The gas engineers, bearing the uniform of a well-known utility company, approached Habib Nassour’s residence.
‘We’re here to check the leak,’ the first man said.
‘What leak?’ the guard asked him suspiciously.
‘The leak in the neighborhood. We have to check every house and make sure it’s safe.’
‘I don’t know anything about that. We can’t let anyone enter.’
‘It’s for safety,’ Zeb, the engineer, snapped. ‘If there’s a smell of gas in the area we are required to check every house.’
A second guard left his position by the door and joined the first. ‘What’s going on?’
‘They’re from the gas company,’ the first soldier nodded at the labels on Zeb and Broker’s uniforms. ‘They say they have to check the house. Do you smell gas?’
The second man raised his head to the sky and sniffed deeply. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Can you believe these two?’ Broker growled at Zeb. ‘Their house could burn down, but they act as if they don’t care. You fools, this is standard procedure.’
‘No one crosses us,’ the first guard slapped his weapon, ‘and enters the house. Not without a clearance.’
‘Whose house is this?’ Zeb asked him angrily. ‘You are putting everyone at risk by your behavior.’
‘You don’t know who lives here?’
‘Would I ask if I did?’
‘Major Nassour of the Quds Force,’ the guard puffed his chest. ‘We are his security men.’
‘Call him, then,’ Zeb snapped. ‘Explain what’s happening.’
‘Or call our office, check what we are saying,’ Broker glared at them. ‘But do something quickly, because if any house in this neighborhood burns, we will report your names. We will make sure you are suspended.’
‘They’ll go to jail,’ Zeb said scornfully. ‘This major, whoever he is, will be the first person to turn them in. Quds defends Iranian people. It does not put them at risk.’
The security men looked at each other uneasily.
‘What do you need to do in there?’ the first guard moistened his lips.
‘Check the pipes, meters, the appliances,’ Zeb hoisted a box he was carrying. ‘This meter will tell us whether the house is at risk.’
‘We will come with you,’ the second man said.
‘And die?’ Zeb looked at him pityingly. ‘We have to wear masks,’ he jerked his head at the backpack he carried. ‘Ours are in there. Where are yours? We will not be responsible for your stupidity. Who else is in the house?’
‘No one,’ the guard answered sullenly. ‘We work in shifts. Our replacements will come at noon. The cook’s gone out for shopping. He will return in about an hour or so.’
‘Get out of the way, man,’ Broker said impatiently. ‘Let us do our jobs. You stand here and make sure no one else enters the house. No one, not even the cook.’
Zeb and he shouldered past the guards who offered no resistance or protest. They strode towards the house confidently, two engineers determined to save the city.
Zeb slammed the door behind them and peered through the peep-hole. ‘They’re staying put,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘Not making any calls either.’
He turned around and inspected the house. Entrance lobby. Living room. Carpet, couches and upholstered chairs. He checked the ceiling swiftly. No sign of any cameras. Nassour does not need them. He has guards at the house.
He went down the hallway, Broker behind him. A small room to their left, the study. They examined it swiftly. A few files which appeared to be the dossiers of some men. Broker snapped pictures with his cell phone, shut the folders and placed them exactly as they were. Zeb opened drawers, closed them, checked for secret compartments. Nothing.
Doesn’t look like he works much from home.
He went out and down the passage. Another room, the kitchen. Pots and pans gleaming, countertop polished. Raw vegetables neatly laid out, awaiting preparation.
Dining room further down. Small bathroom. A guest bedroom that looked like it was unused. They checked it nevertheless and found nothing.
Another guest bedroom, in a similar state. The main bathroom, well-appointed. Zeb checked the cabinet, no medications. That meant nothing. Nassour might not keep anything here.
The hallway opened into a seating area with a couple of doors. One of them opened into the private backyard. The second led to the main bedroom.
Large bed. Wall-mounted TV. Closets along one wall. Bedside tables. More files.
Zeb picked one while Broker checked out another.
‘This is nothing,’ his friend grunted. ‘Leave applications for personnel. I can’t believe they print these out.’ He shut the folder and replaced it on the table. Looked up when his friend didn’t reply.
‘What’s that?’
‘A report on the Kharg Island oil terminal,’ Zeb frowned. ‘It—’
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ the first guard yelled as he burst through the door. ‘PUT THAT DOWN.’
He ran across the room, his hand bringing up his HK to point it at the intruders.
Zeb dropped the file on the bed, lifted his hands disarmingly, deceptively and exploded into action.
His right hand blurred to slap away the weapon’s barrel. His left hand grabbed the guard’s gun arm, yanked him forward, and in a swift judo move dumped him on the bed unceremoniously. The HK clattered to the floor and when the dazed guard blinked, a Glock was covering him.
Zeb snapped a look at his friend who had disarmed the second guard.
‘Stand up,’ he ordered the man on the bed as he holstered his weapon. ‘GET UP. GET ON THE FLOOR,’ he raised his voice when the guard looked bewildered.
He took the man’s picture with his cellphone and nodded at Broker when his friend snapped the second man’s photograph.
‘You both failed,’ He stated.
‘FAILED? WHO ARE YOU—’ the first guard started and staggered when Zeb’s slap sent him reeling.
‘We are with the Inspection Directorate,’ Zeb told him coldly. ‘We were checking how alert you both were.’
‘Sloppy,’ Broker shook his head. ‘You let us inside.’
‘You didn’t check our identification,’ Zeb continued. ‘You didn’t call the Quds headquarters or the gas company.’
‘We told you to,’ Broker reminded him. ‘We’ll be reporting you. You are protecting one of the most important men in the country and this is how you conduct yourself?’
‘Prison,’ Zeb told them dismissively. ‘That’s what you’re facing.’
‘No, brother,’ Broker corrected him. ‘The commander, he won’t send them to any jail. He’ll execute them. He’ll shoot them personally and that’s if they are lucky. I have heard he tortures those who fail.’
‘Maybe it won’t be him,’ Zeb played along. ‘Major Nassour will get to them first. He’ll kill them.’
‘No, please,’ the guard fell to his knees. ‘Don’t report us. It was a mistake. We won’t do it again.’
The second guard joined the pleading, his face terror stricken.
Zeb crossed his arms and regarded them dispassionately. ‘Get up,’ he ordered them after a while.
The men stood up, their faces pale, their faces tear-streaked, their lips trembling.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed when the first guard started sobbing. ‘You are lucky we believe in second chances.’
‘Thank you, agha,’ the guard threw himself to the floor.
‘Get up, you fool.’
The soldier got to his feet and looked down shamefacedly.
‘We won’t report you up. However, have you thought what will happen if you tell Major Nassour?’
The guards looked at one another in panic. ‘We won’t tell anyone,’ the first man babbled. ‘No one, agha.’
‘This is not the end,’ Zeb glowered at them. ‘We will return. We will disguise ourselves and check how alert you are. If you fail a second time—’
‘We won’t, agha,’ the guard cried. ‘We have learned our lesson.
‘You believe them?’ Broker asked as he drove them away.
‘Yeah,’ Zeb replied. ‘Nassour or Mostofi will kill them if they report our presence. That’s how Quds works. No mercy for any failure.’
‘Something’s troubling you?’
‘That last file,’ he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘It was about Kharg. You remember the note on his cell?’
‘Oil.’
Zeb nodded. ‘Why are Mostofi’s men obsessed about oil?’