He considered calling the head of the MDS tech team in Tehran. Maybe he could help David break into Iran Telecom’s database and at least get Najjar Malik’s cell phone number. Without it, Langley and the NSA couldn’t listen in on Najjar’s calls in real time once he turned his phone back on. But once the man turned his phone on, how much time would he have before VEVAK triangulated his position and swooped in to take him down? Ten minutes? Fifteen, tops? Even if the NSA was listening in, there wouldn’t be enough time to find him before the Iranian authorities did.
David rubbed his eyes and stared in the mirror. He wondered if he should call Dr. Birjandi. The man had been extraordinarily helpful in so many ways. But to talk on an open line was too much of a risk. And what exactly would he ask? The old man didn’t have a crystal ball, though David desperately wished that he did.
He glanced at his watch. It was now almost quarter past six. The call of the muezzin would begin soon, and dawn prayers would start before the sun rose. He still had no desire to pray, certainly not to the god of Islam. But once again, he had no choice. He had to maintain his cover, however worthless it seemed at the moment.
Thousands of men were already on their knees, bowing toward Mecca, by the time David arrived by taxi at the Imam Khomeini Mosque. He paid the driver, ran in, performed his ritual washing, and found a spot in the back. He knelt down, bowed toward Mecca, and picked up the morning prayers in progress.
“Glory to my Lord, the Most High,” David began, chanting in unison with the others. “Glory to my Lord, the Most High. Glory to my Lord, the Most High. Allah is great. All good, whether rendered by speech, by prayer, by deed, or by worship, is for Allah only. Peace be unto you, O Prophet, and the mercy and blessings of Allah. Peace be unto us and the righteous servants of Allah.”
At the next line, however, he froze. He knew what was coming. But he couldn’t say it.
“I bear witness that there is no God except Allah, and Muhammad is His slave and Messenger.”
Everyone else chanted the words, but David did not. He had said them thousands of times. But this time he could not. He continued going through the motions, hoping no one would notice he had stopped speaking.
Someone did.
“What happened?” the man beside him to his right whispered as the room continued chanting.
“What do you mean?” David whispered back.
“You stopped praying,” the man said, bowing in unison with David and the others.
“I didn’t,” David lied, his heart racing. “I just had… to clear my throat.”
David bowed again and finished this particular prayer more loudly than usual, making certain all those around could hear him clearly.
“As you praised and venerated Abraham and the followers of Abraham, in the worlds, surely You are praised and magnified,” he chanted. “Amen. Peace be unto you and the mercy of Allah. Peace be unto you and the mercy of Allah.”
But the stranger on his right would not let it go. As they moved on to a different prayer, he began asking David questions.
“Are you new here? I’ve never seen you here before.”
David grew more concerned. “I’m from Dubai,” he whispered between chants. “Germany, actually, but-”
The man cut him off. “Munich?”
David was silent.
“Is your name Reza?” the man asked.
David was stunned but tried to keep his cool and continued praying. Maybe this was one of Esfahani’s men. He had met Esfahani here before. Or maybe it was one of Rashidi’s men. Maybe Javad Nouri had sent a colleague to summon him, though for what he couldn’t imagine.
“Why do you ask?”
There was a long pause while the two men continued praying in synchronization with the thousands of others in the great mosque.
“Because my name is Najjar Malik,” the stranger said. “As soon as this prayer is over, get up and follow me.”
83
The baby’s cries woke Sheyda just before dawn.
And the call to prayer from a nearby minaret wasn’t far behind.
Sheyda rubbed her eyes and forced herself to get up, surprised to find that Najjar was not at her side. Assuming he was in the bathroom, she rolled over, picked up the baby, and tried to nurse her. Only then did she see the note Najjar had left on the bedside table saying that he had gone out and would be back soon. Something about that troubled her, but she was not sure what.
Eager to find out if he was okay, Sheyda asked her mother, just waking up as well, if she would get her cell phone out of her pocketbook and bring it to her so she could call Najjar without moving the baby. Farah was still groggy, but she happily got up and found Sheyda’s cell phone and turned it on.
“Not that it’s going to do you any good, dear,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Look,” Farah replied, pointing to the counter by the kitchenette.
Najjar had forgotten to take his cell phone. Sheyda sighed with disappointment, her anxiety growing. She asked her mother to turn it on and check for new messages. There were none, Farah reported as she set the phone back on the counter and went to wash for prayer.
The baby was fussing. She didn’t want to eat, so Sheyda got up and walked her around the room, patting her lightly on the back and swinging her gently in her arms. Farah finished washing and bowed down on the carpet, but not toward Mecca. After much discussion over the past few days, the three of them had decided as a family to pray toward Jerusalem instead, and to do so in the name of Jesus. Farah prayed for a few minutes, but the baby wasn’t calming down. In fact, she seemed to be crying louder.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sheyda said. “Let me take her for a walk, and I’ll come back when you’re done.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Farah said. “I’ll go with you. We could all use a little fresh air. She’ll fall asleep, and then we can both come back, put her down for a nap, and pray together.”
David’s head was filling with questions.
But his only hope for answers was about ten paces ahead of him and moving rapidly toward the east gate.
David worked his way quickly through the thick crowd, trying not to lose sight of the man claiming to be Najjar Malik. Was this a setup? How could it not be? How could this really be Najjar Malik? If it was, why would Najjar have come to him? And why here? The mosque was crawling with undercover policemen and intelligence operatives.
An elderly man hobbled into his path, and David almost knocked the poor man over in his bid to keep up with the stranger. For a moment, he lost visual contact. He turned to the right but saw nothing. He turned to the left and noticed the man turning a corner. He made sure the old man was okay, then elbowed his way through the crowd, walking as fast as he could to catch up but not daring to run lest he draw too much attention-which meant any attention at all.
A moment later, David caught up to the stranger, who was getting into a car parked along a side street. The man motioned for David to get in quickly. David looked up one end of the street and down the other. There were plenty of people still pouring out of the mosque and walking through the surrounding neighborhoods, but no one looked particularly worrisome. Besides, even if someone had looked threatening, David was too intrigued not to get in the car and find out who this was.
The instant David closed the door, the stranger hit the accelerator and pulled out onto Panzdah e-Khordad boulevard.
“Who are you really?” David asked.
“My name is Dr. Najjar Malik,” the man said, pulling his Iranian passport from his trouser pocket and handing it over.