Oath of Office

There was no question there, so Kazem did not respond right away.

“Who is Sahar Tabrizi?” General Alov said, suddenly concerned at Ghorbani’s tone. Russia had a great deal on the line here after all. “If there is some… how shall we say it? A fly in the ointment, I need to know about it.”

“You yourself said to get the best,” Kazem said. “Hitting the desired target with a missile of foreign manufacture—”

General Alov cut him off. “If you miss,” he said, “it is not the fault of the missile.”

“I was going to say,” Kazem continued, “hitting a target with a missile of foreign manufacture from our Iranian mobile launchers required I find someone better than the best. Dr. Tabrizi is a brilliant physicist and engineer. She is integral to my plan.”

“I am well aware of her so-called brilliance,” Ghorbani said. “But there is a certain instability that comes with her genius…” His voice trailed off and he looked up from the window again. “And what do you mean by your plan?”

“This is all nonsense,” General Alov said. “You could lean these missiles against a large tree and they would hit what you told them to hit, so long as you plot the correct firing solution in the command-control system.”

Reza gave a nod to Basir, who grabbed General Alov by the collar with one hand while he popped the seat belt with the other. At that moment, the pilot dipped the helicopter sharply to the left, making it a simple endeavor for the powerful Iranian to dump the unsuspecting Russian out over the desert. The general was so surprised by the action, he managed only a startled grunt before he disappeared out the open door.

Ghorbani’s face immediately turned ashen, the desired effect.

“What have you done?”

Reza nodded at the empty seat. “An unfortunate necessity,” he said. “It was important that you see our commitment so you will listen.”

Ghorbani leaned forward and banged his fist on the pilot’s seat. “Return to Mashhad at once!”

“I’m afraid that cannot happen, most benevolent one,” Kazem said, almost but not quite sneering. “Are you aware of Dr. Tabrizi’s most noteworthy hypothesis?”

Not one to be intimidated, even by cold-blooded murder, the cleric glared across the interior of the helicopter. “Of course I am. It is insane.”

“I must respectfully disagree,” Kazem said. “She is eccentric, to be sure, but she is far from insane. You see, with the help of two Russian missiles and Dr. Tabrizi, you and I are going to change the world.”

* * *

Jack Ryan, Jr., stood behind Ysabel, looking over her shoulder at Yazdani’s computer while Dovzhenko pulled up the eBay site where he’d stashed the photograph of Maryam and the other Iranian dissidents. Ysabel touched the tip of her index finger to her friend’s face and then pressed it to her lips. Dovzhenko leaned in — to comfort her or to be comforted, Jack couldn’t tell which.

“I suppose Sassani’s actions make sense,” Dovzhenko said. “General Alov would not want me to know of his interaction with members of the protests.” He shook his head. “But I still do not understand why he was there in the first place. He is too well known to be working undercover. And I cannot picture a scenario where Moscow abandons Tehran in favor of a new regime.”

Yazdani stepped closer, peering down at his computer screen. “Perhaps I can help you with that,” he said. “From what I saw, Moscow has not abandoned anyone. Reza Kazem is supposed to be the leader of this Persian Spring, but I do not think that is the case. I think they are all working together. The only people who have been abandoned are those who fell under Kazem’s spell.”

Jack nodded. “So Russia sells nuclear missiles to Iran through a dumbshit arms dealer in Portugal, but since they are supposed to be stolen and going to a dissident group, Russia and Tehran get to skate out from under the blame — even though the whole world knows the story is bogus. Pretty slick, when you think about it.”

“I have no idea where they got the missiles,” Yazdani said. “But they are Russian and they are nuclear. But this conspiracy does little to answer your question about the targets.”

Ysabel touched the screen again, this time pointing to a stocky woman in her mid-sixties who stood talking to one of Maryam’s three friends who’d been hanged in front of Dovzhenko. She wore no headscarf and her shoulder-length hair was flat black, as if it had been spray-painted. “I think Sahar Tabrizi could be our answer.”

Jack leaned in, wincing, from the throbbing pain in his ear. “Dr. Sahar Tabrizi? Didn’t she have some cockamamie theory about satellite Armageddon?”

* * *

“About the time of the revolution,” President Jack Ryan said, “there was a brilliant astrophysicist named Sahar Tabrizi teaching at the University of Tehran. She was loud and eccentric and believed women were as smart and capable as men — just the sort of academic Khomeini liked to send to the dungeons of Evin Prison. I believe she fled to teach at a university in South America.”