Ali Fathi got the break the next day.
He, Radan and Jehangir had divided all the districts in the city among themselves. Their initial focus was Central Tehran. ‘The city’s locked down,’ Reza had argued. ‘They can’t have gone far.’
They divided the central districts among themselves. Radan had gone to Grand Bazaar and had tried back tracking the sisters, but no one remembered seeing them. The snitches in that area had no information either.
None of their spies had any intel. This had led them to spreading their men out, questioning establishments that women were likely to frequent. Restaurants, takeout establishments, pharmacies, cosmetic stores.
It was at a salon that one of Fathi’s men struck gold and alerted his boss.
‘Yes,’ the young hairdresser said as she adjusted her head covering. She was on her lunch break, the salon empty. Four chairs in front of large mirrors, a couch for waiting customers, magazines on a table, a flask filled with chai and several paper cups. The shop was in Fereydoun Alley, large glass windows facing the street. Through them, he could see his men outside, waiting while he questioned the owner.
The glass panes had curtains which could be drawn down for privacy. The door had a transparent glass panel and a bell which tinkled whenever it opened. It smelled of incense and floral scents. Clean, as if it had been swept and scrubbed.
‘Two sisters come to my shop,’ Somi Arian, the owner, said. ‘They look identical.’
‘Do they look like this?’ Fathi produced several looks of Parvin and Mahya, starting from the one their digital artist had made.
‘No,’ she scanned through them quickly, ‘but they are of that age, and,’ she shrugged, ‘they are the only twins I have had.’
‘Do you remember when they are coming next?’
‘Today. Afternoon.’ She went to her diary and checked her appointments. ‘Three pm.’
Fathi couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Today?’
‘Yes,’ Arian double-checked. ‘What’s this about? Who are they?’
‘What language did they speak?’
‘Persian.’
‘Have you heard them speak any other language?’
‘No. I speak English with some of my other customers, but they have never joined in. I don’t think they know it very well. What have they done?’
‘Quds business,’ Fathi said officiously. He looked around the salon and went to the rear room ignoring Arian’s squawks of protests. He had authority; he could go wherever he wanted.
At the back was a restroom, a small room which functioned as a kitchen, an office and a storage room. The owner’s coat was on a hook, her bag on a small desk, next to an old laptop. It looked like she had been doing her accounts when he had entered the store.
He tapped the rear wall. Concrete. Solid. No exit there. He pictured the alley. The front of the shop was right on the street and a fair amount of foot traffic went past. It was in a line of other stores, a takeout joint, a music shop, a restaurant, and on top of the stores was an apartment building whose entrance was several doors away.
‘We’ll take them when they are leaving,’ he told himself. It was his firm belief that women were more relaxed after they got their hair done. No reason why Mossad killers would be any different. They would be less alert. That was when he would pounce.
‘Are you going to shoot them?’ Arian asked him sharply.
‘None of your business.
‘Whatever you plan to do, don’t damage my shop,’ she glared at him.
He went to her in one stride and grabbed her jaw and squeezed. ‘Don’t tell me what to do. You will be compensated if anything happens to your salon. Most importantly,’ he paused for effect. ‘DON’T. WARN. THEM.’
He let her go and slapped her when she swore at him.
‘It will be better if you cooperate with us,’ he watched her as she angrily wiped tears. ‘This is my number. Give me a call as soon as they enter.’
‘Why,’ she snarled, ‘won’t you be watching my store?’
‘Yes, but your confirmation will also help. It will demonstrate you are a friend of our country.’
And with that, he whirled and walked out.
Somi Arian went to the door as soon as the officer left. She turned on the closed sign, pulled down the curtains and collapsed on a chair. Her hands trembled and tears leaked out of her eyes.
What had she gotten involved in? She was a hairdresser. There was no need for that Quds man to be so violent. He could have asked politely and she would have told him everything she knew.
His behavior reminded her of her papa’s warnings. He had died when she was in university. He was a civilian clerk in an IRGC base and told stories of the misuse of power. He had no love for the country’s rulers and its military arm, but he dared not speak out in protest. Those who did, risked their lives.
Arian thought of canceling all her appointments, closing the shop for the day and going home, to the protective warmth of Mama. No, she shook her head. That would bring more trouble. Better to get it over with.
She didn’t broadcast her politics and listened politely whenever any of her customers talked of their country’s rulers. She had a strict rule with her employees, other hairdressers. Keep your views to yourself.
Politics and business didn’t mix. Not for her. The shop was her sole income. It supported Mama as well who was incurring more medical bills as she aged. There was no way she was going to do anything to risk her earnings. She wished for the umpteenth time she could leave Tehran along with her mother, to another country, Jordan for instance, where they had some relatives. She didn’t have enough money saved up, however.
No, she decided. Let that Quds man, she fingered his card, Fathi, do whatever he wanted to do with those women.
It wasn’t her business.
‘You are sure?’ Nassour said excitedly when Fathi called him on his office line. He had slept well the previous night, what he had witnessed at MUT having no effect on his slumber.
He had arrived early to deal with paperwork. Just because Quds was the most lethal agency in the country didn’t mean there was no red tape and bureaucracy to deal with.
‘They are twins and seem to be of a similar age, agha. Who else could it be?’
‘Take them alive,’ he ordered, ‘and bring them to me. Remember, the other Mossad operatives might be with them. Be careful.’
‘Radan and Jehangir will be helping me. We will swamp the street with our men. We will take them all.’
Nassour beamed when he hung up and went to Mostofi’s office.
His boss was readying for a meeting when he entered.
‘Habib,’ Mostofi told him before he could convey the news, ‘come with me.’
‘Where, agha?’
‘To the Supreme Leader. No,’ he said quickly, dampening Nassour’s excitement, ‘you will wait outside. I need to brief him about our visit to Kharg and MUT.’
‘Of course, agha,’ the major followed his boss out. Waiting outside the leader’s office was still a step up. One day, Inshallah, he too would meet the great man.
‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Nassour skipped a step to go shoulder to shoulder with his boss. He couldn’t help grinning.
‘By the time you have finished the meeting, agha, Parvin and Mahya will be captured.’