The Second of July began with Nassour’s alarm going off in the morning. He woke up, mumbled and cursed and wondered why he had set the punishing routine for himself. Millions of others in Iran and around the world slept until seven am, but no, he had to get up at five-thirty.
He threw off his blanket and sat on his bed. He was Quds and if he read the dynamics right, the second-most senior leader in the organization. If he didn’t set an example to himself, who would?
Motivating himself that way, he shuffled to the bathroom and washed his face and performed the rest of his routine. Forty-five minutes later, he was in a chair in his backyard, in his crisp uniform, feeling human. Feeling boss!
A flunky brought him piping hot chai which set the day to the right note. He opened his screen and got to work on his in-tray. Seniority brought more admin work. That was one downside of rank.
Dariush woke up at seven. He lived alone in a single bedroom apartment above a takeout shop in Doolab. He worked in the restaurant part-time and those earnings helped pay his rent.
He washed and changed into clean clothes, left the activists’ office where he had been camping out and went to the restaurant.
He opened the shop, took up a broom and started sweeping the inside. It was the last time he would do that.
Zeb put on the blue uniform that only the Supreme Leader’s retinue wore. His insignia said he was a major, the name plate on his chest proclaimed he was Erfan Azari.
He climbed out through the bathroom window, down the alley to the street where his vehicle was parked. The clandestine exit because he didn’t want anyone in the hotel to know that the leader’s security officer was lodging there. It would draw attention and raise questions.
He inspected his ride. Big enough to accommodate ten people which was more than what they would need.
‘Join us for chai?’ Beth’s voice in his earpiece.
He hesitated. His uniform … ‘it’s that sayan-owned place around the corner from where I am staying. Meg’s here. Chloe said she’ll be joining too.’
Zeb lived a solitary life, but even he wasn’t that reclusive to pass up on tea and the company of the sisters.
‘Coming.’
He nodded approvingly when he spotted them. The sisters were dressed in the dark uniform of Iranian policewomen. The younger twin made a face when he grabbed a chair next to her.
‘Morality police,’ she hissed, tugging at the sleeve of her robe. ‘Of all the covers Meg had to come up with, this!’
The female police officers in the country checked that women were appropriately dressed, their headscarves were suitably worn and not too much hair was showing. They had been dubbed the religious police or the morality police by the media and their harassment of women was well-known.
‘Ryker doesn’t have an endless wardrobe section,’ Meghan shrugged. ‘We have to make do with what’s available.’
I owe him. Zeb thanked the server, took the first sip of chai and sighed. There was something about drinking tea in the countries he had been to. It made him feel local. ‘He too has been prepping a long time for this,’ he referred to the CIA officer. ‘He needs various disguises and vehicles for his job in any case and once we sought his help, he started adding to his stock.’
‘What stock?’ Chloe and Bear joined them, she in jeans and a loose top. ‘Looks smart, doesn’t he?’ she nodded at her boyfriend who was outfitted in a similar uniform as Zeb’s, though lesser ranked.
‘Not as smart as me,’ Roger declared as he plonked into a seat, accompanied by Broker.
‘Bwana’s in your ride,’ the elder operative replied the question in Zeb’s eyes. ‘Tea and breakfast are his demands. He’ll be weak without them, he says.’
Their chai was an oasis of calm and good humor before what they had planned for the day. They were alert, however, despite their relaxed appearance and all of them straightened when a police siren sounded. They relaxed when it blew past but that was the cue for Zeb.
Can’t spend too much time out, even if the owner is friendly.
He paid for them, collected Bwana’s take-out package and exited.
‘You good?’ he asked his friend when he reached his van.
‘Never better. Don’t worry about me. We’ve been to such countries before. I know what it’s like for someone like me.’
‘I’ll treat you to the biggest steak when we’re back home.’
‘I’ll take you up on that!’ Bwana’s smile faded as he clasped Zeb’s shoulder. ‘I am good. This is where I want to be, with us, our team.’
Zeb fist-bumped him and climbed into the driver’s seat. He keyed the engine when the rest of the team arrived. They would drive around in the city and deliberately let the vehicle be spotted until it was time for the airport.
Familiarity doused suspicion.
Karim Golzar joined Nassour at the breakfast table.
‘Go back, change into civilian clothing,’ the aide told the killer. ‘Your uniform won’t be needed again.’
They resumed their meal when the operative returned, made small talk and when their meal had finished, Nassour pushed back his chair.
‘Let’s go to the office.’
He was determined it to make it look just like another day.
Mostofi greeted the men when they arrived in his office.
‘You are ready?’ he asked Golzar.
‘Yes, agha.’
‘Habib, what will happen today?’
‘I’ll take Karim to MUT where the professor will inject him, agha. Then, directly to Imam Khomeini. His suitcase is in my car.’
‘You should not go inside the airport. There could be anyone there. You’ll be at risk.’
‘I won’t. The clerk at the airline desk will call me when he’s checked in. Security check officers will confirm when he’s past them. From then on, we’ll track him on his cell phone.’
‘No calls.’
‘No calls, agha. Only phone tracking.’
‘In New York,’ Golzar took over, ‘I will take a train to DC. Once there, I will stay overnight and on Fourth, I will join the crowd at the Washington Monument. They are going to have screens to watch the President’s speech. There will be a big crowd. That is where I will spread USX-74.’
‘Very good,’ Mostofi beamed. ‘By then, I would have made my speech at the IICC. Iran will start a new era on that day.’
Dariush returned to the activists’ laboratory. By then, it was crowded with other rebels, Yasaman and Syed at the forefront. They hugged him, brought out sweets and reminisced for a while.
Then, his makeup began.
Close to noon, Reza Zarhagi arrived. The leader’s presence at the office was always a special moment. He didn’t make a speech. That was just one of the many reasons he was so popular and why they followed him. No grandstanding from him.
He hugged Dariush and looked at him in the eyes.
‘You are sure you want to do this?’
‘Yes, agha.’
‘Go, then, with our blessings.’
‘It’s time.’ Nassour got to his feet and went to Golzar who was in a chair, reading.
The killer folded his magazine and rose. He followed the aide without a word who led them to Mostofi’s office.
They waited while the Quds leader finished a call. Mostofi came around his desk and hugged Golzar. His eyes gleamed, the excitement in him was palpable.
‘Go, make Iran proud,’ he told the killer.
They reached MUT an hour later, went past the security and were greeted by Professor Nazer at the lab.
‘How are you feeling?’ the scientist asked Golzar.
‘Good, agha. Eager.’
‘Let’s run some tests, first. Routine,’ he told Nassour when the aide frowned. ‘We need to make sure he’s got no other ailment.’
‘He’s been checked. All of us in Quds undergo regular medical inspection.’
‘I know. But I am sure the last such checkup was some time ago. This is necessary to ensure the virus works as designed.’
The professor summoned an in-house medic who took a blood sample from Golzar and measured his blood pressure and pulse.
The results came back in an hour.
‘He’s in good health,’ the scientist waved the report.
‘He should be,’ Nassour grouched. ‘He’s our best operative.’
The virus injection was anti-climactic. A jab to Golzar’s upper arm, a swab to wipe away the drop of blood and the scientist declared him good to go.
‘He’s a carrier now. On the Fourth of July, he will become infected and will start infecting others.’