Siavash Mostofi was roused from his sleep at two am. He was in his house on Javid Street when his guards woke him up. Their tense faces told him something was up.
He got out of bed and got a brief news report. His face hard, he got into his uniform and set out.
His official residence in Tehran was almost next door to the Supreme Leader’s office on Azarbayejan Street and the Presidential Administration Building. That was by design so that he could be close to the power centers in the country when he was in Tehran.
Mostofi had other residences in the city and around the country and he made it a point to never spend many consecutive nights at any one place. Standard tradecraft for the head of the Quds Force.
He climbed into his armored vehicle, which drove off immediately to the west of the city. To Shahriar Garrison.
‘We’ll go as well,’ Reuben watched Shabnam Vakili disappear inside the station and turned to Zeb. ‘Zeha and I will make our way to Tel Aviv.’
‘How?’ Bwana demanded. ‘Quds, IRGC, everyone will be looking for you. Those soldiers in the garrison will know you were rescued.’
‘We have our ways,’ the Mossad operative smiled. ‘It isn’t the first time we’ve worked in Iran.’
‘Mostofi has sealed the borders tightly,’ Zeb warned.
Benisch shrugged. ‘He’s done that before as well. It’s never stopped us. So, you are the famous Agency team.’ She took them all in. ‘Carmen and Dalia can’t stop talking about all of you, once they start.’
‘We’ve worked with them a few times,’ Beth replied. An understatement. The two Mossad kidon Benisch had named, were close friends with Zeb and his team.
‘I can see why they regard you so highly.’
Zeb shifted. Glanced at his watch, a signal that it was time to break up. He didn’t try to stop Reuben or Benisch. They’re experienced kidon. They’ll have escape routes mapped out, even in such conditions.
‘You need anything from us? Weapons, money?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Benisch replied. ‘We have our caches, our networks.’ She hugged him. ‘Thank you—’
‘You would do the same for us,’ Zeb cut her off, patted her on the back and embraced Reuben.
‘Go safely,’ he told them and when the kidon had disappeared too, turned to his friends.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
Mostofi couldn’t suppress his gasp when his convoy approached the ruined entrance to Shahriar Garrison.
‘Stop,’ he ordered before his vehicle passed through the remains of the gate.
He got out of his ride and surveyed the visible damage. The sentry hut was still standing, but barely. It was tilting at an angle and looked like it would fall over any moment. Its windows had shattered and its walls had buckled from the explosions.
Beyond, was a mass of craters and rubble. Gaping holes in the driveway, concrete boulders and twisted metal bars.
Approaching the camp had always given him a sense of pride. The buildings, the mosque, the parade grounds, the neat gardens … now, all he could see was wreckage and smoke.
A bunch of uniformed men came running towards them. They stopped a distance away and saluted smartly.
‘Major Mohsen Dara, agha,’ one of them introduced himself. ‘Captains Radish and Fardeen. Lieutenant Pasdar.’
‘You know me?’
‘Yes, agha,’ the men chorused.
‘You’re the senior-most men left on the camp?’
‘Yes, agha,’ Dara replied.
‘Walk me through what happened,’ Mostofi said curtly.
‘We should leave your vehicles here, agha. The ground isn’t drivable anymore.’
Mostofi followed the major as they entered the camp. He climbed over a mound of dirt and debris and couldn’t help gaping at the spectacle of utter destruction.
‘What happened here?’ he breathed.
‘Javelins, agha.’