Joel Rosenberg - The Twelfth Imam

Esfahani seemed to relax a bit. “You really want this to happen, don’t you, Mr. Tabrizi?” he said, stroking his closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

“You cannot even begin to imagine,” David replied, worried he was laying it on a bit thick but certain he had no other options.

Esfahani looked him over for another moment. “I must say, I am impressed at your humility and tenacity, young man,” he said finally. “Give me a few days. I’ll think about it and get back to you. Does my secretary have your contact information?”

“She does,” David said. “But here’s my card and my personal mobile number in case you need it.”

He pulled out one of the freshly minted MDS business cards Eva had given him on the flight from Dubai. He scribbled his cell number and hotel information on the back and handed it to Esfahani.

“May Allah bless you, sir,” he said as Esfahani walked to the street. “You won’t regret this.”

He watched Esfahani get into a waiting black sedan and drive off. It was only then that he remembered Mina had given him Esfahani’s business card as well. He quickly fished it out of his wallet, entered the contact information into his Nokia, and smiled. But instead of calling Behrouz and heading straight to the hotel, he surprised his handlers by turning around and heading back into the mosque.

Maybe Allah really was listening to his prayers. Maybe David should thank him.

Back at the hotel, Eva opened her door wide on the first knock.

“Please tell me you found him,” she asked, the apprehension showing in her eyes.

“I found him.”

“What happened?”

“Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes,” David suggested. “I’ll tell you over tea.”

It wasn’t ideal. He knew they would be tailed. But he also knew full well he couldn’t be seen lingering in front of a woman’s room, much less going in. They couldn’t talk on hotel phones that were certain to be bugged. Somehow, they had to act normal. For the moment, therefore, tea in public in the restaurant next to the lobby would have to suffice.

As he headed back to the elevator, David again pulled out his phone and checked his e-mail. The first was another sent by Zalinsky. It had a link to a story on the Reuters newswire, datelined from Beijing, which described ongoing talks between Iran Telecom’s president, Daryush Rashidi, and the board of China Telecom, mainland China’s third-largest mobile phone service provider. As David scanned the story, he realized Zalinsky was providing a none-too-subtle reminder of just how critical it was to strengthen and deepen the relationship between Munich Digital Systems and Iran Telecom. The Iranians were now fishing in other waters. Should anything with the MDS deal go south, Iran Telecom was actively looking for other options. David winced at the thought of having to brief Zalinsky on the events of the last few hours. They were already hanging by a thread.

Soon he and Eva were sitting across from one another at a small table for two, sipping chai and careful to keep their voices low and professional but not conspiratorial.

“So where are we with Esfahani?” Eva asked.

“It’s not good,” David said. “We made a serious mistake. We both should have known better.”

“Can it be salvaged?”

“Honestly, it’s too soon to say.”

“What do you recommend?”

“We need to cut our losses.”

“Meaning what?”

David chose his words carefully. He liked Eva. He respected her. And he very much needed her help. But she had suddenly become a liability in Iran.

“You have to understand,” he began. “Abdol Esfahani is a very religious man.”

“Meaning he doesn’t think I should be in charge of this project.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What do you think?”

“That’s not my call.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eva said. “Do you think I’m capable of this job?”

“Absolutely. But that’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“An awful lot is riding on this deal, Eva.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Of course you do. So why worry about it? Let’s just do what’s in the best interest of the project and the company, and go from there.”

“You’re saying you want me to go back to Dubai?”

David took a deep breath and another sip of chai. “I think we need to give Esfahani and Iran Telecom exactly what they want.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eva said, incredulous.

“Look, you and I both know this is neither the time nor the place to challenge fourteen hundred years of culture and religion over a software upgrade.”

Eva held her tongue for a few moments, but David could see it wasn’t easy. If there hadn’t been at least two Iranian agents sitting at nearby tables, he suspected she really would have unloaded on him.

“If I go back to Dubai, Esfahani will let us keep the contract?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

There was another long pause.

“But if I stay here, he’s guaranteed to cut us loose,” she said.

David nodded.

“Then there’s not much to discuss, is there?” she asked, taking her napkin, wiping her mouth, and getting up from the table.

David leaned toward her and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me,” he said, speaking in character for the benefit of nearby listeners. “You and I are going to make a killing on this deal, okay? Then we’re going to go back to Europe and make boatloads of money there, too. Our bosses are going to love us. They’re going to give us big raises and bonuses. And then we’re going to come up with ways to blow all our money and really live it up. I promise. And just between you and me, I’m really looking forward to working with you every step of the way. So don’t let this throw you, okay? This, too, shall pass.”

Eva’s expression suddenly softened. David even thought he detected a modicum of gratitude in there somewhere.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay. I’m going to pack up, check out, and head to the airport.”

“Call me when you get to Dubai.”

“I will. And thank you, Reza. You’re an impressive young man. I hope Mr. Esfahani realizes what’s he got.”

And with that, she was gone.

David stayed, finished his chai, and caught up on a few more e-mails. That hadn’t gone as badly as he’d feared. But only time would tell, for he was fairly confident that the transcript of this conversation would likely be in Esfahani’s hands by the end of the day.

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Zalinsky was furious.

But he tried not to show it. It had been his decision to send Eva Fischer in as the project leader. He hadn’t had any indications that the senior executives at Iran Telecom were so religious. Clearly, he and his team knew far too little about Abdol Esfahani, for starters. Still, the trip wasn’t a complete loss, he told Eva over coffee in the Dubai safe house. Thanks to Zephyr, they now had Esfahani’s private cell phone number, and it was already bearing fruit.

He slid the laptop over to Eva so that she could look at the most interesting of several transcripts.

› › › › › › 000017-43-NSATXTREF: ZEPHYRINTERCEPT-EYES ONLY

CALL BEGAN AT 0209/21:53:06

ESFAHANI [98-21-2234-5684]: Hello?

CALLER [98-21-8876-5401]: You up?

ESFAHANI: I am now.

CALLER: Take this down.

ESFAHANI: This had better be important.

CALLER: It is.

ESFAHANI: Hold on.

CALLER: Hurry up. I’ve got to get back in.

ESFAHANI: Where are you?

CALLER: The Qaleh.

ESFAHANI: Still?

CALLER: Something happened.