A Time To Betray Part 17

I thanked him and rushed back to my building, where Kazem's new office was also located. I went to his office and Kazem jumped out of his chair as soon as I entered the room, happy to see me. He'd never greeted me at the office this way before. Maybe being in the commander's seat boosted his spirits.

"What did you do to Rahim?" I said brightly. "I'm only gone for a couple of weeks and you organized a coup and took over the base without me?"

Kazem burst into laughter and gave me a huge hug.

"After he came back from England, Rahim moved on to the MOIS. He is now involved with the organization and movements of our agents in Europe. Like it or not, I am your new commander."

"I guess I'll be okay with that," I said with a smile. "Oh, before I forget, these are for you and your wife-a small souvenir from Somaya and me."

I handed him a bag. Somaya had helped me pick up a sweater for Zohreh and a rain jacket for Kazem. Kazem thanked me for the presents and extended an invitation to stay at his house should I ever get especially lonely while my wife was away. It was a simple exchange between friends-the kind of thing that came naturally to people who'd known each other and had been as close to each other for as long as the two of us had been. I realized, though, that we would never be having this exchange if Kazem knew about Wally. This led me to wonder how, knowing me for as long as he did, he didn't didn't know about Wally. How could he possibly have missed all my acts of deception? know about Wally. How could he possibly have missed all my acts of deception?

The reality was that Kazem was not the shrewd, cunning person that so many Guards and clerics were. He was just a closed-minded one. My relationship with him was easily the most complicated in my life. I absolutely rejected everything he believed in, yet at the same time, I felt a deep attachment to him for everything we'd shared over the years. When I brought him presents, I was doing so from a source of genuine affection. At the same time, though, I never lost sight of how I could use my access to him to provide Carol with vital information, something that certainly fell outside of the scope of genuine friendship.

Shortly after my return to Tehran, I heard about William Buckley, the CIA operative Carol had asked me about who'd been taken hostage a year and a half ago in 1984. The evening news mentioned that the Islamic Jihad had announced the execution of Buckley in Beirut. Islamic Jihad was a front name for the Revolutionary Guards stationed in Lebanon, another example of their expanding power. They chose to create this front to generate confusion among American and Israeli intelligence. By doing so, they ensured that the enemy couldn't trace their terrorist acts back to Iran, instead believing that this was a homegrown movement in Lebanon. I knew the news of Buckley's execution had already reached Carol and that there was no point in reporting it to her.

By this time, Ali Khamenei had gained a second term as president in an election that saw stunningly few Iranians partic.i.p.ate because they believed that the democratic process was a sham. They had every reason to feel this way, as the Guardian Council decided which candidates could run for office and the Council consisted of six members chosen directly by the Supreme Leader, Imam Khomeini, and six more approved by him after their nomination by the chief justice, who was also handpicked by the Supreme Leader, and their election by the parliament. This meant that no one could attain power if they posed even the slightest risk to the status quo.

The regime antic.i.p.ated that voting would be light and worked hard to maintain the illusion for the West that the people still backed the mullahs. They ordered all Guards and Basijis to show up to vote dressed as ordinary citizens and they bused people who had been relocated from cities affected by the war to polling stations, offering them food and shelter-and threatening to withhold such necessities from anyone who didn't go along with their plan.

(Khamenei's prime minister at the time was Mir Hossein Mousavi, the man whose defeat in the 2009 presidential elections led to such violent outrage on the streets of Iran. The remaining moderates left in the parliament-a holdover from the pre-Khamenei days-still had enough votes to force Mousavi on Khamenei when he became president in 1981, foreshadowing the clashes between this group and the radical right that would explode on the world stage nearly three decades later. Mousavi lost his position in 1989, when const.i.tutional changes eliminated the role of prime minister.) Meanwhile, in Tehran and other major cities, the Iraqi jets continued dropping bombs on the rooftops of Iranian homes nightly. At the same time, Guards and young Basijis continued their battle against the Iraqis at the front. Saddam's weapons-including his vicious chemical ones-killed or severely injured many thousands of these brave men. The Mujahedin were also attacking our forces from their bases in Iraq after they moved their headquarters from France. This move brought more resentment and hatred toward the Mujahedin, not only from the Guards and Iran's military fighters but also from most Iranians who saw their alignment with Saddam as a despicable act. And as all of this went on, Islamic rules in Iran became even more stringent. I felt under siege at every turn, and I know that many of my fellow citizens felt the same way.

I had told Somaya that I would visit them for our New Year in the spring of 1986, but with the ever-tightening grip of the regime, I realized that it wasn't safe to do so and that I had to disappoint her. Taking another trip to England at this point would have drawn more attention to me than I was comfortable with. As much as I missed my wife and son, and as much as I wanted to be an active part of their lives, I had to stay away from them until I knew I could be with them permanently.

My house felt empty and I was terribly lonely, though I was trying my best to adjust. Somaya and I spoke a couple of times a week, but it was hardly a subst.i.tute for a life with my family. A few months after our New Year, Kazem invited me to his house for dinner and I was delighted to have the company. His wife had gone to Mecca in Saudi Arabia for the umrah, a lesser version of the hajj, where Muslims submit themselves to Allah.

Kazem and I rarely socialized away from work now that we were both married, and I had not been to the home he shared with his wife. He and Zohreh had decorated it simply, with a few old Persian rugs on the floor, just a few pieces of furniture, and a couple of pictures of Imam Khomeini on the walls in the living room. They had short-napped, coa.r.s.e carpet cushions on the floor and a few low tables here and there. While Kazem had moved up in the world, unlike so many who ruled the country, he hadn't adopted the practice of decorating his home with goods stolen from those imprisoned or killed. This was yet another reminder that Kazem was a simple, righteous man. Sadly, he'd chosen the wrong ideology.

"When are you planning to go to Mecca and become a hajji?" I asked as we walked through the house.

"Maybe I will be lucky enough to have my name called soon," he answered. "I would be honored to do my hajj."

I was tempted to say something ironic-I tended to do this when faced with a concept I couldn't comprehend-but I knew this was neither the time nor the place to do so. "Inshallah, you'll be called soon" was all I said. you'll be called soon" was all I said.

Kazem guided me to the kitchen, where the dinner he had prepared sat on a small table, waiting for us. He handed me a plate with rice and a ground beef kebab skewer. "It is nothing like your grandpa's kebab, but I tried. Yadesh bekheir, Yadesh bekheir," he said with his eyes fixed on the distance. It surprised me to hear him refer to our childhood days as "good old times." It was indeed, It was indeed, I thought. I hadn't spoken with him much about the past, believing that it would hurt too much to talk to him of the spirited times he, Naser, and I had shared. Now that he'd mentioned it, though, I found that I welcomed even a brief reminiscence. I thought. I hadn't spoken with him much about the past, believing that it would hurt too much to talk to him of the spirited times he, Naser, and I had shared. Now that he'd mentioned it, though, I found that I welcomed even a brief reminiscence.

But before I could take this further, Kazem said, "Did you know your friends were here recently?"

Confused by what he meant, I swallowed a big chunk of kebab, which stuck in my throat.

"Do you want extra b.u.t.ter on your rice?"

I gulped some water. "No more b.u.t.ter, thanks." I cleared my throat. "What friends?"

He put two whole grilled tomatoes on my plate and said, "The Americans. They were here in Tehran."

I didn't really understand what he was saying, but still puzzled, I pretended not to be curious. "This stuff is good, Kazem. I haven't had a good hot meal since Somaya left."

"I'm glad you like it." He paused to take a bite and then said, "Reagan sent his men here to negotiate."

I crushed the tomatoes with my spoon over the rice. "He did? What were they negotiating? And why would we ever want to negotiate with them?"

"They met with Haj Agha Rafsanjani and his a.s.sociates at Hotel Esteghlal. Listen to this: they brought a Bible, a cake, and a gun with them." He shook his head. "As a sign of friendship. of friendship." He put his spoon down, cut a piece of lavash, and pinched his kebab with it to eat it. "The dumb cowboys think we will help release their hostages in Lebanon and try to improve our relationship with them. They are giving us arms-lots of arms-and they think in return we will agree to be their puppets." He took another piece of bread and dipped it in the bowl of yogurt. "But Haj Agha Rafsanjani knows how to play with these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and how to milk them." He winked at me and put another piece of kebab on my plate. He laughed. "Dumb cowboys."

That night, back at my house, I wrote a letter to Carol about what Kazem said. At the time I didn't realize the importance of this new information and the potential impact it could have on my life. But when Carol didn't show any interest in these details and didn't ask any follow-up questions, I realized how foolish I had been. I had been risking my life to rid my country of the criminals running it and the Americans were negotiating with them. The CIA knew that the Guards were responsible for the barracks bombing in Lebanon that took the lives of 241 American servicemen. They knew that their own people, like William Buckley, were being kidnapped, tortured, and killed. Yet they were offering appeas.e.m.e.nt to these two-faced donkey-riding mullahs.

The notion of negotiations between America and the regime also chilled me for another reason. I began to consider the possibility that part of the deal-making process might involve exposing agents. Not long after my dinner with Kazem, three Iranians in the Foreign Ministry were arrested as spies working for America. Government papers disclosed the discovery of doc.u.ments in these agents' homes very similar to the doc.u.ments I had, including codebooks. I wondered if America would turn me in as part of a grand bargain.

In November of 1986, radicals leaked the news of the arms-for-hostages deals to Hezbollah in Lebanon, which in turn published this information in Al-Shiraa, Al-Shiraa, a Lebanese magazine. This triggered the IranContra scandal. I learned later that the U.S. meetings were not limited to those held with Hashemi Rafsanjani and his contacts in Tehran. They also met with the Guards in Geneva, Brussels, Frankfurt, and Mainz. The CIA a.s.signed the Guards' negotiators the code names The Engine and The Relative, and they even facilitated a trip for The Relative to Washington, D.C., where he received a tour of the White House. a Lebanese magazine. This triggered the IranContra scandal. I learned later that the U.S. meetings were not limited to those held with Hashemi Rafsanjani and his contacts in Tehran. They also met with the Guards in Geneva, Brussels, Frankfurt, and Mainz. The CIA a.s.signed the Guards' negotiators the code names The Engine and The Relative, and they even facilitated a trip for The Relative to Washington, D.C., where he received a tour of the White House.

I was glad to see the embarra.s.sment this revelation caused the Reagan administration. They'd sidestepped their principles to negotiate with people who committed heinous acts as a matter of policy. If these negotiations had gone further, any hopes I ever had for a free Iran would have evaporated.

With the news of the affair out and President Reagan putting an end to these Iran initiatives, I tried to stay focused. I continued my reports to Carol, hoping that the American government had seen the error of negotiating with Iran's rulers and would take a more aggressive stance in the future. They'd managed only to secure the release of a few hostages. In exchange, they'd provided the Guards with a stockpile of American weapons, some of which ended up in the hands of Hezbollah and the Islamic Jihad. Meanwhile, the Guards continued to take hostages and make greater demands.

Early in the summer of 1987, Kazem came to my office and informed me that his name for the hajj had been called. He was honored to visit Mecca, but he was intensely excited about this for another reason. Imam Khomeini had issued an order for an uprising to take place during that year's pilgrimage and Kazem believed he might play a role in this insurrection. I didn't doubt it. Kazem's being called to the hajj was no coincidence; I was sure Khomeini wanted him and other Guards from our unit there for precisely this purpose. The regime had tried in the past to cause turmoil in the Saudi kingdom. They'd been largely unsuccessful, but this wouldn't stop them from planning further criminal acts at the place many knew as "G.o.d's House."

"Everything is in place and the Saudi monarch is going down," Kazem said contemptuously. "These Arabs are the servants of America, and they will pay big this time." He then offered me specific details, which I memorized for my next report.

[Letter #-]

[Date:---]

Dear Carol,1-Kazem today revealed the Guards' plan for an uprising against the Saudi kingdom during the hajj.2-Thousands of Guards have been sent as pilgrims and flown by Iran Air.3-Knifes, machetes, and other arms have been transferred to Saudi Arabia by the Guards.4-Imam Khomeini gave the order for this uprising.5-The plan is to incite the Muslims for a demonstration condemning American and Israeli policies.6-They intend to escalate the demonstration to an uprising against the Saudi kingdom.7-The Iran Air flights are departing daily, carrying Guard members and transferring arms.

Wally About a week after my letter reached Carol, I heard that the Saudis were checking all the Iran Air flights and sending back many Iranian pilgrims who they found in possession of arms. I felt I'd played a direct role in this, believing that my information was put to use. Finally, I thought, some good was coming out of what I had been doing.

Still, in spite of my efforts and the Saudis' precautions, the Guards succeeded in causing a ma.s.sive and violent demonstration. Thousands of pilgrims joined the fight with Saudi police, shouting "Death to America" and "Death to Israel," and demanding the overthrow of the Saudi kingdom. The riot led to a death toll of hundreds of Iranians, other pilgrims, and Saudi police. The Saudis ultimately quelled the revolt, but this led Khomeini to order a number of bombing attacks on Saudi agencies around the world and the a.s.sa.s.sination of several of their diplomats.

Tensions throughout the region were incredibly high. And in the midst of this, Carol sent me a chilling message: h.e.l.lo, Wally,We have learned that Iraq has received shipments of long-range missiles from the Soviet Union. They will use them against civilians to force the regime to accept peace. We don't know what the timing is, but should you want to leave, we would understand.Things are going to get ugly, but there will be peace in the end. Please take care, Carol

24.

BROTHER, MY BROTHER.

"NO, YOU CANNOT see her now. She is in the CCU. I am sorry." The nurse shook her head and left me alone in the hallway of Toos Hospital. I walked back to the administration area and found another nurse sitting behind the desk. see her now. She is in the CCU. I am sorry." The nurse shook her head and left me alone in the hallway of Toos Hospital. I walked back to the administration area and found another nurse sitting behind the desk.

"I am here to see Fataneh Kahlili," I said desperately. "She is my mother and they just admitted her in here. She had a heart attack. Please tell me where she is and how she is doing."

The nurse looked up at me and narrowed her eyes. "We just told you. She is in the CCU. She is not doing well. How many times do you have to ask?"

Earlier that day, one of Mom's neighbors called to tell me that an ambulance had taken her to the hospital. The day before, I had pleaded with her to let me take her out of town, where she could be safe from the most vicious round of attacks civilians had experienced during the war. She refused. She even refused to stay with me. Of course she did. Why would she even consider that? Her only son was part of a ruinous regime and she couldn't forgive him for this. The birth of her grandson had brought us together physically, but this turned out to be a temporary rapprochement. After Somaya and Omid left, she returned to seeing me only as a member of the Guards. When I entreated her on the phone to allow me to help her get to a safer place, she told me that she would leave with her friends in a few days if things did not get better. But her voice was shaky, and I knew she was frightened.

This latest nightmare began when I was at home, having just hung up from a conversation with Somaya. A roaring blast jolted the building, the ground shook, and I thought the house would crumble. It was far worse than when Iraqi jets dropped bombs. I looked out the window to see which building had collapsed and found neighbors running and screaming outside. I couldn't see any sign of destruction within our neighborhood; just confused and rattled people. I turned on the radio, but before I could get any information, there was another jolt.

A few months earlier, Carol had warned me that there would be missile attacks. At the time, I could appreciate her message only in the abstract. The reality was so much more terrifying. BBC radio confirmed that Iraq was firing long-range missiles on Tehran and other Iranian cities. The BBC also said that there was a strong possibility that this was the first of many such attacks.

It was then that I called Mom, offering to take her away from this madness. Now, a day later, after more than a dozen missiles had hit Tehran, Mom lay in the cardiac care unit. I was devastated and I felt responsible for what had happened to her. I should have insisted on staying with her in such a situation, despite her protests and refusals, but I allowed the distance that had come between us to prevent me from doing the right thing.

While I was waiting to hear about her condition, an explosion jolted the hospital violently. Another missile had hit somewhere close by. Screams and howls filled the hallway. Nurses rushed from one room to another. People in waiting rooms hurried to leave. I just sat there on the floor and covered my face with my palms.

What has happened to us? Is this the kind of life we deserve? What is going to happen to Mom? I broke her heart and now she's suffered a heart attack. What if she does not make it? G.o.d, please save her and I'll do anything!

"Is somebody here for Fataneh Kahlili?"

I turned my head toward the deep, husky voice. I wiped my face with the end of my sleeve and raised my hand, still too choked up to talk. A man in light blue hospital garb approached. I felt his hand on my shoulder as I tried to get up.

"Please stay seated. Are you Mrs. Kahlili's son?"

I nodded.

"You know, pesaram, pesaram, since last night we have had several patients with heart attacks. These missiles don't just destroy where they hit; you have to have a strong heart to survive the effect of their impact." He pushed his cap away from his forehead. "I am sorry to say that your mother did not make it." since last night we have had several patients with heart attacks. These missiles don't just destroy where they hit; you have to have a strong heart to survive the effect of their impact." He pushed his cap away from his forehead. "I am sorry to say that your mother did not make it."

Carol had also told me in her message that things would get ugly but that there would be peace in the end. Was this the kind of peace she was talking about? Would she consider my mother "at peace" now? I couldn't continue to live like this. By the time I buried Mom on a cold winter day in 1988, while Tehran was still under attack by Saddam Hussein, I had made the decision that would alter the course of my life.

The international phone lines had been jammed since the attacks started. Since we couldn't reach each other by phone, Somaya sent a telegram: Reza, we are so worried. We are not able to call. Please let us know how you are. Please, Reza, call us ASAP.

I rushed to send a telegram back to her. I wished I could let her know about what I'd decided in the telegram, but I had to be sure I could follow through on this decision before I said anything. I did not even mention what happened to Mom and how devastated I was, how I was racked with guilt over her death and how much I regretted not telling Mom that I was not who she thought I was.

Somaya jon, I am safe and sound. Please do not worry so much. It is not as bad as it sounds in the news. I will be sending a telegram every other day until the phone lines become available again. I love you so much and I miss you. Please kiss my Omid for me and take care of yourself. Love, Reza.

"Are you sure you want to put in all these words?" the dispatcher at the phone company said. "You can delete 'I miss you' or 'I love you so much' to cut the cost."

"That's okay, I will pay for those."

"How about 'kiss my Omid'? Do you know how expensive every word is?"

"Don't worry about those. I will pay more to make sure they know I love them."

The dispatcher rolled his eyes and took the paper.

The always bustling Tehran had turned into a ghost town. Hundreds of thousands fled as soon as the first few missiles struck. Many took shelter in cities to the north by the Caspian Sea, as these places were too far away for the missiles to reach from Iraq. A three-hour drive had become an eighteen- to twenty-hour crawl because of the number of cars fleeing the capital. Others who could not afford to travel camped out in the outskirts of Tehran, feeling that this was somehow safer. Many people died in car accidents or from snakebite while camping in remote areas. Business in Tehran came to a halt.

I needed to talk to Kazem, but the timing wasn't right for a personal discussion. The base was chaotic. I had never seen Kazem so angry and rattled. Not long after the attacks started, I encountered him in the hallway and he asked me to follow him to his office. He slammed the door behind him and hurled himself into his chair. He mumbled some words and picked up the phone, but instead of dialing, he banged the handset back to its base.

"We'll teach this b.a.s.t.a.r.d Saddam a good lesson. These filthy Americans think they can force us to surrender by giving him missiles and a green light to attack us. The Iraqis claim the missiles are their own. They think we are donkeys."

"What is the plan, Kazem?" I asked. "We cannot just sit here and let this motherless plunderer destroy us like this."

"The U.S. has planned this. Imam just ordered us to expand the mining of the Persian Gulf to put pressure on American forces and oil shipments. And we are going to fire missiles at Iraq's major cities in return. They can take their dreams to their grave if they think they are going to demolish our Islamic movement."

It took several minutes for Kazem's fury to recede long enough for him to tell me how sorry he was to hear of my mother's death. This was an opening for me to discuss my decision, but remembering his tirade just moments before, I let it pa.s.s.

Later that night I wrote a letter to Carol: [Letter #-]

[Date:---]

Dear Carol,1-The Iraqi missile attacks have caused chaos. Innocent people are being slaughtered.2-People are leaving the capital for safer ground.3-Kazem told me that Imam has ordered a swift response to Iraq and to the American forces in the Persian Gulf.4-The Guards will expand the mining of the Gulf in retaliation for Saddam's attacks.5-The Guards don't know how Saddam has acquired these powerful missiles but they doubt they were built by the Iraqi army. They blame the U.S. for giving Saddam the green light for this action.6-I will try to stay in touch, but the situation is very volatile.

Wish me luck, Wally Almost two months after the first strike by Iraqi missiles and while most of Tehran still looked desolate, the missile strikes stopped. But the war continued. After Imam Khomeini ordered the mining of the Gulf, a guided-missile frigate, the USS Samuel B. Robertson, Samuel B. Robertson, struck an Iranian mine on April 14, 1988. The mine blew a fifteen-foot hole in the hull and flooded the engine room, injuring ten sailors. I knew that America would not take this lightly, and I prayed that the retaliation would not hurt innocent civilians. Four days later, the U.S. Navy attacked two Iranian oil platforms. The ensuing battle caused at least six Iranian speedboats and two navy ships to be destroyed or damaged. struck an Iranian mine on April 14, 1988. The mine blew a fifteen-foot hole in the hull and flooded the engine room, injuring ten sailors. I knew that America would not take this lightly, and I prayed that the retaliation would not hurt innocent civilians. Four days later, the U.S. Navy attacked two Iranian oil platforms. The ensuing battle caused at least six Iranian speedboats and two navy ships to be destroyed or damaged.

The tension in the Gulf was later responsible for an ill-fated incident that ended the life of nearly three hundred innocent people. On July 3, 1988, while I was in the cafeteria at our base with Kazem and some other Guards, news came out that a U.S. Navy cruiser had shot down an Iran Air jetliner. Apparently, the USS Vincennes Vincennes mistook the civilian jet for an attacking F-14 fighter. The news repeatedly showed footage of bodies of men, women, and children floating in the Persian Gulf. mistook the civilian jet for an attacking F-14 fighter. The news repeatedly showed footage of bodies of men, women, and children floating in the Persian Gulf.

The uproar among the Guards was immediate. "Death to America," the Guards chanted in the cafeteria. As always, this mob denied any culpability in the tragedy.

Later that month, Khomeini accepted peace with Iraq. But he did so with searing words that revealed the true hatred he had for his enemy.

"Making this decision was more deadly than taking poison. I submitted myself to G.o.d's will and drank from this cup of poison for his satisfaction. To me, it would have been more bearable to accept death and martyrdom, but I made this decision in the interest of the Islamic Republic."

After eight years of suffering, more than half a million people dead, injured, or wounded, and a great cost in economic damage, our Imam still held to the belief that he was sacrificing for the sake of the Islamic Republic. I could not feel more shame for what I once believed.

Now that the war was over and conditions on the base were less chaotic, I thought this would be a good time to talk to Kazem. I went to his office on a Wednesday afternoon. It was Somaya's birthday. I had called her earlier that day and she was in tears.

"Reza, it's been three years. Omid has started first grade. I cannot pretend everything is okay, because it's not. He needs you. I need you, too. I understand your love for your ... whatever you love about that country, but I am sick and tired of this. You belong with your family."

She did not give me a chance to wish her happy birthday, but I told her that I would call her back later that night when she'd calmed down. I was hoping that I'd have things straightened out with Kazem by then and that I could offer her the birthday present she truly wanted.

I was surprised to find Rahim in Kazem's office because I hadn't seen him for some time. He hugged me when he saw me, saying, "Salam aleikom, Baradar Reza. It is so nice to see you again." Baradar Reza. It is so nice to see you again."

"Salam, Baradar Rahim. It's nice to see you, too." Baradar Rahim. It's nice to see you, too."

I hoped Rahim would leave soon so I could talk to Kazem. Apparently, they were in the middle of a discussion about Khomeini's acceptance of peace. Kazem, who had earlier stated that the only acceptable end to this war was the destruction of Saddam and his allies, now acknowledged Khomeini's decision. But he was still furious with America.

"I wish that we had taught America a lesson and responded to its bullying," Kazem said.

"Rest a.s.sured, Baradar Kazem, that time will come," Rahim said. "But the Americans had sent a strong message that if we didn't accept peace with Iraq, they would use all their power, including nuclear bombs. Hajj Agha Rafsanjani has promised to retaliate for their downing of our civilian jetliner and much more. I know from many high commanders that if we had the atomic bomb, we would have used it against them. But there is a time to step back, get stronger, and then confront the evil powers of imperialism and Zionism. Inshallah, Inshallah, we will destroy them both." we will destroy them both."

Kazem looked at me and nodded. I could see he was satisfied with Rahim's response.

"I believe our Imam's decision was spiritually inspired," I said, playing the role I always played in the office. "As Imam said himself, we have to submit ourselves to G.o.d's will and Allah will empower us to defeat evil."

At some point, Rahim asked about my wife and son living outside the country away from me for such a long time. I remember telling him that they were with my in-laws in London.

"They are fine. My father-in-law, Moheb Khan, has a big apartment in the Mayfair district, and I am happy that my wife and son are safe and living with her family."

"Moheb Khan? I know this name. Is his last name Hadidi?" Rahim asked. I nodded, shocked that he knew my in-laws.

"Moheb Khan is a great Muslim and his contribution to the London mosque is well regarded. I was not aware you were related to him."

I did not know how to feel about having this connection. Would I earn more respect and credibility or be watched more closely? I knew Moheb Khan had a good reputation among Muslims in London, as he was a righteous man and a trustworthy businessman. But Moheb Khan was also openly against the crimes and unjust rule of the Iranian government. Would this put my family and me under more suspicion?

Rahim glanced at his watch and told Kazem that they should be going.

"If you are not busy, Baradar Reza, you should come with us, too," Rahim said. "You should witness justice in action."