and Israelis in the war they could never win against the Most High.
“Thirty seconds, sir.”
“Even with one blinded eye, I can still read a clock.”
VEVAK—Vezarat-e Ettela’at va Amniat-e Keshvar—was the largest, most powerful, and best-funded agency in Iran, and Dr. Mohammadi reported only to the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Yasseri—even the Assembly of Experts had no say in his affairs. His agency was second only to Mossad in the region, and nearly equal to the other great power services. Intelligence was key to everything. His Unknown Soldiers of Imam Zaman carried out clandestine intelligence-gathering operations all over the globe. But never had they gathered this kind of intelligence.
The kind of intelligence that would change everything.
Intelligence of inestimable value.
And how did CHIBI come by it? A single, anonymous e-mail—his best technicians still couldn’t trace the source—with a simple offer. “A free sample,” it promised.
Mohammadi’s first thought was that it was a trap, some kind of elaborate ruse by the Americans or Israelis to expose Quds Force and Hezbollah operations in Latin America.
But even the Americans wouldn’t sacrifice more than two dozen Argentine special operators for an act of deception.
This all seemed too good to be true. But Allah was known to confound the minds of the infidels. And every intelligence professional knew that the greatest intelligence coups of the Cold War didn’t come from traditional methods but rather through persons choosing to walk in the door and deliver the goods of their own volition, motivated by their own sense of ideology, ego, or greed.
Was this the case now? Or was this, indeed, an elaborate and bloody trap designed to finally destroy the Revolution? And if so, by whom?
The Persian Spring operation had been an utter fiasco. Thanks be to Allah that he had opposed it from the start, Mohammadi thought. But that fool Ghorbani had won the argument. His death was Allah’s judgment, surely, but the Russians were badly burned by the failed operation. Perhaps they were seeking some sort of revenge for Reza Kazem’s failure?
If Mohammadi passed on this opportunity, he risked losing the greatest sword Allah could ever have put in his hands to defeat his crusader enemies. Perhaps Allah would not forgive him if he foolishly refused the generous offer.
The Ayatollah surely would not forgive him if he refused it. Mohammadi cast his one eye not blinded by the Shah’s SAVAK torturers at the technician seated next to him. Did the young man realize his life hung in the balance of the next few seconds?
There was another possibility. Could this be the devil’s sword, aimed at the heart of the Republic? A sword plucked out from the fires of hell by his own hand because he had allowed himself to be deceived by the infidel on the other end of this computer connection?
Risk versus reward. Isn’t that how the Americans would view this?
Dr. Mohammadi touched the knot of fused bone and melted flesh that used to be his left hand. Another gift of the CIA and Mossad-trained SAVAK scum that tried to strangle the Revolution in its mother’s womb. His hatred for the Americans and Jews knew no bounds. Allah had used his suffering to make him as hard as the stump at the end of his arm. His study of the holy texts taught him many things, but none so important as the truth that there are no cowards in Paradise.
Just four seconds left on the clock.
“Type, ‘Yes, quite satisfied,’” Mohammadi finally said.
The tech sighed silently and typed quickly.
They worked in English, the language chosen by CHIBI. When he was still a young Islamic scholar, Mohammadi fled to Canada to escape the Shah’s murderous reach. He became fluent in both French and English in his years there before SAVAK found him and brought him back to Tehran for extensive interrogation.
Another proof of Allah’s omniscient guidance in his life.
“Now ask, ‘How much?’”
The tech typed again.
A response appeared instantly.
YOU KNOW THE TERMS.
“Name your price,” Mohammadi replied.
YOU KNOW THE TERMS.
“At least tell me whom I’m bidding against.” Mohammadi feared that someone else would win the auction and wield this weapon against the Republic. But he also feared paying too much. Iran’s economy was in shambles now. He would have to ask the Ayatollah for ungodly sums of money if he wanted to guarantee a win. But what if the other bidders were lesser agencies?
YOU KNOW THE TERMS.
Clearly, CHIBI was being careful. Syntax, vocabulary, and logical arguments could give away his identity.
“Enemies of the Revolution?”
YOU KNOW THE TERMS.
He did. Anonymity of the