Chapter Twenty-seven
On the Outskirts of Marand
Iran
“What?” Ali asked.
Before Jack could repeat his warning, bullets struck the back of the van. One of the rounds shattered the rear glass. Others flew over Jack’s head. One or more struck the driver’s seat. The van veered into the next lane, heading toward an oncoming truck.
“Get the wheel. The wheel!” Jack shouted.
Mostafa grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the right. He turned the van into its lane, then screamed in horror.
Jack looked over his shoulder. The soldier was running toward the black SUV parked by the checkpoint. He began to gesture toward the SUV and the military trucks and talk to the next soldier, who appeared to be shaking his head.
The van began to slow down.
Jack turned his head to Mostafa, who was struggling to move Ali to the front passenger seat. The Iranian’s hands and the front of his jacket were stained with Ali’s blood gushing from his mouth and chest. He didn’t seem to be breathing as he slumped against the door.
“Why? Why this happen?” Mostafa shouted as he stepped on the gas.
“What did he tell the guard?”
“Nothing, nothing. Ali said we at camp.”
“Did the guard ask about me?”
“Yes, no, no. Ali said we friends.”
Mostafa glanced at Ali with teary eyes.
Jack placed his fingers against Ali’s carotid artery on the left side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. He found none. His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head at Mostafa. “I’m sorry. Your friend is gone.”
Mostafa shook his head and let out a high-pitched howl like a kicked dog. His eyes began to well up, and his shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said again in a warm voice.
“This your fault,” Mostafa said.
Jack shook his head again. “No, it’s their fault for shooting at innocents.”
He glanced back. Neither the black SUV nor any of the military trucks were giving chase. Why not? Is there another checkpoint up ahead?
Mostafa asked, “They coming?”
“No, not yet, but we need to get off the road and ditch this van.” He looked around, then pointed at a side road. “Turn there.”
Mostafa hesitated for a moment and began to slow down. He waited until a large truck had passed, then turned onto a narrow gravel road. It meandered next to groves of pomegranate trees and along arable fields. A couple of houses were coming up to the left, but Jack said, “Keep driving.”
He turned in his seat and looked back. No sign of any vehicle following them. He frowned. What’s going on?
“Where we go?” Mostafa asked.
“We need a new vehicle. A small car. Like that.” Jack pointed at a white Mazda sedan parked to the side of the next house. “Stop here. Let’s see if we can buy it.”
Mostafa shrugged and stopped near the side of the house. It was a one-story, red-roofed structure surrounded by a low cinderblock wall. He gave Jack a frightened look. “Then you kill me?”
Jack looked at the pistol still in his hand. He put it away at the small of his back. “No, Mostafa. I’m not going to kill you. I never intended to hurt you or your friend Ali. I didn’t want any of this to happen. But it did. Now, if you want to stay alive, you’ve got to help me. Understand?”
“Help? What help?”
“Convince the owner of that Mazda to sell it or give it to us. We’ll pay him the money I gave to Ali.”
Mostafa’s face twisted with doubts and disappointment.
Jack said, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay you for the damage to the van and for helping me. But you’ll have to help me.”
“Why?”
“The soldiers.” Jack gestured with his hand over their shoulders. “They will come to find you. They know you helped me. They will beat you up, torture you to give up information. But you know nothing.”
Mostafa nodded. “I innocent. I know not.”
“Right. You don’t know anything, but they will not stop at that. They killed Ali without giving him a chance to explain himself. They will kill you as well. Your best hope is to come with me.”
Mostafa seemed to be thinking about Jack’s words. Jack didn’t say anything for a long moment, giving the Iranian the time he needed to make a decision. Mostafa looked away through the windshield, then nodded to himself. When he looked back at Jack, the Iranian said, “What you want?”
“I need you to take me to Marand. Then, I need you to translate for me whatever you can find in here.” He showed Mostafa the phone that Jack had taken from Farahani’s guard. “There might be some useful intel, I mean, information there.”
“That all?”
“Yes. Get us the Mazda, drive me to Marand, and translate the phone messages.”
Mostafa thought about it another moment, then nodded. “And you not kill me?”
“I promise, Mostafa. I won’t touch a hair on your head.”
The Iranian’s face wore a blank expression, so Jack said, “I will not hurt you.”
Mostafa nodded slowly and looked sadly at Ali.
Jack said, “We’ll have to put him in a sleeping bag, then find a place for him in Marand. Now, go talk to the owner of the car.” Jack reached over and took the money from Ali’s jacket. He also found Ali’s wallet and phone. There were a few thousand tomans in the wallet, and Jack handed everything to Mostafa. “This should be enough to convince him.”
Mostafa nodded. “Car worth little.”
“Right, but we need it.” Jack glanced over his shoulder. “As soon as possible, before the soldiers show up.”
Mostafa stepped out of the van. He headed toward the small metal door, which was painted brown, and rang the doorbell.
Jack lowered Ali’s body, so that he wasn’t visible from outside. He covered the body with a black blanket and got out of the van. He began to scroll through the phone’s messages. Everything was in Farsi, and there were hundreds of messages.
As he was going through them, a deep frown creased his forehead. His mouth dropped open as he realized why the soldiers weren’t giving chase. No need. Farahani is tracking the dead man’s phone. He knows exactly where we are at all times.
He cursed under his breath for making such an amateurish mistake. Come on, Mostafa. We’ve got to get going. And I need the intel from the phone before it’s deleted or before Farahani and his thugs show up.
Jack looked at the house. Mostafa was still inside the yard, supposedly haggling over the price of the Mazda. Another long minute stretched Jack’s patience thin. He wished Mostafa would speed things up, but he also understood this was a strange business transaction. Mostafa needed some time to gain the stranger’s trust and convince him to accept their proposal.
The entrance gate began to swing open.
Jack smiled as Mostafa drove out in the white Mazda. Maybe one of the tires was underinflated, because the sedan was leaning toward the left. Jack didn’t mind. As long as it allowed them to disappear, it could have been a horse cart.
A man in his early forties stepped out of the yard. Jack waved at him and pretended to be on the phone. The man waved back at Jack and pointed at the Mazda. Jack nodded and walked back to the van. He stepped inside the van and started it. He backed up slowly and followed Mostafa as he drove down the gravel road and away from the checkpoint.
They had covered about one kilometer and came to a fork in the road. Jack honked, signaling to Mostafa to stop. The Iranian pulled to the side. “What?”
“We’ve got to get rid of the van.”
“Now?”
“Yes. We’ll hide it there.” Jack gestured toward a large grove of pomegranate trees. “But let’s get Ali out of there.”
They looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. The grove and the fields were empty. A small truck was driving in the distance and going in the other direction.
Jack and Mostafa moved Ali’s body into the Mazda’s trunk. Jack could see the pain in Mostafa’s eyes as they laid his friend’s crumpled body in the oil-stained space. He had a detached look, as if he was somewhere else, and tried not to look at Ali’s pale face. They wrapped the body with blankets, so that if they were stopped, the body wouldn’t be immediately visible. Then they placed the tent and the sleeping bags on top. Unless an officer started to rummage through the pile, the body was hidden from sight.
“Now what?” Mostafa asked in a gloomy tone.
Jack tapped his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile.
Mostafa’s face didn’t change.
Jack said, “Get in.”
When Mostafa sat in the passenger seat, Jack handed him the dead guard’s phone. “Translate these for me. Start with the most recent ones.”
Mostafa looked at the phone. “Who is this phone?”
“Not important. Tell me if you find something related to a woman. Nusha Bhada. She should be in Marand.”
Mostafa nodded. He began to scroll through the messages. He took a couple of minutes while Jack drove through the gravel roads toward the east, trying to find a way to connect to the main road leading to Marand. Mostafa gave him instructions here and there, and finally they were back on the four-lane road.
They drove for a couple of kilometers, then Mostafa let out a high-pitched shriek.
Jack swung his head toward the Iranian. “What happened?”
“You no tell me. You no tell me!” Mostafa’s face was darkened with fear, and his lower lip quivered. His hands holding the phone were shaking and so was his voice. “This man, he’s… he’s sepah. That is Islamic Revolutionary—”
“I know what sepah stands for,” Jack said in a calm voice. “What did you find out?”
Mostafa gave Jack a stunned sideways glance. He dropped the phone into the console between the two seats as if it was burning his hands. “You liar to me. You not hiker. You secretive agent,” he said the words with difficulty in his broken English, but in a venomous tone.
Jack shrugged. “About the woman, Bhada. What did you find?”
Mostafa shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Keep looking. I need to find her. She should be in Marand.”
“You not understand. If they find out I help you, they kill me. My family. My everyone.”
“They won’t find out. You’re just reading the text messages.”
Mostafa shook his head. His face had turned ashen and reminded Jack of Ali’s pale face.
Jack nodded and said, “Please keep reading. The Revolutionary Guards have kidnapped her. I need to find her and rescue her.”
A grin curled up the left corner of Mostafa’s lips. “You rescue?”
Jack nodded. “Yes. Or she will die.”
Mostafa said nothing but returned to the screen.
Jack drove at the speed limit and occasionally glanced over his shoulder. He wished Mostafa would find something useful as soon as possible. Then, they’d discard the phone and put an end to the Iranians’ tracking their steps.
When Jack looked at Mostafa, his eyes twinkled with a ray of hope. “Address.” He pointed at the phone. “Near Darvish Mosque.”
“What part of the city is that?”
Mostafa shook his head. “Not know.”
“What is it?”
Mostafa gave Jack a puzzled glance. “I not understand.”
“Can you tell if it’s a house or an apartment?”
“I think it’s a house, but I’m not sure.”
“Okay. Let’s go there,” Jack said in a firm tone.
He was going to rescue Bhada or die trying.