“You’re welcome. But listen — you cannot tell anyone what you suspect about David.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Seriously, I can’t even tell you how much danger he’s in now or how much worse it would be if anyone found out what he’s doing. I could never forgive myself if something happened to him because of a mistake I made, however innocent.”
“I understand,” Marseille said.
“I hope you do.”
“May I just ask you one question?”
“You can ask. I can’t promise that I’m allowed to answer it.”
“Fair enough. It’s just that…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… well, a moment ago you said that I was the reason David was doing all this. And you said you guessed he couldn’t help himself from telling me. But the thing is, Mr. Murray, when we were growing up, I didn’t know my dad worked for the CIA, so I never could have discussed it with David. And he certainly hasn’t told me about it since, nor has he even hinted about it. So I’m just wondering what you meant by that. How could I possibly be the reason for him to work for you? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Murray sighed. “I’ve said too much already, Marseille. You want my recommendation? Ask David next time you see him.”
“But that’s what scares me most, Mr. Murray,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m afraid I’m never going to see him again.”
36
David finally arrived.
He pulled up in front of Dr. Birjandi’s little bungalow on the outskirts of Hamadan but was surprised to see several other cars parked out front. He debated going in, but the truth was he had nowhere else to go and no time to come back. Deciding he had nothing to fear — it was Abdol Esfahani, after all, who had first connected the two men and encouraged David to learn everything he could about the Twelfth Imam from the nation’s foremost expert on the subject — he scooped up the two bags of groceries he had brought as a gift, strode up the steps, and knocked. Moments later, the octogenarian sage came hobbling around the corner with his dark sunglasses and white cane and opened the door.
“Dr. Birjandi, it’s me, Reza Tabrizi,” he said, using his alias mostly for the benefit of whoever else was in the house, since the old man knew his real name.
“Reza, is that really you?”
“Yes, it is. And I’ve brought you some fresh bread and rice and vegetables.”
“Thank God. I have been thinking about you all day and praying for the Lord to reconnect our paths. Please, please, my friend, come in.”
Birjandi headed into the living room, and there David found himself struck once again, as he was the other time he visited, by what a voracious scholar Birjandi was. The walls were lined with shelves so packed with books that they appeared bound to collapse at any moment. Books were stacked up on the floor and piled on chairs, together with boxes of scholarly journals and other publications. Birjandi had once told David that his late wife, Souri, had read all of these books to him, marked them up, and taken copious notes on all of them, as they discussed them for “hour after blessed hour.” Now Souri was gone, but the books remained.
Sitting on the floor of the living room were a half-dozen young, robed clerics — all apparently in their late twenties and early thirties — surrounded by still more piles of open books, talking animatedly and scribbling furiously in their notebooks.
Birjandi cleared his throat and got the young men’s attention. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce a surprise visitor but a wonderful young friend, Reza Tabrizi.”
They all greeted him, though David thought he detected some suspicion or at least reticence in their eyes. Then the old man led David into the kitchen, where they put away the food.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” David said. “I didn’t expect you to have company. Should I come back later?”
“Nonsense. Where would you go? Besides, we must talk. I have much to tell you.”
“Good. I have much to tell you as well,” David said in a whisper. “But perhaps…”
“You needn’t worry about these lads. They are all very trustworthy. Indeed, you should spend some time with them, get to know them.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood for anyone new right now.”
“You would like them. Really, you would. They are all sons of leading Shia mullahs from Qom or parliament members from Tehran. Their fathers are some of the most famous and powerful men in Iran. And guess what?”
“What?”
“They’re all secret believers!”
“In what?” David asked.
“What do you mean?” Birjandi replied, visibly perplexed.
“What do they secretly believe?”
Birjandi smiled. “They are all followers of Jesus, David. They’ve all secretly renounced Islam and become Christ followers.”
David was stunned. “Really? Is that true?”
“Of course it’s true. Their stories of coming to faith are absolutely amazing. Each of them is a miracle, a true miracle. I love these young men. They come to meet with me every Wednesday morning for Bible study and prayer. We’ve been gathering faithfully for the last two months. Of course, today we had to push our meeting back a bit because of my lunch with Hosseini and Darazi, which I must tell you about. How long can you stay?”
“Not long, Dr. Birjandi. Maybe an hour. I need to get back to Tehran. Events are moving very rapidly.”
“More rapidly than you know,” Birjandi agreed. “Okay, make us some tea. I will go talk to the lads and give them an assignment to keep them busy for a while. Then I will meet you in my study.”
Javad looked out over the masses gathered in Tahrir Square.
It was a raucous group, singing and dancing and celebrating the arrival of the Twelfth Imam. The Cairo police chief leaned over to Javad and said he thought the crowd numbered over one million. Javad thought the man might actually be underestimating. What he saw was a sea of humanity, radiating out in every direction, and the moment the Mahdi stepped onto the specially built platform, raised six feet off the ground and surrounded by bulletproof glass, Javad braced for the expected roar. It never came. Instead, it became unnaturally quiet, save the sound of every person dropping to his knees and bowing before the Mahdi in reverent worship. A strange sensation ran through Javad’s body; then he, too, dropped to his knees and bowed, as did the chief of police and all of the Mahdi’s security detail.
“The formation of a New World Order is of prime importance, and I tell you today that we have taken another major step forward,” the Mahdi began. “The leaders of Egypt have requested my permission to join the Caliphate, and I was most pleased to give my assent.”
Now the crowd roared, as if from one end of Cairo to the other.
“This is just the beginning. The day of the oppressors is over. The age of liberation has come. Full victory is near.”
David checked his watch again.
He paced around the dining room that doubled as Birjandi’s study. There was so much he needed to convey and so many questions he needed to ask, and there wasn’t nearly enough time to accomplish it all. It was Birjandi who had told David to find Najjar Malik, saying that Najjar was the key to unlocking Iran’s nuclear secrets. David had never even heard of Najjar Malik before that day, but how right Birjandi had been. Yet David hadn’t even had a chance yet to tell him how he had found Najjar, much less all that had happened to get him out of Iran and back to the States. Nor had he been able to tell Birjandi of the treasure trove of information Najjar had proven to be. Still, all that seemed like ancient history now, given everything that had happened since.