Mostofi had stayed overnight in an accommodation in the Presidential Administration Building.
He showered in the morning, dressed in his uniform and summoned his vehicle.
He left the office at eight am, his security convoy with him. He settled back as his ride took the Sayyad Shirazi Highway, exited it to take the Babaei Highway and half an hour later, they were at MUT’s gates.
Four other vehicles waiting, his aides. He rolled his window down to greet them and rolled it up again when his driver completed the security check-in and they rolled ahead.
The university looked outwardly the same like thousands of others in the world. Lecture buildings, lawns, students strolling the paved walkways, female students with their headscarves. Hoodies and sneakers, jeans and Tees were the standard wear.
Some of them looked curiously at the string of dark-window vehicles as they passed. Mostofi knew there would be many among the students who opposed him, who bitterly hated Quds Force. He smiled. His organization had crushed several student demonstrations and he personally had tortured many activists.
His smile disappeared when his vehicle came to a halt in front of a building. Research Lab was the only name on it. He put on his commander’s face and climbed out. He was greeted by an official who looked askance at his aides. The Quds boss didn’t introduce them. The university official had to know he was a flunky, no more.
They went down several corridors, past laboratories where white-coated students and professors worked and approached a glass door. An armed sentry sprang to attention. He was the first sign that MUT was not quite like the thousands of educational establishments around the world.
Another glass door, but this one was thickened, opaque and required the flunky to swipe his keycard. The university official didn’t enter. He bid goodbye to Mostofi.
At the other side of the door stood a white-coated man, in his fifties, neatly trimmed white beard, bespectacled, a smile on his face.
The professor would have been a shoo-in for university recruitment posters.
Recruitment wasn’t what he did.
‘Commander Mostofi,’ the man shook his hand. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again.’
The Quds boss nodded regally. He knew his aides had picked up on again. He was a frequent visitor to the establishment.
‘Majors Habib Nassour, Jehangir Miri, Babak Vahdat and Salar Tehari,’ he introduced his men. ‘My aides. They are security cleared for what we will see.’
He turned to his men. ‘Meet Professor Sohrab Nazer, Iran’s foremost biological and weapons scientist.’