Major Khan, Captain Fat’hi, and Lieutenant Saeedi flew on Iran Air from Tehran to Damascus International Airport in Syria. It was a far more dangerous flight than it had been before the civil war now tearing Syria apart. Khan had little sympathy for the plight of the Syrian people. They were not of his faith and so their deaths meant little to him. Not because of his faith in religious principles—Khan knew he was damned. He knew that the other religious groups constantly jockeyed for power, and he didn’t like being jockeyed with. Islam had two major denominations, Shia and Sunni. Major Khan was a Shiite, a member of the Shia, the most popular denomination in Iran. Within Shia there were various sects, the Twelvers, which he belonged to, being the majority. Twelvers believed in the twelve imams, those directly succeeding the Prophet Muhammad. Only eleven were known to date, but Khan knew, as all Twelvers knew, that the twelfth and final imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, would soon appear. On that glorious day, peace and justice would reign. Until then, Khan would gladly kill anyone who wasn’t a Twelver. He wished his government had the courage to destroy the other sects because he believed that deep down inside, they wanted to destroy the Twelvers—it was only a matter of time.
Outside Iran, the Sunnis outnumbered the Shiites, and Major Khan hated it. When he was a child, it was a Sunni who framed him, sending him to jail, where he was tortured and raped by a prison guard—the beginning of his transformation.
A Syrian soldier drove them to a checkpoint on the Lebanon border. With the civil war still raging, the border looked like a desperate outpost made for last stands. Khan doubted they would have gotten through if arrangements hadn’t been made ahead of time. The Lebanese guards passed them through after checking their papers. All the guards at that checkpoint were Lebanese, but they were loyal to Syria. Their Syrian driver continued to Beirut, where he dropped them off at a hotel. It would have been faster to ride straight from Damascus to their final destination in Baalbek, but they didn’t want the Syrian soldier or anyone else to know their final destination.
After checking in and renting a car, the three sat in their hotel. “B018,” Lieutenant Saeedi said.
Pistachio smiled.
Major Khan stared at them. “What’s B018?”
“Nothing,” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Major Khan ignored him and continued with his meal.
“We should go to B018 tonight,” Lieutenant Saeedi said.
“It’s a great club,” Pistachio added.
“Great?” Lieutenant Saeedi said. “It’s better than great.”
Khan shook his head. This was no time for debauchery. “No. We go out to dinner, and then back here. We leave here tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred to lay an ambush for Alex and his friends at the Sheikh Abdallah Barracks,” Major Khan said.
Lieutenant Saeedi frowned.
Pistachio sighed, then nodded.
They walked to a local restaurant and took a table at the back. It was a simple place, the walls dull from smoke and dirt. Khan knew Pistachio and Saeedi were unhappy with him, but he didn’t care. They could play all they wanted after the mission was over.
“Just an hour?” Saaedi asked.
“It’s not that far from here. It’s in the Karantina district.”
The Quarantine district. During the French occupation, ships’ crews and their cargo were quarantined before being cleared to enter the country. Later, Armenian refugees camped there before settling inland. After that, Palestinian refugees arrived and stayed. During Lebanon’s civil war, more refugees settled in Karantina, until fighting broke out between the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) and Christian militias, who massacred the PLO and their neighborhoods.
Khan had been there before. The place always smelled like death.
“No.”
While the other two sulked, Khan studied the restaurant. Seven tables, a single narrow door at the front, no windows, and the kitchen in the back. It was simple, but the smell of the food told him it was good.
What did concern him was that there seemed to be only one exit, the stairs they entered from. This would be a bad place to be caught in an ambush.
Pistachio and Saeedi ordered the local Almaza beer, but Major Khan didn’t drink what he called the foreign poison. Instead, he drank bottled water.
“How are we supposed to meet ladies here?” Pistachio said out loud.
“Maybe this will help,” Saeedi said, pulling out his pistol so Pistachio and Khan could see.
“What’re you doing that for?” Pistachio asked.
Saeedi put his pistol away. “I’m just joking.”
“It isn’t funny,” Pistachio said.
“You guys brought yours, too, right?”
“Yeah, but we’re not flashing them around.”
“I’m not flashing it around. I only showed you two.”
Pistachio shook his head.
Saeedi laughed. “You worry too much. You’re going to get a heart attack. Just relax.”
Pistachio popped a few pistachios in his mouth and cracked the shells with his teeth. “I’m trying to relax.”
A group of three women walked into the restaurant and were seated at the table next to them. Saeedi immediately began talking up the women. Khan ignored it. It was hard enough pretending to be attracted to his wife without having to pretend to be attracted to strangers, too. He didn’t have to come with his friends, but he tried to act sociable and let them have their fun.
Two of the girls invited them to sit at their table. One had straight brown hair and the other had curly brown hair. Khan motioned for them to go. It would leave him in peace. The curly-haired girl sat on the opposite side of Pistachio. Saeedi clapped his hands, a smile stretched across his face so wide, it looked like his skin might split.
Pistachio and Saeedi laughed and talked with the girls in Arabic. They joked and teased and seemed to be having a great time. The women appeared to enjoy the attention as well, judging by their squeals of delight. More drinks were ordered. Khan heard his name whispered a few times. He swiveled his chair around so that his back was to his friends and the women.
The waiter came up to his table with another bottle of water. When he put it down his hand brushed Khan’s. Khan looked up at him. He was young, maybe twenty-two. His skin was smooth and his dark eyes were so inviting. He had the build of a swimmer.
Khan looked away, terrified his own eyes would reveal the desire he couldn’t defeat.
“Your friends are having a good time,” the waiter said.
Khan watched Pistachio and Saeedi. They were fools, but they were open with their desires. Why should they enjoy this life and he be denied its pleasures?
“Where is your restroom?” Khan asked, keeping his voice low.
The waiter motioned with his head toward the back of the restaurant. Khan nodded and then looked away. The waiter disappeared while Khan casually watched his friends. They were completely enthralled by the women.
“I think that airline food did a number on my stomach. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Khan said, getting up from his table.
“What? Sure, we’ll be here,” Pistachio said, barely looking at him.
Khan paused, then walked to the back of the restaurant. He found the door leading to the restroom and strode in. The young waiter was there, pretending to be tidying up.
“I—” the waiter started to say, but Khan grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. The waiter’s eyes went wide.
“I don’t want to hear another word out of you,” Khan said, bringing his face in so that their noses touched. “Get on your knees, now.”
Khan let go of his throat and pushed the waiter down. He remembered the door and was turning to lock it when it swung open and Pistachio walked in.
“Thought I’d better check . . . see how you are,” Pistachio said, looking from Khan to the waiter and back.
Khan stepped back from the waiter and furiously brushed at his suit. “The spilled water,” Khan said.
Pistachio looked at Khan’s suit then up at him. “Look, it’s none of my business.”
He knows! Rage and guilt roiled Khan’s stomach. “It’s no one’s business,” Khan said, pushing his way past Pistachio and going back to his table. A few moments later Pistachio returned.
“I see you managed to save our sick friend from getting lost,” Saeedi said, laughing as he casually put an arm around one of the women. “You’ve got a career as a shepherd, Pistachio,” Saeedi said. The women giggled.
Khan realized he was reaching for his gun when the door to the restaurant banged open. A large man walked in. He wore an expensive blue sport coat over a white T-shirt and designer jeans. He didn’t wait to be seated, but walked right over to Pistachio and Saeedi.
“You dishonor our family by associating with these pigs,” the man said. He was at least six foot two and well over two hundred pounds. Khan figured most likely a brother of one of the women.
The curly-haired woman stood up. “You do not own me, Talal! I can do what I want.”
“Filthy whore!” Talal shouted, slapping her face and knocking her down. Saeedi jumped up with his pistol drawn and swung it at Talal, but for a big man he moved quickly and easily dodged the blow. Someone screamed.
Talal cocked his right arm, ready to land a haymaker against Saeedi, but Pistachio stepped in and dropped him with a punch to his temple.
The door opened and a man charged in. He looked the spitting image of Talal. Khan got up from his chair and went to intercept him, but before he got to him the waiter darted between them.
“Please, no fi—” Khan brought up an elbow and slammed it into the waiter’s temple. The man went down like a sack of rice. The twin threw a punch at Khan, but Saeedi got there first, hooking the man’s arm and pulling him down to the floor. A crack like a shot from a small-caliber pistol meant Saeedi had just broken the twin’s arm.
Pistachio grabbed Saeedi and pulled him up. “We’re out of here.”
Saeedi started to resist and whipped his pistol out. “We’ll finish them.”
The rage in Khan dissipated and he realized the danger they’d just fallen into. “He’s right. We have to go now!” Khan barked.
Saeedi holstered his pistol.
They hurried out of the restaurant and into the night.
When they were far enough away Khan led them into an alley. When he was sure no one had followed them he rounded on Saeedi.
“You will not derail this mission.”
Saeedi opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Me? I was just defending myself. What about you? You hit that waiter like you were trying to kill him. What the hell was that about? The only one that’ll screw this up will be you.”
Khan saw Pistachio start to open his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, Khan pulled his own pistol out of its holster and pushed the barrel into Saeedi’s chest. “Say that again,” he said quietly. Saeedi looked at Pistachio. Pistachio shook his head. Saeedi lowered his head like a wounded puppy dog.
Khan lowered his pistol. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Tomorrow will be a big day.”