“Thank you, Agent Hamilton,” Azar said.
“Unfortunately, because your father runs his Internet blog and frequently comments on happenings in Iran, the media is all over this development,” Hamilton went on. “It was only a matter of time before they tracked you down to Grand Rapids. And now that your parents have disappeared, you’ll be the focus of their attention. There’s already been a leak to the wire services that Iranian royalty is being protected in the United States, and the FBI and State Department have already received inquiries. I hope you understand how hectic it’s going to be. The State Department will do all it can to shield your movements from the media, but they are very persistent.”
“I understand, Agent Hamilton.” She thought for a moment, then said to Major Najar in perfect Farsi, “Major, I need to contact the Court immediately.”
“Of course, Malika,” Najar said. “I will…”
“Do not call me that yet, Major,” Azar said. “I am Shahdokht to all until the whereabouts of the King and Queen are positively determined.”
“I apologize, Shahdokht,” Najar said. “Agent Hamilton, when is the first chance we will have to access a secure telephone or Internet connection?”
“We’ll return to Grand Rapids, then take a chartered flight to Minneapolis,” Hamilton said. “The FBI office has loaned us armored vehicles, which will take you to a safe house outside the city. They should have secure communications capability in the vehicles. We’ll arrange a secure satellite Internet link in the safe house if it doesn’t already have it.”
“Very well. Thank you,” Azar said. To Najar, she asked in Farsi, “What’s the latest about the insurgency back home?”
“Confused and sketchy information, Shahdokht,” Najar replied, “but it appears that General Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi has launched a major attack on a mosque in Qom that may have been a safe house for a good number of clerics and government officials. Speculation is that he destroyed the Khomeini Library with his captives inside.”
“Bavar nakardani!” Azar exclaimed. “Buzhazi is either completely insane or utterly ruthless — we need to find out which it is. Major, I need the latest information on Buzhazi, the Pasdaran deployments, and our resistance and intelligence networks in-country.”
“Yes, Shahdokht.”
“Buzhazi is blind with rage and power-lust, Shahdokht,” Lieutenant Saidi said. “He and his followers have narrowly managed to avoid complete destruction by the skin of their teeth. They are outnumbered at least ten to one. The Pasdaran will crush them soon enough.”
“No insurgency of any kind has had this much success — and Buzhazi has taken on the Pasdaran directly,” Azar said. “If he succeeds, or even if he ignites the passion of freedom in the people, we can use it to our advantage. We must learn everything we can about Buzhazi’s goals and plans and see if we can join forces with him.”
“Join forces?” Najar asked. “Princess, Buzhazi was the Faqih’s chief executioner not too long ago — he and his minions killed most of your family and drove us out of Europe and the Middle East. He can’t be trusted. It would be better to bide our time and see what happens with this insurgency.”
“If Buzhazi is crushed, the Pasdaran will only grow in power and status, perhaps eclipsing the army,” Azar said. “If the regular army or the people will follow Buzhazi in destroying the clerics, we must be sure we have a seat at the table for whatever else may happen. But we must know what is going on, up to the second.” She fell silent for a moment, then said, “I want you to activate the rud-khaneh immediately.”
Najar’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you certain, Princess?” he asked. “The underground network is secure and has been growing for a decade. If we activate the network and the Revolutionary Guards destroy Buzhazi and discover it…”
“We must know,” Azar said. “It must be done. Our people will just need to take extraordinary precautions and be prepared to go back to ground if the insurgency fails and the Pasdaran start a new purge.”
Najar looked at the princess carefully, then said in a low voice, “Should you not wait to hear from the King, Princess?”
Azar looked at her long-time bodyguard, considering not only his words but the tone. “They’re alive, Major. I would have felt their passing.”
“Then wait a while longer before committing to activating the intelligence network, Shahdokht,” Najar said. He smiled at her. “I’m happy to see you are so ready to take charge, Princess — the lessons we taught you were not lost in the thick mud of Western decadence that you have subjected yourself to for all these years. But use caution. The situation is dangerous for you, but to our friends and supporters back home, it is deadly. When we rise up, we should do it in concert.”
“We will, Major,” Azar said. “But in order to decide when to rise, we need information. If my parents are alive, it is my responsibility to assist them in making the decisions that affect our future.” She squinted back tears, then said, “If they are dead, I’ll need the advice of the network to assess the situation and decide a course of action — whether we support Buzhazi, conduct our own insurgency alongside his, or go back into hiding and await the will of God.”
“Insh’ Allah,” Najar and Saidi said together.
“Insh’ Allah,” Azar echoed. She thought for a moment, then took out a notepad from her Civil Air Patrol battle dress uniform, wrote a note, and passed it to Najar. He took a deep breath as he read it, then passed it to Saidi, whose expression was even more incredulous. “Can you do it, Major?” she asked.
Najar passed the note to the men in the back of the Black Hawk, who looked at each other in surprise, then nodded warily. Najar made a few notes of his own, showed them to Azar and Saidi, then to the men. They all nodded in assent. “It will be done, Shahdokht…insh’ Allah,” Najar said. “If it is the will of God.”
In just a few minutes they were making an approach to Grand Rapids — Itasca County Airport and parked just outside AirWays Aviation, the lone fixed-base operator on the field. Just a few yards away was a Falcon business jet, with a Jet-A refueling truck just pulling away. The jet’s crewmembers watched the helicopter touch down, then moved to the boarding door to help the passengers aboard. Katelyn shook hands with Lawson. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Colonel,” she said.
“Good luck to you, Lieutenant — or whoever you are,” Lawson responded.
“Salam aleikom, agha,” Katelyn said, then shoved open the door and scrambled out.
“The jet’s fueled up and ready,” Special Agent Hamilton said after speaking with the pilot and escorting Katelyn to the boarding door. “Weather is favorable in Minneapolis but traffic is heavy, so we’ll use Flying Cloud Airport instead of the international airport. The FBI is standing by.”
“Wouldn’t it look less conspicuous to go to the bigger airport, Agent Hamilton?”