One report that caught his attention on the way came from the official Saudi news agency. Every seat on every flight coming into the kingdom in the next seventy-two hours was full. A spokesman for Saudi Arabian Airlines said they were doing everything they possibly could to add charter flights, but he pleaded for patience and understanding.
So far, David noticed, the palace in Riyadh had not put out any official statement, either positive or negative, commenting on the Twelfth Imam’s coming to Mecca. But he interpreted the efforts of the Saudi government to move so quickly to truck in hundreds of thousands of tons of food, millions of gallons of water, and tens of thousands of additional tents as a sign of the Sunni kingdom’s acceptance, however reluctant, that the Shia leader’s imminent journey to Mecca was a fait accompli.
The question was, why?
It didn’t make sense that Saudi Arabia’s Sunni leaders were countenancing this visit by the Twelfth Imam to their country at all, much less enabling it. Why was the king essentially rolling out the red carpet for a religious figure in whom he did not believe, a political leader who could in a single sermon steal his kingdom right out from under the House of Saud? Was someone forcing their hand? Were they being blackmailed?
Tehran, Iran
“What do you mean you can’t find him?”
Defense Minister Faridzadeh had been up all night, and he was apoplectic. It had been hours since he had ordered his staff to track down Najjar Malik. Since issuing the orders, Faridzadeh had been locked away in his office, consumed with poring over the final results of the nuclear warhead test. It had never dawned on him that his aides were so inept as to be unable to find the man who was now the most important figure in the Iranian nuclear program.
“We don’t even know if he is alive,” Faridzadeh’s chief of staff explained, standing in the center of his boss’s spacious corner office in the Ministry of Defense.
“Why not?”
“Hamadan is still chaos, sir. There’s not enough food or water. The roads are a disaster. The phone system is only now coming back online. Tens of thousands are dead. Over a hundred thousand have been wounded, and many of those getting medical treatment don’t have identification with them.”
“Has anyone personally gone to Dr. Malik’s apartment and knocked on the door?”
“We tried, but the apartment was completely destroyed by the earthquake.”
“No survivors?”
“None, sir.”
“So he could be at the bottom of all that rubble?”
“It’s possible, sir.”
“What about the staff at Facility 278? Have any of them heard from Dr. Malik?”
“He was at the plant the night of Dr. Saddaji’s funeral, but no one we’ve talked to has seen or heard from him since.”
Faridzadeh stared at his chief of staff and delivered his ultimatum. “You’ve got six hours to find him and bring him to me. Don’t ask for a minute more.”
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Zalinsky checked his caller ID and tensed.
“Zalinsky,” he said, picking up the phone on the third ring.
“Jack, it’s Tom Murray. I’m calling from Langley.”
“Hey, Tom.”
“We’ve got a problem,” the deputy director for operations said.
“What’s that?”
“I received a very uncomfortable call from the director.”
“What about?”
“Apparently President Jackson just got off the phone with Prime Minister Naphtali. Naphtali won’t say whether the Israelis took out Mohammed Saddaji or not. But he did say Israeli intelligence is detecting significant radiation emanating from a mountain west of Hamadan. What do you know about this?”
“Nothing concrete, sir,” Zalinsky answered, not exactly lying but not quite telling the whole truth either.
“You have a man in Hamadan right now, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does he have indications that the Iranians may have just conducted a nuclear test there?”
“He’s hearing rumors, sir, but nothing solid.”
“Rumors?”
“Speculation,” Zalinsky said. “Hearsay. But there’s nothing to back it up.”
“The Israelis are requesting a Constant Phoenix pass over the city,” Murray said. “The president was blindsided by the request. He’s furious that no one gave him a heads-up that there was even a possibility that the earthquake could have been triggered by a nuclear weapons test. Not us, not DIA, not the Pentagon.”
“We’re working on it, sir,” Zalinsky assured the DDO.
“It’s not enough,” Murray fumed. “You need to do better, Jack. The president is ordering Constant Phoenix to head to Iran, but we won’t have data for another twenty-four hours. You need to get me something more, and fast.”
“We’re on it, sir.”
But Murray wasn’t finished. “What’s all this commotion about the coming of the Twelfth Imam?” he demanded to know. “Naphtali said the arrival of the Twelfth Imam could mean the Iranians are close to launching a strike against Israel. The Saudi ambassador was just at the White House and told the president the Iranians say the Twelfth Imam is going to give a major address in Mecca, and the king is afraid the Iranians are planning to overthrow his regime by flooding the country with Shias from Iran. Quite frankly, until today, neither the president nor I had even heard of the Twelfth Imam except as some vague Muslim concept.”
“My people are working on all that, too, sir,” Zalinsky said. “But we need more time.”
At that, Murray lost it. “We don’t have more time. You’re supposed to keep me ahead of the game. I needed something yesterday. I gave you all the money you requested—black box, no congressional oversight—and what have you given me in return? Nothing, Jack. Nothing I can use.”
Murray was right, and it made Zalinsky ill. He was failing his boss and his country at a critical moment, something that had never happened in his life. He tried to stay calm. All he had new on the Twelfth Imam was Zephyr’s memo. He cringed at the thought of sending that up the chain of command but wasn’t sure what else to do.
“I’ll get you something soon,” Zalinsky promised.
“You’ve got six hours,” Murray said. “I want a backgrounder on the Twelfth Imam and hard new intel on what’s happening in Hamadan on my desk. And I want an update every six hours after that. You need to squeeze your people, Jack. All of them. The director said he’s never seen the president so livid. He’s afraid the Israelis are going to launch any minute. You have got to get ahead of this, or there will be hell to pay.”
80
Zalinsky called Eva into his office.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, startled by his ashen face.
“Tell me we have something new—anything—on the Iranian weapons program and the Twelfth Imam,” he demanded.
“We do, Jack,” Eva said. “I was about to bring all this in, but you were on the phone.”
“What do you have?”
“The data is starting to come in from the international monitoring sites near Iran.”
“And?”
“It looks like Zephyr was right. The seismic activity around Hamadan is consistent with a nuclear weapons test, not a natural earthquake—unbelievably intense at first but then slowing down rather than building.”
If only I’d had that information an hour earlier. “Anything else?” Zalinsky asked, steeling himself for more “good news.”
“Actually, there is, though I’m not exactly sure what yet,” Eva said, showing Zalinsky the latest transcripts of intercepted calls from the NSA. “Zephyr has delivered the satellite phones, and the phones, in turn, have been delivered to senior Iranian officials. They’ve apparently already been scrubbed for bugs and given the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, because they’re starting to crackle.”
“Are we getting anything on Hamadan?” Zalinsky asked.
“Indirectly,” Eva said. “No one’s
talking about a nuclear test, per se. They seem quite cautious about what they say on the phones, even if there aren’t any bugs that they can detect. But there is a firestorm of interest in some guy named Najjar Malik. The Twelfth Imam is asking for him personally, but they can’t seem to find him.”
“This Twelfth Imam is a real person, not a fable or a myth of some kind?”
“They’re talking about him like he’s flesh and blood, boss.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I know.”
“Do you have any background on who the religious scholars say this guy is and what he’s supposed to do when he appears?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Fine—I need you to write a fast backgrounder on all that for the president,” Zalinsky said.
“Sure. By when?”
“I need it in four hours. Murray needs it in six.”
“Done.”
“Good. Now, who is Najjar Malik?”
“We don’t know,” Eva conceded. “We’re running the name through all of our databases and haven’t come up with anything yet. But the search is being directed out of the defense minister’s office. Look at these transcripts.”
Zalinsky scanned the documents she handed him.
“Both mention Malik in context with Saddaji,” Eva noted. “And see, in both he’s referred to as Dr. Malik. My best guess at this point is that he’s a nuclear scientist. He probably worked for Saddaji on the weapons program, very likely as a deputy or at some other senior level. What’s curious is that when you look at all the calls, it becomes clear that they’re looking for Dr. Malik in Hamadan. They’re afraid he might be dead because his apartment was destroyed in the earthquake and no one in the building survived.”
There it was again, Zalinsky thought—the city of Hamadan.
There was no question about it now, he realized. Zephyr was right. There was a secret nuclear facility in Hamadan, and the CIA had totally missed it. What’s more, Zephyr and the Israelis were also right that the earthquake to the west of the city had been triggered by an underground nuclear blast. Which meant Eva had to be right, as well. Dr. Najjar Malik had to be a nuclear scientist, probably a big shot in the program if he worked for Saddaji. Iran’s defense minister wanted to see him urgently. The Twelfth Imam, whoever he was, was asking for him. The evidence was circumstantial, but for Zalinsky, the next step was clear. If Najjar Malik was still alive, he was now a high-priority target. The Agency needed to pull out all the stops to hunt him down and capture him before the Iranians or the Israelis got to him.
Zalinsky looked up from the transcripts. “Get Zephyr on the phone; I need to talk to him—now.”
Tehran, Iran
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Defense Minister Faridzadeh said, exhausted and growing more anxious by the hour.
“We found his secretary,” an aide said.
“Whose?”
“Dr. Saddaji’s.”
“Where’s she been all this time?”
“She’s been going from hospital to hospital and to the morgue, trying to identify Facility 278 employees.”
“Does she know anything about Dr. Malik?”
“Yes, she knows he’s alive, sir. She spoke to Mrs. Saddaji by phone. She says they went as a family to Tehran to mourn in solitude.”
“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 g
uessing 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.