“Fine,” the minister said. “Get him here so he can see Imam al-Mahdi.”
“Well, that’s just it, sir. She doesn’t know exactly where he is.”
“What?”
“She only knows he’s somewhere here in the capital.”
“Can’t she call him?”
“She has, sir, numerous times. But he’s not picking up. Like I said, he’s in mourning with his family. He probably turned his phone off.”
The defense minister cursed and slammed his fist on the desk. “I don’t care,” he shouted. “Just find him!”
David was entering the outskirts of Tehran when his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID and recognized the number as one used by Eva Fischer in Dubai.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Reza, it’s me,” she said. “The boss needs you to call him.”
“I’m kind of busy at the moment, Eva. Can it wait?”
“I’m afraid it can’t,” Eva said. “It’s about the expense reports for your team. They’re racking up quite a bill over there already.”
David sighed. “Expense reports” was Eva’s code. Whenever she mentioned them on an unencrypted call, he knew he was supposed to call Zalinsky immediately on a secure line.
“No problem; I’ll call him as soon as I get back to the hotel,” he said for the benefit of Iranian intelligence, sure to be taping this like all other international calls.
“I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks,” David said. “How’s business?”
“It’s picking up,” she said cryptically. “We’re going to have a good quarter so long as you and the boys there don’t spend us into oblivion.”
“We’ll try to be more careful.”
“I know you will,” Eva said. “Now get some sleep. Bye.”
David hung up the phone and checked his rearview mirror as he turned off the Saidi Highway and headed north through the city’s western neighborhoods. He hadn’t seen anyone following him at any point during the trip from Dr. Birjandi’s, but now that he was back in Tehran, he took special care. He joined the hundreds of cars that clogged Azadi Square, circling the iconic Azadi Tower, also called Freedom Tower, built in 1971 to celebrate the 2,500th anniversary of the founding of the Persian Empire. David took the exit onto Meraj Avenue, past the National Cartographic Center and the Iranian Meteorological Organization, before taking a left on Forudgah, just beyond the airport grounds. Satisfied that he was alone, he pulled into a quiet little neighborhood of single-family homes and parked on Hasanpur Street. There he pulled out his phone again, switched to the encrypted system, and dialed Zalinsky’s private line from memory.
This must be big, he thought. He was taking a risk making this call from inside the capital. It was impossible for Iran’s intelligence services to hear what he was about to say or what was being said to him. But if they were watching him closely, he was bound to trigger suspicion.
Zalinsky picked up on the first ring. “Have you ever heard of a Dr. Najjar Malik?” he asked immediately.
And hello to you, too, Jack. “Why do you ask?” David said, startled by the request.
“I’ve just decided he’s the highest-value target in the country at the moment,” Zalinsky said. He explained the intercepted calls and the enormous and growing urgency inside the Defense Ministry and the Twelfth Imam’s inner circle to find Malik. “We know he’s a wanted man, but we know almost nothing about him.”
“I do,” David said. “He may be the key in helping us unlock the entire Iranian nuclear weapons program.”
“Talk to me,” Zalinsky insisted.
“Malik was born February 1, 1979,” David said, drawing on the profile Birjandi had sketched out for him just hours before. “He’s Persian but was raised in Samarra, Iraq. Speaks Arabic, Farsi, and English fluently. Did his doctoral work in nuclear physics at the University of Baghdad. Dr. Saddaji recruited him to come to Iran soon after 9/11, though I’m not sure exactly when. Malik married Saddaji’s daughter and became Saddaji’s right-hand man. They worked out of a place called Facility 278, which I’m told is the headquarters for the nuclear weapons development team. Saddaji oversaw Iran’s entire civilian nuclear power program. But that was his cover. Most of the day-to-day work on the civilian side was run by Malik. Saddaji himself focused primarily on building weapons. But he used very few Iranians. Most of his team is comprised of Pakistanis whom Saddaji hired from A. Q. Khan. Apparently, Saddaji also recruited a senior Iraqi nuclear scientist. Bottom line: Najjar Malik wasn’t just on the inside; he was family. As far as I can tell, he knows everything about the program, and he knows where the bodies are buried. I’m guessing that’s why the Twelfth Imam wants to meet with him so badly. They need someone new to run the weapons program now that Saddaji is dead.”
“Who’s your source?”
David explained who Alireza Birjandi was, his relationship with the leaders of the regime, and the time they had just spent together.
“You’re saying this Birjandi is a senior advisor to the Supreme Leader?” Zalinsky asked.
“He’s not on the payroll, but from all that I have gathered, few people are closer to Hosseini or Darazi. You should ask Eva for more. She’s the one who first told me about him and has been working up a profile on the guy.”
“And you believe him?” Zalinsky pressed.
“I do.”
“Even the conversion story?”
“It’s strange, I know, but I think he honestly believes it.”
“Why?”
“Why else would he tell me? I mean, it’s a capital offense here to convert to Christianity. Especially if you’re a spiritual advisor to the Supreme Leader. Why tell a complete stranger? It’s a statement against interest.”
“Why is he talking to you?”
It was a good question, one David had been contemplating since the moment he left the man’s house. “Birjandi strikes me as a classic dissident,” he told Zalinsky. “No one knows more about Islam than him, but Islam has failed him. The regime has failed him. And now he’s rejected both. What’s more, he’s deeply worried the leadership is going to bring ruin upon his country.”
“How?”
“By trying to bring about the end of the world. And Birjandi believes they now have the means to do it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Birjandi says the regime now has eight nuclear warheads ready to go.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“How does he know?”
“Hosseini told him.”
“When?”
“The last time they met for lunch, about a week ago.”
Zalinsky was silent for so long that David finally asked if he was still on the line.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Zalinsky replied.
“Why aren’t you asking me if I have any proof?”
“Do you?”
“No,” David said, “but it’s strange you’re not asking.”
“I’m not asking because I already believe you.”
“Why?”
“The president ordered the Constant Phoenix pass over Iran.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“And we got the seismic report. You were right. There was a nuclear explosion in a mountain range just west of Hamadan. That’s what triggered the earthquake. So that’s it. Iran has the Bomb. The Israelis are about to launch a preemptive strike. And we’re out of time.”
David was silent for a few moments. The magnitude of what was unfolding was almost more than he could bear.
“Does this Birjandi guy know where those warheads are at the moment?” Zalinsky asked. “They can’t possibly still be in Hamadan?”
“No, you’re right,” David said. “He says they’ve been scattered all over the country. But he says our best shot is finding Najjar Malik before the Iranians do.”
“Malik knows?”
“We’ll see, but he’s our best shot.”