‘He’s out,’ Meghan said laconically.
‘Eyes on,’ Broker confirmed as he swung the wheel and joined the traffic. Mostofi’s ride, an armored SUV, black and gleaming, was four vehicles ahead. An escort vehicle was behind it.
Down Azarbayejan Street, the first left on Khoshzaban, right on Pasteur Street, continuing past the lights. Zeb knew the rest of the operatives would be following in their vehicles, ready to back them up in case they needed it.
Neither he nor Broker were carrying weapons. Which is why they are behind us.
The escort vehicle’s blinker flashed left on Pasteur Square as it nosed onto South Kargar. Sunlight flashed off the roof of Mostofi’s vehicle. Zeb blinked.
A split-second distraction which was what the approaching vehicles needed.
They came out from Daneshgah Jang Boulevard, two police vehicles. A third emerged from Azadi, sporting the army’s colors. They surrounded their ride and forced it to a halt.
Armed men jumped out while a police officer directed traffic past them.
‘COME OUT!’ A paramilitary officer yelled.
No rank on him, Zeb noted. Just his name tag which identified him as Firdaus.
He climbed out slowly, knowing that he looked in his fifties. Broker got out similarly.
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ the officer shouted.
‘Journalists, agha,’ Zeb replied, putting on a quaver.
‘REPORTERS? FROM WHERE?’
Passing vehicles slowed momentarily to observe them and sped up when the cops glared and yelled at them.
‘Freelance, agha,’ Zeb replied. ‘He’s my camera man.’
‘SHOW ME SOME IDENTIFICATION.’
Zeb reached carefully inside the vehicle and brought out his driver’s license and a file with printouts of his articles.
Firdaus flicked through them rapidly and tossed the file back at him while a police officer went through the contents of Broker’s camera which was conveniently placed on the rear seat.
Zeb produced a laminated sheet from the car and handed it to the soldier. ‘Our affiliations with various agencies are on that. Our residence addresses as well.’
The man glared at him, looked down at the sheet and handed it to a police officer who picked one number out at random and called it.
Meghan or Beth will answer it. In fluent Farsi. They’ll confirm our identities and invite the cops to visit the establishment. CIA has that angle covered. They have offices staffed with real journalists.
The reply seemed to convince the cop who nodded to Firdaus.
‘Why were you following that vehicle?’ the soldier came close to them.
‘We follow any important person who comes out of the Supreme Leader’s office. We try to ask them a few questions as they enter or exit their vehicle. We recognized Brigadier General Mostofi’s—’
He doubled over in a gasp when Firdaus’s fist landed in his belly. He gasped and coughed and was straightening again when another blow caught him on the neck.
‘Don’t follow anyone again,’ the soldier warned. ‘It won’t be safe for you. Do you understand?’ Firdaus grabbed Zeb’s chin and shook him angrily.
‘Yes, yes, agha,’ he replied.
Firdaus raised his fist again and lowered it when the cop sidled over, murmured in his ear and jerked his head at a few onlookers who were recording the incident on their mobiles.
‘GO AWAY!’ the soldier yelled at them and moved threateningly, at which they scattered.
The paramilitary man glared at their retreating backs, wagged a warning finger at Zeb and Broker, went to his ride and drove away without another word.
‘We go?’ Broker asked through the side of his mouth.
‘Yeah,’ Zeb replied and groaned as he rubbed his belly. He helped his friend gather the camera and limped towards their vehicle.
‘Are you hurt?’ Chloe, in their earpieces.
Zeb waited until Broker had driven them away from the scene, the police officer receding in their mirrors.
‘Nope. The camera’s damaged and I think Broker’s feeling—’
‘I’m feeling just fine,’ his friend retorted. ‘I wish I could have filmed you getting beaten up.’
‘You saw where Mostofi went?’ Zeb asked in his collar mic.
A chorus of nos, returned.
‘Those cops slowed us down,’ Meghan explained. ‘His ride had disappeared by the time we got clear of the choke point.’
Zeb nodded. It was what he had figured. The incident had proved what he suspected, however. Many vehicles shadow Mostofi and cut off any pursuers.
Which meant they had to go back to following his aides.