The innkeeper saw the glances with alarm. His daughter was still young, not ready for marriage. If she left him, he would have no one to do the work here.
“Simin, off to your chores,” he said sharply. “I will see to our guest.”
“She is a very beautiful girl,” said Tarid when she was gone.
“Yes.”
The innkeeper’s nervousness amused Tarid. He said nothing else as he drank his tea, taking it in minuscule sips to savor the sweetness. Every so often he glanced at the doorway behind the desk, catching a glimpse of Simin as she went about her duties.
Finally, the cup was empty.
“Well, perhaps I will go up to my room now,” said Tarid. “I’ve had a long day and need to rest.”
“Yes, a good idea,” said the innkeeper with great relief. “Let me show you the way.”
Nuri had the cab driver drop them off two blocks from the hotel where Tarid had stopped.
“You want here, mister?” asked the driver. He spoke slowly in Farsi, forming each word carefully, convinced that it was the only way his foreign fare would understand. “I take you to a good hotel. Better for tourists.”
“This will do,” said Tarid in Farsi.
“But—”
“We’re meeting some friends. This is good.”
“If you wish.”
The driver pulled in the general direction of the curb, though not so far off the main lane of traffic that anyone could have squeezed around him. Nuri and Flash got out. After collecting their bags, Nuri gave the driver a 100,000 rial note and told him to keep the change.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” The driver opened his door. “Are you sure that you don’t want a ride to a proper hotel? I know of many.”
“That’s OK.”
The driver shrugged, then left.
“Probably going to take us to his brother-in-law’s, right?” said Flash.
“No, he’s probably pretty honest. Most of the Iranians are kind to tourists. A few you have to watch out for, but most would give you the shirt off their back. Of course, everyone thinks you’re rich.”
Nuri glanced around the street. The area was shabby, not quite poor but far from prosperous. The same could be said for much of Tehran, and the entire country for that matter. Except for oil, there was not much going on in the economy, one reason the government had agreed to get rid of its nuclear weapons.
Or at least pretended to, he thought.
“High crime area?” Flash asked.
“Crime’s not too much of a problem in Tehran,” said Nuri, though he realized that the area was not the best. “We have a lot more to worry about from the police.”
He began walking down the block. The Voice had identified the building where Tarid was staying as a small, private hotel. It had been unable to get more information about it, however — an indication to Nuri that it catered exclusively to Iranians. It was possible it was connected to the government in some way, or the Iranian secret service, if Tarid was employed by it.
They stopped at the corner, still a half block from the hotel There was a small painted sign in Farsi.
“What do you think?” asked Flash. “We going to check in?”
“I’m not sure.”
Checking into a hotel controlled by the intelligence services would be needlessly dangerous under the circumstances. Nuri decided to take a look at the place and see how difficult it would be to wait for Tarid outside. Bumping into him in the street in the morning might be the easiest way to accomplish their mission.
On the other hand, the Voice said that Tarid was in the lobby. Perhaps he could go in and ask for directions — tag him as he stood nearby. Then he’d be able to get some real sleep.
“Wait here,” Nuri told Flash. “I’m going to check the place out.”
“What do I do with the bags?”
“Sit on them.”
“Thanks.”
The hotel was a narrow four-story building squeezed between two apartment houses. The entrance to the lobby was up a flight of steps from the street, situated just high enough to make it impossible to see inside without going up the steps, though Nuri tried as he walked by. He continued down the end of the block, crossed, and passed again on the other side. There were two restaurants and a cafe almost directly across from the place; it was likely Tarid would go there in the morning. Even if he didn’t, it would be easy to wait for him there.
“Locate the subject in the building,” said Nuri. “What floor is he on?”
“His elevation indicates floor three.”
“He’s not in the lobby?”
“Elevation indicates floor three.”
“Front or back?”
“Back.”
“When was the last time he moved?”
“Subject is moving.”
“Still in that apartment?”
“Within the previous parameters.”
The Voice couldn’t tell whether he was in a specific room; all it could do was compare how far he had gone to where he had gone earlier.
Nuri turned around at the corner, looking back down the street. He’d plant some video bugs to make surveillance easier, then come back in the morning.
But what he really wanted to do was plant one on Tarid.
Maybe he should wait until Tarid fell asleep, Nuri thought, then break into his hotel room.
A car sped down the street, passing so close that the wind nearly knocked him over. A loud, Western-style beat pounded from its speakers, the bass vibrating throughout the narrow street. He watched it for a moment, then crossed over, deciding he would go into the lobby and plant a bug.
Though the lights were on in the lobby, the hotel owner had locked the front door for the night. Nuri banged the door against the dead-bolt lock, not realizing it was closed.
Disappointed, he turned and looked for a spot where he could slip the bug.
He had just set one of the larger bugs beneath the rail when the door opened behind him, catching him by surprise.
“What do you want?” asked the hotel owner. His earlier good humor, when he first welcomed Tarid, had drained away.
“Oh, I — a wrong address,” said Nuri.
“You are looking for a room?”
“No, no, it’s OK,” he said.
Nuri’s accent made it plain that he was a foreigner. The hotel owner’s bad mood — provoked by Tarid’s attention toward his daughter — were moderated by the prospect of unexpected business.
“I can find you a very suitable room,” he told Nuri. “At a reasonable rate. Come.”
Nuri hesitated, then decided he might just as well go inside.
“Where is your bag?” asked the owner.
“I don’t have one. The airline—” He shook his head.
“Did you give them this address to deliver it?” the hotelier asked.
“No. I’m supposed to go out and pick it up,” said Nuri.
“Probably better for you. Sometimes they get lost on the way.” The hotel owner shook his head. “You have had a terrible time. I’m very sorry for you. Perhaps a bath will cheer you up. How did you find us?”
“I was looking for a hotel a friend told me of,” said Nuri. “I don’t know that it was yours, though. It was in this block — the Blossom?”
“I’ve never heard of it. Who was your friend?”
