Alex Morgan pulled the long loose gray tunic over her baggy gray slacks and shapeless gray top. She put the hijab on last, as Lily Randall did the same. They were wearing the more conservative headscarf that covered everything but their faces.
Lily examined Alex and tucked some of her wayward brown hair under the hijab. Strictly speaking, the extra care wasn’t necessary. They were already dressed more conservatively than most Iranian women, who were getting more and more daring with their colorful hijabs that covered less and less of their hair.
Alex wished those women well but there was no doubt that they attracted attention. The last thing that she and Lily wanted to do was attract attention. Things were tense enough on the streets of Tehran as it was.
“How about me?” Lily asked.
“Perfect,” Alex said. She wasn’t surprised to see that not a hair showed from under Lily’s headscarf.
Her friend and fellow agent had dyed her usual blond locks brown just in case anyone saw under the scarf. Even that wouldn’t be catastrophic, but it would attract more attention than they wanted.
Alex checked the mirror. She wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup, and though she usually wore very little, she felt surprisingly bare-faced and vulnerable without it.
Lily, on the other hand, was wearing subtle makeup to flatten her cheekbones and create dark patches under her eyes. Even with that effort to appear less attractive, Lily was still beautiful.
“Any doubts?” Lily asked in her light London accent.
“None,” Alex said. “Though I’ll admit it’s not what I expected. I always figured our first undercover mission together would involve an underground European nightclub.”
“They’re overrated,” Lily said with a smile. “The shoes you have to wear are ridiculous, the wigs are uncomfortable, and nobody ever tells you that those places smell.”
“To be fair, these shoes aren’t too bad,” Alex said. They were pretty much track shoes and were reasonably comfortable. She also appreciated that the loose clothing meant that they would be able to move and fight, if they had to.
“First rule of undercover work—it’s never what you expect,” Lily said.
That was true, Alex thought. Her last undercover mission had been nothing like she had expected.
“I’m sorry Alex, that was thoughtless,” Lily said.
Shaking her head, Alex said, “Not at all, the mission was a success.”
That was true. Zeta had prevented something awful, and Alex had helped.
And yet there were losses.
Losses were part of the job, she knew. You never get used to them, her father had explained. The day you do is the day you know you’ve been doing this too long.
“I want to watch it again,” Alex said. Lily checked her watch and opened the laptop. She pressed a button and the video started. It was a press conference at the University of Tehran where a woman approached the podium wearing a western-style business suit and a green headscarf.
Maryam Nasiri was an Iranian-American who had emigrated from Iran as a small child and was now an American citizen. She was also one of the only two women to win the Fields Medal in Mathematics for her work on an algorithm so far over Alex’s head that her year of A.P. calculus hadn’t helped her understand even the Wikipedia entry about Nasiri’s work.
The mathematician had made the mistake of accepting an invitation from the University of Tehran for a reception in her honor. After that, her family had never heard from her again.
The University released a written public statement signed by Nasiri about her decision to stay on at the University and her excitement about finally being “home.”
After a great deal of international pressure, a single public appearance at a press conference was set up and had gone viral. In the video, Nasiri seemed sedated. At the podium she spoke in a flat tone. “Thank you all for coming. I want to make it very clear how excited I am to continue my work in the country of my birth. The University of Tehran is my new home and they have given me all of the resources I need to continue my work. Thank you.”
Then she had been ushered away and there had been no questions from the press at this “press conference.”
“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late on our first day of work,” Lily said.
Somehow, while they had been watching, Lily had executed a physical transformation that surprised Alex. The older agent usually carried herself with the confidence of an extraordinarily beautiful woman who was also one of the most deadly people at Zeta. She seemed to occupy a unique space between a catwalk model and an MMA fighter—and carried herself accordingly.
Now Lily’s face had sunk into an inexpressive frown, her shoulders were hunched over, and her whole body had seemed to loosen.
Alex did her best to imitate the stance and the two agents walked out the apartment door. As they left, a woman wearing all-black and a heavy hijab barked something at them. She was sitting behind a counter at what looked like the front desk at a small hotel.
This was a residence hotel but the woman wasn’t a front desk clerk. She was more like a housemother, a chaperone for all of the working women who lived there.
Lily replied in Persian and the rough older woman didn’t just seem satisfied, she waved them on and averted her eyes.
“How did you do that?” Alex asked when they were outside.
“I added a little Kurdish accent,” the agent replied.
That made sense—the Kurds were not exactly a favored minority in Iran. Plus, many were from territory very close to Iraq, which also didn’t endear them to the locals.
“I’ll have to remember to do that,” Alex said. “Once I learn Persian.”
Though Lily was only seven years older than Alex, before she had joined Zeta she’d already made a name for herself in British intelligence.
Alex wouldn’t need to speak the local language for this mission—the rescue of one Maryam Nasiri from the mathematics department at the University of Tehran, where she and Lily were now part of the crew of cleaning women.
The University was, at best, a low security environment. A small detail of soldiers guarded the mathematician but after two months, reports were that they were lax in their approach to the job.
As a mission, this would be the equivalent of a “smash and grab.” With any luck, they would have their charge out of the country before nightfall.
The streets of Tehran were bustling and the air was warm—78 degrees, which was normal for spring. If it wasn’t for the covered women, Alex would have thought she was walking the tree-lined streets of any large European city. Traffic was heavier than she would have thought, even for a city of eight million people.
The cars were mostly European, Peugeot Citroëns and other smallish models with a few of the more expensive German vehicles. She wasn’t surprised that she didn’t see a single American car on the road.
A fair number of motorcycles streaked past but none struck her as impressive. Most were smallish Hondas and Italian Benellis. She also noted quite a few of the new locally produced SAIPA electric motorbikes.
It took Alex a moment to realize that something was missing: she didn’t see a single sidewalk vendor. She knew that the Iranian authorities didn’t like them and assumed they were having one of their periodic crackdowns.
It only took Alex a few blocks to begin to sweat under the hijab.
“You okay?” Lily asked.
Alex nodded. “Yeah, but this thing itches and it’s hot.”
“Just like those wigs at the underground nightclubs,” Lily said. “They are itchy as hell.”
That made Alex smile and they shuffled, eyes downcast, on their way.
The streets were bustling. And to be fair, the hijab they wore as part of their cleaning crew uniform was heavier than many of the ones Alex saw on the street. At least half of the young women were wearing nearly Western-style clothes and colorful headscarves that showed a fair amount of their hair.
They were all being watched by the green-uniformed “morality police.” This branch of law enforcement was charged with making sure that the population conformed to public morality at all times. Theoretically, men could attract the attention of the patrols if their beards were too long or they wore short-sleeved shirts, but as a practical matter the police reserved their scrutiny for women whose clothing or headscarves were insufficiently “modest.”
Women were taking more chances than usual today. It was Wednesday—or White Wednesday—the day that rebellious Iranian women wore white to protest the compulsory wearing of the hijab.
Alex applauded their efforts, but given the number of patrols on the street, she didn’t think the day would end well for the women who bent the rules too far. Already, the agents had witnessed more than one heated argument between women and these special police.
The Iranian government’s official statements always referred to the mission of the morality police as “guidance.” Of course, if that were true, Alex wondered why these “guidance officers” were armed.
The agents approached the university’s main entrance, which was in the south. The entryway was formed by four twisted concrete arches that seemed almost like modern art. The academic buildings were surprisingly modern and would not have been out of place in any major European—or even American—city.
Just to the right of the gate Alex could see a crowd forming around a woman wearing a white headscarf and shouting at two of the green-uniformed morality police. The officers were flanked by two female colleagues wearing full black robes who were shouting back at the woman in white.
Alex could see the problem. The white-clad woman was wearing what would have passed for moderate makeup in the West but was very out of place in Tehran. She was also wearing her white headscarf toward the back of her head, showing fully half of her hair.
Alex supported the effort, but she didn’t want the commotion to interfere with their mission. She heard a loud yell and watched as the woman reached up to grab her white hijab. She glared at the two black-clad women, who were now screaming at her, and then she pulled off her scarf.
For a moment of silence the growing crowd was shocked by the display. Then one the men in the green uniforms hurled himself at the young woman—who Alex could now see was probably a college student.
The girl hit the sidewalk hard, with a nearly two hundred pound man coming down on top of her. Alex tensed and prepared for action.
She felt Lily’s hand on her shoulder. “We can’t,” the older agent said.
That wasn’t true. The men were armed, but there were only two of them. And the female officers in black didn’t seem to have the stomach for anything other than screaming.
Alex had no doubt that she and Lily could handle the four of them and get the woman to safety (provided she wasn’t already badly hurt) before they knew what hit them.
But that wasn’t the mission.
It took every ounce of discipline that Alex had to allow Lily to lead her through the university entrance.
The guards at the gate barely noticed them as they ran outside to the commotion, which was getting louder. The two agents crossed the large campus square, which was bustling with college students, about a quarter of whom were women.
At the far end of the campus was a building that Alex recognized as housing the Mathematics, Statistics, and Computer Science departments. That was where Nasiri was now “working.”
Outside the entrance was a woman Alex recognized from the mission briefing. She was wearing the same grey cleaning crew “uniform” as Alex and Lily.
Lily approached her and spoke quickly in Persian. The woman responded in kind. Then she turned her attention to Alex and said in surprisingly good English, “Hello Alex. My name is Shirin.”
“There’s a bit of a commotion outside,” Lily said.
Shirin shrugged and said, “It’s Wednesday. There is something unusual going on in here though. They have doubled the guard around Nasiri. These men are fresh and not yet complacent.”
That wasn’t good, Alex thought. On paper, it had been an easy mission with four lazy guards. This would be harder.
“Do you think the authorities suspect a rescue attempt?” Lily asked.
“No, but there are rumors that she will soon be moved,” Shirin said.
That was new. Whatever Nasiri was working on had some sort of technological or military application. If she was moved to a secure facility they might never get another chance to get her out.
“The extra risk is within our mission parameters,” Lily said. “What do you think, Alex?”
“We’re prepared for this. Plus, we’d like to meet the woman that everyone is going to so much trouble over,” Alex said.
Shirin smiled broadly at that and said, “We’ll start working on the first floor. We’ll reach the fourth floor by lunch and then you can meet her.”
Before they could turn to head inside Alex could hear the distinctive sound of helicopter rotors—and not a civilian chopper. This sounded military.
Alex was wrong about one thing, she realized, as two large black helicopters flew over the southern entrance. They came in fast and much lower than was normal for an urban center.
In no time the choppers made very quick and very rough landings on the campus square.
Alex and Lily both looked at Shirin, who said, “I have no idea.”
Alex heard gunfire and assumed it was coming from the guard shack, or outside the entrance. Someone was shooting at the helicopters.
The doors of the choppers opened and men wearing all black filed out. They were carrying rifles and returned the small arms fire with fully automatic bursts.
“I don’t know what this is. I was told to get you inside and provide assistance, but I can’t help you with this,” Shirin said.
“You won’t have to,” Lily said. “I suspect we might not be the only ones who want to get their hands on Nasiri. You’ve done plenty and we thank you.”
Shirin gestured to the all-out firefight that was now going on across the square. Besides the now near constant gunfire, students were screaming and racing away from the scene.
“What will you do?” Shirin asked.
“This development goes way beyond our mission parameters,” Lily said. Turning to Alex, she said, “We’re supposed to abort.”
Alex studied the doors to the building. They were so close. A woman, an American citizen who needed their help, was only a few flights of stairs away.
“They don’t look so tough. And did you see that landing? Strictly amateur hour. I say we expand our mission parameters,” Alex said.
“Agreed,” Lily replied. Then she turned to Shirin and said, “Thank you again. Get somewhere safe—as far away from us as possible.”
Lily and Alex turned to the building, opened the doors, and raced inside.