“My hand’s too big,” he told her. “See if you can get your hand through and open the lock with this.”
“I don’t know how to pick a lock,” she said.
“A car or truck door lock only has five tumblers. It’s easy,” he said, giving her the pick. “Just stick your hand through the hole and up till you feel the lock. Then stick the pick with the hook end down into the lock and turn. As you stick it in it’ll rake across the tumblers. That’s half the battle.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.
“Would you rather die? That’s the choice. Scale will be here any minute,” he said.
“This is crazy,” she said, shaking her head as she stuck her hand through the rough hole made by the bullets, pressing the side of her body against the door. Her face was strained as she twisted her hand up on the outside of the door. “I feel the lock,” she said.
“Good. Now stick it in,” he said, loading a new magazine into his MPT-9.
They waited; only seconds, but it seemed an hour. Every second, Scorpion knew, Scale was getting closer. Unless they got out quickly, there was a good chance they would walk out into a hail of bullets.
“It’s in,” she announced.
“Turn it,” he told her.
“It’s not turning,” she said.
“Jiggle it.”
“How?”
“Not side to side. Up and down. Just a little. Jiggle twice then turn.”
They heard the door lock click.
“Now what?” she said.
“Leave the pick in the lock. Turn your hand down and pull in and up on the bar,” he said.
“I’m trying,” she said, then looked at him. “I can’t. It’s too hard.”
“Scale’s coming any second, damn it! Pull in and up,” he said.
She looked terrified, and a moment later she grunted.
“It moved,” she said, pressing her weight against the back door, her face white with the strain. They heard something move and then the door swung open.
Zahra freed her hand and the three of them jumped out onto a steep rocky slope below the snow line. Scorpion hit the ground laying flat and motioned them down as he looked up the slope.
In the dark it was almost impossible to see. There were shadows, not moving, at the edge of the road high above them. Probably the two sedans, he thought. They had been very lucky their van had come so far down the slope, he thought. If they were close to the road, Scale would have been waiting for them as they exited.
He could hear something moving, the sound far above them, although it was too dark to see clearly. But if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him either. It had to be Scale and the other three Revolutionary Guards making their way down the slope toward them.
“What do we do?” Zahra asked. She was crouched beside him. Ghanbari, next to her, cradled the second MPT-9. Scorpion looked around. About four hundred meters below he saw the lights of houses. Probably Darband, a tiny village adjoining the Shemshak ski resort, a little farther down the mountain. He had come through it on his way up. There would be cars there; he could steal one. They had to get into Tehran before a roadblock could be set up.
Options. To stay and fight it out. They were outnumbered and outgunned and had limited ammo. The odds were lousy. Plus, in Begur he had learned not to underestimate Scale.
Or they could go up. Go around Scale and his men coming down in the dark, steal one of the sedans and hightail it for Tehran. On the plus side, it would be unexpected. They would catch Scale by surprise. On the minus side, the slightest sound and they would be caught out in the open in the snow. Sitting ducks for Scale and his trained Revolutionary Guards. And if they did make it to the cars, they would have a lot farther to go down the mountain to reach Shemshak and the road back to Tehran. If Scale made a cell phone call to set up a roadblock before they got into the city, they’d be in Evin Prison within the hour.
Or they could go down the rest of the slope on foot to Darband, grab a car and try to outrun the roadblock. It was the shortest way, but on the minus side, he didn’t know how fast the others could move and at some point they’d be in the open, easy targets if Scale and his men got close enough before they reached the winding village road below.
All the options were bad. Find another one, he told himself, and a thought occurred.
“What stopped us?” he asked out loud and walked around the van. The right front of the vehicle was smashed against a rock outcrop. The hood was buckled in as though hit by a battering ram. He didn’t have to look inside to know the engine had been damaged. He glanced down the slope to the road and the village below. The angle was steep. At least fifty degrees. Still, it might just be possible, he thought, looking up to see moving shadows barely visible near the edge of the snow line. In a minute or less Scale and his men would be within shooting range.
Scorpion opened the cab door and pulled the driver’s body out onto the ground. The key was still in the ignition. He got in behind the wheel and, just to make sure, tried to start the van, but the engine was dead, as he’d suspected. Motioning to the others, he went around and pulled the other body out of the cab.
“Scale’s coming. We have less than a minute to live,” he told them.
“What do you suggest?” Ghanbari asked, swallowing hard.
“Help me push the van back up off this rock outcropping, just maybe ten centimeters. Then you two jump into the back of the van. As far back as you can go for the weight, to keep us from flipping over.”
“You’re not thinking . . .” Zahra started, staring down at the distant lights below in horror.
“What’s to stop us from rolling down before we can get in the back?” Ghanbari asked.
“The brakes—and that,” Scorpion said, pointing to a roughly flat rock the size of a basketball. “Come on,” he said, putting his hands and chest against the front of the van. “And when you jump in, hang on for your life.”
He pushed as hard as he could with his entire body against the van to move it uphill. After a second Zahra and Ghanbari, slinging the MPT-9 over his shoulder, joined him.
At first the van didn’t budge. They heard the rattle of automatic gunfire from above. Scale. They heaved together and the van budged an inch. Legs and muscles straining, they moved the van moved another inch, then another, till they’d managed to push it almost a foot back up the slope.
“Hold it!” Scorpion shouted, grabbing the rock to wedge it just in front of the side of the right tire, about two centimeters of it acting as a stop, while Ghanbari and Zahra strained with every fiber to hold it till he got the rock in place. A bullet cracked through one of the cab windows. A second bullet tore through the side of the van.
“Now! Go! Go!” Scorpion shouted as he ran around and dived into the driver’s seat. “And hang on!”
As Ghanbari and Zahra ran around to the back and jumped into the van, Scorpion put on the seat belt, pulling it so tight he could scarcely breathe while stomping with all his weight on the brake. More automatic gunfire sounded. They were getting closer.
“Ready!” Ghanbari shouted from the back.
A bullet pinged off a corner of the windshield post.
Scorpion took his foot off the brake, put the transmission into Neutral, and turned the wheel sharply to the left, away from the outcropping and the rock wedged under the tire. For the briefest instant the van started to roll slowly, then quickly gathered momentum as it headed down the steep rocky slope. Multiple bursts of automatic fire sounded behind them as Scale and his men began to realize what was happening.
The van bounced and lurched over the rocky, uneven ground, going faster and faster. He was already over fifty kilometers per hour and the slope looked unbelievably steep. He pumped the brakes to try and control the descent without burning them out as the van went faster and faster down the slope. The automatic gunfire sounded fainter behind them. The lights of the village and the road were getting closer, but he was losing control as the van
slewed and bounced over the rocky terrain. Over sixty-five kilometers per hour and it felt like he was driving blindly in the darkness almost straight down. He heard Zahra cry out in back, but there was no stopping now.
Eighty kilometers per hour, more than fifty mph down a mountain and still gathering speed, Scorpion hanging on for dear life. The force of bouncing around and the momentum pressed his body forward, straining against the seat belt. He had to use all of his strength to keep himself from slamming into the steering wheel.
Ninety kilometers per hour. Ghanbari shouting and Zahra screaming. Bouncing around like being trapped inside a washing machine. The force almost ripping the steering wheel from his hands and Scorpion standing almost upright on the brake to try to slow it.
One hundred kilometers per hour; sixty mph. He could see the road now and the houses in the village. He was hanging onto the wheel and pumping the brake like a jackhammer when suddenly he felt it slip and it was like pressing on air all the way to the floorboard. He pumped it a couple of times. Nothing.
The brakes were gone.
At 110 kilometers per hour the road came up fast. Scorpion hit a bump and the van flew into the air, crashing down and bouncing wildly He fought to regain control. They were nearly at the road, bordered by trees. If he tried to turn onto it at this speed they would flip over. There would be bodies from the back flying everywhere. The road was empty this time of night; at least he wouldn’t be killing anyone. He saw a single gap in the trees and across the road a two-story house in a stand of trees, and next to it a car.
Pick one, he told himself. The lights in the house were on. If he hit it he might kill someone. He aimed for the car—it looked like an Iranian Khodro—and braced himself straight-armed on the steering wheel, hoping the impact wouldn’t impale him on the steering column. Here it came.
They crashed head first into the car with a jarring smash that nearly tore his arms from his shoulder sockets. The seat belt dug deep into him. The van drove the car six or seven meters along the ground before coming to rest against a tree. From somewhere, a dog started frantically barking. Lights in the nearby houses came on.
Scorpion unclipped the seat belt, looking at it for a second. It had saved his life. Then he grabbed the MPT-9 from the floor and jumped out of the van. He ran around to the back and opened the rear cargo door. Zahra was trying to get up, her face bruised and bleeding from a cut on her forehead. Ghanbari, on the van floor, looked dazed.
“Come,” Scorpion said, helping Zahra out of the van. He half lifted Ghanbari to his feet and helped him out. A man came out of the house he had almost crashed into.
“Va’isin!” Scorpion shouted sharply in Farsi. Stop! Showing him the MPT-9. “Go back inside and don’t call anyone.”
The man hurriedly went back inside. Scorpion could hear him talking to someone. He looked around. A dark-colored Renault compact was parked in front of the next house. Motioning to Ghanbari and Zahra, he went over to it.
He was about to use the pick when he decided to try the door. It was unlocked. Before getting in, he glanced back up at the mountain. High up he could see headlights from two vehicles moving on the mountain road. Scale and his men had climbed back up to the road and were in pursuit. Ghanbari and Zahra came up beside him.
“That was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she gasped.
“We have to go,” Scorpion said. “They’re after us.”
“You saved us,” she said, coming so close the tip of her breast brushed his arm. He could smell her perfume. Behind her, Ghanbari nodded his agreement.
“Get in,” Scorpion said, motioning at her with the MPT-9. “On the way, you can tell us why you set us up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ozgol,
Tehran, Iran
Racing 125 kilometers per hour down the Lashgarak Road; trying to get into the city before Scale could order a roadblock. Zahra beside him in the front passenger seat, Ghanbari in back, leaning forward to hear. Lonely highway lights and a metal barrier along the side of the road, and in the distance, a haze of lights from the city.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “What are you saying?”
“We don’t have time for these games,” Scorpion said through clenched teeth. “They knew who I was. They knew Ghanbari agha would be there. They knew how many men they’d need and exactly where and when to go in. The only way they could have done that is if you told them.”
“How could I? I didn’t know you were following me!” She turned on him. “How did you find me?”
“They probably followed you the same way I did—GPS-tracking your cell phone. Speaking of which,” he held out one hand as he drove, “give it to me.”
She hesitated a moment, then handed her phone to him. He put it in his pocket.
“You’re right,” he said. “They didn’t know I would be there. But Scale sure knew all about me. I was the icing on the cake. But they knew he’d be there,” indicating Ghanbari. “Why’d you do it?”
“Why me? Maybe you did it,” she insisted sullenly. “Or Muhammad jan,” meaning Ghanbari.
“Liar!” Ghanbari shouted. “You betrayed your own family, you jendeh whore!”
“We don’t have time for this!” Scorpion exclaimed, highway lights flashing by. “First of all, it couldn’t have been me. I didn’t even know Sadeghi existed till tonight. As for Ghanbari agha, he didn’t call to meet you. You called him. It was your idea. I like you Zahra,” glancing at her, looking small, scrunched up in the passenger seat. “But this is business. Who are you working for?”
“You know who I work for,” she snapped. “General Vahidi. AFAGIR.” The Iranian missile command.
He slapped her hard across her face with the back of his hand.
“Who else?” he demanded. “VEVAK?”
“No one else,” she gasped.
“Not good,” Ghanbari muttered from the backseat. “I trusted you, Zahra khahar.” Implying she was like a sister to him.
“I’m doing this with one hand,” Scorpion said. “If I lose control of the car, we all die. Who’d you tell about the meeting at the cabin tonight? Sadeghi?”
“I had no choice!” she cried out. They were coming up fast on the red taillights of a car ahead of them in the darkness. Checking the rearview mirror to make sure there were no headlights behind him yet, he whipped the Renault around the car and sped on. Another couple of minutes and they’d be in the city and it would be harder for Scale or VEVAK to know where to put a roadblock.
“We’ve got to get rid of this car. Where’s the nearest Metro?” he asked Ghanbari.
“The Tajrish station. I’ll show you,” Ghanbari said.
“What do you mean, no choice?” Scorpion asked her. They reached the outskirts of the city. He could see oil storage tanks and multistory apartment buildings. They slowed for traffic as he clover-leafed onto Babaei Highway, heading west across North Tehran.
“He threatened me. Not just me, my brother and your sister,” she said accusingly, darting an angry glance over her shoulder at Ghanbari. “This is your war you got me caught up in, Muhammad jan, not mine.”
“Is Sadeghi the Gardener?” Scorpion asked.
“Are you CIA, Westermann agha? Or maybe Mossad?” Ghanbari asked, his eyes flashing.
“Neither, not that it matters,” Scorpion said. “We’re all in the same jam. So, Sadeghi, is he the Gardener?”
Neither of them answered. The traffic grew heavier. In the distance ahead Scorpion could see lanes of red taillights bunching up. Accident or roadblock? he wondered. They couldn’t afford to find out.
“We’ve got to get off the highway,” he told them.
He crept through bunched-up traffic to get off the next exit, then drove through a darkened area with wide streets. He had no sense of where he was, except for the darkness of the mountains looming over them.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Ozgol,” Ghanbari said. “Not far from Nia
varan Palace, where the Shah used to live. It’s a museum now.”
“And the Metro?”
“If we want to avoid highways, we can take Ozgoli Avenue. I’ll show you.”
“And you didn’t answer my question about Sadeghi. Is he the Gardener?”
Ghanbari shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Makes no sense.”
“You don’t understand. No one knows who the Gardener is. No one knows his name or anything about him. It is said you only meet him once. And the encounter is usually fatal.”
“Why is everyone so afraid of him? What organization is he a part of?” Scorpion asked.
“No organization. He works directly for the Supreme Leader, Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and is answerable only to him. No one knows his cover, his office, even his real name. He handles matters for the leader that cannot be spoken about.”
“The Ayatollah’s hatchet man,” Scorpion suggested.
“It’s all rumors,” Zahra said. “No one knows anything. Some people just disappear. Some even in VEVAK—all right, I do work for VEVAK—claim he’s a myth. No one speaks about him, and if anyone does, people stop talking. But there have been stories. Horrible stories,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“A special section of Evin Prison,” she said. “No one—not even the commander of the prison—can go there. Special guards that don’t belong to the prison, they come from the Ayatollah’s personal bodyguard. People who go in there and somehow survive are changed forever. They will inform on their friends, their family, their own children even.”
“Could Sadeghi be the Gardener?”
“Who else would have dared challenge me and al Quds? If so, Kta’eb Hezbollah is trying to take over not just al Quds, but the Pasdaran, the entire Revolutionary Guards,” Ghanbari said.
“Which means the entire government,” Zahra said. “The Pasdaran are the source of the Supreme Leader’s power. They are his instrument.”
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