of the destruction of the airfield all around them and the Mahdi’s seeming imperviousness to it all.
Was that faith,
Hosseini wondered,
or foolishness?

“Hamid Hosseini, what a surprise,” said the Mahdi.

The Ayatollah was immediately caught off guard. The Mahdi’s back was to him, and Hosseini hadn’t announced himself or made any sound.

“Here to coax me down off the ledge, are you, Hamid?” the Mahdi sneered.

How did he know?
Hosseini wondered.
Could this man read his mind?

“Well, my Lord, I . . . uh . . .”

“Save your breath, and don’t waste my time,” the Mahdi replied. “Do you think I am like all of you? Do you think I am a mere mortal? How do you think I knew it was you?”

“I . . . I don’t—”

“Go ahead, Hamid,” the Mahdi said, his back still toward the Ayatollah. “Take a pistol from one of your three bodyguards and shoot me in the back.”

Hosseini was aghast. “Never, my Lord, I would never—”

“It’s all right; go ahead,” the Mahdi pressed. “Then you’ll see if I’m a mortal or truly from above.”

Hosseini didn’t know what to say. He certainly couldn’t bring himself
to even contemplate testing the Mahdi’s ability to withstand a gunshot from point-blank range.

“Are you a coward, Hamid?” the Mahdi asked.

“No, my Lord. . . . I—I’m your servant,” he replied and dropped to his knees in worship.

“You are a coward,” the Mahdi said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Your last truly courageous act was shooting your wife when she defied you for sending your sons off to be martyrs in the Great War with Iraq. Everything else has been easy for you. It has all been given to you, by Allah, to be sure, but it has made you a weak, sniveling little man. But that is why I have come, Hamid: to give the Muslim people what they want—true Islamic leadership—and to give the world what they need—a Caliphate governed from above, not from below.”

Hosseini continued to bow toward Mecca, his forehead pressed to the ground, not sure what to say or do at the moment.

“You have come to bring me dark news,” the Mahdi said after a brief pause. “In the last few hours, the battle has intensified dramatically. I feel it, and that is why I am on my knees in prayer. You should give yourself to prayer as well, Hamid, lest temptation overtake you and you succumb to the forces of evil.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Hosseini replied. “I am ready to commit myself to a night of prayer—indeed, to a new Ramadan of prayer and fasting, beginning this very night, if this will please you. But first I must tell you the disturbing news.”

The Mahdi said nothing. Instead, he rose from his knees and wrapped his black robe around him tightly.

“What is your news?” he asked.

Hosseini didn’t dare look up. But he did allow this one fleeting thought to cross the transom of his mind. If the Mahdi was omniscient, wouldn’t he already know the news?
Maybe he
couldn’t
read minds,
Hosseini thought, unsure if that was more reassuring or less so.

“Your Excellency, please know how it pains my heart to bring you this news, but I’m afraid it falls upon me to convey to you that your dear friend and trusted advisor, Javad Nouri, has been captured by forces of the enemy,” Hosseini said, forehead still pressed to the ground. “Details
are sketchy. Commander Asgari does not yet know who is responsible, but I am concerned that whether it’s the Israelis or the Americans, if they truly have Javad, then they may now know—or soon know—this very location. I believe you are in grave danger, my Lord. So yes, it is my recommendation that you allow us to move you off this roof and get you to the new operations center, the one in the basement of the Imam Khomeini Mosque downtown.”

“No,” said the Mahdi. “I’m not going to the mosque. I am heading to Kabul to meet Iskander Farooq, and I leave in ten minutes.”

David and his team were startled by the knock at the motel door. Abruptly halting the interrogation, David put the gag back in Nouri’s mouth and told the man in no uncertain terms not to make a sound. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he whispered as he readied the Sig Sauer and watched Torres cautiously move to the door, check the peephole, and then give the all-clear.