the tops of the windows. Claustrophobia scratched at my skull as, one by one, my portholes to the outside world were blocked. Shortly afterward Asha called.
We’d left him in the car, though he’d protested. “I would like to go in with you. I could help,” he’d said. His mournful face held such eagerness I nearly hugged him.
“Dude, you’re the getaway driver,” said Cole.
“We may need to exit quickly,” Vayl agreed. “It would help if you were ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
More to make him feel involved than out of a true sense of need, I’d donned my special specs and given him the access number. “Just phone me if you see something fishy,” I’d told him.
Now I put my hand over my ear to hide the tiny arm that snaked out to provide me with audio and looked down, so the movement of my lips would be hidden in the folds of my hijab. “Yeah?”
“The mahghul are gathering.”
“What? Here?”
“Yes. What is it that you intend?” he asked, his voice strained.
“It’s not us, Asha. Somebody else must be looking for trouble tonight.”
“Should I come in?”
“Are you sure the source of the danger is inside?”
Long pause. “No. The sidewalks are busy tonight.”
“Well, we’re already inside. So we’ll do what we can from here. Why don’t you scout around out there? See what you come up with. Call if you need help, okay?”
“Okay.”
I disconnected. “Crap.” I told the guys what was happening. Both of them thought we had another assassin in our midst.
“This guy FarjAd’s got to have a ton of enemies,” Cole reasoned. “In a country full of radicals, his viewpoint is bound to raise alarms. Frankly, I can’t believe he’s still roaming around free. Either he’s one lucky sucker or they’ve only just started hearing about him.”
“Just look at this assemblage,” Vayl agreed. “Strangers such as we should not be given such easy access if they wish for FarjAd to live a long life.”
“The whole point is freedom,” I reminded them. “These people are trying to create an atmosphere where it’s okay to just walk in and listen. You know? Like in America?”
“Well, all this freedom is going to get their keynote speaker killed,” said Cole.
“Goddammit!” I hissed the word, but it got Vayl and Cole’s attention. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you two quite vying for coolest agent of the month and help me figure out how to save a guy who’s naive enough to think he can run around Iran having open forums?”
Vayl’s nod allowed me the point. “People are milling about enough that I believe we can move through the room without causing undue attention. It is Secret Service time.”
Even though Cole had only been hanging with us a little while, he knew what Vayl meant. When we’re not working, we’re training, and Vayl’s go-to drill is the Secret Service. The idea is to disguise ourselves and then try to pick one another out of a crowd. It’s how we learn to blend so we don’t get nailed before — or after — our missions are completed. In this case, we weren’t looking for Cole in a ball cap and a flannel shirt or Vayl sporting plastic- rimmed glasses and a briefcase. We wanted the killer Asha had detected.
We got up and spread out. Every computer had a user, as well as two or three onlookers. The tables were all full and small groups of men and women stood in the spaces between, chatting comfortably as they waited for the evening to get underway. The mix of men and women was about even, with the atmosphere equivalent to what you might expect from a crowd waiting to see a much-anticipated play. I had one of those small-world moments I often experience while out-of-country, when I understand that yawning gaps in culture and belief systems are never so huge they can’t be bridged. There’s always common ground. Like how much we all enjoy the company of people we agree with.
I didn’t catch sight of FarjAd at first because he was hidden behind a group of students. I’d thought they were gathered around a computer, because they were laughing every few seconds. A sure sign one of them had found a hilarious Web site. Then the group split, their grinning faces following the subject of their attention as he emerged to greet the rest of the crowd.
He had a presence that made you smile before you realized what you were doing. I’d met so few people like him it was hard to compare. Our secretary, Martha, whose husband was a minister, shared his kindness. But not his immense, almost booming vitality. It crackled through the room like electricity, and I wasn’t surprised to find the hairs on my neck standing on end as he came closer to my position.
I tore my eyes from him and scanned the area, concentrating on the people standing closest to him. Vayl and Cole would take care of their zones, and hopefully we’d discover the culprit in time to divert whatever disaster he or she had in mind. I hadn’t found anybody suspicious by the time I looked back at FarjAd. To find him beaming amiably at me.
“It is so good of you to come,” he said, taking my hands in his and bowing over them. “I have not seen your face before, true?”
“True,” I replied, realizing too late I was smiling again. As a general rule, you try not to do that during the Secret Service drill. Throws you off.
“And from where have you traveled to be with us this night?”
I’m a student from Canada studying Farsi,
said my brain, just like it had practiced. Repeatedly. I looked into those shrewd brown eyes, only a couple of inches above mine, and realized I couldn’t lie. Some people just demand honesty. They’re like walking jolts of truth
