“The Chinese couldn’t care less about international intelligence agencies,” Esfahani said.
“But you have to,” David said, taking a risk. “Look, these phones aren’t for just anyone. They’re for the Lord of the Age, correct? Shouldn’t he have the very best?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll be blunt. The Chinese phones stink. I mean, they’ll do if you’re a business guy trying to sell steel or cars or toys or whatever. But you told me you needed state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Then you need me, not the Chinese,” David assured him. “We just have to make sure we do it the right way so you don’t invite scrutiny that you don’t need and I don’t get caught by my company. We have to do it in a way that provides Imam al-Mahdi and his team with exactly what they need so they can talk without Beijing or the Russians or, Allah forbid, the Americans or the Zionists listening in.”
“You’re right,” Esfahani said. “We need to be careful.”
“You’re trying to help the Mahdi-peace be upon him-build an army,” David continued. “I want to help you. I want to be part of changing history. Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll get you whatever you need. You have my word.”
“I appreciate that. Now let me see what you brought me,” Esfahani said.
David took him to the car, opened the trunk, and gave him the five boxes.
Esfahani opened one and smiled. “These are nice.”
“Best in the world.”
“My people back in Tehran scrubbed the ones you gave them this morning,” Esfahani said, leafing through one of the instruction manuals. “They said they’re all clean.”
“They are. I checked them all myself before I brought them from Munich. This is the very same phone the chancellor of Germany uses, and the president of France, and the prime minister of Italy, and all of their top staff. And believe me, the Europeans don’t want the Americans or Israelis intercepting their calls either.”
“You’ve done well, Reza. I am very grateful.”
“It’s an honor to help my country,” David said. “I want only the best for my people.”
“I believe that’s true,” Esfahani said, taking the five boxes to his own car and locking them in the trunk. “Which is why I want to tell you something.”
Then Esfahani quietly explained what the Group of 313 was and why he and Rashidi were searching for devout Shia Muslims who possessed strong administrative and technical skills and would be completely loyal to the Mahdi.
“We are recruiting an army of ten thousand mujahideen ready to give their lives to annihilate Tel Aviv, Washington, New York, and Los Angeles and usher in the reign of the Promised One.”
David didn’t dare say anything that might get Esfahani suspicious. “How can I join?” he asked after a few moments.
“No one joins,” Esfahani said. “You must be chosen.”
“But you could recommend me.”
“We are considering you. Mr. Rashidi will decide. But if you can deliver all these phones quickly, I think you will win his confidence and his recommendation.”
David couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he wondered what Zalinsky would say.
“I will do my best to earn that honor.”
“I know you will. In the meantime, I want you to learn from a master. He is one of our greatest scholars and he lives close to here. You will spend the evening there; there are no hotels available anyway. Tomorrow, I expect you to start working on the rest of the phones we require. But for tonight, you will sit at a master’s feet and learn about our beloved Imam.”
“Who is he?”
“He is a great teacher. He also happens to be related to Daryush.”
David immediately knew whom he meant, but he said nothing.
“Have you ever heard of Dr. Alireza Birjandi?” Esfahani asked.
“Of course,” David said. “I recently read one of his books. But isn’t he living in seclusion?”
“I think he would like to meet you. He is a professor at heart, and he loves bright, young, eager minds.”
“I couldn’t impose on him.”
“It is all arranged. You should bring the man some food. It is never acceptable to visit empty-handed.”
“That is very gracious,” David said. “May Allah bless you and your family. May I ask one more question before I leave?”
“Of course,” Esfahani said. “What is it?”
“Did Imam al-Mahdi actually reveal himself here in Hamadan?”
“Yes, he did,” Esfahani said. “It was astounding!”
“Did he really heal a woman who had her legs crushed in the earthquake?”
“Yes, he did. Everyone has been talking about it.”
“But how do you know it’s really true?” David asked. “I’m always a little skeptical about what I hear on the news.”
“You are a very wise and thoughtful young man,” Esfahani answered. “But I didn’t hear it on the news.”
“How then?”
“I was there.”
73
An hour later, David arrived at Alireza Birjandi’s house.
It was a modest, single-story, two-bedroom home that might be called a bungalow back in the States. Built of concrete and wood on the outskirts of the city, it appeared to David as if it dated back to the 1940s or 50s and hadn’t seen many updates since.
Carrying a bag of bread and cheese, a sack of potatoes, and a case of bottled water that Esfahani had given him from the Iran Telecom regional substation’s supplies, David went up to the front door and knocked several times. It took a few minutes, but the elderly cleric finally came to the door carrying a white cane and wearing dark glasses.
Esfahani had failed to mention that the man was blind.
“Is that you, Mr. Tabrizi?” the old man said, his voice sad, his body frail and gaunt. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“It is, but please, call me Reza.”
“Is that what they’re calling you these days? Very well; please come in.”
David was a bit startled by that response and was glad Birjandi couldn’t see his reaction. What did the man mean by that? What else would people be calling him?
“Forgive me for being late,” David said. “I got a bit lost.”
“That is quite all right,” Birjandi said. “I can’t imagine driving out there at all right now. Of course, I’ve never driven, but still…”
His voice trailed off, and David felt sorry for the old man. “Mr. Esfahani speaks very highly of you,” he said. “It is a great honor to meet you. Thank you for making time to see me on such short notice.”
“It is nothing,” Birjandi sighed. “Daryush and Abdol speak very highly of you, as well. You seem to have made quite an impression.”
“Well, they have been very kind to me. Oh, and Mr. Esfahani asked me to bring you these groceries and said he would send more supplies over soon.”
“He’s a good boy,” Birjandi said. “I’ve known him since he was eight years old. He and Daryush were the best of friends growing up. Did he tell you that?”
“No, sir,” David said, noting this new clue. “He never mentioned it.”
“Well, they were very competitive boys,” Birjandi said with a touch more animation in his voice. “I’m sure Abdol can’t stand the fact that Daryush is the boss. It was always the reverse when they were kids. Abdol was smarter, faster, stronger-learned the entire Qur’an by the time he was ten. Not Daryush. I don’t think he ever memorized it. But Daryush… Well, let’s just say he was more diplomatic, had more savvy than Abdol. It’s made all the difference. Now come, let’s put the food away; then we’ll go into my study and talk.”
As they entered Birjandi’s home, David was immediately struck by the sheer number of books that were in the living room alone. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, and every shelf was stacked with so many tomes the shelves themselves were sagging and looked like they might collapse at any moment. Books were piled on the floors and on chairs, together with boxes of scholarly journals and other publications, and David couldn’t help but wonder what a blind man living alone did with them all. Nothing looked dusty or filthy, so he wondered if someone came and cleaned on a regular basis. He certainly couldn’t imagine this poor old man taking care of this home himself. Fortunately, aside from a cracked front window and some noticeable cracks in his walls and ceiling, the house had sustained remarkably little damage from the earthquake.