The Tehran Initiative (28 page)

“You and the translator?”

“Right.”

“You haven’t told Murray?”

“No. I figured you’d want to.”

“No,” Zalinsky said. “We don’t tell anybody. Not a one.”

“What are you talking about, Jack? We can nail them. Right now. We can bag two terrorists. It’ll be a huge coup for the Agency—well, for the Bureau, for the president.”

“No, no, that’s precisely what we don’t want. This can’t go beyond the three of us right now—and definitely not to Tom.”

“Why not? That’s crazy.”

“Stop, Eva. Think. We can’t arrest them. Not now. It’s too obvious. If we take these guys down, Javad Nouri is going to know we can listen in on his calls. Then they’re going to consider all the satellite phones suspect, and then everything we’ve tried to put in place will be for naught. No, we need to follow the trail and see where it leads.”

Eva protested for another few minutes but finally backed down when Zalinsky reminded her of how much danger David would be in if the US government’s ability to intercept the satphones were discovered by the Iranian regime.

“They already suspect him,” Zalinsky said. “We can’t take the risk that they’ll bring him in again. Next time they won’t waterboard him. They’ll kill him.”

“So what do we do?” Eva asked.

“Don’t tell the FBI. Put one of our teams on the bank. Have them shadow Firouz and Jamshad for the next several days and await further orders.”

* * *

The Qaleh, Iran

“Ali, you don’t look happy,” Hosseini said after a while.

They had finished their salads and their salmon entrees and were being served steaming-hot cups of chai. Their conversation had been wide ranging, covering potential US and Israeli responses to an Iranian first strike, Darazi’s belief that the American president did not have the will to launch another war in the Middle East—least of all to save Israel—and Hosseini’s belief that Jackson might order air strikes but wouldn’t let himself be drawn into a ground war like Operation Iraqi Freedom. The key, Hosseini said, was not specifically provoking the Americans by shutting down the Strait of Hormuz or attacking the Iraqi oil fields or directly confronting the US Navy.

Birjandi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought they were insane. He didn’t disagree that this particular American president at this particular time didn’t likely have the fortitude to take on the Islamic Republic militarily. But he was stunned by what he regarded as Hosseini’s and Darazi’s utter and foolish dismissal of Israel’s capacities both to absorb a first strike and to launch an absolutely devastating second strike.

Nevertheless, Birjandi knew better than to try to debate them on geopolitics. They weren’t going to listen to him. That wasn’t why he was there, and they didn’t consider him an expert on such matters. His value, in their eyes, was his knowledge about Islamic prophecy, the Shia perspective on the End Times, and how all of the events they were witnessing and leading would come together to reestablish the Caliphate. He had been listening to both of them for nearly ninety minutes now, only asking an occasional question for clarification. Now he sensed it was time to begin that for which the Lord had sent him. It was clear that Hosseini and Darazi did not have ears to hear nor eyes to see nor hearts to understand the gospel of Jesus Christ or a direct presentation of scriptural truths, as much as he had prayed that they would. But he sensed the Lord telling him to sow seeds of doubt in their minds about their own eschatology, doubts perhaps that the Spirit would reinforce in the hours and days ahead.

“I sincerely apologize for my countenance. I do not mean to burden you.”

“It is no burden,” Hosseini said.

“Still, I am hesitant to bother two important men such as yourselves with my own problems, as trivial as they may be.” Birjandi spoke with great discretion and discernment, playing to the egos he sat with.

“Nonsense,” Hosseini said. “We consider you our friend. What is troubling you?”

“It is probably nothing,” Birjandi replied. “It’s just that I am finding myself wrestling with a few questions in private to which I cannot seem to find answers.”

“Like what?” Darazi asked.

“Really, I needn’t bother you. You both have so much on your minds.”

“Don’t be silly, Ali. Tell us plainly.”

“Well—and please take this in the spirit in which it is intended—merely a question, though a vexing one at that . . .”

“Of course, of course,” they said.

“I just find myself wondering, where is Jesus, peace be upon him?”

There was dead silence. It wasn’t a name that often got mentioned in the presence of the Grand Ayatollah and the president of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

“What do you mean?” Hosseini finally asked, audibly sipping his chai.

“I just mean, wasn’t Jesus supposed to come back before the Mahdi? Isn’t that what the prophecies said? Wasn’t that supposed to be one of the signs?”

“I suppose.”

“Then where is he?”

Neither Hosseini nor Darazi had an answer.

“You have both given sermons that Jesus would come back as the lieutenant to Imam al-Mahdi, right?”

“True.”

“Then as I said, I find myself wondering, where is he?”

Darazi shifted uncomfortably in his seat and asked, “What exactly are you implying, Ali?”

“I am not implying anything,” Birjandi replied calmly. “I am simply asking where I went wrong. Please don’t misunderstand me. You preached that one of the signs preceding the Mahdi’s return would be the coming of Jesus to require all infidels to convert to Islam or die by the sword. You did that because I taught you that. I taught you that because of a lifetime of studying the ancient texts and so many commentaries on the same. Yet Jesus is nowhere to be found. The infidels have not been warned. It’s bothering me. Because that’s not all. There are other prophecies that I have not seen fulfilled, and I am wondering why.”

“Other prophecies?” Darazi pressed. “Which ones?”

“I hesitate to continue,” Birjandi said. “I don’t want to be misinterpreted. I’m just trying to be honest with the ancient texts.”

“No, go on,” Hosseini said. “Ahmed and I have always valued your insights. Now we value your questions as well.”

“You are certain, my friend?”

“Most certain,” Hosseini replied.

“Very well,” Birjandi said. “If you insist.” He paused a moment, then began again. “In my work done through the Bright Future Institute, I identified and outlined five distinct signs that would precede the arrival or the appearance of the Hidden Imam. The first sign was supposed to be the rise of a fighter from Yemen called the Yamani, who attacks the enemies of Islam. This actually does seem to have been fulfilled. There have been a whole series of violent attacks against Christians in Yemen in recent years and even in the weeks leading up to the appearance of the Mahdi.”

His listeners said nothing, but Birjandi sensed them nodding, silently encouraging him to continue.

“The second sign is the rise of an anti-Mahdi militant leader named Osman Ben Anbase, who will also be known as Sofiani. This figure is supposed to be joined by another anti-Mahdi militant called Dajal. Many Muslim clerics liken this figure to the Christian notion of the Antichrist. The uprising of Sofiani was supposed to precede the reappearance of the Mahdi in Mecca by exactly six months,” Birjandi observed. “These two forces were supposed to occupy Syria and Jordan and advance from there. Did this happen? When? Where? I never saw it. When were the forces of good led in battle by the man from Khorasan? When was the epic battle that was prophesied to happen near the city of Kufa, in the Shia heartland of southern Iraq? Did I miss it? Did you?”

Neither Hosseini nor Darazi replied.

“The third distinct sign,” Birjandi continued, “is to be voices from the sky, the most prominent of which is supposed to be that of the angel Gabriel, gathering the faithful around the Mahdi. That seems to have just happened in Beirut. It was only one angelic voice, to be sure, not multiple voices or a host of angels, but still, I think it’s fair to say that this prophecy was fulfilled, or at least partially so. But that should have led to the fourth sign, the destruction of Sofiani’s army. However, since Sofiani never seems to have come, never seems to have raised an army, and certainly hasn’t seized control of Syria or Jordan, I do not believe this prophecy has been—or can be—fulfilled. And the question I keep asking myself is why.”

Still no response. Birjandi continued anyway.

“The fifth sign is supposed to be the death of a holy man by the name of Muhammad bin Hassan, called Nafse Zakiye, or the pure soul. The Mahdi is supposed to appear in Mecca fifteen days after this figure is killed. I have been pondering this for days, but I can’t see how this prophecy was fulfilled. Granted, the Mahdi’s army is supposed to begin with 313 faithful Muslims and grow into ten thousand, fifty of whom will be women. This is in the process of happening, so that’s noteworthy. But some of the other minor details of the Mahdi’s coming haven’t come to pass either. He doesn’t appear to be wearing a ring that belonged to King Solomon. Nor is he holding the wooden stick that Moses held when he parted the Red Sea. Does it matter? Maybe not. But I feel a great sense of responsibility. I have been studying the Last Things most of my adult life. I have been preaching and teaching these things for as long as you have been gracious enough to give me the freedom to do so. But something isn’t adding up. Something’s wrong. And I keep asking: what?”

34

Washington, DC

Najjar was awakened by the cell phone ringing.

He had slept in the Toyota in an underground parking garage all night because he had nowhere else to go and had been too embarrassed to ask the staff at the TV station for help. Now his neck and back ached and he scrambled to find the phone and check the caller ID. He was afraid it might be the neighbors or, worse, the police but was startled to see it was a call from London.

“Hello?” he asked cautiously.

“Is this Dr. Najjar Malik?”

“Who’s calling?”

“My name is Nigel Moore. I’m the senior producer for BBC Persian. Do you have a moment?”

Najjar sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and checked his watch. It was just after seven on Wednesday morning, Washington time, half past three back in Iran. He suddenly realized he was famished.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Honestly, my colleague whom you talked with yesterday was quite skeptical about your story. But we spent most of the night doing our homework and talking to sources, and we’re much more interested now.”

Najjar tensed. Was he being set up? “I’m not sure I’m interested any longer, but thank you for calling.”

He was about to hang up the phone, but the producer pleaded with him to stay on the line.

“You were absolutely right,” Moore said. “This would be a huge story, unlike anything we’ve done in quite some time. You’ve got a very compelling story to tell, and it should be heard. We’re grateful you considered us.”

“I’m not interested in being played, Mr. Moore,” Najjar responded. “I’ve got governments trying to arrest me and people trying to kill me, and I was hoping for more understanding from the BBC, of all places.”

“You have it now, Dr. Malik. I’m very sorry. I know you have to be careful. I understand that. I do. But please understand that we have to be careful too. We can’t just let anyone come on the air. People try to play us every day. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I guess that would be true.”

“Listen, Dr. Malik, rumors are flying that a war is going to break out any moment between Iran and Israel or between the US and Iran. Have you heard the news this morning?”

“No. What?”

“President Jackson ordered a second aircraft carrier battle group into the Persian Gulf, but the
Washington Post
says the White House has been engaged in secret discussions with the Twelfth Imam and that the president has accepted the Mahdi’s invitation to talk by phone next Tuesday.”

“He’s stalling.”

“Who?”

“The Mahdi.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s going to launch the warheads, probably this weekend, but no later than Monday,” Najjar said.

“How can you say that?” Moore asked. “Based on what?”

“Mr. Moore, the Mahdi has control of eight nuclear warheads. Someone just tried to assassinate him. Maybe it was the Americans. Maybe it was the Israelis. But it doesn’t really matter. He wants revenge. He wants to destroy Judeo-Christian society once and for all. And he’s about to try.”

“He keeps saying he wants peace.”

“If he were really interested in peace, he’d be on the phone with the president right now. Why wait six days? There’s only one reason. To stall until he can launch.”

“Come onto our network and say that,” Moore said. “The world needs to hear your perspective. We’ll tape an hour-long special. Maybe even a two-part series, if you’d like. This is an incredible moment, Dr. Malik. Remember, you came to us first. We did our due diligence. Now we’re ready. What do you say?”

This was the moment of truth. He had to decide. He’d already shared with the Christian network his story of seeing the vision of Jesus Christ and renouncing Islam. BBC Persian was a huge opportunity. Plus, Moore was right; he had come to them. Najjar glanced in the rearview mirror. He looked horrible—unshowered, unshaven, bloodshot eyes. But he felt the Holy Spirit prompting him to say yes. He had asked for an opportunity to share the gospel with his people and to warn them war was coming. This was another open door, and a significant one at that.

“Okay, Mr. Moore, I will do it,” he finally replied. “But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not going to do it taped. It has to be live, and it has to be now.”

“The BBC doesn’t take well to conditions,” Moore replied.

“Fair enough; then I pass.”

“No, wait.”

“Yes?”

One of the BBC’s most senior producers was calculating the payoff on a huge risk. “I can’t get you on before ten Eastern. But if you can get to our DC studio by nine thirty, we’ll get you into makeup, walk you through a few logistics, and do a full-hour live interview from ten to eleven.”