The weapon’s familiar staccato booms exploded and deafened Liora, but she heard the sudden mirroring of the sound all around her as the protest turned into a massacre. She shoved the dead man from her. His blood covered her clothing and her hands. Unable to stop herself, she screamed and cried out for Reza. She thought she might have heard his voice crying out for her, but she wasn’t certain.
‘Do you still want to pay your respects to Neda Agha-Soltan, girl?’ The Basij grinned and pointed his AK-47 at her. ‘Maybe they’ll put you in the grave next to her.’
His finger tightened on the trigger. Liora never saw the gunfire. Pain screamed through her mind, then a black pit opened up under her. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she remembered Neda Agha-Soltan’s final words:
‘I’m burning! I’m burning!’
6
As he watched the bloody mess the Neda Agha-Soltan protest had turned into on his plasma television, Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Khamenei’s flushed with rage.
At least there was satisfaction in watching his Basij kill and maim the protestors. They were obstacles to all of the Muslim world reuniting and become one faith strong enough to stand against the West and bringing the cleansing faith of the jihad against all nonbelievers.
‘Supreme Leader.’ Allameh Rajai stood at the door. A tall man with a black beard and round-lensed glasses, he carried himself with military erectness. Most of the scars on his face were hidden by his beard, but others showed where he’d been hit by shrapnel and knife blades. A bullet had caromed through his left jaw and required reconstructive surgery. He’d been twelve at the time, already fighting for his faith.
The Ayatollah had been so engrossed in the television program that he hadn’t heard his aide enter. He muted the news broadcast and waved the man over. ‘What is it, Allameh?’
‘Your son Vali awaits your audience.’
Khamenei smiled and stroked his graying beard. Vali had been an unexpected prize, and he enjoyed the boy’s company immensely. So curious and so dutiful. ‘Please show him in.’
‘I also have news of Colonel Davari.’
‘Give me the report first. My son will wait a few minutes. Patience is a strength.’
‘I have had contact with Colonel Davari. He is on the ground in the Gaza Strip and expects shortly to be meeting with Commander Meshal.’
‘Good, good. Everything is proceeding according to plan.’ The Ayatollah clasped his hands behind him and took a deep breath as he centered himself. The images on the television continued to play.
Despite the violence and stupidity displayed there, he didn’t like the idea of people dying because they were not well enough informed. If they only knew everything he did, if he had Mohammad’s Koran, the violence between the different Muslim factions would end. God willing, he would have the Book soon.
He turned back to Allameh. ‘What about the infidel?’
Allameh picked up the reference smoothly. ‘Klaus Von Volker will meet with Colonel Davari in Lebanon. His people have brought another shipment in to Commander Meshal’s people.’
‘Instruct Colonel Davari to enlist Von Volker’s aid in the apprehension of that Jewish dog, Lev Strauss. He has gone to ground in Jerusalem, and our agents attract too much attention from the Mossad. They will never find Strauss in time.’
‘Of course.’ Allameh bowed.
‘Send in my son. His smile is given to me by God, and he will brighten my day.’
A few minutes later, young Vali stood just inside the room. Seven years old, he stood straight and tall, and his father proudly took note of the warrior already blossoming in his son. His hair was thick and black, his eyes deep brown pools in his handsome face.
The Ayatollah motioned. ‘Come to your father, boy. I would tell you a story.’
‘Of course, Father.’ Obediently, the boy walked to the Ayatollah’s side. ‘I have heard there were protests today.’
‘It is nothing. My people are taking care of it even as we visit.’ The Ayatollah smiled at his young son.
‘I wish I were old enough to fight our enemies.’
‘One day, my son, you will be. Until then, you will be your father’s joy, and I will thank God for every day we have.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Join me in the garden.’ The Ayatollah dropped a hand to the boy’s shoulder and guided him into the private garden that abutted the rooms.
The rectangular garden contained an abundance of flowers, shrubs, and trees. It was surrounded by a high wall, and closed-circuit television as well as human guards watched over every inch.
The Ayatollah loved the garden because it reminded him of the old stories in the Koran. The modern world, especially all Western things, were kept at bay. He sat at the edge of a fountain built on an artesian well. The flowing water burbled and sparkled on the leaves of the acacia shrubs that lined the fountain except in the sitting areas.
‘I have told you the miraculous story of Mohammad before, my son.’
The child grinned. ‘Many times, Father. But it is all right. I never tire of hearing you tell it.’
Leaning forward, the Ayatollah ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘It is one of my favorite stories, too. My father told it to me all my life. I wish that he had lived to tell it to you.’
‘When we get to heaven, he will tell it to me then.’
The Ayatollah smiled. ‘Yes, that will be so. However, you are in for a treat today, for I am going to tell you a part of the story I have never told you before.’
The child’s eyes shone in expectation.
One of the Ayatollah’s eldest wives — not the boy’s mother — brought out a plate of fruits, honey, and bread, and a carafe of fresh water. She placed the plate between them without a word, then left.
The Ayatollah waved to the plate, and the boy chose a date and popped it into his mouth.
‘And so it came to pass that God laid a heavy burden on the soul of Mohammad.’ The Ayatollah gave himself over to the story, picturing the events in his mind. ‘During the night at Mount Hira, the angel Gabriel visited Mohammad, who was an old man living in Medina at this time.’
‘Older even than you, Father?’
The Ayatollah chuckled. ‘Yes, older than me, but not for much longer, I’m afraid. I’m swiftly catching up.’ He paused. ‘So Gabriel talked to Mohammad and told him it was God’s command that he acknowledge God by telling everyone to read in the name of the Lord and Cherisher. He was to tell them that God created Man from a blood clot, that God was bountiful, and that God taught Man the use of a pen that he might teach Man other things that were not known. When these things were written down, they became the Koran.’
The boy plucked another date from the serving tray. ‘That was only the first time Gabriel visited Mohammad.’
‘That’s correct, my son. After Mohammad set about the work God had tasked him to do, many obstacles were placed in his path.’
‘Like the obstacles you have in your path, Father.’
‘Yes. Exactly. I do not view my obstacles as tests of faith. I am strong in my faith. These obstacles only make my faith stronger. I am better for them.’
‘And Gabriel visited Mohammad again.’
‘Indeed, he did. This time Mohammad was near the Ka’ba in Mecca.’ The Ayatollah listened to the birds chirping in the trees and the water burbling. The sun felt good on his skin. And he enjoyed his son’s company. ‘Gabriel returned and guided Mohammad through the Isra and Mi’raj.’