61

Syracuse, New York

It was early Friday afternoon.

Marseille hadn’t imagined being back in Syracuse less than a week after leaving. But this had not been a normal week. The world seemed to be spinning off its axis. It had been difficult to take her eyes off the television reports since she awoke in DC on Thursday morning. She’d been glued to images of the Israeli air strikes in Iran and the Iranian response. Her best friend was on her honeymoon in Israel, her old friend David was in Iran, and she could reach neither. She watched helplessly as missiles were fired into Israel from north and south. She wept when she saw the images of Israelis forced to hide in bomb shelters and of parents desperately trying to put gas masks on their babies and small children. She could not believe it when her own president denounced Israel for its preemptive strike and demanded an immediate cease-fire. How could he not recognize the evil intentions of Iran or acknowledge Israel’s right to defend itself?

The only good news was that none of the missiles striking Israel seemed to be nuclear, chemical, or biological, and under the circumstances that was actually miraculous. But she wished there were something more she could do than pray.

She was holding on to God and His Word as the new information and myriad questions unearthed in the past few days swirled in her head. During her Bible study that morning, she had read in Hebrews about the confidence followers of Jesus can have, based on what He has done for them, and she particularly loved the words “This hope we have as an anchor of the soul.” It was this unchangeable truth that encouraged her as she looked out the window at the gray skies of upstate New York while the plane made its descent into Hancock Field.

* * *

Karaj, Iran

He was exhausted but alive and grateful to see some friendly faces.

It was nearly midnight on Friday in Iran when David finally made it to Safe House Six, the basement apartment the CIA owned on the outskirts of the city of Karaj, about twenty kilometers west of Tehran, in the foothills of the Alborz Mountains. Captain Torres and his men greeted David warmly. They immediately heated up some food for him and wanted to know every detail of his harrowing journey from Qom amid wave after wave of Israeli air attacks from fighter planes and sub-launched cruise missiles. But first David wanted to know about them.

“Are all your men okay?” David asked, taking a piece of naan.

“Yes, yes, we’re all fine,” Torres said. “The van was pretty shot up, but we ditched it and stole another.”

“Good—and Khan, how is he?”

“He was pretty shaken up by everything, but he’ll pull through,” Torres said. “They flew him out yesterday, just before the air strikes began. He’s in Bahrain now. They’re doing more interrogations and a medical check. I expect him to be in Gitmo by this time tomorrow.”

David nodded and chewed his Persian bread slowly. They offered him one of the cold beers the Agency kept stashed in the refrigerator, but he waved it off. He did not feel like celebrating.

True, in a narrow sense, his plan had worked. Following David’s order to open fire as they had, Torres and his team had taken out key men around Javad Nouri. They had severely wounded Javad himself without killing him. They had, therefore, neutralized Javad’s ability to serve as the Mahdi’s trusted right-hand man at a time when the Mahdi would need him most. Most importantly, they had given David the opportunity to play the hero. By taking Javad to the ground and protecting him with his own body from further gunfire and then getting him quickly into the SUV and off to the hospital, David had proven his loyalty to the Mahdi. It was something Javad and his men would likely not soon forget. Indeed, David hoped it was something they would eventually reward.

That said, his overall mission had been a total failure. By God’s grace—and there could be no other explanation for it—David had done nearly everything his superiors at Langley had asked of him. He hadn’t captured Javad Nouri or found Jalal Zandi yet. But he had nabbed Tariq Khan. He had found the locations of all eight warheads. He had gotten the information back to Zalinsky and Murray before the Iranians had launched them. And he had put more phones in the hands of the Twelfth Imam’s inner circle, which he prayed would bear more fruit in the days and weeks to come. But what had really come of any of it? At the end of the day, the president hadn’t been willing to use all means necessary to stop Iran from getting the Bomb. It had all been too little, too late. So what was he supposed to do next?

David apologized to the men and excused himself. He took a long, hot shower and changed into some clean clothes, and as he did, he tried to make sense of the risks he was taking. He was more than willing to put his life on the line to protect his country. He was even more willing now that he knew for certain where he was going when he died. But if neither the Agency nor the president were going to act quickly and decisively on any of the information he was gathering, then what was the point? If they weren’t going to take risks for peace, then why should he?

Exhausted and unable to process any more, he lay down and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

Syracuse, New York

The viewing would be that evening.

The funeral was set for the next morning at eleven. The Shirazis had offered to have her stay with them, but as much as she longed to see David’s childhood home for the first time in years, she’d insisted on staying at a hotel and not burdening the family.

Marseille rented a car and a GPS system at the airport. Then she drove back to the University Sheraton, where she had stayed for Lexi’s wedding. As she did, she pulled out her cell phone and called David’s sister-in-law, Nora Shirazi. Nora, the wife of David’s eldest brother, Azad, had been her contact point for the past few days. They had e-mailed back and forth several times, but it felt strange that Nora wasn’t even going to be able to make it to Syracuse from their home outside of Philly. Nora was the only woman in the family now, filled as it was by the strong Shirazi men. Even Nora’s newborn child was a little boy, carrying on the family name into the next generation. But it was little Peter, born only on Tuesday, who prevented Nora from attending the funeral.

Marseille had replied to Nora’s e-mail as soon as she’d received the message about Mrs. Shirazi’s passing on Wednesday night. She’d explained that she’d actually never left the East Coast and would very much like to be there for the funeral. She’d heard from Nora within the hour and several times on Thursday as the funeral arrangements were being made.

The call went through. “Hello?” a woman said at the other end.

“Nora?”

“Is this Marseille?”

“Yes, hi—I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No, no, not at all,” Nora said. “I’m just feeding the baby. I actually thought you might be Azad. But I’m glad it’s you. Did you get in okay?”

“I did, thanks. I’m heading to the hotel right now. I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do, you know, to be helpful in some way. I feel a little like, I don’t know, like a stranger.”

“Nonsense—you’re practically family,” Nora said with a genuine warmth that touched Marseille. “Heck, you’ve known the Shirazis longer than I have, and Dad for one is really eager to see you. Honestly, when Azad told him you were coming, he said it was the first time in days when Dad’s spirits actually seemed to pick up a bit.”

Then the baby started fussing. Nora apologized and said she had to go. Marseille said she understood and hung up, but as she drove, she wished they could have talked longer. It wasn’t just that Nora was part of the Shirazi family or that Nora had to have known David far better over the last few years than she had. It was also the sinking feeling that at the moment, she really had no one else to talk to.

* * *

Karaj, Iran

David sat bolt upright in his bed.

He checked his watch. It was not yet dawn, but he couldn’t believe he’d been sleeping for so long. He rubbed his eyes, then jumped up, splashed some water on his face, and quietly went out into the living room to find a laptop and log on to the Internet.

Once online, he checked his AOL account, hoping to write a quick note to his dad and to Marseille. What he found, however, were nearly a dozen e-mails from Azad and Nora and even Saeed, and when he learned that his mother had died some forty-eight hours earlier and his brothers were angry that he wasn’t calling or e-mailing back, his heart broke.

There were e-mails about the viewing and e-mails about the memorial service and e-mails about the burial, all of them asking where he was and when he was coming.

What was he supposed to say to them? How could he possibly explain to them why he wasn’t going to be there for his own mother’s funeral or why he hadn’t even had the decency to be in touch with them? No lie would suffice. And for David, at the moment, not even the truth sufficed.

* * *

Syracuse, New York

Marseille allowed herself extra time to get to the viewing.

Not wanting to be late, she wound her way through the neighborhoods near the university, crossed Erie Boulevard, and started up the hills into the northern neighborhoods, thankful for her GPS. Carter Funeral Home was a lovely white building set away from the road. It looked welcoming. There were already several cars parked outside, though it was still thirty minutes before the visiting hours would begin.

Hoping to have some quiet moments with David’s family, yet not sure if it was appropriate to show up early, she decided to just go in. The front doors were propped slightly open, and she could see a small group at the top of a short set of stairs. She suddenly worried that no one would recognize her and felt a flutter of fear and awkwardness. But as the older man in the center of the little knot of people glanced in her direction for a moment and she saw instant recognition light up his eyes, she sighed with relief and returned his smile.

“My dear Marseille, it is so wonderful that you are here,” Dr. Shirazi said, wiping his tears and actually brightening. “I am so honored that you would come. To have such a longtime friend here with us means a great deal.”

Dr. Shirazi came to her and embraced her, and she almost lost control of her emotions. To be in a father’s arms, to smell the somehow-familiar scent of pipe tobacco and aftershave, was almost too much to bear.

“Dr. Shirazi, I am so glad to be here with you,” Marseille said, sniffling. “But I am so sorry for all the sadness you are bearing, that all of you are bearing. And I’m so sorry that David can’t be here.”

Her voice faltered just then, and she suddenly wished she had waited for him to bring up David’s name.

But Dr. Shirazi just patted her on the back. “Thank you, Marseille. The empathy of a friend is a treasure I do not take for granted. And I know you have had more sorrow than a young woman should ever be asked to bear. Thank you for sharing ours.”

His words soothed her, and in her heart she thanked God for the kindness of this dear man.

“And as for David,” Dr. Shirazi said softly and with an intensity that surprised her, “he is where he is needed most. I know it breaks his heart to miss this difficult time with the family. But my heart is not broken because he is a good son, because he sat with me and his mother for hours and cared for me, because he is a good man and this is the heart’s desire of any father. Do not judge him, Marseille. It is not vanity or riches that have prevented him from coming. He is doing his duty, and I am grateful—and I know his mother would be, too.”

Marseille was amazed by the firm words and will of Dr. Shirazi. She wondered how he could have such strength, such faith in David, unless he knew the truth about who David worked for and where he now was. But how could he?

“Come, now,” he said, taking her by the arm. “Come say hello to my other two sons. It has been a long time since you’ve seen each other, no?”

David’s father guided her over to greet Azad and Saeed, two strikingly handsome men with the same piercing brown eyes as their younger brother. They each embraced her, kissing her on the cheek, and she fell into easy conversation with them all until people began arriving and they needed to host.