“I also wish I knew something about the Charak Basij Brigade,” Yousef complained. Looking directly at Harry, he warned, “Remember, you’re wearing an Iranian corporal’s uniform now. Show some discipline. If you act the same way you do with your own officers, they’ll either spot you as an impostor or throw you in jail for insubordination.”
Anger flashed across Fazel’s face and into his voice. “You don’t have a clue about what it means to be a professional soldier. It’s going to be easy to pretend I’m Basij. I’ll just act like a thug. Oh, no, wait, that’s if I want to be Pasdaran.”
Shirin threw herself between the two men, and while the other Americans may not have understood Farsi, they knew trouble when they heard it. Lapointe and Phillips were closest. They managed to move so that while they discouraged Fazel from saying anything else, they stood with their teammate, facing Yousef. “That’s enough,” Lapointe ordered. Looking at Ramey and Jerry, he said, “It’s time to go.” Both officers nodded.
Embracing Yousef one last time, Shirin sighed and followed “Qassem.” They waited briefly, made sure the highway was empty, and hurried out to the roadside. Although it was early April, in the south it was already in the low twenties of degrees Centigrade. This close to the water, the southerly breeze was humid, but thankfully cool.
The Bandar Charak Road ran almost straight north-south here, two lanes of asphalt bordered by wide shoulders that blended with the surrounding landscape, sometimes almost seamlessly. It seemed flat, but as they walked, Shirin could see that the road cut through a series of low, gently sloping dunes.
Harry explained, “It’s a little less than two kilometers to the edge of town. We should get there in half an hour or so.”
“Fine, Qassem. So tell me about yourself. How old are you? Do I have any other in-laws?” Her tone was humorous, but she knew she was right. They were supposed to be family, even if only by marriage.
They walked in silence for a few minutes before the American answered. “We are not supposed to share personal information with the people we meet, but we are also taught that if we have to construct a legend, it’s best to stay close to the truth. I am twenty-eight.”
“So you’re Yousef’s older brother. Yousef is twenty-four. You have” — she paused for a moment — ”had another brother, three years younger than Yousef, Ali. He was at university, but protested the 2009 elections and was arrested. He was killed in prison, by the Pasdaran.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard on Yousef and our parents.”
“Your father passed away several years before that. Your mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease earlier in 2009, and the loss of her younger son accelerated her decline. Ali was the only family Yousef had. That is why it is so important that the two remaining brothers should get along.” Her plea came from her eyes, as well as her voice.
Harry walked silently for several minutes. “Alright. Thank you for telling me about Ali. But why would Yousef join the Pasdaran if he felt that way?
“He was already in, and stayed because of me, and because leaving the Pasdaran without good reason is not always easy, or safe.”
They walked and worked out several more details of his life. She and Yousef had met in Shiraz, so it made sense that “Qassem” lived there. He was an army veteran who had joined the Basij, and was studying to be a paramedic.
“I’m probably in charge of giving first aid classes to my fellow Basij fighters.”
“Don’t take them lightly,” she warned sternly. “They don’t, and they’re a law unto themselves. Yousef wasn’t wrong about being careful.”
She was telling Harry about Shiraz when they reached the edge of town, with scattered houses stretching away from the road. The city limits were officially marked by a small traffic circle, busy but not crowded with traffic in the middle of the day. The center island was filled with carefully tended greenery.
A policeman stood at the edge of the circle, watching the traffic. He noticed the couple and waved. Fazel waved back and Shirin nodded politely.
Another road headed east from the circle, and they turned that way, doing their best to look like locals. Walking east past a soccer field, they turned south again. One- and two-story buildings, all built from the same tan brick, lined the street. The bare ground was dotted with dark green scrub, but no grass. Trees often grew in the houses’ courtyards, with the houses built to surround them.
She discussed the route as they walked, with the American always steering her toward the largest crowds. It was well into the lunch hour, and her stomach complained.
On a street lined with shops and small businesses, they bought kebabs at one stall, and fruit drinks at another, always alert for anyone following or even showing interest in them. There were places to sit and eat, and Harry offered to let her rest, but she was too impatient to see Seyyed. And they couldn’t linger. Yousef and the others were depending on them.
As they headed south, Shirin began to see familiar places, and told Harry stories about Seyyed and the rest of her family. Her feet no longer hurt, and she began to rehearse how she would introduce the American to her uncle. “Uncle, this Basij corporal is actually an American commando.” There had to be a better way to say that.
Only a few blocks from his house, they saw a traffic barrier across the street, and two policemen waving traffic away. Like the one at the traffic circle, they were dressed in dark fatigues and ball caps, and carried submachine guns. Pedestrians tried to pass or spoke to them, but they were all turned away. Nobody argued with the officers, but several small groups had congregated across the street.
Alert for any sign of authority, they’d both spotted the police at the same time. Shirin’s cheerful mood vanished. “What do we do?” she whispered. Already walking south, they were in a residential neighborhood. Stopping or turning away would look suspicious.
The American simply said, “Peace, Miryam. We’ll turn at the corner. Our destination is to the east of here, remember?” They were so close. She could almost see Seyyed’s house from where they were.
“Yes,” she answered mechanically. Then she remembered something from her visits. “The old Al Ali Castle, down near the water.”
“And I forgot the camera again.”
His response almost made her laugh, and she relaxed a little. But why was the street blocked?
As they neared the intersection where the barrier was placed, Harry surprised Shirin and spoke to an elderly man standing at the corner. “He didn’t let you pass?”
“No,” the old man grumbled. “I wanted to visit my friend Farrokh, but they are not letting anyone by. They won’t tell me why, or how long it will be there. I don’t have a car, and my home is six blocks from here. We play chess every day, and smoke together.. ”
Another man came up, followed by a pair of women in burquas. He asked Fazel, “Do you know what this is about?”
“No, no,” he answered. “We’re just visiting.”
The two quickly moved on before they could be drawn into the discussion. Now that she could see down the cross street at the intersection, Shirin saw barriers at the streets on either side of this one, also manned by police, all blocking passage south. They walked quickly east. “Qassem, I’m worried. This can’t be a coincidence.”
“We’re still walking to the castle,” he reassured her. “See, the next intersection is not blocked off. We can use that street to head south.”
When they turned south, they did find more barriers, this time blocking access back to the west. Again, three streets were blockaded, and the center one passed near Seyyed’s home.
“We can turn west down there,” she said, as they walked by the barriers.
“No,” he replied. “We can’t risk showing too much interest…
The gunfire interrupted him. It came from their right, where Seyyed’s house should be. She heard a single shot, then a burst of fire, followed by several more. Then an explosion. All the fear and worry inside her wrapped itself around her heart.
The pedestrians on the street, and even the policemen at the barriers, ducked at the sound. The police kept their positions, but went to one knee, and kept turning and looking behind them. The civilians, some calling or shouting, fled.
Feeling Harry’s grip on her arm, Shirin let herself be hurried south. The shooting continued, and even Shirin could distinguish the sounds of different weapons. Single shots with different sounds, perhaps from pistols and
